Getting Into the Holiday Spirit

My personal rule is that once Thanksgiving passes it’s fair game for Christmas music. So once we entered the holiday season my itunes has been blasting Christmas cheer to make it feel more like home. Considering that the weather is between 65-85 degrees most days, Ethiopian Christmas isn’t until January 7, and Ethiopian Christmas doesn’t typically involve trees, lights or decorations, I needed a lot of music to try to make up for the differences! A couple weeks ago while Kate, Emily and I were on our way to the pool in Bahir Dar and decided to play Christmas music on a speaker in the minibus for all to enjoy. Playing your personal music without earphones is quite normal, even expected, but I was surprised that no one turned to look at the foreigners as we sang our way to the pool. It helped us get a little more into the spirit of the season.

Last week the missionary family in Emily’s town invited us over for an early Christmas dinner at their house. Not sure what to expect for dinner, we were overjoyed by the smell of freshly baking bread and a very all-American meal laid out for us. Chicken, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, cranberry jelly and freshly baked cookies! We all reminisced about Christmas pasts and enjoyed each other’s company in their comfortable home. After a while we sat around as their friend Sheryl played the guitar and we all sang Christmas carols. We were even able to hear a few traditional Christmas carols sung in Japanese by the jica volunteers!

Saturday I headed south to Addis Ababa where I was anxiously awaiting my boyfriend’s arrival from Europe. After the mess of winter weather had the final word, canceling his flight and rescheduling for three days later, I was blessed to have an offer to stay with friends Jess and Brian in Addis.  Moreover, their friend was having a Mexican Christmas dinner and they invited me to join the festivities! I was also very grateful that other volunteers were in town to hang out with during the past couple days in Addis, trying to take my mind off of snow delays in Europe.  As sad as I was to not have my boyfriend, Dominik, in town yet, it was wonderful to have gracious friends around helping me pass the time until his arrival.

When I arrived in Ethiopia in December 2008 I spent Christmas with my training group on a day trip to a nearby lake. Then Christmas 2009 I was in Bahir Dar with my family on vacation, and several Peace Corps volunteers. Finally I’m wrapping up service with one more Christmas, and the plan is for Dominik and me to meet up with other Peace Corps volunteers in Bahir Dar to celebrate together.  It’s amazing how fast things are finishing up here, but I am trying to enjoy every moment I have left.

Merry Christmas to all!!

A Day in the Life

The most-asked question from friends and family back home is “what is your average day like?” Well, average days don’t exist here. Every day is so unique, that trying to summarize what a day looks like is nearly an impossible task.  Located in small towns in north western Ethiopia live three difference Peace Corps volunteers who are all fairly similar.  Kate, Emily and I all happen to be mid-twenties, red-haired (to varying degrees) and recent college graduates from relatively similar backgrounds. 

We’ve started a Wednesday lunch get-together in our towns since we live so close together (furthest north to furthest south is only a one-hour bus) to help with sanity levels – necessary when none of us have people who really understand us around our towns.  At one such lunch gathering we were discussing our troubles and frustrations, which always seem to be similar, and we decided to each write about one particular day to see if there were many similarities or differences.  Not to say this particular day was “normal,” and not to say anything the three of us do is “normal” but nevertheless, here is a day in the lives of three Ethiopia PCVs:

Me and Kate.

Kate, Durbete
5:45am – The alarm goes off.  It takes 10 minutes to wake up and prepare myself for my 40 minute am run.
6:30am – Home and sweaty.  Stretch while the water heats for my shower. 
7am – A quick breakfast of fruit and tea followed by a topical clean of the house- dusting away cricket carcasses and dirt accumulated in the previous 24 hours.  Listen to itunes on random while I prepare for the day ahead.
9:00am – Go to the HIV/AIDS Prevention and Control Office (HAPCO) via the post office where I work on my Amharic homework and participate in conversation and daily activity within the office.
12:00pm – Am given lunch from a very pregnant friend in town.  We watch TV and discuss my upcoming travel plans to Addis Ababa and her very pregnant state.
1pm – Head back to my house.  It is hot and I am in the middle of Steig Larson’s, The Girl Who Played with Fire. 
2pm – Contemplate going back into town and visiting friends but my book and an episode of season five of The Wire hinders my motivation
4pm – Head to the Durbete High School where I discuss potential ways to obtain high school level books for the library aided by my teacher counterpart.
5pm – Amharic tutoring- learned how to describe my house and prepositions.
6:30pm – Peanut Butter Cabbage Stir Fry is what’s for dinner.  Eat in front of the computer TV- THE WIRE.
7pm –Clean up after dinner and do some lunar flow pod cast yoga. 
8pm – Coffee ceremony with the landlord’s family.  Only one cup or else I can’t sleep!
9pm – Snuggle up in bed with my computer Watch and episode of BBC Planet Earth, Caves, and drift to bed.

Kate

Jennifer, Dangila
6am – After trying to avoid my dog’s whines I get out of bed and go for a run with the neighborhood kids.
7:15am – Leisurely make a pot of coffee, feed my dog, listen to music, read my current page-turner I Didn’t Do It For You, and get dressed for the day.
9am – Leave my house to go visit the Anti-Malaria Association (AMA). After hanging out with the girls who work there, I visit counterpart Yibeltal to discuss our project of forming an association for commercial sex workers in town.
10am – Walk to HAPCO to visit my PC-assigned counterpart. Discuss my internet café project to help orphans in town, and print a new project budget.
11:15am – On my walk back to my house I stop to check my mailbox and found a letter from my mom! Then, almost home, I get called into my neighbor’s house for coffee and injera.
12:30pm – Finally back home. I realize my dog escaped the compound, likely to go play with my landlord’s kids across town. I read my book for a while and check email.
3pm – Walk back to AMA to discuss future projects with Yibeltal. Then I ran into the Japanese volunteer organization (jica) staff in town searching for a new house for their volunteer. Since I know the town best, I offer to help them search for a bit.
5pm – Internet café project committee meeting. We establish a plan for the remaining budget.
6pm – Walk home from the meeting and stop by my landlord’s compound to get my dog and walk her home.
7pm – Cook up a fresh zucchini from my garden for dinner. Yum!
8pm – Clean up dishes and read my book some more. Get online and chat with friends in America who are at work. Gotta love PC.
10pm – Finally bedtime. I get in bed and read my book until I fall asleep.

