Not Knowing Everything

After living in Ethiopia for over a year and a half I’ve come to terms with not knowing a lot of things.  I sit through casual conversations, coffee ceremonies, and even important meetings without knowing what is being said completely.  My language skills are increasing but Amharic is not a language I will likely ever speak fluently.  I’ve become accustomed to sitting through meetings understanding a bare minimum waiting patiently to get a rundown of the meeting from my counterpart after the fact.  I am fortunate enough to have a counterpart willing to attend most meetings as my translator.  But then there are countless get-togethers with neighbors of which I will never know the full extent of what was said.  This is something I’ve come to terms with here.  Coming from home where you understand every little eavesdropped conversation this took some time to get used to, but now I’m strangely fine with not knowing everything.

The road to the market in Dangila.

Sometimes this not-knowing finds me in awkward situations.  Many times this is not so much from the lack of understanding the language, but more from the lack of direct communication.  It is not the culture here to directly correct someone.  I had a school teacher tell me recently that students learn to correct their mistakes here if you simply speak correctly, you do not need to tell them directly when they are incorrect.  Not true.  This is why person after person still yells “Where are you go?!” on the street when I pass.  This applies for when I make mistakes also; they never get corrected.

The main road in Dangila.

A good example would be when I took those 10 orphan boys to get tested for HIV during my Testing Raffle event last fall.  Several people knew this was happening, and the boys all agreed and wanted to go, but no one cared to mention that the boys were all 14, and you cannot get tested without a guardian until you are 15. That was an awkward arrival at the health center.

This not-knowing is something I’ve learned to deal with but not something that I find particularly fun, nor does it tend to end with a positive outcome… until this past week.  After a meeting with my counterpart and the Dangila mayor about my internet café project I was told we needed to come up with possible vacant land options to submit to the mayor.  Then the town would decide whether or not to approve our land proposal, and once a location is approved the grant would pay for a container to be built on that land for our internet café.  My counterpart and I were sitting in our office discussing land options for a few hours when he mentions casually, ‘we could use the container across town that was built to help orphans.’

Excuse me?
There is a vacant container that was built with the intention of starting a business to help orphans? Why were we not planning on using this all along? We struggled to come up with that 25% “Community Contribution” necessary to receive the grant money.  How did this never come up?

The next day we pitched the idea to the mayor of using that container for our project and he was elated with the idea! He mentioned that he is very excited to help us in creating a sustainable business to really help Dangila’s orphans for years to come!

Sometimes things just fall into place.  And something you wonder how you can not-know something so obvious for such a long period of time.  But usually I am out-of-the-loop, which I've come to accept as part of the ferengi role. I’m very ecstatic about the possibility of having this premade location for our internet café!

Adventures in Addis

Since arriving in Addis Ababa in mid-February for my group’s Mid-Service Conference, I have yet to go back to Dangila.  A week for the training, a week of traveling in the south (see previous entry) and then I had a few days to kill before some medical appointments and my visit to Group 3’s In-Service Training.  This time spent mainly around Addis has been filled with fun times with friends and delicious food, but more than anything it has made me miss the comforts of my small town.  Spending so much time in Addis though has afforded me the opportunity to know where I’m going, and walk like a local.  I know where all the local minibuses around town are heading, I know the best ferengi restaurants, but I also know some Ethiopian dives to get good injera and wat for less than $1 (which for Addis is quite a claim).  I don’t feel like I have a whole lot to talk about, especially concerning the “Peace Corps experience” since I’ve been attending trainings and traveling so much, but I did realize that I’ve had some fun adventures in Addis that are worth sharing, so here are a few short stories:

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Ethiopian Dentist
Since we’ve now been at-site for over a year, everyone in my group is required to have a dental cleaning appointment.  I’m not one to fret about going to the dentist, in fact, I usually look forward to the experience, so when I was waiting for my Peace Corps taxi to take me to my appointment, I hadn’t even thought about it all that much.  When I finally arrived, I climbed the stairs to the third floor of a run-down building in the suburbs of Addis and told the front desk that I was there for a cleaning.  After thirty minutes of sitting in a waiting room with Ethiopians who were intently staring at the television playing an Arab Sat soap opera in Arabic (which no one understood, clearly) I was called to come back to see the dentist.

