A bag of puppies

27 January 2013

Matt found a bag of puppies.
They were so young their eyes were not open yet.
He heard their whimpers while he walked by, lifted the rock and untied the knots to reveal them. The morning after they were nestled in rags, all 5 puppies fitting snug inside a small box. My presence awoke them as I sat with them, noticing their unique colors, their paws the size of pennies, their skin pink and pure. They pushed themselves around to get comfortable, to get oriented, to find the milk, but alas none of their siblings were lactating.

“It happens every minute all over the world my friend” my brother tried to console me.

So what do we do? “Feed them goats milk and find a momma dog they can attach to” says my brother in America. Well in Ethiopia, most of the female dogs are killed so they don’t produce and create such situations. We have plenty of goats, but no goat milk is readily available. Even if we fed them, kept them alive, made them strong… is that a good solution?

Frank typed “Human ways to euthanize puppies” into Google search. Is this a superior solution? Are we saving ourselves from the burden of responsibility or are we really just shortening the time of calamity for these babies, letting them go quicker to peace.

Are they better off to grow up into street dogs? To be beaten by people, hit by cars and feel perpetual hunger? To reproduce and make more puppies who will be bagged and taken outside. What is the best answer? What is humane?

In Ethiopia the streets are shared by homeless dogs and people. I can’t lend much sympathy to either of them anymore. I offer “exabier yilisting” (God will provide) though these words are not sincere, and do not heal wounds, give shelter from the sun or offer hope for their children. We have no homes for the homeless, no money for pity, no help for the handicap and no space for sympathy.

For their sake, I’m glad the puppies were blind and unable to see all the shame in this world.

An exercise in poetry

24 January 2013


Before Ethiopia became a place of my reality
I knew it only as a distant story
of ancient cultures, diversity and infamous misery.
People who not only appeared but
spoke, lived and learned unlike me.
Landscapes raped of naturalness,
plowed, cut and inhabited for too long.
History, culture and community
inconceivable to me.

As Ethiopia became part of my future
I knew it only as an unexplainable truth
of limitless opportunities, challenges and necessary discomfort.
People at first unfamiliar but
become my family, friends and mentors.
Landscapes to explore,
admire and preserve for posterity.
Stories will evolve as time dissolves; their contribution initially
inconceivable to me.

When Ethiopia was my place of residence
I knew it only as a constant battle
of values and virtues imbalanced, disappointment and eager isolation.
People who lived meagerly
gave time, laughter and love abundantly.
Landscapes ever changing,
contours of color, texture and exhaustion.
Questions and answers like pieces to a fragmented puzzle
inconceivable to me.

A trip to the market

13 January 2013

(All photo credits to Brett Kvo!)

Squeezing mangoes and avocados only 11 cents each!

Twice a week my small town of 15,000 people becomes flooded with thousands of horses and donkeys packing vegetables, clothes and animal hides. These pack animals are led by thousands of more villagers walking slowly towards Adaba’s central market which occurs every Wednesday and Saturday. Ethiopians do not use grocery stores as they depend on weekly markets and small corner stores called “suks”. Market days are a big event for everyone but especially the rural people (the other 155,000 people in my larger district) who are easy to pick out because their faces display shock and disbelief at the perceived “modernity” of my small town, which to many of them is the largest “city” they have ever visited.

Market products vary slightly from town to town because of local farming practices, climate and culture. Because my town is near to the large towns of Shashamene and Hawassa I am fortunate to be able to purchase a variety of fruits and vegetables. Some volunteers are restricted to cabbage, potatoes and carrots as their only available produce. There is coffee from at least 4 different areas, herbs and spices for every dish or health ailment and so many types of natural incense that your nose becomes unable to discern the subtle aromatic differences.

Dry peppers to make berberry with.

Cardamon pods.

Salt from the NE area of Ethiopia, Afar.

Coffee by the espresso cup only (2 birr = $0.11)!

Incense!

Sniffing some incense and learning about the local medicinal herbs.

Honey is abundant, but very dirty because it's only used to make mead (honey wine).
I'm trying to start a women's cooperative to clean the honey and start a edible honey market in Adaba.

Most everything is sold by the kilo including shoes, honey, onions and coffee. There are limited handicrafts such as baskets, pottery and decorated gourds to purchase while other more popular items such as sugar cane and rancid butter are always abundant. My purchases tend to be produce and coffee, and when I have the patience and energy I enjoy wandering around to see what other obscure items or vendors can be found. Typically my patience is exhausted after 30-60 minutes because my presence quickly encourages followers, mostly children, who indiscreetly go with me from one stand to the next exclaiming on my every comment and purchase.