Emily

Emily, Kosober/Injibara
5:30am – Morning run time. Keep pace with kids carrying sacks of charcoal on their head.
7am – Download news articles online. Drink too many cups of coffee.
9am – Go to the Orphan Shelter. Attempt to teach English and three-legged race. Take pictures and almost pee my pants laughing so hard.
11am – Make shiro (again) for lunch. Read a few chapters in a book. Contemplate the desire to leave my house again.
2pm – Go to post office. It’s closed. Again. During working hours. Rent a bike and go to high school for meeting about English Conversation Club.
2:30pm – While waiting for meeting to start, I talk to teachers about America (No, I can’t take you back with me) and how, of course, you want to perfect your English, yeah, we will get that arranged soon.
3pm – Teacher finally shows up. Talk in circles. Convince him that my way is the best way while making it seem like it is his idea. Genius.
4pm – Get back home. Landlord calls me into her house. Hands me her kids. Serves me injera with a tongue-burning, eye-watering sauce. Run to my house to drink three glasses of powdered milk and finish a jar of peanut butter I bought yesterday.
5:30pm – Amharic lesson. My teacher has enough patience to sound out every syllable. I would have upturned the table by now. Good guy.
6:30pm – Brush teeth. Wash face. Collect pension check for getting into bed before 7:30 PM. Read book.
8pm – Landlord knocks on my door, reminding me of our fir fir (basically injera with injera) cooking lesson. Now?! She is already setting up shop in my kitchen area. Pretend to take a bite. After she leaves, I put it back in the pot. Breakfast done.
9pm – Bed time was 30 minutes ago. Ear plugs in to block sounds of the zoo in my ceiling. Sweet dreams.

Kate and Emily

Kate’s blog: does ethiopia make my dijiBOOTIE look big? 

Emily’s blog: Emily’s Ethiopian Experience 

Me, Kate, and Emily hiking outside Kosober.

Me, Emily and Kate after the Great Ethiopian Run

Japanese-American Gatherings

I don’t even know how to start this post, because I cannot remember exactly how the story began. I’ve known a few of the jica (Japanese volunteer organization) volunteers in neighboring towns since my first week at site when we ran into each other on the street one day. But knowing they existed in nearby towns meant that I could mention them by name, but I didn’t know anything about them. Then Peace Corps Group 3 arrived at sites, placed in neighboring towns with jica and sometime after that officially began the Peace Corps-jica friendship gatherings.

It began as a cultural food exchange dinner. The first month the jica members prepared an impressive spread of Japanese food, and the next month it was our turn to show them some good ol’ American food.  We’ve also climbed a nearby mountain together and continued organizing a monthly meal since the summer. We even branched out one month and met for a koica (Korean volunteer organization) member’s birthday in Bahir Dar and had over six nationalities represented!

Somehow we’ve managed to never have our meeting in Dangila though, and since we now have two jica volunteers and I have a fancy new house to entertain in, we decided to have the December (and my final) gathering at my house! Our meetings have evolved into potluck lunches or dinners where we wind up with a wonderful mix of cultural food from America and Japan. Yesterday we met at my house around noon to eat lunch, and since Taishi, who lives in my compound, still doesn’t have a stove (he is going to buy mine) I offered for the jica guys to come cook at my house.

There were four Peace Corps Volunteers, four jica members and Aregach, the Ethiopian representative. Cultural exchange with our Japanese neighbors doesn’t exactly fit into one of the Peace Corps goals, but it counts for something we figure. Nevertheless, I would never not invite Aregach to hangout when my friends come into town because she loves to try to understand our speedy English conversations, and observe our foreign antics.  It never occurred to me during that lunch just how strange this situation was for Aregach, but the next day when I went to tell my former co-teacher, Yibeltal, about the lunch, he said Aregach had already told him.  She reported the details of our party to Yibeltal first thing, surprised by how we each brought food and some even brought it to prepare at my house!

I suppose the idea of potluck or BYO… Food is normal to us, but it just doesn’t fit into the Ethiopian culture of hosting. To look at our gathering from an Ethiopian point-of-view it is bizarre that I, as host, not only expected others to bring food, but also that they, as guests, would think of coming to make food in my home! But as she sat there to take it all in, and taste the treats, Aregach didn’t mention a word about her amazement. It makes me laugh in hindsight to realize how strange our lunch was to her.   Sharing this concept of potluck with Aregach certainly does fit Peace Corps goals! And Yibeltal suggested that next time she should bring Ethiopian food! I think it is wonderful that Aregach was able to experience our international food event, but also that jica and Peace Corps volunteers were once again able to enjoy each other’s culinary talents! I will certainly miss these get-togethers, and hope to one day taste that Japanese food on its home soil.

My Bubble

I’ve realized something about time over the past couple years, as much as you want it to speed up or slow down, it’s always a constant. It’s true that an hour chatting with close friend seems to go by a lot faster than an hour of running, perhaps, but I’m starting to see less of a difference. Time barely changes for me now. I’ve spent a lot of time here in Ethiopia biding my time, waiting for the next adventure, but at some point I realized the adventure is here and I am living it every day. Pretty soon it will be my turn to pack up and leave Ethiopia, and until then I want to enjoy every moment I have left here.

