Super Eggs, Not Supermarkets

Just yesterday I wrote about my adventures in perfecting my culinary skills, that I find myself with an abundance of new accomplishments which I feel like sharing (and bragging about). I am living in Ethiopia though, so if I want to brag about washing my dishes in buckets on my floor without running water, I am going to let myself.

Much of my time this week has been exploring my town and finding little shops that I like. More than just buying flour or popcorn kernels, I talk to the owner in my broken Amharic, and try to make a friend. Not only do I enjoy getting to know new people here in Dangila, but finding those shops that I will be able to go to and trust that the owner is not giving me a "ferengi price" will make my days easier in the future.

Shops here line the small dirt roads around town, each with the same set-up, but very different products. From the road in fact, they all look identical. As you approach the shop, which is just a small room, you stand outside and look over all the items for sale on the two sides, and back walls. From floor-to-ceiling there are boxes of items displayed. On the front-side of the shop there is a waist-high counter which the shop owner will stand behind, awaiting your request. The shop may contain a little bit of everything, or it may be just three varieties of cups, but regardless, even duplicate items are stacked high.

Most shops though carry a limited variety of items, as in I must go to one shop for fruit, one for vegetables, one for meat, one for bread, one for baking materials like flour or sugar. The idea of a supermarket is still only in major cities in Ethiopia. It is funny how the concept of not finding everything in one simple store is foreign to me; a supermarket is really all I have ever known.

I have taken to liking the adventure of wandering the streets in search of shops that carry items on my "need to buy" list. I know all curiosity is peaked as I meander through uncharted streets on my limited mental map of Dangila. When I stray from my usual path though, I tend to develop a rather large following of children, which on the right day can be entertaining (other days, or, most days, it is not my favorite thing). The worst is when the children hear me ask for a particular item at one shop and then follow me to the next shop and ask the shop owner for me. I hear them all repeating the name of the item; yesterday is was a teacup. "She wants a teacup! She wants a teacup!" each will tell the child next to him or her. It turns my adventure from a 'practicing shopping vocabulary' trip into a 'practicing how to talk to children' trip.

My egg lady's shop.

I am still searching for the perfect teacup, have yet to find a fork for sale in my town, and I do not yet have a favorite fruit shop. My big accomplishment this week though was finding my "egg lady." She is just a couple minute walk from my house, and the first time I approached the shop a chicken wandered up besides me and flapped itself onto the counter between the shop owner and myself. I say it added to its charm. My favorite part about buying my eggs there is that when I ask for eggs, she has to go look for them; the original egg hunt, not just reserved for Easter. She will leave the shop area and go out back to find the eggs. A supermarket has its conveniences, but this is fresh!

My egg lady.

Small Accomplishments

I suddenly find myself with countless tales and adventures.  I have been living here in Dangila for just one week but already the adventures are adding up.  In a few months, or even just a few weeks I am sure that I will develop a routine and the adventures will become just normal, but for now I appreciate the change of scenery where everything seems new again.

The first couple days I would go to bed feeling accomplished, but as I reviewed my day I could not completely understand why I felt that way.  In America if you wake up, fix breakfast, run errands, swing by work for a bit, eat dinner and go to sleep, it's a sufficient day, but not one to boast about.  Living in Ethiopia I have to reevaluate the way I judge the work I do each day.  Fixing breakfast here is not as easy as grabbing a granola bar, microwaving oatmeal, or driving up to Starbucks.  So when it takes a couple hours to make pancakes (sans a few ingredients) and wash dishes via my bucket system, I don't sweat it, in fact, I feel pretty darn proud.

French toast breakfast!

