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.

Small Accomplishments

I suddenly find myself with countless tales and adventures.  I have been living here in Dangila for just one week but already the adventures are adding up.  In a few months, or even just a few weeks I am sure that I will develop a routine and the adventures will become just normal, but for now I appreciate the change of scenery where everything seems new again.

The first couple days I would go to bed feeling accomplished, but as I reviewed my day I could not completely understand why I felt that way.  In America if you wake up, fix breakfast, run errands, swing by work for a bit, eat dinner and go to sleep, it's a sufficient day, but not one to boast about.  Living in Ethiopia I have to reevaluate the way I judge the work I do each day.  Fixing breakfast here is not as easy as grabbing a granola bar, microwaving oatmeal, or driving up to Starbucks.  So when it takes a couple hours to make pancakes (sans a few ingredients) and wash dishes via my bucket system, I don't sweat it, in fact, I feel pretty darn proud.

French toast breakfast!

Each night I now record a bullet-point list of accomplishments from that day in order to adequately acknowledge my small successes.  My first day in Dangila reads:
•       Bought 2 pots, cooking dishes, flour, eggs, roll of bread
•       Picked-up furniture from carpenter
•       Unpacked suitcases into new dresser
•       Checked mail (3 letters, 1 package awaited me!)
•       Melted cheap power cord
•       Ate Peanut Butter sandwich for dinner

Each item contains its own story, and that was just my first half-day here!  My favorite story from that day was picking up my furniture. When I stayed here for a week during "site visit" about a month ago now, I ordered three pieces of furniture from a garage, as they call them.  Imagine a quarter-acre of land with a large shed in the middle and about five workers in jumpsuits hammering away on chairs and tables alike.  I gave the owner a simple sketch I drew of the pieces I wanted made, and we bargained on an appropriate price thereafter. When I went back my first day here I was pleased to find my finished pieces of furniture scattered amongst the skeletons of half-finished sofas and piles of scrap wood.  When the horse-cart waiting outside demanded 30 Birr ($3) to transport the pieces to my house, I was outraged, and luckily, so were a few of the workers.  Two of the men working there agreed to carry it to my house for half that price.

Before I knew it they had hoisted my bed frame over their heads and were striding down the street, taking two steps for my one.  They arrived in half the time it would have taken the horse-cart, and they carried their wooden masterpieces straight into my house!

My list of accomplishments from this past week is surprisingly filled with many culinary undertakings.  My whole PCT class received cookbooks (put together originally by volunteers in Kenya, and then revamped by current Ethiopian PCVs); therefore I cannot take responsibility for the wonderful recipes that are not only possible with limited resources, but delicious!  I am very proud of myself though for putting in the effort to make complex meals here, because at home I tend to stick to boxes with step-by-step instructions, usually having something to do with the microwave.  So far, I have made tortillas from scratch along with guacamole for dinner one night, and an awesome pasta sauce from scratch the next night!

I am enjoying my small accomplishments each day as I take the time to explore my new community and find my place here.

Defining Family

When I arrived in Ambo 10 weeks ago, I defined family as a blood relationship.  I did not quite understand any of the relationships between the members of my host family; in fact, I obsessed with untangling the branches of their family tree.  I discovered that my host sister, Almaz, who took care of me, was actually a distant niece of my host parents.  Her five sisters turned out to be one sister, two cousins, and two close friends.  I was told that my fellow trainee Jordan's host family is related to my host family, but it turns out they are just neighbors and friends.

Jordan and me with our host families, who may or may not be related.

In America I consider many of my friends to be family, that is just what happens with close relationships, but unlike the Ethiopians, when I introduce my friends, I still just call them "friends."  I soon realized that even when Almaz introduced me to her friends around town, she just said I was her sister, no explanation.  I slowly began calling each of my Ethiopian friends my brothers and sisters, crossing generations and families.  People who are technically just family-friends, or who should be my nieces and nephews, they became my Ethiopian siblings.

As I packed my bags into the Peace Corps vehicle the day before I moved out, my father, who does not speak a word of English, hugged me as we shook hands and kept saying "yene lej," my child.  The little girls I have befriended in the neighborhood who call me their sister wiped tears from their eyes as I said my final "goodbyes."  My little brother, Naboni, played outside my room this morning with his new soccer ball I gave him, as I ate my last home-cooked meal.  It is amazing what an impact these people have had on me in just 10 weeks.

I will miss so many things about living in Ambo.  I will miss watching the one Ethiopian channel, ETV, with my parents at night while attempting to practice my new Amharic words.  My father would smile and mutter, "gobez Jennifer, gobez."  I will miss the children who run into the streets and yell my name instead of the ever so popular "you!" I will miss that group of women that Almaz introduced me to, all of which I too can now call sisters.  I have loved having this experience and getting to know my host family, fellow volunteers, and Ethiopian training staff.  I also cannot wait for the adventures that are to come in Dangila over the next 2 years.  Tomorrow I swear-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer and Saturday I move to Dangila where I get to start what I came here to do.  I am looking forward to building friendships and family in my new home.