24 hours of lunacy, but nothing too out of the ordinary

28 Dec 2011

Yesterday while returning home from Wondo Genet I had to change buses in Dodola for the last 30km of my trip. I resisted demands to put my duffle bag on top even though I knew the bus would be a full one. Unwilling to separate from my luggage, I climbed into the van and sat on the last 6 inches of the seat closest to the door. By the time we left there were 20 people in a van built for 12 passengers. Obviously, me having my luggage didn’t make things more comfortable, but I was unwilling to let my belongings sit on top and risk them becoming damaged, or being forced to pay 10 Birr to have them removed when I got off the bus. Within less than 10 minutes after taking off we pulled over to collect the jerry cans that had fallen from the top of the van. Two more times we stopped to re-tie the water cans down again. I smiled to myself knowing that for once my stubbornness had served me well.

This morning I found a staple in my oatmeal.Between the oats, peanut butter, cinnamon and sugar I can’t exactly pin down where it came from. I’ve learned to be cautious of rocks in my lentils, beans, wheat and rice. People spend hours combing through their grains to remove such impurities… but how could I have expected an office supply in my Quaker oatmeal?

It’s Wednesday which is my second opportunity to get goods from our market. I was stopped by a man who I’ve met before (but I couldn’t tell you where) and we went through the motions of smiles and greetings. Afterwards, he kept his hand on my shoulder and asked if I needed help at the market. I explained that my friend Taayich was there with me and I didn’t need help. I made my way with her to the fruit stands where he again interrupted me as I was trying to buy mangos. Awkward jokes led to him inviting me to lunch. I politely refused his offer saying that I already had plans and without warning he asked if I was married. As recommended by other volunteers, I do wear a wedding band on my left hand to help people make assumptions and improve my chances of not acquiring any stalkers. If they do ask my status I respond that I have a boyfriend in America which isn’t entirely honest, but again keeps me away from uncomfortable situations. When this particular man heard that I was unavailable he lost his façade and got straight to the point: “I need to go to America. Can you help me?” I told him that I couldn’t help him and that I am unfamiliar with the immigration process. I referred him to the U.S. embassy and the next thing I knew he gave up on me and left. Next time I should just have the embassy’s phone number on hand and tell people to call my friend who can help them.



My compound mate, and english student Rama



Around dinner time roommates insisted on helping me clean the floor of my room. I tried to sweep but the broom was quickly commandeered by Taayich. Afterwards, she grabbed a mop which was accompanied by a bucket full of dirty water. After successfully making the floor of my room wet I thought she would be satisfied, but not quite. She quickly returned with a jerry can full of liquid which she poured on her hands and tossed around the floor of my room. Unable to identify the liquid by how it was being used or the looks of it I finally ventured a guess and asked if it was some sort of oil, "No" she replied “it is gas.” As my jaw fell open my nostrils seized the fumes and began to sting. My attempts to understand why gas was the preferred floor cleaning agent were ignored as Taayich explained how gasoline makes the floor beautiful and after it dries it will not smell. Six hours later my floor is still somewhat damp and the air remains volatile. As far as beautiful goes, I cannot say that I notice a difference of any sort. Next time I am going to have to be more assertive about doing my own housework.

While my room aired-out we went on a walk south of town. Going with friends is best because they can help answer all of the strangers who want to know who I am, where I am going and how I managed to learn their language. We walked towards a low river that intersects fields of wheat and onions as it parallels a dusty road. Walking towards nowhere in particular we passed fences made of cactus which delineated property and wards off browsing sheep. The longer we walked the quicker that word spread and pretty soon I could hear people saying “ferengi” before we could see them. One gentleman walked up to me, gave me a soldier’s salute and pulled his scarf down so that I could see his bleached beard. Many of the older Muslim men in my town grow beards and some are dyed (to symbolize they've been to Mecca), but I have never seen someone fondle their beard in public. He was quirky and friendly so I played along “dhifama garu areda hin qabu” I said (excuse me but I don’t have a beard). We laughed and then he asked me if I would give him money to buy a cigarette. My normal response to money demands is “Quarshi barbaata? Mana bankii demii” (If you want money go to the bank), but because this man was my elder and wasn’t making his demands loudly from across the street so I held my tongue. What I wanted to ask, as he stared at me proudly stroking his orange beard is “aren’t you Muslim?”

A few days later on the same dirt road I was asked by a woman if I had children. Thinking she was making friendly conversation I replied that I did not and asked if she herself had children. Not only did she have children, but she went ahead and asked if I wanted one! Unprepared with appropriate language skills, and too astonished to say anything worthwhile I just stared at her wide eyed saying “Why!?” “No I don’t want your kid… it’s your child!” “Why!?” Even if my words were unclear, my face had grown pale with shock and my eyes were wide, upset by her offer. She said “ok, ok, ok” and moved along. I want to hand out condoms the next time someone asks me that so I don’t have to say anything at all. However, because I’m trying NOT to be culturally insensitive I think I should just work on my language skills instead.