An older Ethiopia man motioned for me to sit down in the dental chair and we chatted for a minute about the other Peace Corps volunteers he had met.  He briefly poked around in my mouth and then said, “we used to be very proud of our teeth,” in a very beat-down voice; He blames the sugar and soda.  He then ushered me to another room, which seemed identical to me, and powered up what appeared to be a metal pick.  The assistant entered the room, handed me a few pieces of toilet paper and tied a dental bib around my neck.  Before the dentist began the cleaning he looked at me questionably, motioned for me to remove my glasses and simply said, “for safety.” I chuckled to myself, followed his instructions, and he began to poke around with this metal water pick.  Every time the pick touched my tooth it made the most horrible sound, and better yet, the pick must have had a leak because water sprayed all over my face.  A-ha! That must be what the toilet paper is for, and the glasses removal!  I sat there choking back my laughter as I realized this is by far the oddest dentist appointment I’ve had to date.


Amharic for Foreigners
My next story occurred on the taxi ride back from the dentist, while I was already in a laughing mood.  The taxi driver, who is used to having Peace Corps volunteers in the car, happily had a conversation with me in half English, half Amharic.  While stopped at one traffic light a man walked between the cars carrying three very random items in his hands which he attempted to sell to the passengers in each car.  He got very excited when he saw me because one of the three items he had was a book titled Amharic for Foreigners.  In English he told me that I must buy this book from him; In Amharic I told him I didn’t want it.  Not fazed by my Amharic response, he continued with his case of trying to make a sale.  I kept answering in Amharic and eventually said, while laughing, “I’m speaking Amharic, so I really don’t need the book!” The driver, also laughing at this point repeats my argument, “Dude! She’s telling you all of this in Amharic, she doesn’t need the book!” Ok, so there isn’t an Amharic word for “dude!” but I imagine that he would have said that if there was a word.  Finally, the hawker said in Amharic, “You speak it completely?” I responded, “Yes, completely!” (a small fib) and he finally walked away. 

In Other News
In a couple days now I have the privilege of returning to Sodere to help for one night with Group 3’s In-Service Training.  I suspect it will be a fun visit, especially after spending today in Addis with Group 3 helping them learn their way around this city.  I’m really fortunate to be surrounded by so many neighboring volunteers, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know their entire group since they arrived in October.

Fasting is still going well.  I’ve only cheated once with an opportunity for some real ice cream, brought to our Mid-Service training.  Otherwise, I’m handling the lack of animal products well.  Recently too I’ve realized the true meaning of fasting, and enjoyed the benefits of sacrificing something physical (food) to move closer to God during this lent period.

Back to Finding Work

Since my raffle project ended a few weeks ago, life has slowed down considerably. I am falling back into my routines in town, making the rounds to have coffee with neighbors I haven’t hung out with in a while. Work is slow again, but I’m dealing with a lot of little projects including teaching the high school anti-AIDS club, trying to get funding for a group of commercial sex workers to start a restaurant, and my favorite, playing with these ten boys who are living in a house together for three months.

This house, funded by CVM, is supposed to take these ten boys, between 12-14 years old, and improve their behavior. Some are troubled children, most are missing at least one parent, and they all have been working on the streets, selling peanuts and lottery tickets to help support themselves. For three months they live together and are not suppose to go anywhere besides school, including visits to their families. Meaning, in some ways, they are each other’s family for three months, and in turn, I’ve come to think of them as family too. They have been living together for two months now, and I find myself going to hangout with them almost daily now that my raffle project is finished.
 

One of my favorite parts of going to play with the boys is that they love my dog. I have so much fun watching them run around with her. She gets to be a puppy with them, and that makes me happy. The boys also have one girl, Tigist, who cooks food for them and supervises them. I have come to adore Tigist, who is about my age, and respect her so much, because as much as I enjoy playing with the boys on occasion, taking care of the little troublemakers would be out of my league. She is such a strong woman and our friendship, even though it is completely in Amharic, is so special to me.