Weekly market produce all under the price of $3.

After the market I confine myself to my small compound for the remainder of the day because going out only welcomes a mild anxiety attack. Even a short trip to the corner suk invites several rural people to gawk and yell at me or a near collision with a high speed horse taxi. Because my town is predominantly Muslim belligerent people are not common but on Wednesday and Saturday drunk people are everywhere and public urination seems to become an unspoken completion. Butchers toss out vertebras, skulls and hooves for the dogs and massive hooded vultures that squak, steal and scrounge for the best meal of the week. Speakers on the verge of short circuiting thump as kids dash through the bumpy streets, past the busy foosball and pool tables and through crowds of men shaking hands, hugging and stroking each others’ beards. A joyous party for everyone, but me, who prefers to read, cook and wash until the chill of dusk encourages people to return to their villages and anticipate the next market day.

Addis Ababa’s allure

18 December 2012

Modern buildings, historic churches and child labor.

As the capital of Ethiopia one would consider Addis Ababa to reveal a lot about the status of the country. Vividly I can recall my first night in Ethiopia as we drove from the airport to our hotel and I anxiously gazed out the window, searching for clues about this new country and culture. Much to my dismay I found broken sidewalks, corrugated tin metal construction, people sleeping in the gutters and trash carpeting the landscape. Typically a capital city has a concentration of wealth, and especially the area around the airport where all tourists and diplomats pass through; Addis immediately proved to be something different. Nothing indicated hope for prosperity only disparity, but I assuaged my fear by telling me that the daytime would shed light on a different story.

I woke up early the next morning to church speakers, diesel engines and mini-bus horns. Outside of my hotel room I saw the most expensive and impressive architecture of the city: the African Union buildings. Maybe, I thought to myself, things are indeed better than they had initially seemed in last night’s darkness.

Admittedly, it took me a few days to have the courage to leave the hotel and venture out into the streets. I walked across a bridge, the water below smelled of human waste and the soap from people washing upstream created a massive collection of bubbles. I turned the corner to walk toward the African Union, the epicenter of modernity, only to be chased off the road by an enormous herd of cattle and struggle to step between the rocks and muddle puddles on the main road. Translated Addis Ababa means “new flower” this is obviously more poetic than literal as the smell and sight of the “flower” quickly overwhelmed me and I returned to the hotel for refuge.

Addis has become more familiar to me over the past 16 months, I can get where I need to go day or night but each visit reminds me of what a bizarre place it is. The expansive city is 203 sq. miles and inhabited by approximately 6 million people; one of the largest cities in the continent of Africa. Only four functioning stop light exist in the city, while other large intersections are directed by a single policeman working daily, or abandoned to the madness of taxi drivers, pedestrians and livestock.  Only 14% of people in Addis Ababa have flushing toilets and the majority of electricity access (only 16% of the country’s population) exists here. Addis has the largest outdoor market in Africa, Mercato, where you can find nearly anything imaginable is available for purchase if you can spend your money before it is stolen. It seems that most areas in Addis are under construction, which seems to progress and expand but never be completed. The construction provides a constant obstacle course for pedestrians that must hop over putrid smelling puddles, pass by unsecure man holes, climb over boulders and avoid bulldozers and workmen.

Comment like and share our food! Menu items include the "face burger" and "face pizza".
There is no such thing as copyright infringement in Ethiopia.

The metaphorical flower indeed is something to overwhelm all of your senses, and after many weeks and months in my small town I look forward to a trip to the capital. These visits permit opportunities to eat food from nearly any country in the world, buy groceries and gadgets that can be found nowhere else such as tahini, mouse traps or cooking knives. Such extravagant shopping sprees can make it is easy for me to spend 1,000 birr ($60) in a single day, which would take me 4-6 weeks to spend in my rural town. One of my favorite parts of going to Addis is witnessing middle class citizens, independent and modern women wearing pants and driving cars, well fed children and so many foreigners that I can go about my business unnoticed. My feelings towards Addis Ababa are capricious, as it is only tolerable in moderation and with the relief to know that I don’t live there.

Behind every successful woman

5 January 2013

It has been said that “behind every successful man there is a strong woman.” In Ethiopia there is an addition to this: “behind every successful woman there is no one,” Implying that what helped make her successful was avoiding the social pressures of getting married and not pursuing her own education or career. This is not a society where women have many advantages and to be financially, professionally and academically successful an Ethiopian woman will face challenges and criticism every single day.

