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.