It took me so long to find work at all in Dangila, and now I come up with new ideas for projects almost every day and wish I had time to start them, but I don’t. I wish I had more time to hang out with friends and neighbors, to smell the roasting coffee and eat freshly baked injera. I wish I could go back and focus on tutoring certain students who I now see are falling behind in reading and writing. I wish I could help more people. That’s the thing about Peace Corps, you never finish the work, but eventually it’s your time to go home. There is always more that could be done, but I also know that I cannot stay. 

My student, Ehetemarium, hand-feeding me a bite of injera -- a cultural sign of respect.

There have been times in this country that I’ve been flat out unhappy, and I’ll be the first to admit the number of times I’ve cried over stupid things (it’s a lot), but I love it here in Dangila. Recently I’ve been spending a lot of time on buses and I can only repeat “No, I cannot take you to America!” so many times to strangers who so impolitely ask to be my fake husband. But then I come back to Dangila and feel so at home.   I love the people so much. They are absolutely the most wonderful, giving people I’ve ever met. And I fear losing these friendships when I leave, especially since most of my favorite friendships are completely in Amharic and they don’t have access to even a post office box.

A few of the orphan boys, whom I love dearly, hanging out by the internet cafe.

A friend recently described it as a “bubble,” and when I leave I have to let it pop, even though I don’t want to. I’ve created this little world of mine over here, but it’s only a moment in time. When I come back in years to come it won’t be the same, and I won’t be the same. I’ll never likely be as “grassroots” as I am right now, never speak the language as well or know the people as well. It’s just like leaving high school or college—it’s fun to reminisce about the good ol’ college days, but you can’t actually go back, the people are gone and the place has changed. You can only really enjoy the memories (or try desperately hard to recreate it, which would only likely result in a hangover).

Needless to say, the ending is bitter sweet already. It has taken me two years to create this bubble and I only have three weeks in town left to appreciate it (since I’m traveling some around Christmas). I’m greeted by name all over town, treated as a local, and loved by many as their own daughter. One dear friend even told me that if I stayed he would build me a chicken house so I could have fresh eggs every day! I am ready to go, although it’s more a readiness for the next step, not readiness to say goodbye to this life I’ve created. But with my one-way ticket to Frankfurt purchased, ready or not, I’m leaving.

GRE, GER & COS

Life in Peace Corps is filled with acronyms, and this week was nothing less. Saturday I woke up bright and early to take the GRE at Addis Ababa University. Sunday I participated in the Great Ethiopian Run along with 35,000 other people. And finally the past few days have been spent at one of the finest resorts in Ethiopia at my group’s Close-of-Service conference. A weekend I anticipated and looked forward to as a test of both mind and body followed by a week of relaxing, and almost all went as expected, a rarity here!

This great weekend I had anticipated for several months turned into a weekend I was dreading last week because I felt unprepared.  I had hardly studied for the exam and only ran twice since back at Ethiopian altitude. Test of mind and body? I feared failure at both. All I can say in hindsight is that I finished both, and I’m proud of it! The exam went well, although it will be a while to find out the results, as Ethiopia is one of the few testing centers in the world that still uses paper tests. The run was a bit rough, but I’m grateful for fellow PCV and neighbor Emily who stuck with me the whole time, and proud to say I didn’t walk a step.  That’s a hard thing to accomplish in a crowd of 35,000 people! The run was unlike anything I could quite imagine; a sea of unattractive yellow and green tshirts all heading in the same direction. Being surrounded by a crowd of thousands of Ethiopian is a legitimate nightmare of mine, but thankfully this day the focus was not on me.

The feeling of accomplishment an hour and nineteen minutes later was unmatched. And the feeling of camaraderie with the fellow racers kept all of us smiling for the whole day as we passed each other in the streets.  The scene was chaos, and yet it worked in a uniquely Ethiopian way. A hole in the road big enough to swallow a racer was simply blocked by some kid standing in front of it. The walkers, well, they walked in the middle of the road, of course, and you just had to find a side path to pass them. At one point kids chased after me yelling for me to give them my bottle of water (this happens all the time in Ethiopia, but come on, I am running!). An old lady dressed in traditional clothes decided to cross the road during the run, and no one stopped her. And one of my favorite things I overheard was an Ethiopian couple running and one said to the other, in Amharic, “There is no winner.” Exactly.

The day after the run the 28 volunteers remaining from my group were relaxing at Kuriftu, a fabulous resort an hour south of Addis. I had no complaints as I was having a manicure, pedicure and massage! We all had a wonderful last Peace Corps conference together, learning about how to adjust back to America after life in Ethiopia and spending time all together for the last time on PC’s dime! COSing (Closing Service) happens over a two or three month period, because we all will have medical exams and plenty of administrative paperwork, so only about five volunteers can leave in any given week. We all applied for COS dates and depending on availability were given the date we wanted, or something close to it. Two of my friends, Danielle and Kyle, and I will COS on January 13, 2010, officially two years, one month and eleven days after leaving home.

Volunteers start leaving in just about a week from now, so the goodbyes were definitely becoming reality. After our getaway to Kuriftu, we arrived back in Addis on Thanksgiving Day, and we had planned a special dinner together at the Sheraton buffet! I’m not sure why it took me so long to go eat at the Sheraton buffet, well, maybe because it costs about seven days salary to eat that one meal, but it was worth every dime. I’ve never had sushi at my Thanksgiving dinner before, but I could seriously get use to it.  After we were all stuffed to the brim, we rolled ourselves out of the fancy hotel and back to our semi-regular hot shower hotel and said some heartfelt goodbyes.  It’s hard to believe that I won’t see these people for a really long time, and it’s even harder to imagine trying to recognize all of them with access to hair straightens, real make up and maybe even exposed shoulders! Let the nostalgia begin…

Traveling Home

The past month I’ve been out of Dangila on vacation and it’s been a whirlwind of activities. I’m now back “home” in Dangila, exhausted and a bit confused.  I looked forward to this trip for so long that it’s hard to realize that it’s actually over. Now I only have two months left in Peace Corps. It’s amazing how time sneaks up on you like that.