Many young girls are pressured by their families to immigrate to the Middle East for job opportunities. Often they work as house servants to families they cannot communicate with, and in a culture that is very modern and unfamiliar. They use washing machines, chemical cleaners and cook food that Ethiopians have never seen let alone touched or tasted. Risk of failure is high in these job settings. Even more dangerous is the sexual violence that is all too common among these Ethiopian immigrant workers. Women have come home maybe with more savings to their name, but at a high cost. Many women cannot afford to return home or if they migrated illegally cannot resolve the logistics to get back to Ethiopia. Knowing all of this I inquired to my friends why it is so popular for Ethiopians to go work there at all and I was told:

“Yes, work in the Middle East is difficult for Ethiopian women, but not as dangerous as being poor in their own country.”

Immediately I knew this to be true but was never keen enough to make the observation on my own. A young girl without education or a supportive family is a burden and must find her own route of stability. Often teenage girls are sent to work as a house keeper (“saretena”) for another family. Here she will work 365 days a year cooking, cleaning, washing and pretending to be invisible. This family may or may not send her to school even though public education is free school takes at least 5 hours which is time they could be working at home. I have heard that some saretenas wish to become pregnant by a man in the family so as to ensure stability in their life instead of someday be let go towards an unknown future. Every household has a saretena though some use their own daughters which is why on average girls have lower grades and drop out of school at a higher frequency. On my compound we have 3 saretenas: Lomii (9 years) Salomwit (15 years) and Mimi (18yrs). Only Mimi dropped out before high school, the other Salomwit will probably quit after 10th grade (next year). Lomii is an orphan who’s parents gave her up because they could not afford to feed and cloth her, she’s only in kindergarten and I worry for her future that they might pull her out of school so that she may work full time at the house.

Seeing how women survive in Ethiopian reminds me of the pre-civil war days in my own country, but instead of race people discriminate by gender and class. Being poor is dangerous anywhere, but especially in a developing country where you will not commonly receive sympathy because for nearly 85% of the country who live on around $1 each day sympathy is too much of a luxury for those who are just trying to get by.

Long term side effects

30 November 2012


I am the first volunteer in my small town but I commonly meet people who are familiar with Peace Corps volunteers. Teachers tell me stories about their PC teachers who invited them to dinner, took them hiking and loved them unconditionally. Several times I have had adult men sing to me English songs that they learned from their previous volunteers. Once a store merchant asked how long I was going to live in Ethiopia and when I replied “for two years” without hesitation he responded “Oh yes, I had a Peace Corps volunteer from America 40 years ago!” They always remember the volunteers’ first and last names and a physical description. Through their stories you can see their mind wandering backwards to those memorable years though they occurred decades long before. At these moments I am especially proud to be a part of this legacy, and I hope to spark the same smile and conjure up stories many years after I leave Ethiopia.

At the end of November we had a mid-service conference and one of our sessions was led by two horticulturists who taught us how to graft fruit trees. As one gentleman introduced himself he told us his own story about a young PC volunteer from more than 40 years before. He mentioned that she was always playing with the kids, and even carried them long distances to receive medical care in different emergencies. She was compassionate, she was selfless and he remembered. As he collected his thoughts and shared his story he became overwhelmed with tears, his words interrupted as he rested his face in his hands. We all feared the worst that the story would end in tragedy, but then he lifted his head only to say “I loved her very much.” It wasn’t sadness that made him cry, but love and happiness to recall such memories.

After 11 months I will finish my volunteer service in Ethiopia. Almost daily somebody from my town asks me about that fateful day. Am I really going to just pack up and leave? Will I ever return? Will I telephone my friends in Ethiopia? Am I interested in taking their child back with me? Can’t my family just move to Ethiopia so I don’t have an excuse to leave? I would like to think that they are not counting down the days until I leave so that they can loot my house, but that my absence will be felt because I made a difference in their lives. That someday one of the kids on my street will tell a story about Bridget, the Peace Corps volunteer who helped plant all those trees at the schools, who helped Gammachu finish his last two years of school, who helped plant gardens and taught about nutrition, who played soccer with the boys, taught students about natural resource conservation. The girl we went hiking with and who danced in the streets with the kids. My day-to-day work keeps me busy in Ethiopia, but a perk would be if these projects regardless of their degrees of success had positive long term side effects.