Christmas in Hawasa and Wondo Genet

Jacarundi (sp) trees and oleander

Name this bird

stork nesting in the rookery

Giant Stork

This stork is atleast 3ft. tall when standing

Name this bird...

Beautiful neighborhood in Awasa

My childhood dreams came true: Superman herding cows.

Lake Hawasa at sunset

Young fisherman's last attempts to catch dinner

Merry Christmas!

Sunset over Hawasa Lake

PCVs from Group 4 and 6!

Hundreds of these live on the Wondo Genet campus. I can't get enough of them!

Orion, Theresa, me and Bob in Wondo Genet

Hike around the Wondo Genet campus.

Big ole' baboon!

It was a pretty steep hike!

Christmas hike in Wondo Genet

Watching the sunset after our hike to the top of the ridge

Life at Site

22 Dec 2011

A walk through the countryside near my town 

Being at site so far has been refreshing, but adjusting to my new reality and the expectations that follow can make things slightly overwhelming at times. Fortunately, I am well practiced at relentless optimism and now is now is no exception. Here are a few reasons why life in Ethiopia is rewarding:

-          I live in an observatory, with no admission fee or business hours. Every night I walk out my front door and am nearly blinded by millions of stars whose brilliance always out-competes any light pollution from town. Also, the moon sits at a 90° angle different from that at home. Instead of a crescent shape as it waxes and wanes the moon in Ethiopia smiles.

-          At market I can buy 20 mangoes for a little over $1. The same great deal goes for oranges, avocados and bananas. Or I can go to the “mana jusii” and by a 100% fruit smoothie (no water added) for 9birr which is about $0.53.

-          Living in my bungalow of a room is sort of intense, like camping. I haven’t had the money to buy sheets or blankets so every night I bundle in my wool socks, long underwear, beanie and down jacket.  It’s really quite cozy.

-          Time is abundant and slow, which means I can call it a day whenever and spend my time cooking, reading, writing or playing the harmonica. I’ve even grown to enjoy washing my laundry which takes at least 2 hours for a small amount of clothing.

-          Now that I’m at site I can heat up my own bath water! Bathing is me crouching in a bucket pouring water over myself. It’s not that awesome, but having warm water makes a difference.

-          Also, at my site I can cook for myself! No palm oil 3x a day!! So far I’ve made dishes that include some combination of pumpkin, kale, sweet potatos, tomatoes, black beans, mung beans, onions, garlic, rice, couscous and avocados. Many spices are limited thus far to curry, pepper, cinnamon and salt. If you are interested you can send some more spices way! With a ziplock bag they could fit in regular envelope.

-          My compound mates are incredible! I live with 2 young ladies Salomnwit and Taayoich. These ladies are really intent on helping me improve my language, and I appreciate their patience. They are also brave enough to eat my ferengi cooking and also share with me. The other day Salomnwit knocked on my door and offered me a cup of fresh honey. She wanted me to eat it all right then and there! I had one spoonful and explained that it was too sweet for me to eat more than one. A very unusual but generous offer. We have a momma cat with a frisky orange kitten that share the compound.

-          My counterpart Zewditu is also a highlight of my site. I love that we can speak Spanish together. She always shares resources with me and encourages me to get involved and she also stands up for me. She is the best counterpart/neighbor/mother figure/ friend I could have asked for!

Where I sleep

Kitchen and front door

Front door to my room-house

Official PCV

17 December 2011

Nicole and me

Today marks the first day of my service as an OFFICIAL Peace Corps volunteer. For the occasion we all dressed up so well that we could hardly recognize each other. Before this we had only seen each other on the terms of being emotionally exhausted, physically ill or suffering from culture shock… but not today because we were presentable! Peace Corps drove us to the United States embassy which looked like heaven with luscious green lawns, swimming pool, tennis courts and commissary grocery store.