At home with my family!

Going back to America was a bit overwhelming but not quite like I expected.  I think I expected reverse culture shock, change, and maybe a realization about how I’ve changed.  Instead, what I found was home, almost exactly as I left it.  My biggest fear in signing up for Peace Corps was that scary two-year commitment. I was signing up for two year away from everything I know and love, and signing away my first two years after university to something vastly different than I ever expected I’d be doing.  Everyone dreams about the future, and for me I dreamed while in university that I would graduate, move to a new city, get a job, discover true independence, and grow up a bit.  In theory, I did just that except where I am now is nothing like I dreamed. The main difference here is that I didn’t have my support system to lean on. Support came; I don’t deny that, but sometimes letters and emails once a month don’t compare to long phone conversations, warm hugs, and words of support from people that truly know what you’re going through.

As the day of my flight neared I began to worry that things would be different.  I feared before I left two years ago that I would miss out on so many things back home, and that fear came back as I was returning. What if I missed too much? What if everything and everyone I know grew in different directions? What if the person I am today doesn’t fit so nicely back in that cozy little spot I left two years ago?  But home was exactly as I remember it. Friends, family, neighbors and pets all greeted me with love.  I’ve changed, although I’m still discovering how. And my friends also have changed, as I imagined. But we still all fit back together.

And Arbay settled nicely into her new home in America!

Two thoughts came into my mind quite often, and the friends that were with me know them, I’m sure, because I mentioned them often. First was, “Why are there so many choices?!” Choices come from freedom, I get that, but they are so overwhelming! Everywhere I went people were forcing me to make decisions and not easy ones. I think maybe if you have a routine you are used to making all your daily decisions and don’t need to think about them each day you make them, but for me it was all new again. Communion: wine, juice or community cup? Dog food: chicken, salmon, beef, or vegan (really?)? Movie theaters: 24 movie options?! And don’t even get me started on the bread aisle at the grocery store.

The other thought I couldn’t get out of my mind was, “How can this place even be on the same planet as Ethiopia?” It amazes me that in half a day on an airplane you can arrive in a place so vastly different than the place you’re in. And it doesn’t even take half a day in most cases. Earth seems so small sometimes, and yet problems on the other side seem so easy to ignore, until you’ve seen them and lived with them. You can’t un-live or un-see the type of things that I’ve seen here. After two years I almost became numb to the differences in lifestyles, but you cannot ignore those differences when you see both extremes on the same day. Traveling home after being in Ethiopia for this long allowed me to see both of these places, both of my homes, with new eyes.  I’m so grateful for the things I know and the things I’ve learned. I pray that I don’t ever forget them, but I know already that I cannot.

First Impressions

It’s still too soon to process the transition to America, but for now I thought I’d list all my first impressions and things that I was surprised by/forgot existed.

•    Eating with my left hand (in Ethiopia it isn’t culturally appropriate)
•    Saying “ishee” (“ok” in Amharic)
•    Having all menu items actually available
•    Going barefoot
•    Sprinklers
•    Car washes
•    Always saying “thank you” (not cultural in Ethiopia)
•    Everything is normal- that’s weird
•    Picking up dog poop
•    Sleeping in. Having quietness.
•    Being a face in the crowd
•    Realizing how HARD life is in Ethiopia. Life here can be hard too, but a different kind of hard. Always being “on” in Ethiopia and knowing people are always watching is draining. It’s just so nice to be “off.” Peace Corps really is a 24-7 job.
•    Indoor carpeting in public places
•    Choices!

The samples lady at Costco was announcing, “Give it a try.  Fully cooked, just heat it and eat it!”  I thought, really? Are those qualities you want in your food? Frozen and processed? Hmmm. Guess I view food differently now that I’ve seen what “fresh” can really mean.

Another day, a little boy walked up to my friend and me eating ice cream outside Baskin Robbins with Arbay, my dog, tied up under the table. He asked, “May I pet her?” WHAT? My wild dog? You aren’t afraid of her? I love how Americans love dogs. I forgot dogs are treated so well here! It made my day (which is a big deal considering I was also eating ice cream for the first time)!

More thoughts to come…

Ode to Arbay

The gawkers of Ethiopia sure got a treat today. If a ferengi alone attracts a lot of attention, and ferengi with a dog on a leash is laughable, imagine ferengi and dog in a public bus for ten hours!  I have known for some time that I would take my dog to America one day, she’s family and there is no way I could ever leave her behind. But, taking my dog to America means actually taking her there myself, and all the misadventures that come with it, and that ten-hour bus ride to Addis was the one I was dreading the most.

Having my Ethiopian dog, Arbay, for the past year and a half in Ethiopia has been such a blessing.  I got her after just one week in Dangila; picking her up off the street, bringing her to my town and starting to train her.  I didn’t like the idea of living alone, and she was the perfect antidote.  That one decision has shaped my entire Peace Corps experience.  Hearing my landlord’s kids echo my commands throughout the day, even when Arb wasn’t around: “Sit!” “Stay!” “speak!” ; Running at 6am only because she woke up before my alarm and sat next to my bed crying, wanting me to get up and run with her; Pretending she wasn’t mine as she teased someone’s tied-up sheep enough that it broke its’ rope and ran down the street, my dog hot on its tail.

The kids that cheerfully yell “Jennifer! Jennifer!” as I pass each day also yell “Arbay! Arbay!” when I have her with me.  I remember the first day I got her and how she threw up in the bus and wouldn’t walk with a leash; I should have known back then that she’d always have a mind of her own.

My landlord’s children, who watch Arbay when I’m out of town, think of her as more than just a dog.  Everyone I tell that I’m bringing Arb to America simply says, “wushash sechine,… give me your dog.” And that command alone assures me that I could not leave her.  If they understood what a ‘pet’ truly is they would never suggest that I just give her away.  They like her, they feed her, and they think she’s cute, but they don’t think of her as part of the family.  If I left her with any of those people she would never sleep inside, they would never pet her, and she would never get a bath.  They just don’t get it.

