St. Mary’s: The Ethiopian Block Party

Time is flying by and already I find myself celebrating St. Mary’s holiday without knowing it, again.  Last year you’ll recall I drank coffee with my landlord’s family and neighbors on their front porch, only later to find out this is how they celebrate St. Mary’s holiday.  This year I knew it as soon as I saw it, but still didn’t realize the holiday was approaching until the rest of town was well into their celebration.

Unfortunate scheduling had me rushing to an appointment across town yesterday afternoon to tutor a couple of the orphan boys I met last fall.  I hadn’t done much in the physical movement department on my lazy Sunday so I decided to walk, taking the shortcut through back streets instead of the paved main road.  What I didn’t know from my celebration of the holiday last year was that those without front porches instead celebrate with neighbors out in front of their houses or in the yard within their compounds.

It didn’t take me long to realize the holiday was being celebrated, neighbors from every single celebration calling me to join their party.  I kept repeating my excuse, “I have an appointment, but thank you for inviting me! Happy holiday!” while taking a obligatory scoop of nefro in my hand as I walked away.  Nefro is the holiday specialty treat, a mixture of boiled beans, corn, chick peas and barley eaten by the handful.  A few more persistent neighbors wouldn’t accept my excuse and insisted that I at least sit down for a minute to celebrate with them.

After a few blocks of walking it was comical, literally every celebration bringing me a plate of nefro for me to take a handful from.  At any single point of my journey I had nefro in hand, barely finishing one household’s snack before politely taking some from the next.  It figures that about half way to my appointment my landlord’s family calls me, beckoning me to come drink coffee, and, of course, eat nefro.  I knew I had to go; I already missed their big Easter celebration with neighbors and felt horrible.  I debated turning around, retracing my steps back to my house right then, but thought the path of least resistance (without having to explain my sudden return to every celebration along the way) was to continue to where I was going, which was on the main road, and from there I could get a bajaj taxi back to my house.

The second half of my walk turned out to be the same pace as the first half.  Five steps forward, two steps back, one scoop of nefro, repeat.  I was impressed by how many of the celebrations had at least one person who knew my name, meaning there were hardly any “ferengi” calls.  I finally made it to the main road and waved down a bajaj, never making it to my appointment.  Luckily appointments here are easily rescheduled, and hardly ever obligatory.  And I didn’t disappoint my landlord’s family, whom I’ve come to think of as my own family.  I managed to turn a simple walk across town into a joint-celebration with more families than I can count, on a holiday I didn’t know was going on!

Ter Marium

The bus rumbled down a dirt road and Ethiopian music blared over the loud rumble.  The scene was anything but calm, nevertheless I was able to find a piece of serenity as I put in my headphones and watched the countryside pass by my window.  I was on my way to Mertolemarium to celebrate the biggest St. Mary’s Day of the year with fellow volunteers.

After a longer bus ride than I anticipated I was finally in Mertolemarium, where Group 3er Sher lives.  She was kind enough to host the volunteers in the area in her spacious house for the weekend.  There was going to be a parade through town, ending at the hilltop Monastery and the town’s namesake.  Not entirely sure what to expect from a holiday we’d never celebrated before (somehow last January in Ambo we didn’t see a celebration); we set out in the afternoon to join up with the procession.  Most Ethiopians were dressed in the traditional white clothing, and seeing everyone crowded in the streets carrying ornate parasols never fails to take my breath away.

Groups of men would chant to the beat of a drum and everyone would dance as they walked slowly through the hills of the town.  We, the white people, were of course, just as entertaining to the Ethiopians as they were to us.  One man in particular stood out as unique, as he was jogging down the middle of the crowded street chasing children with a whip! Behind him, were children clapping and dancing.  Our Ethiopian friends kindly explained that this is a tradition mostly in the Omo region of Ethiopia, but this man lives in Mertolemarium and carries on the tradition here, to make the kids dance!

It seemed like as far in front of me and as far in back as I could see the street was filled with mobs of people.  Part of the way through the parade we took a break to get a cold soda, get out of the sun, and lose the crowd of children we’d collected.  When we joined back with the parade after our refreshments though, the street was just as crowded! Earlier in the day we had visited the Monastery, which was built in the 16th century, so once the parade packed into the Monastery compound, we decided to head home and not endure the crowd anymore. 

That afternoon was of course filled with plenty of injera and wat, as all of Sher’s neighbors invited us to eat! She politely asked if it was really ok if all 8 of us come over for a meal, as that seems like a lot of people to feed, but as I’ve learned, entertaining is something Ethiopians do best.  In fact, as we sat in her neighbor’s house eating, the son of the woman feeding us, one of Sher’s good friends, watched two local guys come in to eat and he said, “See, I don’t even know who they are! But my mom will feed them!”  It is basically an open-door policy.  Anyone who comes in is fed.  After we were stuffed with many delicious stews, we went back to Sher’s house to rest, and other neighbors were upset we didn’t come to their houses too.  The fact that we’d just eaten more than enough didn’t seem like a good enough excuse.