Me and Theresa

During our ceremony three volunteers gave speeches in their respective language: Orion in Oromyifa, Bernard in Tigrinya and Jessica in Amharic. Judging by the faces in the crowd, I was not the only one who was impressed by how well the speeches went. Gobezwoc! (smarties). Afterwards the U.S. ambassador of Ethiopia, Donald Booth spoke for some time about his steadfast support of the US Peace Corps mission and his respect for those who volunteer. As he was glorifying us for leaving our comfortable lives at home, full of people who we love and adore and job opportunities that permit frivolous expenses I became a bit emotional. When I was applying to PC I remember being really wound up about the idea thinking it was bold and wondering if I had the courage to actually go through with it. As I submitted my application I recall my stomach being in nervous knots. I recall my sweaty palms and jittery legs that accompanied me through my interview in Seattle, and my hysterical reception (good and bad for all 3 countries I was invited too) as I received my blue invitation packet in the mail.

Since my arrival in country the novelty of my commitment has been subdued by the reality that life here is the same, just a bit more colorful. I don’t feel unique or clever for becoming a Peace Corps volunteer. However, as we recited our oath, with our right hand facing the ambassador I began to tear up. I had sort of forgotten how amazing my journey here has been. For at least 4 years I have intended to be a Peace Corps volunteer, as I wanted to live outside of my own country to be a member of the global community. For me, this experience was one that would offer abundant amounts of humility, vulnerability and homesickness, but in return I would learn to become more cultured, patient and sensitive to the needs of others. Not an hour goes by when I don’t miss my incredible family and friends, the snow covered peaks of the Cascade Mountains or easy access to chocolate chip cookies, but even with this there is no place I would rather be right now than Ethiopia. 

I am beyond proud to be PC Ethiopia’s 2^nd Environmental volunteer group. I am serving alongside 20 very intelligent, motivated and quirky people ranging from the ages of 22 – 63. We come from many backgrounds, ethnicities, and socio-economic classes but we all share the same desire to serve our country and the people of Ethiopia, to bridge the cultural gaps by building friendships, improving the environment and sharing skills. Now we are finally volunteers: earning vacation time, a readjustment allowance and more intimidated than ever by the daunting expectations ahead of us.

Tomorrow we are moving to our sites. My town is just a day’s drive south which is nothing compared to the 10 volunteers heading north that will be on a bus for over 2 days. We each will be in our own towns where we are not allowed to leave overnight for the first 3 months to ensure community integration, overcome homesickness and to improve our language skills. I have never been so isolated in my life! I have many friends in my community, but no one from my own culture. After some weeks, if I find some tourists wandering through my town I too might start screaming “Ferengi!!” “you, you, you!!”

I won’t have internet, and my closest volunteers are 30 km. to the east and west. This means that in between meeting everyone in town and starting to teach in the schools, I will be learning to knit, reading lots of books, writing letters, playing the harmonica and cooking everything from scratch. Wish me LUCK!

Beloved Sara

7 December 2011

       

         Yesterday morning I woke up to my phone ringing. Morning prayer called from outside my window as the remaining moments of darkness were subdued by the light of dawn, from this I estimated it to be around 5:30 am. As I answered the phone my ears were overwhelmed with noise from the other end women, howling, sobbing and wailing I received the message before Katheryn could muster the words:

“Sara didn’t make it last night, Sara died. I can’t go out there Bridget. Can you hear them in my house, all those women mourning? I can’t go out there and face them, but I can’t stay here either.”

                Sara was the youngest of 4 daughters in Katheryn’s homestay family. At nine years old, Sara was the baby of the family, separated be at least 10 years from her older sisters. All are remarkably similar in resemblance to their beautiful mother who juggles running a store, a small dairy farm and caring for her family without her husband, who passed away 2 years prior. Due to down’s syndrome and heart complications Sara was not able to help out her family with their daily chores of milking, cooking, cleaning and running errands. However Sara played an important role in the family and in the community because she was a beam of sunshine, a class clown, and natural performer who loved to sing and dance. Whenever I came over to Katheryn’s house Sara always greeted me with a big smile, hug and kisses. She loved having company over and upon arrival it was only a matter of time before Sara was sitting next to you sharing hugs and smiles.