Having a dog has also taught me a lot of new Amharic.  Without Arbay my third person female conjugations just wouldn’t be the same.  “She does not bite,” “she will not eat you,” “she loves to run.”  And occasionally, if a group of obnoxious kids asks, “she bites!”  If I go to certain neighbors house without her they ask where she is, as if she is always suppose to be with me.  They ask what she eats, where she sleeps, how she is so clean.  It’s almost as if I were raising an alien, not an animal that is in abundance here.

In the days leading up to Arbay’s permanent departure we went around to visit all the homes that have shown her love and given her meat since she was a puppy.  They patted her head and said “selam” one last time as she raised her paw to shake their hand.  I spent a while at my landlord’s house having a photo shoot of Arbay and the kids.  The day before we left my landlord’s kids, Eyerus and Yenebeb, and I went on a final run, out to Arbay’s favorite rural area where she trots with her crooked gait through the cattle and donkey carts, and gallops through puddles and fields of tef.  That afternoon Eyerus and a friend came over to hangout one last time with Arbay.  She is probably the person who had bonded with Arb the most and really gets it.

 

We sat on my front porch to play with Arb for a while and say goodbye.  I really started to get sad myself about Arbay leaving. I know I’m the one taking her, and it means I’ll get to have her with me for years to come, but I also will have to live in Dangila for two months without her, something I’ve never done before.  I also began to realize how hard my own goodbyes with Dangila are going to be in the very near future.  But this week is about Arbay, and I’m glad she had her proper farewell to the town she loves.

I stood on my front porch at 5am this morning waiting for this arranged minibus to show up to take me, Arbay, and way too much luggage to Addis.  My friend and I had arranged with one of the bus station workers a couple days before for a bus to pick Arbay and me up at my house, and deliver me to where I was going in Addis, all for a reasonable ferengi price. When the driver arrived and doubled the price I didn’t have much room to bargain, so I told them to load the bags.  My very old guard mumbled how it would be a lot easier if I just left the dog with my landlord. He really doesn’t get it. 

We bounced down the road south for a few hours as the sun was rising out our left window.  We arrived in Debre Markos at 8am and the driver who kept calling me “my Jennifer” passed me along to a big bus, driven by, “my brother.”  I was skeptical by the exchange but I heard him tell the new driver to get me to my house, so I didn’t question it.  Arbay was a gem, sitting beside me on the seat the whole time, staring out her window, sticking her nose into the cracked window to feel the breeze, drawing attention every time the doors opened and only throwing up once.

Ten hours later we pulled into the bus station and they announced it was the final stop. “Excuse me,” I said in Amharic to the bus driver, “I paid to go to my house.”

“No you didn’t,” he replied.

I tried my best in broken Amharic to be pissed off and angry.  I explained that I had a dog, huge suitcases, and I paid to go all the way to my house.  Luckily one other passenger had been traveling with me since the beginning and knew exactly how much I paid (of course) and told them that I did in fact have a deal to be delivered to my house.  We got the Dangila bus station guys on the phone who denied my claim, and I yelled between tear that I had no money and had no other way to get to my house, hoping he’d have pity on me.  The crowd of bus station workers that had boarded the now empty bus I remained on was growing.  They listened to my sob story and tried to talk to the Dangila folks themselves to no avail.  At this point I was exhausted, fed up and not loving Ethiopia so I let the tears flow, not holding back the culturally inappropriate display of emotion.

Apparently when I heard the two drivers talking about getting me to my house I missed the verb “to see off,” a crucial mistake changing the meaning to, “You must see Jennifer off to a minibus to her house,” not, “You must get Jennifer a minibus to her house.”  Everyone felt bad for me and they kept retelling my story to more and more people who joined the crowd.  Just as I was cursing the bus station employees who ripped me off this morning, the Addis guys made up for all my negative thoughts.  They pooled their money (an elderly lady walking by even pitched in 10 Birr) and paid for my taxi to where I needed to go.  I was amazed by their generosity, and while I had money to cover the fare in my pocket, I’d told such a good story over the phone about not having money that I couldn’t pull out the money now.  I graciously accepted their offer, allowing their kindness to redeem Ethiopia in my mind for the day.

A few more days until Arbay and I are on a plane to America! I couldn’t be more excited, and I’m glad I get to leave Ethiopia on a positive note.

The Vegetables of My Labor

Digging the beds of my garden over three months ago I will admit I was in a low point in my Peace Corps cycle. Not sure what I was accomplishing in town I felt like putting physical energy into something, anything, would be better than just sitting around, so I got out my pent up energy via shovel.  Rains are dying down and I am really starting to see all my hard work turn into something tangible.  It may be the only tangible thing I produce in Ethiopia so I am truly enjoying each bite.

The first batch of edibles came in the form of corn, green beans and snow peas. While corn is abundant here, literally sold on every corner of my town, ferengi corn, which I have known my whole life, requiring just a one-minute boil, salt and butter, that corn is non-existent here.  Luckily I have incredible family and friends who have sent me seeds for all these vegetables from America, so I was able to grow the corn I missed so much.  It was delicious, and while I saved a couple ears for friends to share the goodness, I selfishly ate most myself!

Sun flowers are blooming brightly outside my bedroom window, just as I imagined so many months ago, basil is flourishing and ready to pick and use fresh, some salad leaves are about ready to cut, and then there is my pride and joy: zucchini! My latest one weighed over five pounds! Green beans are starting to have batch two, and tomatoes are small and green but will soon be ready to eat. All this in a 2 x 3 meter plot of land; what a joy! My only real regret is not starting my garden last year so I could have enjoyed the produce for longer, but now I know I’ll take my new skills back to America and continue gardening there.

