Abban koo sii jalaadha

13 March 2012

Fifty-nine years ago today my dad graced the world with his presence. 

 I wasn’t graced with it until 1987 (or should I say 1986 to be more precise?) and though I am growing older too, I seem to regress each year into a daughter who adores her father endlessly. In case you haven’t heard: my dad is awesome!         

Accordion Festival in Cotati, California

     In Ethiopia fathers are exceedingly proud of their children (“I have 6+ kids!!!” Many men tell me as If it was a solo act) though the actual upbringing and day-to-day child rearing is the work of the mother. Traditionally, fathers are the disciplinary decision makers who bring home the money. Aside from the wife, the eldest daughter is second in line to help with household chores and making the dad comfortable at home. This includes washing the father’s hands before and after a meal and sometimes his feet. Being subservient to the household male is the utmost humble act (even if this male may decide you don’t need to get an education, or arrange your marriage). I’ve met a number of upstanding Ethiopian men and fathers who do not subscribe to the traditional role and instead play an active and nurturing role in their children’s lives. More often I see men who are rarely home and spend their time outside of work walking the streets and having coffee with their friends while at home the frenzied household is washing, cooking and cleaning all day long. Gender roles and especially parenting is a totally different game here in Ethiopia.

          For an endless amount of reasons my childhood was dramatically different from that of most Ethiopian children. Instead of playing the part of a commanding presence that’s often absent my dad has been a constant companion. My father figure frequently cooked dinner for me garnishing each meal as though I was an elite guest at a high-end restaurant… even if this guest requested fish sticks or Spaghetti-Os. The son of a beautician, my father frequently conditioned, combed and braided my hair each night when I was little. He has always been very supportive of me, even when I didn’t deserve it. As a kid I was occasionally very sassy, dishonest and extremely hyper-active. My dad was the only one who laughed when I asked him to “pick me up so I can slap your face.” He was also the only one to stay with me on the ski hill as I cried in frustration learning to ski, snowboard or simply because I was too cold. Through all the desperate phone calls after failed college exams, heart breaks, accordion concerts and excursions abroad my dad has gone above and beyond dad duties and has landed himself the role of best friend, role model and occasionally wailing wall.

Dad, even though I have never once washed your feet and I don’t make you dinner nearly as often as you do for me please know that I do love you! I wish I could have been with you to celebrate your birthday today. My gift for now is this overt public display of affection and some pictures to remind you of all the fun we have together. I miss you dad! 

Snowboarding in New Mexico

Antigua, Guatemala

“The Women Who Wanted to Govern the Land”

22 February 2012

Normally I would expect a kids’ story to guide their morals and give a model of good behavior using themes such as “honesty is always the best policy,” “happiness cannot be purchased” or “be generous to those who have less than you.” Having said this, you can imagine my surprise when I read this Ethiopian folklore story in a children’s book.(disclaimer: All grammar is true to the original text I copied it from)

“The Women Who Wanted to Govern the Land”

People say that once upon a time women rose up against men. The women said that men were prejudiced against them.

“We are oppressed and downtrodden” they declared.

“We are only allowed to attend to household affairs otherwise we are completely ignored!”

They discussed this among themselves, getting more angry, and decided to go to court and protest so if they went in a body.

When they reached the court, they were welcomed by the noblemen and the high officials of the government, who politely asked the reason for their coming.

“We are protesting” said the women “We have never been given any responsibilities but minding the house and cooking and bringing up children! We want to have great responsibilities and important work to do, as you have! We want all sorts of positions in the government! We are no weaker than you! Give us your work and we will do it as well as you do!”

The high officials and the noblemen listened to the demands of the women and they were much surprised. They said they must have time to discuss the matter privately, and so they did.

On one thing the men were all agreed. They said the women could not possibly be trusted to run the government, for what did women know about law and the court procedure? But the trouble was that if the men did not meet the women’s demands, the women could make their lives miserable at home. Husbands would be henpecked. Wives might even refuse to cook the means or mind the children. So what was to be done?

