The Orphans of Addis Ababa

[I am reading There Is No Me Without You, by Melissa Fay Greene, about the heroic struggle of a tired grandmother called Haregewoin Teferra to care for the orphans brought to her small compound. Life, reduced to the most basic, where giving up is not an option.]

"Allah, Allah,"
comes the morning chant
from the Grand Mosque
and, from their blankets
emerge
the weary orphans
of Addis Ababa,
as they
prepare
to face another day
among the living.

The dispossessed
of the earth
make their cooking fires
as the sun rises
above the steep
mosque spires.
Donkey hoofbeats clop,
a rooster's cries
pierce the air,
while the children's
hungry eyes,
still too hopeful
for despair,
remember
those they love
who are
no longer
there.

What will
this continent
of hungry orphans
eat today?
As we enjoy
a second cup of coffee,
the comfortable knowledge
that we will eat
later this same day,
little Mintesinot,
Prince of the street
of paupers,
leaves the marked-off
square of earth
under his feet
where he was lying
for the four years
since his birth,
the piece of earth
where his mother died
and his father now lies
dying.

He is moving
to a shack
where 60 other orphans
are living
with a tired but
indomitable
Grandmother
who keeps on
giving
because someone
has to feed the children
whose families
are dying,
so she is
trying.

Little Mintesinot,
young Prince
of the barren roadway,
one of 13 million
(say this number slowly)
orphaned by AIDS,
a number so large,
our minds do not engage,
cannot process
it wholly.
What this means:
one small child
13 million times,
alone and scared
and hungry,
with no parents,
with no prospects,
with no dreams.

"Allah, Allah"
the chant continues,
on the air,
rising
on the wafting smoke,
a prayer
of faith and hope and need
so true and clear,
it hopefully finds its way
straight
to Allah's
ear.
But it's the world
of humans
who can help
who most
need to hear.