Katheryn's amazing family: 

                Based on her character it was evident that Sara had one of the biggest hearts of anyone I’ve ever known, but unfortunately she was not born with the strength to support it. Frequently, she was struck with moments of short breath and chest pain which kept her inside and surrounded by family who helped comfort her anyway they could. We were told that before her father passed away Sara’s heart was much stronger, and she used to run around playing outside. After his passing Sara’s health declined dramatically. For an adult facing a loss, the physical symptoms of heart ache are agonizing on top of the emotional issues involved. For a child, who already suffers from a weak heart, understand and cope with the death of her is an enormous, if not an impossible task. Despite her loss, Sara managed to give all of her love and joy to each waking moment, and those of us who were lucky enough to share them with her.

Katheryn’s came home from school the other day to find her home inundated with older ladies who surrounded Sara on the couch. Despite prayers, glucose and holy ash Sara’s condition was dramatically declining and soon enough a car came to take her and family to the hospital in Addis Ababa. The remaining women stayed at the house overnight to pray, support the family and await news. Despite her confusion and concern Katheryn managed to fall asleep only to be woken up at 4 am by hysterical sobs and wailing in her living room.

PC called me shortly after Kathryn to ask that I go remove her from her home. I was debriefed on the culturally appropriate body language and walked through how I should enter the compound, sit with the mourning family for at least a few minutes before leaving. No words or gestures were necessary, just presence. My PC training manager that warned me that even for Ethiopian’s the mourning process is very disturbing. Ethiopians are overt about their pain, and often wailing loudly also provokes others to connect with the pain they are also feeling from the loss. Katheryn met me before I got to her house.

Within no time Kathryn’s home was filled with nearly 100 people helping to prepare the compound for weeks of mourning visitors. They cleared out the living room and filled it with benches and chairs. A tent was assembled in her front yard to accommodate the overflow. Over 20 women were in the back of the compound beginning to prepare food. This is was all the work of the idhera, an informal system organized within communities to assist families financially and emotionally through the months following a death. I was impressed by how quickly the idher got things in order.

At 10:30am we returned to the Katheryn’s home to migrate toward the church where Sara would be laid to rest. The street was lined with men waiting outside the compound. As Katheryn and I entered the rusted corregated fence we were met by 100’s of teary eyes, waiting for the service. Soon enough, everyone rose and began exiting the compound, ready to board buses for Marian, where Sara would be buried at the Orthodox church. We waited just outside the compound to walk behind Katheryn’s family, and soon enough a small, pink coffin was carried out by a group of stoic men. They were followed by hysterical cries from Sara’s family making their final pleads to god to un-do the misfortune of losing Sara.

In Marian I stepped off the bus and immediately became absorbed into large crowd migrating toward the church. The women covered their hair in white shawls called naxallas. During a mourning the embroidered border is worn around the face. Hundreds of thin white cotton shawls, all bearing different embroidery colors and styles, are commonly worn as traditional dress in Ethiopia and today used not only to escape from the sun, but also to conceal tears and trembling lips.

Sara was buried in the cemetery behind the church at Marian. Afterwards, the crowd left the church’s front gate and crowded at the steps. The priest, dressed in an elaborate red robe bordered in gold, gave a prayer over a hand-held intercom. He assured the crowd that, due to her Sarah being a mere 9 years old, she was undoubtedly in heaven and that our tears should not be for her because she is in a good place.