Just Your Average Town Meeting

I am writing this on a scrap of paper while I am sitting in Dangila’s bi-weekly town meeting comprised of various health workers and government employees.  While my three months of Amharic get me through the day, my vocabulary is nowhere near good enough to comprehend the current dialogue, so I have had time to thoroughly study the features of this room which I am now sitting. As I surveyed this room initially, nothing seemed particularly interesting enough to write about, a sign that I have redefined ‘normal’ here already.  While having a ferengi in attendance causes enough commotion, I figure I should not stand up to take a picture of this everyday Ethiopian scene; instead, I will describe the happenings, which I now realize will sound anything but average.

This auditorium-type building is located just a few minutes walk from my workplace on a plot of land set aside as public recreational space by a generous owner.  After a quick headcount, I determine that there are around 57 people in attendance, not even filling up half the benches.  The walls are made of a mud and straw mixture, a common building material that also surrounds me while I sleep each night. The mud in this case displays a two-tone paint job of yellow and white, while my house flaunts a bright and cheerful pink shade. Two large windows that remain permanently open decorate the left wall, supplying the only light for the meeting and ensuring that the inside temperature remains comparable to the outside heat.  The floor slopes slightly downhill towards the front of the room, leading to a currently unused stage.  Today’s meeting is directed by a woman who instead stands at the front merely leaning on the stage for support and listening intently as the guests take turns discussing various issues.  Above the stage on the far wall hangs a large chalkboard used in days past which still bares half-erased Amharic script, which has the same worth to me as if it had been complete.  To the side of the board hangs a sagging hand painted banner that reads, “Don’t Turn Your Back on AIDS” above of which reads the same in Amharic.

Empty teacups clank together as a crew of two ladies pour each attendee a steaming cup of tea and distribute them amongst the crowd.  A tray of fresh local bread is circulating through the aisles, to which I happily help myself.  I catch eyes with the mayor’s assistant and he smiles while abruptly raising his eyebrows, as Ethiopians often do to greet people.  The man next to me, whom I met at the last meeting, whispers occasional English phrases my way such as, “hot tea!,” eventually exhausting his vocabulary.  I whisper Amasegenalahu, “Thank you” in Amharic, as he passes my empty teacup down the aisle to be collected and I hear the ladies behind me all whisper in Amharic, “She said thank you!”

The benches are made of a popular building material in Ethiopia, small trees just over three inches in diameter.  I still do not know what trees the wood comes from, but the logs are piled high at each of the local lumberyards.  The beams have been cut in half and lay in groups of three at seat-level to form semi-flat benches.  Another piece of the same material is suspended at back level, which I assume was meant to be comfortable, but somehow failed to meet its purpose.  The benches, which are permanent fixtures in this auditorium, allow just enough legroom for a child it seems, and so adults are awkwardly angled to fit in each row and are constantly shuffling around for a bearable position.  The same trees also line the ceiling; the rafters are exposed to the room, as is the ribbed tin roof above them.  Raindrops begin to ping on the roof, amplifying the simple sound of small drops of rain.  Dark clouds that are visible through the windows pass overhead, a sight that seems to come every afternoon lately- a sign that rainy season is coming early this year.  Panic is not a factor, as right behind the dark clouds shines bright sunlight, proving that the rain will not last long.

I was told beforehand that today’s meeting would include topics about condom usage in Dangila.  My supervisor told me that these community members would be debating whether condoms interfere with sexual pleasure, and dispelling the myth that condoms carry HIV.  I can tell by the hushed giggles and intermittent laughs that it must be a good conversation.  I asked my supervisor to take good notes in order for me to get all the details tomorrow.  An older woman dominates the conversation after a long pause; a pause, which may have been awkward if I had any idea of the latest question asked.  Her animated speech causes several episodes of laughter to break out.  The woman I am sure is secure in her role as a woman and comfortable talking about sex; I previously met her as I joined a team of three Ethiopian health workers on a hike into the nearby rural area where they conducted a mobile voluntary counseling and testing of HIV one Sunday.  The woman was the counselor, delivering over 75 HIV results that day.

It seems that before I was even aware of the moderator speaking again the meeting is adjourned and guests quickly hustle out of the building.  I must now go and wait by the door, as all the lingering guests are surely waiting to shake my hand and hear me speak a few Amharic words.

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.