Each night I now record a bullet-point list of accomplishments from that day in order to adequately acknowledge my small successes.  My first day in Dangila reads:
•       Bought 2 pots, cooking dishes, flour, eggs, roll of bread
•       Picked-up furniture from carpenter
•       Unpacked suitcases into new dresser
•       Checked mail (3 letters, 1 package awaited me!)
•       Melted cheap power cord
•       Ate Peanut Butter sandwich for dinner

Each item contains its own story, and that was just my first half-day here!  My favorite story from that day was picking up my furniture. When I stayed here for a week during "site visit" about a month ago now, I ordered three pieces of furniture from a garage, as they call them.  Imagine a quarter-acre of land with a large shed in the middle and about five workers in jumpsuits hammering away on chairs and tables alike.  I gave the owner a simple sketch I drew of the pieces I wanted made, and we bargained on an appropriate price thereafter. When I went back my first day here I was pleased to find my finished pieces of furniture scattered amongst the skeletons of half-finished sofas and piles of scrap wood.  When the horse-cart waiting outside demanded 30 Birr ($3) to transport the pieces to my house, I was outraged, and luckily, so were a few of the workers.  Two of the men working there agreed to carry it to my house for half that price.

Before I knew it they had hoisted my bed frame over their heads and were striding down the street, taking two steps for my one.  They arrived in half the time it would have taken the horse-cart, and they carried their wooden masterpieces straight into my house!

My list of accomplishments from this past week is surprisingly filled with many culinary undertakings.  My whole PCT class received cookbooks (put together originally by volunteers in Kenya, and then revamped by current Ethiopian PCVs); therefore I cannot take responsibility for the wonderful recipes that are not only possible with limited resources, but delicious!  I am very proud of myself though for putting in the effort to make complex meals here, because at home I tend to stick to boxes with step-by-step instructions, usually having something to do with the microwave.  So far, I have made tortillas from scratch along with guacamole for dinner one night, and an awesome pasta sauce from scratch the next night!

I am enjoying my small accomplishments each day as I take the time to explore my new community and find my place here.

Defining Family

When I arrived in Ambo 10 weeks ago, I defined family as a blood relationship.  I did not quite understand any of the relationships between the members of my host family; in fact, I obsessed with untangling the branches of their family tree.  I discovered that my host sister, Almaz, who took care of me, was actually a distant niece of my host parents.  Her five sisters turned out to be one sister, two cousins, and two close friends.  I was told that my fellow trainee Jordan's host family is related to my host family, but it turns out they are just neighbors and friends.

Jordan and me with our host families, who may or may not be related.

In America I consider many of my friends to be family, that is just what happens with close relationships, but unlike the Ethiopians, when I introduce my friends, I still just call them "friends."  I soon realized that even when Almaz introduced me to her friends around town, she just said I was her sister, no explanation.  I slowly began calling each of my Ethiopian friends my brothers and sisters, crossing generations and families.  People who are technically just family-friends, or who should be my nieces and nephews, they became my Ethiopian siblings.

As I packed my bags into the Peace Corps vehicle the day before I moved out, my father, who does not speak a word of English, hugged me as we shook hands and kept saying "yene lej," my child.  The little girls I have befriended in the neighborhood who call me their sister wiped tears from their eyes as I said my final "goodbyes."  My little brother, Naboni, played outside my room this morning with his new soccer ball I gave him, as I ate my last home-cooked meal.  It is amazing what an impact these people have had on me in just 10 weeks.

I will miss so many things about living in Ambo.  I will miss watching the one Ethiopian channel, ETV, with my parents at night while attempting to practice my new Amharic words.  My father would smile and mutter, "gobez Jennifer, gobez."  I will miss the children who run into the streets and yell my name instead of the ever so popular "you!" I will miss that group of women that Almaz introduced me to, all of which I too can now call sisters.  I have loved having this experience and getting to know my host family, fellow volunteers, and Ethiopian training staff.  I also cannot wait for the adventures that are to come in Dangila over the next 2 years.  Tomorrow I swear-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer and Saturday I move to Dangila where I get to start what I came here to do.  I am looking forward to building friendships and family in my new home.

A Wedding and a Funeral

In my last three weeks of training in Ambo I had the opportunity to attend both a wedding and a funeral. Each event proved to be vastly different from its American counterpart. I felt that I was very culturally aware after seven weeks of cultural classes, but these events made me realize how much I still have to learn, and more importantly, experience.

Shortly after arriving back here from my site visit I was told that a neighbor had passed away. I still do not know much about her, but she was older and had been sick for a while; I had never met her though. My host family informed me that they were to attend a "Lexo Bet" but they were not able to translate what was going on through their broken English and my broken Amharic. Literally it translates as mourning house, which it turns out is a week-long event. The funeral takes place about three days after someone dies, and then mourning goes on for the next seven days. The event takes place in the home of the deceased, and a tent is erected outside on the street to accommodate additional guests. There is a lot of crying and wailing, but I did not actually go inside the Lexo Bet, I just observed from the outside.