….some days later…

The experience overall was intense, and I am glad that PC training staff attended the ceremony with us to help us understand what is culturally appropriate or not. Overall, I am overwhelmingly impressed by the community’s outreach to Sara’s family. Hundreds of people participated in the day’s events, but since then they have kept Katheryn’s family company day and night. For weeks, the family’s compound will remain open so people can sit and visit with the family. I have gone to visit her family several times, and there are always around 30 people there cooking, resting, visiting or helping with chores. At night, the turnout is larger because within darkness lies great opportunity for fear, sadness and loneliness. Just 4 days after the funeral, Katheryn’s mother invited all the PC trainees from our town to come over for a snack. How can she possibly consider being so kind to us in the middle of her mourning!? I am dumbfounded by such consideration. The other day we brought coffee and sugar over as a gift, but tomorrow I think I will go to the market and buy her family soon fruit. I wish we had more time here to see them through this awful event. Menagesha is such a beautiful town, full of friends, neighbors and family, no strangers (except on market days).Everyone looks after each other and with this realization I am left believing that my culture in America is missing such a beautiful and crucial point. Surely, it happens in the States, but not with such an overwhelming display of love and an acceptance that death can be tragic and sad, but it is never a taboo or an awkward avoided topic. I am planning a visit in March to check in on everyone, I will miss my friends and family in Menagesha, but I am comforted knowing that they are always well cared for by one another.  

Me, my aunt and Katheryn after the homestay recognition ceremoney

Guzzaguzz and Katheryn

Me and my sister Nani

Taking care of Jack

27 November 2011

Unlike the United States where we purchase food exclusively for dogs or celebrate their birthdays, here in Ethiopia dogs have 2 different means of existence, both lacking any familiarity to our dog-crazed culture in the U.S.

1.       Street Dog: answers to no one, has many friends, foes and lovers. Total liberty, but comes at the cost of food insecurity and high risk of contracting contagious diseases (rabies, parvo, mange and frequent pregnancy).

2.       Guard Dog: Contained by the walls of a family’s compound, often chained to a tin dog house with a 4 ft. radius. Food and water are somewhat regular. No contact with animals outside the compound. Little to no risk of contagious diseases or pregnancy.

Then there is Jack who is lucky enough to have avoided the above mentioned realities. Jack is my family’s dog. Occasionally he is chained up during the day, but released at night to bark and chase off the night until dawn breaks. Many days Jack is not confined, but is free to mark the town in urine, harass cattle and boldly enter other dog’s compounds. He is fed regularly 2-3 times a day, mostly leftovers and plenty of injera. Jack’s happiness is apparent as he is the most friendly and clever dog I have encountered in Ethiopia. His canine intuition quickly sniffed out that I am a dog lover who, in Ethiopia, must suppress my love for 4-legged friends (a truly challenging task).

 Between cleaning and refreshing Jack’s water a few times a day, sharing snacks and 1 sided conversation in baby-talk I have released some of my pent-up compassion. Once, despite my nausea, I bravely removed a GIANT tick from the bridge of Jack’s nose. Somewhere over the past few weeks, Jack and I have established a discrete love affair. He isn’t to like me, because it is contrary to the Ethiopian macho-dog norm; and as a Peace Corps volunteer I am not permitted to interact, own or touch Ethiopian dogs due to risks of bites and diseases (rabies is a big concern in Ethiopia and as is the absence of a trauma unit in the country if I were mauled by dog). Though constrained, our mutual fondness is understood. When unleashed, Jack follows me around town making sure no man, child or goat threatens my safety. Seeing how I am the only PCT who has such a friendly, well treated pup I count myself lucky to have an outlet to exercise my dog-loving urges.

Yesterday morning Jack returned home from another full night partying with the hyenas. When he came to ask for breakfast we saw that his left eye was bloodied and swollen. It looked to me that Jack has harassed the wrong ungulate and a hoof to the eye left him the victim of karma (probably long overdue). He seemed exhausted and miserable as we fed him breakfast laced with antibiotics (good thing my mom is a nurse). He slept the day away as we faced the reality that he would now by a one-eyed, lame legged pup.

In my sympathy I began to wonder if the benefits of Jack’s lifestyle are worth the risks. Jack was a mess of blood, mucus and whimpers which was more than I could bear. If Jack is leashed day and night like most compound dogs he cannot get into fights or contract diseases, but then again he is a prisoner, day after day, year after year chained to a tin house without any physical contact from other beings and no possibility of exercise. Obviously, from Jack’s perspective it undoubtedly a better deal to be a free stud, though your ego and curiosity may quickly land you seriously injured or dead. I suppose Jack’s motto is to live everyday like it might be your last.

