CHAPTER 9
Across town there was a small but growing community of African immigrants mostly from Ethiopia. They led a quiet life away from the busyness of the city. Although most of them spoke the Amharic language, a few understood the English language and were quite fluent in it. This included Sentayhu and his niece, Ayana. Sentayhu was the leader in the community because he led that group of people to immigrate from Ethiopia to America and he was well-schooled in the American way of life. The Ethiopian immigrants often came to him for advice.
Sentayhu glanced at the front door again as Ayana served him a cup of herbal tea. He had been ill over the past week, but he was feeling better today.
“Don’t worry, Uncle. He’ll soon be back,” Ayana told him.
“He’s normally back by now,” Sentayhu said. “I hope this delay means good news.”
Sentayhu had been living in the United States some twenty-two years now. Ayana came to the United States with her parents a year after he did; she was four years old then. Both her parents died within a four year span and Sentayhu took her in as his child. He trained her in the Christian faith as much as he could, as well as in the Ethiopian culture including its language. “Even though in America, we must never forget our native language, and you must never forget your roots,” he often told her. Now at twenty-five years old, Ayana spoke the Ethiopian Amharic language and the English language fluently and could easily switch from one to the other. Outside the community, she used her chosen American name—Charmaine; but inside the community she was Ayana—“beautiful blossom.”
“Bohlale delays in coming,” Sentayhu repeated.
“Don’t worry, Uncle, I hear someone slamming a car door.”
Ayana opened the front door to reveal a tall, dark, and handsome young man, three years older than she. “Hello, Ayana. It’s good to see you again,” Bohlale said with a smile.
“Come in, Bohlale. Uncle Sentayhu has been anxiously awaiting your return.” Ayana stepped off to the side so he could make his entrance.
Bohlale, whose name meant ‘wisdom,’ left Ethiopia for the United States over eight years ago on a student exchange program. He pursued studies in medicine and was now working at the local hospital. He and Sentayhu met at a community event for immigrants. Sentayhu invited him to move in to their Ethiopian community. It was there that he met Ayana. Bohlale respectfully bowed before Sentayhu.
“It’s about time, Bohlale,” Sentayhu said rising from his seat. “I trust that all is well.”
“All is well, Sentayhu—more than well.” Bohlale took a seat across from Sentayhu at the table. Ayana left to serve them their mid-day meal.
“Sentayhu, I visited again the church—All People’s Non-Denominational—that we both visited before. Like you said, it seems like it will be a good church for us. That Pastor Gillespie, as you so wisely discerned, is an honest, up-front person. I listened in on a meeting they had after the services; he openly told the church he and his wife had been having marriage problems and that she was filing for divorce. Many of the people walked out; others were whispering.”
“Thank you, Ayana,” Sentayhu said as she set the meal before them. Ayana took her place beside her uncle and ate her meal in silence, listening as the men spoke.
“I heard some of the women whispering among themselves that the pastor’s wife was very disrespectful to him at times and did not always do as he said,” Bohlale continued. “Some said she left on her own. Others said it was a disgrace.”
Sentayhu shook his head and waved his hand in the air. “No time for people’s gossip. Get to the point. Do you think we will be welcomed there?” he asked.
