Our first evening in the Be’er Sheva Ethiopian Absorption Center was a bit chaotic. It was the first time we were faced with the language barrier common on study abroad trips. None of the children spoke any English and we had to rely on what little Hebrew we know and our ability to mime. It was dinner time and we had just gotten back from the store with various vegetables, peanut butter and a few boxes of soy and rice milk to add to what we brought with us from the Kibbutz. As we stepped out of the car, all of the little kids came running.

At one point, I believe there were around 30 kids jumping around in the rented van. We pulled them out and tried to go upstairs but ended up bartering for their Ethiopian bread-injerah-for our carrots (which one of the kids grabbed, took a bite of, dropped on the ground in the parking lot, put it back in the box and ran away).

The bread started it all. The older girls brought injerah over with a bowl of steaming soup. Spicy and hot, we were sure it had meat in it and although most of us are vegans or vegetarians, it smelled too appealing not to eat-not to mention the girls seemed so happy to be sharing their food with us that we couldn’t pass it up. It was amazing. They didn’t want any of our vegetables but they did want us to eat more. They brought us two more pieces of bread (pieces the size of a large veggie platter you could buy at the supermarket at home) and more soup to go with it. This time, we sat with the door open and the kids started coming. All of a sudden, every one of the kids on our floor, the floor above, and the floor below, and probably some more, seemed to be in our room.

It was loud.

The guitar was played and strummed by all the kids-simultaneously-and the sound echoed off the cement walls. The kids began to overflow into the hallway. Noam and Ben were like the play toys the kids had been lacking. It seemed slightly painful-watching the kids climb from Noam’s arms to his neck. Ben lifted the kids to his shoulders and swung them down again, tickling them until they couldn’t laugh any more. Lucy was getting her hair braided and a guy, home from the army for the weekend, told the girls I wanted my hair done too. The next half hour was spent trying to keep in screams of pain and wishing that my hair may love me enough to stay attached to my head. It didn’t seem to want to cooperate. It much preferred the quick fingers of the Ethiopian 13-year-old who manipulated my hair into 6 nice, even cornrows. The girls kept repeating, “Yofe! Yofe!” when they saw me with the braids every day, every time they saw me, until I took them out. After that they lost interest in my hair. Although one little boy thought the color was quite interesting. Standing on a used tire at one point he pulled on my French braid (what was left of my hair) and said “Blondini” (blond, obviously, but when said in Hebrew it sounds like a cross between Blond and Houdini-who wouldn’t want to be a blond magician?).

While Lucy and I were getting our hair braided, things started to get really crazy. A few of the boys were using the eggplants we brought from Lotan as rocks meant to be thrown at one another. Another boy discovered that the windows opened and that he could climb out to the balcony (on the 6th floor). And a few of the girls discovered that markers can be used on the wall as well as on the floor. Why should one limit themselves to a piece of white paper? At one point, I saw Jodi, most of her body hanging out the window, arm outstretched, trying to hold onto (a kid we nicknamed) Dennis the Menace, and I wanted to get up to help but I was stuck under the grasp of my hair braider. Ben ended up running and finding parents to help us. After the parents came it wound down slowly.

I fell asleep right away that night but my dreams were full of screaming children and knocks on the door. I knew if I opened it the kids would come.

The pictures were taken by Noga, our host for the week, throughout our trip. She set up the community garden in which we built the saj (outdoor stove that we hope will allow the residents a space to make injerah in their garden) from mud.