This morning I rushed out of the house early at 7am to go bird watching with fellow PCT Dexter, and our newly acquired friend Millian, a local tour guide and bird enthusiast. As I rushed down the hill towards the bridge south of town I notice that I had a follower. Fearing a loud-mouthed adolescent stalker, I was relieved to find Jack ready to accompany me. I tried to dissuade him from coming because dogs are notoriously bad bird watching companions, but due to our language barrier, he in Amharic and me in English, my pleas were ignored. As he jogged along beside me I noticed his limp had vanished, and he seemed in good spirits. Bird watching was successful and Jack only spoiled a couple of opportunities. Once while I was crouched watching two black African ducks begin a mating routine, Jack blocked my view and attention as if to say “are  you looking for me?! I’m right here ferengi!!!” I noticed that thought his eye was still swollen and nearly shut, his vision was still intact. After all my fuss and concern it seems that Jack has yet again escaped any injury that could damper his luxurious existence

Lucky Dog!

….and then the water fowl got frisky.

It was a splendid morning.

On a side note, today I taught my sister Nani tic-tac-toe and it has absorbed much of her day. She is a quick learner and very competitive. She has already exhausted most members of the family as partners, but she continues to beg for another round. Tomorrow if we round up more Eucalyptus seeds I think I will introduce her to checkers.

Also today I introduced beet greens to my family. Beets are commonly consumed, but the greens are always removed and fed to the goats in Ethiopia. Rich in iron, folic acid and other vitamins, neglecting to eat beet greens is truly a shame in a country where many people suffer from malnutrition.  My family loved them and I was thrilled to have more green vegetables in my diet.

After lunch, we had coffee made from beans picked from our tree only 2 days prior. Our housemaid Mame dried, roasted and ground them as we were eating lunch. Can the coffee get any fresher? It really made a difference too. Delicious, tafta fi mi’aawa!!!!  I had a small cup despite the fact my G.I. system is currently in combat against anything and everything it encounters.

Thanksgiving Eve

23 November 2011

On the eve of Thanksgiving, in lieu of drooling and developing a stomach or heart ache over gluttonous dreams of a juicy golden-brown turkey, mashed potatoes, salad greens zested with lemon, and a lard ridden pie crust filled with a marvelous combination of fruit, sugar and butter…yummmmm!!… oh yea, in lieu of that I am going to recount why I am thankful and have forgone such calorific comforts this year, and the next 2 for that matter (ouch!)

Ethiopia, despite accusations of being an impoverished nation, has proven to bear much cultural, spiritual and historical wealth. Though it is not my culture or history, I am grateful to be intermingling with those who proudly display their Ethiopian pride.

A fine example national pride is Ethiopian TV, 3 stations broadcasted from, by and to Ethiopians. These channels show news casts from different regions (in the appropriate local tongue) about current events, regional, national and global. Another highlight are the dramas, which are so popular that 2 times a week, for an hour each, nearly 70 million Ethiopians suddenly seem to vanish. Due to my inadequate language skills I am still at a loss as to the story line, but even if I could understand the dialogue there is so much muttering, crying and jaw dropping that not much conversation even makes it in the script.  Best of all, Etv has music videos from Ethiopian artists. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week there is at least one channel playing music videos. Each of the 9 regions in Ethiopia has distinct rhythms, language, dance style, dress and landscape (which makes up the background).

 Up north in Tigray, the rhythm is expressed primarily in the shoulders which pop up, down, back and forth like synchronized seizures. Women’s hair is loose in the back and intricately braided in the front  with two small brained running across the forehead horizontally, like an upside down T. Women’s’ white cotton dresses catch the breeze as the men dance around them with as their protectors. In the background landscape dry scrublands and treacherous mountainous are tamed by camel herds marching slowly in front of 900 year old rock-hewn churches.