At last the high officials and the noblemen hit on a plan. They called the women before then and said, “You must go to the king’s palace. Only the king can decide whether your request should be granted. But we are going to give you a heavy responsibility. You are to deliver a secret message to the king. The message is enclosed in this box, which must on no account be opened.”

So the high officials and the noblemen gave the women a small box tightly closed and sent them on their way to the king’s palace. They were proud to have such a responsibility and they carried the box with care. But as they journeyed on and on for it was a long road to the king’s palace, they grew more and more curious about what was in the box. Some thought they heard strange sounds coming from inside. Others said they heard no such thing. At last they decided to take a quick look in the box to find out who was right.

“Just a quick look would do no harm” they said “The kind will never know.” So gently and carefully they opened the box and out burst a beautiful golden bird! They sprang to catch it, but the bird flew up and away, high in the sky.

The women were terrified. They did not know what to do. Then one of them noticed that there was a sealed letter lying in the bottom of the box. “Look! The secret message is safe!” she cried. “the king will never know about the bird!”

So the women closed the box and went on their way with joy when they reached the palace, the king received them graciously, opened the box, and read the letter. Then he looked down from his thrown at the women and spoke in a voice like thunder “this letter tells me you were to bring me a bird of great rarity and beauty. Where is that bird?”

Then the moment they knew had no escape. They confessed what they had done.

The king looked at them severely “You have broken your promise” he said “you have not obeyed orders. How can we give you great responsibilities when you cannot even bear a small one?”

And the women had nothing to say. All they could do was go back to their cooking. THE END!

Now when my head starts to spin about gender inequality issues in Ethiopia I have an idea as to where it all begins. How many thousands or even millions of Ethiopian children grew up listening to this story and what ideas did it give them? Maybe as a PC project I should write my own children’s stories about how women’s empowerment was the secret to a country’s development, or how about the society that ruined all their natural resources and met their own demise. How about when all the abused animals started noticing that they outnumbered the people and retaliated? I am getting cynical but it is difficult not to because in my culture this overt chauvinism is wrong, and here it is the norm.

On a final note, a friend of my family’s, Rachel K, is in the final stages of adopting a girl from Ethiopia. It would bring me great pleasure if this little girl grew up to be a influential and radical politician that rallied for women’s empowerment. She’s not even 3 years old yet so maybe someone will beat her too it, but from what I’ve witnessed, Ethiopia is far from recognizing and respecting the importance of gender equality. 

There were 20 birds on a wire until one flew away

19 February 2012

          In five months since my arrival, 3 environmental volunteers have left their service early. A month ago a man from the first environmental group went home as it was a year into his service and his frustrations clouded his optimism. When I heard news of his departure I was shocked and upset to know that even at halfway through service some volunteers continue to struggle. Being in Peace Corps, and especially Ethiopia, is a difficult journey. The most common times for people to leave early are during the first 6 months and at mid-way through their service. On two different occasions I had spent time with this volunteer, and though he was from another group (G4) I felt that it was a loss for our group to as we are only the second environmental group in Ethiopia. I told my fellow PCV’s “I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someone in our group.” We have become something like family. In our group we have personalities diverse enough that everyone fits a unique niche: we have the comedian, the father figure, the diva, new-age hippie, sports fiends, the professional PC volunteer (on her 4^th service), the married couple, the new couple (a common occurrence amongst PCV) and even a future diplomat. As varied as we are in age, background and interests, we all share a common objective for our service in Ethiopia. I knew I would make good friends during my service, but I didn’t anticipate how vital my fellow volunteers would be to my own happiness. The best laughs are shared in their company and the quickest relief from frustrations and disappointments is just a phone call away. We have a similar growth curve which we support each other by sharing stories, laughs and releasing aggravation. Five months ago we all met as 20 strangers, and twenty-two months from now I would like us to all complete our service together, but now we are only 19.

