Once, my closest friends and colleagues, sharing our mutual grief at losing my beloved mother and father, now treat me as a menace and someone to annihilate. How did Behailu and Demere become heartless and calloused souls toward me? I knew it was not because of the Church of Christ doctrine. They accepted others who believed the same as me. Why not me? It hurt me so much.
Chapter 1: Different Now
I am different now. It doesn’t come close to where any of them are these days as Church institutions. They were part of the several sabotages I experienced in Ethiopia. I want nothing to do with them. But my heart was soft for the Church of Christ. I hoped to reconnect with them in Ethiopia. Excited to be back after a six-year absence; people assure me I will have no problem entering the Mekanissa compound. For me, stepping foot in the compound until now was not allowed. Behailu forbade it. I long to visit my parents’ house before they died and reminisce about better days. What is the harm? What did I do for Behailu to be so cruel? Why did he hate me so much? A few CofC members assured me I was welcome now to enter the compound because Behailu lives in the States, and Habtu has been appointed the new mission director. I had nothing to fear.
Mekanissa Church of Christ School for the Deaf had been my home for nearly five years. As a young adult 18, ready for adventure, I moved to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, with my parents. We all lived in the Church of Christ/Deaf School compound until my Mom and Dad’s premature death in July 1975.
It was inside the compound where I married and lived with my husband, Carl. Our first child, Wendy Genet, returned from the hospital to the CoC compound—so many beautiful memories. The thought of being there again thrilled me.
After a few weeks in Ethiopia, I ventured into the compound. Oh God, I prayed… please let me enter this time and be accepted with open arms. It was late October 2018 when I walked in, but to my dismay, I was not warmly greeted. After a few minutes of small talk, Demere said he must leave for an appointment, so I must go. I called him a coward. Please don’t do this again. He paid no attention, locked his office door, and walked away. I staggered out of the middle house offices onto the rugged stone pathway that led up to the gate. Glancing around the compound, I briefly noted the three old missionary residences and the basic structure of the original Deaf school. Other buildings and add-ons were unfamiliar. All needed fresh paint and lively colors. I didn’t care, and it didn’t matter. Devastated, once again, Demere had rejected me. Ironically, as if my disappointing encounter with Demere was not enough trauma for one day, I was triggered by a horrible flashback. Stinging grief battered my already fragile emotions.
Walking toward the gate, dejected and alone, for an instant, I relived a 43-year-old nightmare. It was July 22, 1975. A telegram arrived with instructions to gather at Demere’s house and wait for the phone. Excited, finally, the call was coming. We would discover what day and time to pick up my parents at the airport. Instead, the stateside call was a heartless prank. There was no other explanation. Right away, overwhelmed with the inconceivable news, I was in a stupor, numb, then frozen. How can I explain that first shock? Even now, I’m reliving it and can’t stop my tears. It’s not true. I can’t accept it. No! I won’t believe it. Several minutes passed, negotiating illogically with myself to ease the trauma. No, not both! One, perhaps, but both? It can’t be. Never! No, no. A river of tears gushed down my cheeks.
I can’t listen to this lie. I won’t ever believe it is true. My mind cannot come to terms with the tragedy of both. To this day, flashbacks come and go, my mind revisiting…. No! Maybe one, but not both. Close by with sobs of sorrow and empathy were my loving husband, Carl, and dear friends Behailu and Demere and their wives, Alem and Amsala. Tears streamed freely down my face. I didn’t know why. To my carefully guarded mind, it was a nightmare. I would wake up. The phone call was simply unacceptable, and that was that.
Joyful and memorable days of my young adult life from March 1971 to July 1975 on the Mekanissa Church of Christ Deaf school compound came to an abrupt and tragic end. I was 22 years old. My parents, Lyle and Pearl Leach, were dead. Their untimely death had a profound spiritual impact on my young life. I lost my parents, Ethiopia, Behailu, Demere, and all our Deaf students and staff. Never knowing the grief of losses so profoundly, I desperately needed the Lord. When I cried out to Him in despair, He answered my call and gave me the peace I needed. I realized that what I had been taught in the Church of Christ all my life was in error. My husband, Carl, came to the same conclusion.
Although many Churches of Christ have changed to believe more like me over the years, unfortunately, the Church of Christ responsible for the Church of Christ’s mission in Ethiopia is not one of those that have changed. They are dogmatic about being the only Christians, the only “True Church,” and baptism is the only way to be saved and go to heaven.
Changing our beliefs started our troubles in the Church of Christ. Behailu used this as his launching pad to keep Carl and me from returning permanently to our Deaf work at the Mekanissa Deaf School and supervising the Deaf schools in the countryside. Because of our close ties with Behailu and Demere, we knew the reason for his rigidity to be something else. It was confirmed to us by Demere on our visit to Ethiopia in December 1980. Behailu has been different since my parents’ death and is now corrupt. Our hearts hurt to hear this news, but we knew it was true because of his behavior toward us. However, Demere did not tell us the whole story. It was by far worse than we could ever imagine. This horrible secret included Demere. I will not know the full extent of the corruption story until 30 years after Carl’s cancer death in 1988.