 Down south in Oromia (where I will be) the dancing gets a little crazier. In addition the swift shoulder swagger, leg movement and head banging ala Africa are included. Men sometimes wear the dark mane of an Abyssinia Lion around their own head; as if they were some man-lion hybrid with refined music taste and an eye for beautiful habassha women. The Oromo videos are often shot in pastures roaming or being plowed by livestock while the dramatic mountains responsible for the creation of The Rift Valley lie ominously in the background.

These music videos have yet to lose me as a captive audience member, after 7 weeks of watching ETV I have yet to see the same video twice. I realize the videos are planned and shot with a creative director behind a camera, but I am nearly convinced that walking alone someday I am just as likely to encounter wild baboons as I am to find a rhythmic group of well dressed Ethiopians dancing and singing as they collect a modest herd of befuddled sheep.  Already, most of my volunteer group has seen baboons, so considering their luck it should be any day now that I take off on a hike and find myself involuntarily becoming a backup dancer. Ohhh Ethiopian TV, thank you for your bizarre and informative news reports, melodramatic soap operas and over-sized collection of music videos which allow me to travel Ethiopia without leaving my couch. 

Additionally, cheers to all the strangers who have crossed the street to greet me, or given me the gift of a smile or a warm embrace. Even though at times I was reluctant to return the sincerity, your persistence has taught me to be more gracious and learn that Ethiopian culture spares no one when it comes to random acts of kindness. In retrospect, how astounding is it that absolute strangers want to shake my hand and ask me how my day is or if Ethiopia has been good to me? Whenever I am the first to greet someone, never have I been ignored. In some areas, it doesn’t take more than an initial “good afternoon, how are you today?” to get an invitation to someone’s home for coffee and a snack. Mr. Roger’s neighborhood has nothing on any given rural town in Ethiopia.

A warm “thank you” for whoever decided that Oromyifa should change to Latin script. Unfortunately, my fellow Peace Corps trainees who are learning Amharic and Tigrinya are not so lucky, fidel script unanimously is the bane of their existence. As for me and 3 others, we are progressing quickly and competently in Oromyifa. Another highlight of the language is that much of it reminds me of what the Ninja Turtles probably spoke before being translated to English for better listening by America’s youth. Some tubular examples of this include: “daawwachuu” (to watch), “kaawwachuu” (to put on), or “yeroo baayee” (most of the time). As my fluency improves I intend to work on my Raphael accent as the final touch.

Though this isn’t an exhaustive list, I wish not to bore any reader audience I have remaining. So to finish, I am grateful for my friends who have shared their support through letters (Sunshine, Julie and Stasia!), e-mail and blog posts. It is nice to feel as though I am not too far from those I love at home. Most importantly, and impressive is my family who has been so determined to be stay in contact that they have mastered the high-tech 21^st century knowledge of skype and rebtel.com. Even my beloved 84 year old grandma has called me on my cell phone from her computer to remind me that refined sugar is delicious, snow is beautiful and I am still her favorite granddaughter. My dad and Barbara also call at least once and send me text a few times a week which spark me awake and keep me smiling the whole day through. Even now, I am beaming as I recall those who have stayed close despite my being so far away. Your love helps me strengthen my desire to be a great volunteer in Ethiopia. If I can’t be in the pleasure of your company, then I am certainly going to make the most of my time here to improve the lives of others. As you can tell, mine has already been dramatically enriched. I am obliged, indebted and more motivated than ever. 

Visit to my permanent site

South of town, where the wheat grows and the skyline is endless.

Last week was my site visit for the town I will reside in for the next 2 years. As excited as I was to visit the idea of coming to terms with where I am, for how long and what that REALLY entails made for an emotionally exhausting week. Overall, I am looking forward to returning there and getting rooted.

 After 8 hours on a long, white knuckle bus ride we rolled through the wheat fields, towards the Bale mountains in the skyline. Expecting a sleepy rural town, I was surprised when we rolled in alongside horse carts, busy pedestrians and tall speakers blaring Ethiopian top hits.