          Jessica, our professional volunteer, has previously served in The Gambia, Lesotho and Indonesia (VSO). Ethiopia was a great match for her because she is a long-distance runner who wanted to use her 27 months in Ethiopia to train for her attempt to breaking the Guiness record as she runs across the United States. Jessica’s humor and intelligence is evident from the moment you meet her, and when acknowledging her list of accomplishments and experiences you know that she has to be a little bit crazy and a lot of fun. Fortunately for me we were in the same town for training and Jessica quickly became one of my closest PCV friends. Unfortunately for Jessica, in 5 months she has managed to attend 2 tragic funerals, be in a taxi while it ran over a pedestrian, receive a lunatic of a work counterpart, and contract typhoid, 2 ear infections, stomach virus, UTI and bladder infection (all with the same month). Jessica was evacuated out of Lesotho because of political instability, she has backpacked across countless African nations, rode her bike across the United States and had bizarre tropical diseases find refuge in her body, but Ethiopia has not been an adventure she wishes to stick around for. Her departure brings me great sadness as she has been a great friend for me, but her emotional and physical health is more important, and we all know that it will be the most easy to recover at home.

          Supporting Jessica’s decision helped me realize that I could not imagine ending my service now. My complaints and frustrations are abundant, but at the same time I enjoy having such strange things to complain about because it is a new challenge and the personal growth I’m experiencing is seemingly infinite. Jessica’s time was cut short, but still she was a very productive, proactive volunteer. Maybe one of her most successful projects was helping me realize how much I want to be here and how strongly I feel about the commitment I have made to help the people in my community.

Thank you for your friendship Jessica. Good luck on your next adventure dashing across the U.S.A for the world record. Follow Jessica at http://goldmanheadsforthehorn.wordpress.com/

If you aren’t wearing pants why bother with the shirt?

13 February 2012

Frank always makes friends when we go out in public

Daily observations often leave me with questions and comments that I’m not allowed to express or find answers to due to cultural sensitivity. Fortunately, I have a blog and enough of an audience who can help me ponder these thoughts:

1)   I know a woman who works in rural towns to teach mothers about health and hygiene. The catch of it is that her own 2 year old son enjoys going #2 outside, preferably in front of doorways, and also likes to poke, stomp and splash his own feces before it dries. I may or may not have stepped in some of his business recently, and doing so would not have been the first time my shoes have met human feces in Ethiopia.

2)   I believe the children’s song “head, shoulders, knees and toes” was written after the women’s dress code in my town. The other female PCVs and I have had a lot of discussion about whether conforming to this dress code is crucial for cultural integration, or if we wear pants we can discretely encourage some sort of women’s liberation movement. I wear pants frequently and I must admit I think Emma Goldman would be proud!

3)  Even though geography is taught in all schools children, and even adults call all white people China.” Conversly, all dark skinned people are accused of having Ethiopian ancestry. What I want to point out is that there are thousands of ethnicities in the world besides these two. Never in my life would I think that I could be mistaken as Chinese. It's actually a bizarre compliment.

4)   If your horse or donkey is vital to your livelihood why don’t you treat it better? So many people have a horse cart taxi, or depend on their animals to haul things to and from market. These animals are a status symbol between really poor and poor, and you think that people would be more proud of owning such an important asset, yet they treat their animals terribly. My fried Tarikwa told me that many Ethiopian’s are so poor they can’t afford to treat themselves well, let alone their animal. I understand this to some extent, but whipping your animal, or using it to haul until the load creates open and bloody sores seems avoidable to me. Horses cost around $100 here and donkey are even cheaper. The price reflects the monetary and social value people have for these creatures.

5)    Why wash your coffee beans 3 times if you don’t bother washing your hands to prepare them? If I make it 2 years without contracting typhoid it will be a miracle.

6)   At market there are at least 20 people in each area selling the same thing. Where is the innovation? Atleast pile your produce in a clever manner to make it more appealing. Twenty women with kale or potatoes or red onions or moldy butter or basket grass… well you get the idea. If I pick one over the other I immediately hear about how I offended those I didn’t chose. “My kale is beautiful, why didn’t you buy it?” When I point out that it all looks and costs the same they seem confused, like that has anything to do with it. Am I missing something?

7)  If you aren’t wearing pants why bother with the shirt? I’ve seen this mostly with children, and even a few grown men. Really though, if you don’t have pants what is a shirt concealing?