While at Sher’s house two men came and dropped off a note for her, which invited her to a dinner the next night at the local Chinese camp, with road construction workers.  Most of the road work here is done by a team of Chinese guys, and right outside Mertolemarium is a big construction project.  Sher called one of her friends there and again said how many guests she had, and they still welcomed us with open arms! So the next night we took a car out to this Chinese camp, complete with hot water, air conditioning, and electricity by generator.  We sat outside in the cool evening air and shared in the most bizarre cross-cultural exchange of my life.  Half of the team was Ethiopian (mostly from Addis), our group of Americans, the team of Chinese men, along with an engineer from England, and one from Nepal!  Although egg rolls weren’t on the menu, we happily ate the injera, enjoyed the bonfire, and danced around to Ethiopian music.

The next day included a 5:30am trip to the bus station as we all departed in our respective directions.  Even though buses can’t leave until 6am, apparently they fill up fast, because they escorted our group to this bus in the back, as the rest were already full.  After a while of waiting and watching the other buses leave, the girl I was sitting with tells me that there is a ranking of buses, and this one, since it is the oldest, has to leave last! That pretty much set the pace for the day.  A painfully slow bus ride later I was finally back home in Dangila able to rest up after a wonderful weekend.

Fitting into Dangila

There have been several incidents last month that happened in my daily life here that make me think, “I can do this. Dangila really is my home now.” Just writing that is sort of scary actually, admitting this town in Ethiopia is “home,” but I am loving life here for many different reasons. This blog is going to be several recent stories from life in Dangila before IST.



Coffee on the Porch

Last weekend the wife of my landlord came home for a visit. She goes to school in Bahir Dar and is rarely in Dangila, so I was happy to see her walk through the gate on Saturday morning. Within a couple of hours of when she arrives home, she usually prepares a coffee ceremony and invites a couple of neighbors over. I was not surprised when she came knocking on my door late that morning telling me to drink coffee. I was surprised that the coffee ceremony was on the front porch of the house. I thought to myself, “what a fun change of scenery!” The front gate of the compound remained open for the incoming neighbors, and plenty of people passing by the gate turned their heads as they walked to stare at my unusual presence.

A couple days later I was meeting with my Amharic tutor when he said, “You drank coffee on the porch.” While he meant this as a question, he said it as a statement. I began thinking, “He’s never been to my house. Does he even know where I live? How did he see me on the porch? Maybe he walked by and didn’t say ‘hi?’” I was puzzled to say the least. Finally, he says, “Yes, it was St. Mary’s birthday. It is customary to have a coffee ceremony on your veranda.” I celebrated St. Mary’s birthday and didn’t even know it!

I Am a Funny Girl

The HAPCO office where I work has three other employees: my supervisor, my counterpart, and our secretary. One day we were using the town’s car to visit five different primary schools in Dangila to assess their Anti-AIDS clubs. We had driven out to a very rural area to start, and made our way back to the urban-most area of town. It was just my supervisor, my counterpart and me, along with the driver, and since my co-workers speak decent English, I tend to speak in English to them. In the middle of our trip we were driving on a bumpy dirt road when my supervisor, Tilahun, points across a field to a dirt road no different than the one we were on and says, “The school is over there on the dusty road.”

I look perplexed and said, “Tilahun, which road is not dusty?”

They laughed and laughed and laughed. Almost every day at work now, a month later, Tilahun will tell me, “When I think of this day I always laugh. ‘Which road is not dusty?’ You are a funny girl!”

Dryer Sheets

I recently requested my mom to send me some dryer sheets in the mail. I have no dryer, or washing machine; I hand wash and line dry each item of clothes I wear, trust me. I made the request because my puppy always has a static-cling thing going on, so the dryer sheets come in handy to make sure she isn’t a complete dirt magnet. I have been using them for a couple weeks now when I examined the box I have been pulling the sheets out of—it pictures a clothesline drying clothes. I think to myself, “whoa! Can I use these with line-drying my clothes?” Oh, silly me… no, you cannot. The only instructions on the box are for a drying machine.

I have come to the conclusion that this advertising was suppose to appear as quaint or charming. I would not usually describe my washing days are charming, but there is something delightful about looking at a clothesline full of your clean clothes, admiring your work. I still am not quite sure why you would put this picture on the packaging though. I suppose it is more appealing than the picture of a dryer?