One of the more common forms of transportation

Like any other Ethiopian town, invitations to share coffee with strangers are plentiful, the kids are anxious to meet you and every house, store and goat looks about the same. It is slowly feeling familiar and predictable. My town is mostly Muslim and we have 2 impressive mosques that dominate the skyline. Most of the time I am not awoken by the call to prayer, but I have yet to understand the timing. Beginning sometimes at 5:30am and ending at dark, I have yet to find a schedule for the loud songs which range from poetic to callous and sometimes are delivered with such fervor that the prayer is interrupted with coughing. The two other dominant religions in my town, and the rest of Ethiopia are Orthodox and Protestant Christians. Without a doubt, Ethiopians are far more civilized than Americans when it comes to religious tolerance. Religion is an important part of Ethiopian culture and self-identity, but it is not used to mistreat or segregate. It is simply an element of self identity, an inherent aspect of an individual, such as their race or the size of their family.

In between meeting the mayor, police force, students, store owners and strangers along the way I was quickly overwhelmed by names and faces of strangers asking me why I can’t remember their name. It was with great luck that I found my second counterpart: Bayu! A tour guide that has been well trained by Germain trekkers and anxious for the next phase of his career: getting tourists to guide! My town is near to the Bale Moutains, a major tourist stop, but the word has yet to spread about my town which is a hop and a skip from 5 day horseback-cabin trips in the mountains, trout fishing in nearby rivers, waterfall s, trekking and wildlife viewing. Bayu was quick to get my number and encourage me to see these sites for myself so I could gain the enthusiasm to work with him and promote eco-tourism in our town. Our first outing was to a nearby waterfall, which sounds pretty basic but was anything but:

7km to this epic waterfall

reason #101 why you want to come visit me

Though each day was a swing from eagerness to homesickness and back again I am trying to remember to take things slowly, spend time quietly regaining my sanity and appreciate the simple things. On our return back to our training sites, a few other volunteers met up to discuss our site visits. Unlike some of my peers, I managed to get through the week without fleas, bed bugs, stolen cell phones, being in a taxi that ran over a pedestrian or going without a single decent shower. With this wake up call, I will remember to calm myself and count my many fortunes.  Also this day marks my 1 month in PC! Hooray! With 26 more to go, it is a small notch on the belt, but maybe one of the more crucial months of my service as I am just building my foundation to be a great volunteer for my community. 

Pedestrian bridge

Reason  #102 why you should: double bananas

Site placement

As highlighted by Lonely Planet:

“As you approach the park ridges to the east are punctuated with fortresslike escarpments, while those to the north are more gentle, their rounded rock pinnacles dotting the ridges like worn teeth protruding from an old man’s gums. Within the park, rivers cut deep gorges; alpine lakes feed streams; and water accepts gravity’s fate at several waterfalls. The Bale Mountains are known for their endemic wildlife, particularly the Ethiopian wolf (the world’s rarest candid) and the mountain nyala. Other large mammals commonly seen include grey duikers Bohor reedbucks and warthogs.” Several cats (including leopards and lions), spotted hyenas, colobus monkeys and Anubis baboons are also seen in Bale Mountain National Park.

Between the ridges of heather, lobelia-trees and baboons you will encounter my future homestead! Peace Corps has been generous enough to give me possibly the most coveted placement in my group BALE NATIONAL PARK! (but that goes without saying I have a generous bias.) A small town of 15,000 that sits 30 km east of Bale National Park, but the park boundaries do not limit the flora or fauna. I am also close to Shashemene, Ethiopia’s largest Rastafarian community and near Awasa where I will find my ferenji groceries! This is all tucked into the Oromia region, which is known for its ethnic diversity, trekking, hot springs, wildlife and part of the Rift Valley.