I always knew my mom had a green thumb but I never realized it had been passed on to me. I am very grateful for this fruitful experience.  There is something so quaint about walking out your front door to look over your garden and ponder what you should have for dinner. I thought the produce I buy in the market in Dangila would be the freshest food I’d ever eat, but now I’ve grown myself truly the freshest veggies I’ll ever have!

Going To War for the Orphans

I’m an eternal optimist, always hoping for the best and expecting success. I think positive thoughts and have hope things will work out, and sometimes they do, others they do not.  When it came to my Internet Café Project receiving this container from the town, I was downright pessimistic.  I had many a tiny hope and prayer that it would work out but I was already thinking of plans for when they completely rejected the project idea.

4pm last Thursday was the set time, the mayor finally having arranged the meeting for HAPCO, the Iddir, himself, and me. My heart raced with nervousness as my supervisor and I walked to the meeting.  Having been reading a book about war I couldn’t help but think how our situation was analogous to going to battle.  We strode into the meeting with peace agreement in hand but weapons in our back pockets in case it got nasty.

I sat in a daze as Amharic filled the room, trying my best to keep up with the conversation.  The Iddir chairman having forgotten his peace agreement instead went straight for his pistol; I expected nothing more.  His words were slurred, and as usual I could not comprehend his speech other than to know that it was nothing short of bombastic.  I watched the Mayor’s response and he remained unshaken, giving me my first ounce of hope.

The day had turned into night and we finished the meeting mainly because the room in which we were sitting had no electricity.  As we dispersed into the chilly street I turned to my supervisor to verify what all was said in the meeting. No shots had been fired and although it got off to a rocky start, filled with complaints and disagreements, it ended with handshakes and smiles. My suspensions were confirmed: the container was to be used for the internet café! I doubted and doubted only to be surprised by a positive outcome.

This is the container we will use for the internet cafe!

Apparently the other Iddir members were more willing to negotiate, less interested in hearing themselves talk, thankfully.  We have had another meeting this week to write up an agreement between my project and the Iddir, knowing the community group would still be very actively involved in my project.  Community participation is the key to success for Peace Corps projects so I was in favor of a joint project.  What I wasn’t quite prepared for was the appointment of the Iddir chairman as the new chairman of the internet café project committee.  Seriously?

I’ve turned a new leaf, creating hope and optimism where one might have thought it wasn’t possible.  Maybe this new faith in the chairman is more of a begging prayer.  I still hardly understand his Amharic, am annoyed by his arrogant arm-crossing behavior when other people are finally permitted to speak, and believe he doesn’t listen to anyone besides himself, but I also think he actually wants to help the orphans.  Well, I pray he does anyway.

Next step is a meeting with all the new committee members, whom we’ve selected from various government offices including Labor & Social Affairs, Women’s Affairs, Youth & Sports, and HAPCO.  These representatives will govern the internet café after I leave, insuring that the café remains open, the project is profitable, and the orphans receive the lion’s share.  For now I’m just so very thankful there is a chance I’ll get to see this project through myself.

Bonfires & Rockets

Rockets were ignited; the sound deafening and chaos erupted in the streets of Dangila. There was a sigh of relief when I finally made it safely inside the gates of my compound as darkness fell around me.  I stared for a moment at my red-stained hands and reflected on the pandemonium the day held.

I went to bed last night after double-locking my door and comforting my dog who was scared as small explosions popped loudly near my front door.  Around 3am I awoke to silence and was thankful for the peace it brought me, but at 5am the noise was once again inescapable.  I peered out my window and saw that fires were raging in the street and smoke filled the air. Time to join the celebration, I finally conceded!

Today was my first Meskel holiday spent in Dangila and it quickly had turned into my favorite.  Ethiopia has a lot of obscure holidays, but most are celebrated in the same fashion: coffee ceremony, killing a sheep, eating injera.  But Meskel proved to be a unique and wonderful reprieve from the monotony of holidays here.

Although the holiday is officially today, Monday, September 27, 2010 (Gregorian calendar, because let’s not forget we just rang in the year 2003 in Ethiopia), Meskel celebrations began yesterday.  All over town cone-shaped bonfires were built and children anxiously ran amuck in the streets wanting to set fire to them.  But their parents' warnings halted their pyro-instincts.

I visited neighbors’ houses all day yesterday, which officially started the holiday and the process of being over-fed.  At one house, “the house of 5 girls” as I’ve labeled them, I came in just as the henna mixture was ready for application.  I accepted the fact that my hand was going to get the same treatment as theirs without a word and enjoyed my girl-time with this wonderful family.  As I sat there letting the henna dye my skin I thought about how majestic the henna dye looks on habesha hands, blending the natural golden brown skin on the back of the hand into a deep red palm.  Then I looked at my pale hand and realized I’d inevitably look like a kid who stuck their hand in Georgia clay or Kool-Aid, but what could I do about it now?

Hands stuffed in my jacket pockets, I continued to visit neighbors and enjoy the atmosphere.  I stopped to hangout with some children on my street for a while and they showed me their clever invention made from an old metal pipe and a nail all strung together with wire.  If you scrape off the head of a match and put it in the pocket formed by pipe and nail, and slam it against a rock, it creates a loud POP sound.  Some kids buy fifty sentim “rockets” which create a much louder effect, but using matches proved cheaper, so most kids opted for this method of being annoying.

The kids and I watched as parents built the bonfire tower out of wood and wrapped it in fresh evergreen branches which by the end resembled a Christmas tree by both sight and smell.  They told me the bonfire would be lit at nine o’clock, which would normally translate immediately in my head (there is a six-hour difference), except for some reason 3am seemed an unfathomable meeting time and instead 9pm stuck.  It wasn’t until 8pm, after I returned home from watching the Addis Ababa bonfire igniting on ETV and reminisced in my head about my Meskel spend there last year, that it clicked with me that the kids meant 3am!  I immediately wanted to double-check because I wasn’t going to be the fool who wakes up in the middle of the night for nothing, but at this point I was home, in my pajamas, and safe from the raucous in the street.  My final walk home just 30 minutes before was filled with dodging little boys running up with their fire-cracker invention and popping it at my feet; no way I was going back out.

