The Kids of Lalibela
November 2025
By Antonin
The first thing you notice in Lalibela is the children. Not because they're begging — they're not. They're curious. They come to you because they want to connect, to practice their English, to show you something, to ask you something.
Expect ten or more kids surrounding you at any time. Don't be scared. They just want to be near you.
Many of these children came from the countryside to attend school in town. They live without their parents, incredibly autonomous for their age. Some don't eat every day. But they carry themselves with a dignity and joy that stops you in your tracks.
"They don't ask for money. They ask for notebooks and dictionaries."
That's what happened. A group of kids approached Antonin and asked — not for cash, not for candy — for school supplies. Notebooks. Pens. And dictionaries, especially. English-Amharic dictionaries are treasured. They represent a future, a connection to the wider world.
Antonin went to the market and bought 150 notebooks and pens. Then dictionaries. Then backpacks. He walked into schools with the hotel manager and distributed them.
The reactions were immediate. Kids clutched their new dictionaries like they'd won a prize. Others carefully opened their notebooks, ready to fill them. It wasn't a photo op. It wasn't planned. It was one human responding to another human's need.
Later that day, Antonin went out, bought a football, and showed up at the high school stadium. An impromptu game broke out — kids who'd never met a foreigner playing together like they'd been friends for years.
These moments are what Visit Lalibela is about. Not saving anyone. Not performing charity. Just connecting — directly, simply, as equals. The kids of Lalibela don't need pity. They need notebooks, dictionaries, meals, and people who see them for who they are: bright, curious, resilient humans with enormous potential.
Want to help? The School Supplies Drive is our most direct, lowest-cost way to make an impact.
Fund School Supplies