Just last weekend, on my last Sunday in Ambo, I was invited to attend the wedding of a distant relative to my host family. The event started around noon time at the groom's house, which was decorated with a small stage fully furnished with my neighbor's living room set, surrounded by rows of benches for guests and covered with tarps to shade everything from the heat of the day.

It appeared more like a dinner theater set than the scene of a wedding. The groom appeared with all of his groomsmen, and with some loud chants and cheers the groom's guests all paraded out into the street and dispersed into their various cars. As ferengi (foreigners) we were escorted to the lead car with the elders where we had a good view of the entire line of cars following us.

After ten minutes and many car horns later, we arrived at the bride's home which was similarly decorated. Before we were allowed to enter the compound however, we had to get through a crowd of the bride's brothers. All the men had a big mock fight (although at times it seemed a little more hostile and a little less mock) to prove that the groom was strong enough. We then sat around as the bride, groom and the rest of the wedding party paraded in and sat in the sofas set atop the slightly raised stage.

The men chanting around the groom's car.

Many parts of the ceremony have been westernized, including the poofy white wedding dress, and obviously rented purple matching bridesmaid dresses. In class we learned about traditional weddings in smaller towns which have less western influence. Next, everyone in attendance took turns filling their plates at a buffet of various Ethiopian dishes. After eating lunch while listening to the very loud local music there was a small ceremony which included exchanging of rings followed by the wedding party parading back outside the compound. And that is just part one.

Flower girls and ring bearer during the ceremony.

That part ended around 4 in the afternoon, and then we all rested and reconvened at 6pm at the groom's house. The married couple proceeded into the tented area and all the guests again took turns at a buffet line piled with local food. Dinner was eaten at your bench seat in the crowded yard, followed by much dancing and singing to loud Ethiopian music. It was quite a scene, and I feel honored to have been invited.

The bride and groom at the evening reception.

My Wandering Thoughts

The last week, since arriving back at training from my site visit, has slowly progressed, bringing us to week 9 of training.  Being back in Ambo has brought many comforts, as I consider my room here a pseudo home, and I realized while away how much I missed my host family.  This past week has also made me appreciate my family of fellow trainees, especially with the departure of two friends.  Our group of 40 is now down to 38, making last week a roller coaster of emotions in itself. Back-to-back days of departures left our group a little shaken-up.  I think many of us had a naive hope that our group would defy the odds and stick together until the end, but fate is often times out of our hands.
 

My extended host family.

Each left for very a different reason, and each departure also left me with a head full of new thoughts.  First reactions included shock and sadness, followed by the realization of how close I am to home.  Seeing a friend leave made me imagine what it would be like arriving back in Atlanta in just a few days.  I had not seriously imagined leaving all of this yet. In a way, imagining that became tempting, and I realized that I could regain all those comforts I miss in what seemed like the snap of a finger.
 
My life is completely different than it was just two months ago, and many days I crave pieces of my life from America, but more than that I want an adventure here in Ethiopia.  I am not at all ready to go home; in fact, I haven't even begun my journey as a volunteer yet.  All of these thoughts were a bizarre mental exercise, which made Ethiopia seem almost too close to home, and it made my time here feel almost too temporary.  As you can tell by my scattered thoughts, my mind is still wandering somewhere between American and Africa.  At the end of the day, I am missing my departed friends, but I am still hopeful and looking forward to everything Ethiopia has to offer.

Peace Corps training lunch table.

In the meantime, I am ever so ready to swear-in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer.  I love spending time with the trainees. The companionship of anyone who speaks English fluently, comprehends my sarcasm, and understands Western culture will never be under-appreciated again. I am also ready though to begin what a came here to do—whatever that might be.  Just over a week now until I move from Ambo to my site where I get to start setting up my new house, and my new life in Dangila.  I am scared and clueless, but also anxious and prepared.  Life is meant to be a daring adventure, and I intend to keep it that way.