If you were on the fence about coming to visit me I would suggest you start booking your ticket. I’m in one of the few areas of Ethiopia that is better prepared for tourists! Now is your chance to see one of the remaining 500 Ethiopian wolves and ME before I go M.I.A. in Ethiopia for eternity. Every week in Ethiopia I am given one more reason to smile a little bigger and walk a bit lighter. Everywhere I look is beaming with beautiful scenery, friendly strangers and life at its most simple and endearing form. I’m anxious to see where I fit in with all of it.

Nani and me!

My mom, sister and the cutest baby EVER!

My sister and Aunt!

Bunna ceremony at my house!

My homestay sister has been teaching me some Ethiopian dance moves. She is patient with me as I ask her to slow down, rewind and teach me I gift I was NOT born with, unlike her. Sometimes her hands grab my neck/shoulders/arms and physically move my body in rhythms and directions I wasn’t aware they could go. Her eyes get really big as she (occasionally) gasps “GOBEZ!” (clever), but I can’t tell if she’s referring to my improvement or just that I’m a Caucasian and starting to dance like an African (probably the later).Different regions of Ethiopia have their own unique dancing styles. I prefer the Southern jumping and kicking, but you can’t escape the shoulder shaking. Ethiopian’s throw their shoulders and torsos in a style that would make Shakira’s hips look geriatric. I have vowed that despite endless potential for public humiliation I will learn how to dance like an Ethiopian.  Good thing I have 26 more months to practice!

Fictitious thieves

20 October 2011

Desperate for a bit of exercise, fresh air and conversation in English 6 of my PC peers went on a hike last weekend. South of town is a popular Orthodox Christian church at the base of a extensive forest preserva. We set a time to meet and even recruited a guide, Benih, Dexter’s homestay brother. Benih is a petite, yet confident 12 year old. As we set out from town we marched through a eucalyptus plantation as the kids from town warned us “jib, jib” we ignored them and continued to the river because we knew that the hyenas would be more afraid of us. We skipped across the rocks wandering back and forth across the river, until we found out trail and our destination in the horizon. Through the soybean, wheat, sugar snap peas and teff fields we took pictures, admired old lonely acacia trees and practiced our greetings on those who passed us. “Dehna walk” we would announce, but replies were slow as the shock of witnessing a white foreigner can take a while to wear off.

We made it to our destination in under two hours and found ourselves at the front gate of the church. As we walked in monkeys scampered away startling the goats that grazed the tattered landscaping. Some of ran off to find the monkeys, others to observe the church and I wandered pathetically trying to determine tree species in the church yard. We reconvened and headed back down the hills towards home passing the 8 year old sheep herder, tired pack donkeys, and the mud walled homes with thatched roofs that are worthy of a National Geographic magazine cover. Though we took the same route, our walk home seemed to hold as much yet different beautiful scenery which we shared, photographed and discussed all the way home. As we came into town again we found ourselves surrounded by children who want the opportunity to shake our hands, practice their English and laugh uncontrollably at the thought of doing either. We shake, greet, smile and continue on our way. A walk through town is never direct or lonely; it is occasionally exhausting, consistently bizarre yet flattering and benign all the same; so we play along and mosey forward.

The next morning before class my friend Jessica informs Kathryn and I that her father had heard a rumor in town that someone stole her house key. She explained that this was not only false, but that we hadn’t even met a hostile individual in our path. He insisted that she show him all of her keys, and after doing so he had her call Dexter’s brother Benih so that Dexter’s father and hers could discuss our harmless hike. The three of us laughed it off went to language class where our teacher immediately asked us about what we had been doing on Saturday. We told him we went for a nice walk, and he said “oh yes, you should not continue to do this because I heard your were robbed!” Again, we denied such events and brushed off the conversation. A few more days off before we hear that someone took the initiative to call the Mayor of our town and report that the ferengis (foreigners) we robbed south of town. Good thing there isn’t a local printing press to send out tabloids. It seems that 6 white people in a town of 15,000 are something worthy of talk about, even if there isn’t much to say. It’s fairly harmless, especially since it isn’t true, but it sure makes attempting another short hike a heavy thing to consider.