I went to sleep cursing the children who kept throwing the rockets over my compound fence which would then explode in noise on my porch.  At 3am I awoke without an alarm from a loud but comforting noise, rain pounding on my roof.  The street itself was quiet though and I easily put my head back down to keep sleeping.

Around 5am was the next time I woke as children screamed with joy and rockets once again began their popping.  I threw on a jacket and hurried outside, unsure what to expect.  My neighbors happily greeted me and handed me a small bundle of sticks.  The streets where pitch black except for bonfires ablaze on each block.  My neighborhood’s bonfire was just about to be ignited and I joined in carrying the flame from an already burning fire to ours.  We chanted yohey, yohey, yoho, yoho lead by an elder and danced in a circle around the Christmas tree-like structure, then we lit it with our bundles of sticks.  The bonfire went up in a blaze and smoke from the green branches filled the air.

Bonfires eventually turned into ashes and darkness turned into a beautiful sunrise.  Corn was roasted on the remains of the fire and neighbors began their holiday celebration together in the street.  The rest of today has been spent bouncing back and forth between neighbors to accommodate all the bunna invitations; there have been quite a few coffee ceremonies.  Despite the number of cups of coffee I’ve had to drink today, the caffeine couldn’t overpower my four hours of sleep last night.  What a wonderful holiday; it will end the only way a good Ethiopian celebration can end: with a deep sleep!

My Internet Café Project

I realized recently that while I’ve mentioned my internet café project a bunch, I’ve never told the story in its entirety.  The ten orphan boys I grew to love last fall needed something sustainable to get them off the street, or at least put food in their mouths.  This past spring, while talking with my counterpart at HAPCO about helping these boys, we thought of the idea of opening an internet café whose profits will help support these orphans, and others too.  The internet café project we decided would employ one manager, one guard, and several part-time teenage orphans when they weren’t in school.  Every month a percentage of the profits would be divided amongst the orphans we wanted to help.

It was a flawless plan, we figured.  Since Ethiopians are just discovering the glory of the world wide web and Dangila isn’t yet connected (except for my house!), we thought this was a perfect business plan, bound to be a success.

I applied for Peace Corps funding through a grant accessible to Peace Corps volunteers working with HIV, funded by PEPFAR.  My counterpart and I came up with a project proposal, submitted it and were soon approved for the $5,000.  A month or two later, in July, we received the money and began figuring out the logistics of getting the café up and running.  I purchased two computers, a photocopy machine, and a printer in Addis and hauled them up to Dangila.  The next step was securing a location – if you haven’t read my blog entry “Not Knowing Everything” (and why would you have not?) you should now, to understand the rest of this story.  And yet here I am, two and a half months later, without a container for the café.

There is no such thing as a free lunch, or container apparently.  There is a catch with this supposed “empty container for orphans.”  An Iddir (community group) was put in charge of organizing the container to benefit orphans from kebele 05 (which is like a small county or neighborhood- - there are five in Dangila).  The container was actually purchased with HAPCO funding over a year ago and since then, not a single birr has been given to the orphans it was suppose to support.  Yet the Iddir won’t relinquish control of the container.

The Iddir chairman’s reasons for not giving the container to this internet café project are flawed and ridiculous.  He says the container is suppose to help only kebele 05 kids, while our project has six orphans from kebeles 01-04.  Twelve of eighteen are from kebele 05 though and we increased the number of orphans early in the project to include all children which were supposed to be supported by the failed container projects.

It came to me one day that I should write him a sincere letter asking if we could please work together to achieve the mutual goal of helping orphans.  It was translated with the help of my friend and presented it to him in his office.  He hardly looked at the letter and definitely wouldn’t look me in the eye.  All he said was, “Aychelem” – it’s not possible.

Next step? Well, HAPCO has a signed contract with the Iddir since the funding originally came from them.  The Iddir promised to help set up a business to help the orphans, and a year later since they have not yet supported the orphans, HAPCO has the ability to take the container back, to give it to my project.  The mayor, who is in full support of my internet café project, wants to first give the Iddir time to “do the right thing” and simply hand over the container. Not likely. Hence the two and a half months of waiting.  And I fear if HAPCO actually tries to enforce the contract and take the container back things could get really ugly.

In the meantime we conducted a basic computer and basic business training for the eighteen orphans we want to help.  The internet café is not simply giving these orphans a portion of its profits, but the project also aims to keep the children involved in the café, and make them active internet users (which they will be able to access free-of-charge for a certain number of hours per month).

With the training completed and the waiting game with the Iddir still counting days, I am starting to worry.  There are only three and a half months left until I leave Dangila and finish Peace Corps, so I am starting to fear this project won’t finish.  I have literally put blood, sweat, and tears into this project (albeit blood by paper cut).  Six months have passed since brainstorming this idea and at the moment I’m feeling disheartened.  I don’t know where to go from here and simply waiting is becoming an impossibility.

Tears and frustration. Sometimes you can give all you have and it still might not be enough.  But I’m not giving up. No ma’am.

Sharing Dangila

For over a year and a half I’ve survived, even thrived, on being the only foreigner in Dangila.  Being the only ferengi in a town here certainly has its ups and downs. It almost seems like the easy way, having another person to always talk English to and share hardships with, but since most of us came to Ethiopia not knowing a soul, we want our own experiences.  Many volunteers prefer to have their towns to themselves, not having that constant comparison, not having children call them by the wrong name, and not feeling as if you each have your territory in town.

