Sticks and stones, cows and toothbrushes

13 July 2012


This afternoon I was visiting with my favorite neighbors who live two compounds down from mine. This family has always been very warm and welcoming to me. They live in a house that is no larger than 6 x 10 ft but 6 people live there, 4 kids (ages 6-16) and two adults. Despite how cramped the space is, their house is definitely a home. It is so cozy inside and I love to hang out, drink tea and practice English and Oromifa with the kids. Today I noticed that one of the boys was suddenly missing a front tooth! He’s too old for it to have been a baby tooth so I knew there was a good story behind its disappearance. As the story goes, two drunk men were fighting in the street and he was an innocent bystander. One of the men picked up a rock to stone the other but his poor aim sent the rock flying into the mouth of this kid who was merely watching. I asked if the men had paid the family some sort of compensation for his tooth and was told that they were given 800 birr, about $47. The family took him to the dentist where the broken tooth was removed and the rest of the money went towards buying a new calf which will bring the family more income in the future. I did also notice a few weeks ago that the family had acquired a sheep, and I was curious to know how, but after learning about how the calf was bought I would rather not inquire. Who knows what bizarre incident occurred before they encountered the money to make such a large purchase.

Since we were on the topic of teeth I told them to excuse me while I ran home. Inside my house I gathered some toothbrushes and tooth paste that my grandma and dentist had sent me from Oregon. The American in me had been nervous about handing them out as I feared it would imply that I thought the recipients were somehow inadequate; when in actuality I know that these types of items are expensive and for many families buying them would mean prioritizing among other more important purchases such as school supplies and food. I returned with the gifts in hand and felt like Santa Clause. There was a lot of clapping, smiling, squealing and selfish grabbing and hoarding. They were so excited to have toothbrushes! They even sang me songs about using a toothbrush though they had never owned one before. We practiced together, discussing how frequently they should brush, which teeth to not forget, why brushing is important and they gave me hugs and said thank you in their very best English. I even helped Zerihun (the youngest) by brushing his teeth for him, but for fear that I would gag him I instructed him on how to brush his tongue. It was quite a bonding moment for us and more than ever I am considering the family’s offer that I take Zerihun home with me to America (not really, but it is tempting as he is really freaking adorable!!)

Oh my hail

12 July 2012

In Ethiopia, one of the oldest Christian nations in the world, it should not surprise me that seemingly biblical events occur almost regularly. Many people are familiar with the terrible famines that have given the country international infamy. Furthermore many foreigners have told me that they feel as though they are in a time-warp in Ethiopia, as things are done here as you would expect to have happened thousands of years ago. Many people live in round mud homes with thatch roofs, walk barefoot, flow by two oxen, eat without using utensils, etc… Simply put, for better or worse, life in Ethiopia is unbelievable. I have long before accepted this statement as a fact but still I catch myself repeatedly exclaiming “I can’t believe it!” So why was I caught by suprise, yet again, yesterday when we received a hail storm of epic proportions. The storm lasted for only 20 minutes but it left the town covered in white except for the areas when the flash floods tore through the town. I shrugged it off, mourning my young and probably deceased garden and stayed inside for the remainder of the evening.

My garden is a goner!

The next day, I woke up early to go to the primary school. Once inside the school’s compound I post-holed through the hail drifts, sometimes breaking through and the drifts I discovered they were as high as my knees! The rivers are thick and brown with mud and the banks are completely washed out. In one area of my town 11 cows were killed from the weather event. I saw snowball fights and kids making their first snow cones (albeit a little bit muddy). More than two days later there are still many patches of hail around town, some drifts still around 1 foot tall. Some of the hail balls were as large as cherries! Finally, people have something to talk about that is new and exciting again. 

The people that you meet when you're walking down the street!

5 July 2012


In public I am called at by at least 1/3 of the people that see me. After 9 months I’m finally fairly gracious about how I handle all the attention. Most of the time when I have the energy I respond, but I am guilty of ignoring the more obnoxious or ridiculing comments. Here are some of the names I am called, in order of popularity:

B

Fereng

Feregitti

China

Booti 

YOU!

Anchi! 

“Uhhhh”

Mister

Sister

Habasha

Budget

Bridget

British

After such charming titles these demanding or inquisitive phrases follow:

“seena” (come inside)
“quarta me” (come to me)
“Shy bunna dugdhee” (come drink coffee or tea)
“How is the life?”
“Are you fine?” (often followed by a creepy eyebrow raise)
“Neh Anchi!” (come girl)
“Essa baade?”  (where did you disappear to?)
“Biyya barrate?” (are you familiar with the country?)
“Where where do you go?” or “essa demta?”
“Where where do you come?”  or “essa dufte”

 

Get Together

1 July 2012

Thomas stirring the pot-of-meat

Yesterday I was invited to attend the High School faculty’s annual “get together” an end of the school year celebration. I was told to arrive at 10 am and that the party would last all day. I didn’t believe it. I was wrong. I arrived a little tardy at 10:30 (proof of my level of integration) and found the school yard was crowded with giant vultures. Their necks stretched tall, wings spread wide and beaks ready to bite as they fought over each vertebrae, hoof and other miscellaneous fresh carrion pieces. For around 60 adults, two oxen were slaughtered, one for the Christians and the other for Muslims. They say different prayers before killing the animal so they do not eat each other’s meat. The meat was thrown into the largest pot I have ever seen, with water, salt, onion, garlic, ginger and oil and cooked for 2 hours. I helped gather wood from around the school yard and chopped garlic. Inside the meeting room the desks were aligned in two rows with signs which declared “Muslim seating area” and “Christian seating area” so that no one would mix up the meat when they brought it out to serve. I sat in the Muslim area, trying to make a subtle statement because they all think I am a Christian. “Why are you sitting there?” “Come sit over on this side.” I explained that I did not have a preference for a seating area or for either meat. Furthermore, in order to avoid getting sick, I wasn’t even going to eat meat, but a lentil dish that was also provided. Eventually they pulled me over to the Christian side, where I was asked repeatedly why I would not drink beer (because in my community women don’t drink beer in public) and why I did not eat meat. I was gorshad a few times with bits of meat, but successfully avoided being pressured into drinking a beer.

Me with some of my favorite high school faculty holding my boratii

After the meal there was an award ceremony for those teachers who had successful projects or who had gone above and beyond their duties. They were given a certificate and a book. Even the school district authorities were there and they were given beautiful cultural items. My name was the last to be called and I was presented with a certificate of appreciation for my commitment and work with the school’s environmental club and tree nursery. They also gave me a “boratii” which is a wooden pillow that was used back in the day by the Oromo people in my region. Afterwards we had a long and awkward photo session. Each department took a photo of all the teachers, friends posed together and there was even one with the entire faculty. I am pretty sure that I am in each one of those photos (by invitation, not because I’m a meglomaniac). Then I helped prepare a large coffee ceremony and we had a great dance party, which I also participated in. One of the highlights for me was a poem read by one of the English teachers that went something like this:

“Get together

Together we laugh

Together we cry

Together we hold hands

Together we share secrets

Together we make love

Together we share joy…

Get together with me”

Yes, the title of the party was “get together” and yes the poem used the word “together” repeatedly. But no, the direct translation is not appropriate for a High School teachers’ party.

Overall, it was a fantastic celebration. It did last all day as I was there for 7 hours, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. The next day we had a follow up meal to finish all the leftovers. The room where we stored the meat smelled rotten when I entered it as I discovered two huge buckets of raw meat. They just cooked it up and re-created the previous day’s events. These teachers know how to have a good time, and I’m glad I get to be included in their fun.