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.