Addis Abeba has been drawing fresh attention as it changes. Visitors now arrive from across the world, from streamers and athletes to cultural travellers, curious about what the city has become. The rising skyline, the spread of cafés and cultural hubs, and the energy of young professionals have made the diplomatic capital of Africa feel more visible in new ways.
Yet not every visitor comes looking for glamorous lifestyles, posh hotels or polished restaurants. Some arrive with a different kind of curiosity. They want to understand the community, those places rarely dominate postcards or online posts. Yet, they say as much about the city as its towers, traffic and newly fashionable corners now do.
That impulse shaped an encounter last week, when a group of South Koreans came to Addis Abeba. Instead of asking to be taken to one of the city’s top restaurants or tourist attractions, they asked to visit a local orphanage. One of my friends, who served as their translator, suggested the Muday Charity Association (MCA) after visiting it recently herself.
The Charity, one of over 100 across the country supporting more than 21,000 children, was founded by Muday Mitiku in the Kotebe neighbourhood, north of Addis Abeba, in 1999. It began as a school, but Muday saw more students from low-income families struggling without stable family support or necessities. She gradually turned the space into an orphanage, a practical response to what she was seeing. Over time, the organisation expanded to provide food, health services, education and shelter to children and women in need.
Today, about 700 children live there, all under the age of 15. The scale is hard to grasp until visitors stand inside the compound and watch the routines that sustain so many young lives every day. My friend had long heard of the organisation, but had not visited it until recently. That detail stayed with me. And it led to a question that has lingered since.
How often do we visit our local charities ourselves? If tourists asked us to take them to a charity organisation, would we choose a place we had actually visited and understood the work being done? Or would we point to an organisation known only through promotion, word of mouth or social media posts?
These may appear to be simple questions, but they cut deeper than it first seems. They reveal something about how closely we know our own communities, and how often we engage with institutions that work quietly inside them.
Many dreams can seem distant, not because they are impossible, but because people do not know how to move toward them. The accuracy of information, the right people, and the timing often determine whether an ambition feels real or remote. Sometimes what stands between a person and a dream is not ability or willingness, but exposure.
One of my long-standing dreams has been adoption. For years, the only path I could imagine was volunteering at orphanages. Playing with children, taking whatever we had collected through fundraising activities, and spending time with them felt like the nearest step toward something larger. As someone serving in an international youth volunteering service organisation, I have long found community service visits among the most meaningful activities in my life.
Our visits to Muday became some of the most memorable. Part of that was the scale of its work. Over the years, Muday has grown into one of the best-known child-support organisations in Addis Abeba. Its work has been sustained by community partnerships, volunteers, donors, and sponsorship programs that connect children with people who want to support them in meaningful ways.
Recently, after many years in its earlier location, the organisation reached a milestone. The government allocated land for a new facility, and Muday has since built a new space designed to serve better the children who depend on it. The move marks physical growth, but also recognition of the organisation’s long contribution to the community.
During one of our visits, we learned about a sponsorship program that changed how I understood my own dream of adoption. Many people assume that supporting a child means bringing that child into one’s home. Muday offers another path. Through its program, a person can sponsor a child and take part in that child’s life journey while the organisation continues to provide structured care and supervision. The arrangement is also strikingly accessible.
Starting from a contribution of 20 Br a day, or 600 Br a month, which amounts to 7,200 Br a year, someone can become a supporting parent figure in a child’s life. In today’s economy, that may seem like a small sum. But the effect is not small. It offers children something more personal than a general donation. It gives them the sense that someone, somewhere, is rooting for them as an individual. More than financial support, sponsorship is also a form of emotional recognition. It tells a child that she is seen, remembered, and supported beyond the walls of the institution where he lives. It creates a bridge between members of the wider community and children whose futures depend on a shared sense of responsibility.
Learning about the program changed everything. The experience reshaped how I think about responsibility, connection and what it means to take part in someone else’s future. It did not require waiting for a perfect moment or some distant opportunity. It required awareness, willingness and action. I became a mother to an eight-year-old girl.
When visitors come to Addis Abeba and ask to see the community beyond restaurants and hotels, they force a useful shift in perspective. They remind us that the city is defined not only by development projects, entertainment spaces or its growing visibility, but also by institutions that quietly support children, families and vulnerable communities every day.
They also remind us that some of the most important stories are the ones closest to home. The question, perhaps, is not only how often we visit such places, but how often we allow ourselves to imagine being part of them. Supporting an organisation like Muday does not demand extraordinary resources. Sometimes it starts with a visit; at times with a conversation; and often with the simple decision to believe that even a small act can help move someone else closer to a future.
In the end, the lesson these visitors bring may not be what they discover about Addis Abeba. It may be what they help us rediscover about ourselves.
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