A story from my childhood
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I was about 7 years old. My family and Elsa, a Norwegian missionary, lived in Woito in South West Ethiopia close to a little village called Gisma. Elsa is a midwife and my mom is a nurse so they worked at the little health station we'd put up in a hut.
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Later that day two little babies were brought to the healt station. My little sis and I got to hold them and feed them. I sat there watching those perfect little human beings who were not welcome in this world.
The Tsemai people believe that if an unmarried girl becomes pregnant it is a sign of something bad from the forefathers. If that baby is brought up in the family it will cause a curse to fall upon the whole family or even the whole village. The fear of what would happen was so great that it drove them to ending the life of the newborn.
The only solution we found was to give the babies up for adoption. There was one condition: They were never allowed to return. The babies who were saved from a death at birth were adopted by Christian families in a village farther away (an hour or so by car).
Thinking about this makes me realise how much I have to be greatful for. I know there is a God who is more powerful than anything evil in this world. I know He watches over His children. Some people in Woito have gotten to experience that. Families have come to faith and are no longer in bondage of fear. They have brought up children, who according to their old beliefs and tradition, should not live. Being able to see the transformation from a life of fear to a life of freedom in Christ is something I'll always treasure.
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