So two months ago, when a jica (Japanese international corporation association, aka Japanese Peace Corps) car rolled up outside my compound, I met the site development team with eagerness and skepticism.  Dangila is my town, just listen to the kids yelling my name, or ask the mayor, he’ll tell you.  But I’ve known jica for a while, enjoying getting to know the volunteers in neighboring towns, and I have always wondered why Dangila didn’t ever receive a volunteer.  In August, the staff members told me, we’d be receiving two!

Decision made for me, not that I ever thought the decision would be mine.  I had a month to ponder my new ferengi neighbors and decided that I would give them a chance, after all, I had had Dangila to myself for a long time.  Their week-long site visit finally came at the end of July, and after running into one of them on the street I invited the two volunteers and their counterparts to dinner at my house.  Funny story: I didn’t intend to invite four strangers to my house but somehow through broken communication it happened, so I did what any gracious hostess would do, bought a kilo of pasta and started planning my first dinner party.

When the dinner came, only the volunteer I met on the street, Taish, and his counterpart, were able to attend, so it was a good thing that I didn’t start preparing the food until they arrived! This is very Ethiopian I realize, to invite people over and then expect them to wait, and very Peace Corps to expect them to help with preparation, but I really like the idea now.  I made pasta and tomato sauce, as basic as it gets, but to my Japanese and Ethiopian guests it was foreign, and they agreed, delicious!  One interesting development that came from this dinner was that Taish was looking for a house, and it came up that there was a vacancy in my compound (my former house), so I suggested he ask the landlord for details.

Then there was a month of waiting for the jica members to return after training and officially move in.  It was set that Taish would move into my former house, which I was slightly uneasy about, but realized I should accept the new situation and stop being selfish.  And my reasons were just that, selfish; Taish is a perfectly nice person, and I really looked forward to having a new friend in town, but him living in my neighborhood, and in my compound, means that inevitably I will be replaced.  I am the ferengi in my part of town, and more than that, “Jennifer” even means ferengi to many people.  Will I be giving that up when Taish moves in? I thought.  Most volunteers have a difficult time thinking about the next volunteer coming to their town after they leave, and an almost painful feeling about that person just replacing his/her life and slipping into their role with his/her friends and neighbors.

Taish moved in, I finally met Moto, the second volunteer who is still searching for a house, and life hasn’t changed all that much.  I have really embraced the idea of having them in town, and I like getting to know Taish around the compound.  Just last night I had Taish over for dinner (which will likely happen a lot more considering he has no stove and eats mainly bread) and it’s great to talk to him about all the frustrations of life here. We talk in broken English, but through simple words and pantomimes we vented about children, food and funny cultural differences.  We each come from such different cultures ourselves, but we still find the same things odd here in Ethiopia, which is comforting to know!

Nostalgia is kicking in already as I savor each round of coffee and plate of injera.  I already know the next four months will fly by, and thinking about leaving and having a replacement already is sad.  It is nice to know Taish though and have someone here that will be easy to communicate with for the next couple years.  For now he is having to put up with all the comparisons about our Amharic and integration levels, but I have reassured him that in a couple years they’ll have forgotten me and be complimenting his excellence.  It’s a perpetual cycle, but something you deal with as a volunteer here, something I’ve come to terms with, but for the next four months it’s still my turf and I’m going to live it up.

Comparing Kenya

Arriving in Nairobi I had very few expectations for Kenya, but soon found myself caught up in a comparative state-of-mind which is ever so popular in Ethiopia.  I would see a street of vegetable stands and think to myself, that’s just like Ethiopia. And then I would see the smooth unbroken sidewalk and think, wow that’s something Ethiopia doesn’t have! But at the end of the day I realized how the two countries cannot be compared, mainly because ones reasons for visiting either Ethiopia or Kenya are vastly different.  In Ethiopia you would find castles, monasteries and rock-hewn churches, while in Kenya you’d find lions and beaches.  Each country offers unique opportunities that you’d be blessed to experience.

Day two in Kenya and we headed out on a safari ready to have one of those experiences Ethiopia doesn’t offer.  Since I had already been on a safari with my family last December in Tanzania I also had a bit of expectations in my mind for the safari, but tried my best to not compare the adventures.  One main reason comparing would be unfair here is because while my family treated me to a luxury safari, Chris and I were doing it as budget as they come.  So budget that we found ourselves in a car with five other tourists, one of which had lost a bet; That’s right, our safari was someone else’s torture.

After dropping our bags off at the campsite we got back in the car for our first game drive.  I cannot deny that I was a little under impressed when the first picture stop was made for wildebeests and zebras while everyone else snapped away, giddy as first-timers should be.  I found myself having thoughts of a safari snob, wondering how soon we’d get to see some real safari animals.  As we bounced our way along the dirt roads of the Masai Mara NR  I began to remember my first day on safari last December, which was probably less than a hundred miles south across the Tanzania border.  That first day, especially when you have a lucky game drive, is irreplaceable.  Seeing that sparkle in everyone’s eyes as National Geographic scenes unfolded in real life made me smile; I remembered that feeling too.

I opened my eyes anew as we pulled up to see eight lion cubs playing around in Mother Nature’s version of a playground.  I’d never seen anything like that before, it was like watching a bunch of toddlers, or puppies all piling on top of each other and teasing one another.  At that moment I was reassured that whether you pay for luxury or have to zip up your own tent at night, the animals are the same, and they are amazing (ask our bet-losing new friend and she will agree).  The first two hours, as we rushed to see all we could before sunset, were about as great as any two hours could be.  Four grown lions, eight cubs, eight elephants, two giraffes, buffaloes, zebras, wildebeests galore; a lucky day indeed!

 

The safari continued for a couple more days, as did our minibus’s fun, but by the end of it we were satisfied with the animal sightings and very ready for smooth pavement.  When the tires hit that first patch of asphalt our bodies didn’t even know how to react it was so serene.  Second safari down, and I have a feeling there will be more in my future. The majestic atmosphere of watching nature’s beasts in the wild is too addicting to call that my last safari.