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.

Twice the Thankfulness

I recently celebrated my first Thanksgiving in Ethiopia, quite an experience. Those of us around Bahir Dar decided to celebrate the holiday with as much replicated food as possible. We split up the list of non-perishable food items to have sent from home, and agreed to try to substitute Ethiopian equivalents for the rest. I was also fortunate enough to have a “Thanksgiving box” arrive the week before, and decided to make a feast in my town for my Ethiopian friends (Thanks Mrs. W).

My celebration began the Sunday before Thanksgiving. I woke up early and began heating my dutch oven. My only method of baking here, you place a big pot on your stovetop with several empty tuna cans inside where you then place the item you are baking on top of the cans and close the pot with a lid. Sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, stuffing, gravy, and even cans of turkey were each prepared one-at-a-time in my slow little MacGyver-ed oven.

I invited five friends to come over at 2pm, and by 1:30pm found my house as clean as it has ever been. My curtain was taken down to serve as a table cloth and candles were placed on the table set for six. I never knew my house could feel so homey. Coupled with the smell of my favorite foods and I was in heaven. Guests arrived somewhat on-time and I introduced each new dish to them and made them serve themselves (something that they are not used to). In Ethiopia you are typically served by the host, who scoops the food onto your plate, so serving your own food, and particularly going back for seconds and helping yourself, was something I had to force them to do. We each said what we were thankful for, and had a wonderful American meal together.
My favorite discussion was having them comment on the similarities and differences of the holiday to Ethiopian holidays. The sweet potato to them looked with a thick local wat, shiro tegabeno. The gravy looked like its thinner version, shiro fesis. And the stuffing I realized, as I told them about how it was made, is like a local wat, dabbo ferfer, which consists of torn up bread and spices. It was very entertaining to hear them compare the foods and cultures. They also added that the only two things this holiday needed to become Ethiopian are coffee and injera!
My real holiday was celebrated in Bahir Dar surrounded by Americans, some Europeans, and a few Ethiopian friends. Chickens were cooked (bought live at the market the day before), pies were baked, and all the fixins’ were in attendance. It was definitely a celebration to be thankful for. Both communities, Ethiopians in Dangila, and foreigners in surrounding towns are wonderful support groups. While making the feast wasn’t quite as easy as going to the local supermarket and buying everything for the occasion, the additional work added to the enjoyment. I am so grateful for this support system in country and my support system holding me together from across the globe. Thank you.

 

My Book Exchange

During my first month in Dangila I had my furniture made at a garage that I walk past on my way into town.  Just about everyday I would stop by to say “hi” and check on the progress of my furniture.  The workers there are all about my age and they have turned into great friends.  In fact, seven months later I still stop by several times a week to say “hi” and chat with my friends.  When my furniture was finished back in March and the donkey cart was charging me a ridiculous price to haul my furniture, the guys hauled the shelves to my home free of charge.  One particular friend, Andualem, speaks decent English, and as he delivered my last piece of furniture, he noticed my shelf stocked with books I have collected from friends and the PC library.  He asked if he could read one, and I hesitantly agreed to let him borrow a book.

This is Andualem.

I have to be careful in Dangila because, for all I know, word could spread and a dozen people may approach me tomorrow asking to borrow books.  Such epidemics have been known to spread especially with children and candy!  A couple weeks later no such requests had been made for books, and when I asked Andualem how the book was coming he said something about chapter 2.  I didn’t quite understand what he was saying, so I asked him to clarify, and realized he was saying that he read it twice!  I was so impressed and immediately offered to bring him a new book the next day.  Just about every month since then I have been trading books with Andualem as he finishes them.  He prefers nonfiction best, as I learned when I gave him the first “Harry Potter” book a while back.  After he handed it back to me and expressed to me that many of the words were confusing, I reread it from his view-point and realized that mail-carrying owls and the rest of the Hogwarts world contains vocabulary that a mediocre English speaker wouldn’t be able to decode.  I select Andualem’s books more carefully from now on,  but I am so impressed with his motivation to read and improve his English skills.  Something about this book program I have with him makes me happy knowing that I’m giving him an opportunity to improve his English.

They Ask, I Attempt to Answer

I cook my meals from scratch each night. I hand wash and line dry my laundry each week.  I wake up to a rooster crowing.  My walls are made of mud and straw.  I boil my water before drinking it.  The electricity goes out at least one day a week, not because of an accident, but just because there isn’t enough of it to go around. I bucket-bathe in about a gallon of water. I can see the chickens that lay the eggs I eat.  I could go on and on...

Life is different here.

Ethiopians bringing home their sheep they purchased at the market.

Ethiopians often ask me, “How is America different than here?”  I usually chuckle, and with a smile I say, “I’m not sure where to start.”  Trying to explain the difference in simple English is almost impossible, but I try, one question at a time.

“Do you have coffee there too?”
“Yes, but we don’t roast our own beans, we drink it is large mugs, and a machine makes it for us.”
I spare the details about how the machine can even have an alarm on it so it is ready as soon as you wake up.  Coffee here is a huge part of the culture.  Every day most households go through the lengthy process involved in making coffee truly from scratch.  My neighbor, and good friend, told me one day while we were in the middle of a coffee ceremony, “Drinking coffee here is a way to fill time.” I could not have said it better, but it is more than that.  In America, I would not hesitate to run by Starbucks by myself just because I craved a strong cup of coffee, but here drinking coffee is about spending time with family and friends.

“How is the air condition different?” (They mean the weather).
“Well, we have four seasons.  Part of the year it is freezing, and the other half if often hotter than here!”
Average temperature in Dangila is about 80 degrees, although parts of Ethiopia are very hot, and parts are very cold depending on altitude.  When it starts to get dark outside it will cool down to about 70 degrees in Dangila, one of my favorite parts of the day.  It is usually around that time when the Ethiopians start offering me either scarves and jackets, unable to comprehend that I could find that temperature comfortable in a simple t-shirt. I do not mention that most people in America have machines in their homes that regulate the temperature, typically to this temperature they find unbearable.

“Are there poor people in America?”
“Oh, yes!”
“What? How? I don’t think so.”
I attempt to explain that not all Americans are rich.  This one shocks most Ethiopians.  The main point I try to emphasize is that in Dangila you can easily buy a meal from the equivalent of US$.60.  Therefore, in Ethiopian, you only need to make a few US Dollars each day to live comfortably with a home and food.  In America, a cheap meal might be $5, so while people make more money, the cost of living is higher; it is all relative.  I’m still trying to make people understand this. I am pretty sure most people still do not believe me.

“Are there rural parts of America?”
“Yep, of course! We have a lot of farmland!”
“Really?”
“Yes, but our farms usually have electricity, and they can easily communicate with urban areas.”
They stare blankly.  I think they are trying to picture what this would look like.

“Are you fine?”
Actually, this question is usually asked by people riding by on their bicycles or passing in a mini three-wheeled taxi. I’m not quite sure who taught them this English phrase, or who told them to ask it not as you approach a person, but just as you are past the person you are asking, but it seems like the whole country has picked up on it.

When I get the generic question, “what is America like?” I sometimes mention machines- because we use many machines, I have realized, to do our work for us.  Sometimes I talk about the weather.  Other times I think about it and realize life is not all that different.  In both places, people wake up earlier than they care to and count the hours at the end of the day until we can spend time with friends and family.  People still eat food, take baths, wash clothes, and laugh at jokes; it is just the details that are different.  If nothing else, those details make this experience completely humbling.  I use to complain about having to wash my clothes in a washing machine. Now I respectfully wash my clothes using a handy bucket system I learned from the Ethiopians. I use to dread doing dishes by hand in college.  Now I smile as I pour water into buckets and lather the suds to wash each dish without the running water I used to take for granted.  It seems like the Ethiopians have taught me more about life so far, than I have taught them.