Awkward encounters

22 October 2013

On my way to a nearby town I sat next to a man who began to berate me with all the common questions Ethiopians ask foreigners:

“Where are you go?”                                                                     “Where do you live?”

“Can you speak Amharic?”

“What is your job?”

“Can you help me immigrate to your country?”

“How is Ethiopia?”

“Which language is better Amharic or Oromiifa?”

Finally it came to my marital status because he noticed I wear a gold band on my left hand. I spoke my standard lies: “Yes, I am married. He is not an Ethiopian. He lives in America. He has a job.” Then we moved into more linguistically complicated territory:

“Do you have children?”

I have enough language skills to say “no” or “I am too young” but because I like to subtly confuse and upset Ethiopians from time to time I sometimes enjoy lying to these annoying and intimate questions. Most of the time I say “I don’t want children. They are dirty, expensive and they cry too much.” This normally is a sufficient answer because the interrogator is so dumbfounded they can’t continue the conversation. However, this stranger with 20 questions sitting next to me was not put-off. “Do you and your husband have sex anyway?” “What’s the point of being married if you’re not going to have children?” The questions went on and on until I finally said “Actually, I wouldn’t mind having children, but my health is not good and to tell you the truth, I’m barren.” I looked down at my stomach and touched it softly as I let the words sink into his brain. When I looked up again he said “okkkaayy…” as he diverted his eyes and let the tidal wave of awkwardness hit him. Like a magical spell, my over-curious bus mate got quiet and the conversation was over. Why didn’t I think of this brilliant line 24 months ago?

It doesn’t take much time before the coin changes sides in Ethiopia and the revenge of the awkward silence found me when I least expected it. Today, I was shopping at the small corner stores around my house buying ingredients to make banana bread. As I waited for my neighbor to collect eggs a crazy man came up and asked me to buy him cigarettes. I ignored him but he lingered there as I stood, unable to leave, waiting for my eggs. I held my bag tightly, checked that my phone was secure in my pocket and prepared myself for anything. Then BAM! Without any sudden movements his pants fell down! He stood there motionless and un-phased, though he must have felt some draft of cool air. I turned quickly and faced the fence as I tried to pass time by calculating the days until I get to move out of my town.

Justice in Adaba

21 October 2013

Last week during market day there was a big commotion on the main road of Adaba. Typically that is where all the excitement happens as we only have 1 asphalt road which makes it a near constant and chaotic scene of loitering, traffic, horse taxis and young boys selling roasted barley, sugar cane, lottery tickets and shoe shines. I avoid the main road as much as possible unless I’m riding my bike which makes me faster and therefore difficult target for getting involved in nonsense which usually consists of thrown rocks, sexual harassment and awkward conversations. Never the less, I don’t need to be hanging out on the road to hear about what happens there. In a town as small as Adaba, word travels fast.

As the story goes, an Isuzu truck was parked on the side of the road, the driver was waiting in the cab. In an act of anger, a high school student threw a rock through the side window of the truck. This student was did not fit the stereotype of Adaba’s best trouble makers: a young and attractive female Muslim girl. It became aware to the local police that it wasn’t a random act, but that this young woman and the driver knew each other. At the police station authorities tried to determine who would pay for the broken window. They first asked the perpetrator to explain herself.  She elucidated that this driver had been involved with her, but recently she discovered that he had a wife and children at home. Irate at his deception and ego she took her first opportunity to seek revenge and publicly expose his shameful character. The police asked the man if her accusations against him were honest and he confessed that it was true. It was determined then that the man was at fault for the broken window and would pay for replacement as he provoked the young woman to throw the rock.

As for the young woman, I think she should get a status a-kin to that of Rosa Parks in Adaba. Hopefully the duriye (good for nothing) driver gets worse treatment from his wife at home.

Born Free

11 October 2013

During a visit home-stay family we took an excursion to the Born Free foundation just outside of Menagesha. When I lived there people would tell me “there are lions here” as they pointed off to some obscure point in the forest. I brushed them off, thinking they were re-telling fables, exaggerating or mistranslated “lion” for a smaller wild feline (People often tell me about the “tigers” in Bale, yet there are no tigers in Africa. I think they mean to say leopard, but don’t know the difference). My friend Millian, a popular tourguide, works part time there and offered to show us the animal rehabilitation center. 

Born Free is an organization which rescues and rehabilitates animals that have been taken from the wild as pets. The end goal is to re-release them into the wild again if no injury or development issues prevent it. I was struck by how serene and beautiful the compound was. I feared it would seem like a zoo, but instead it was all natural vegetation with no concrete. The confinements were spread apart from one another and the animals were given abundant space in their areas. The walk in between animal habitats was a short hike through brush and trees where Millian identified different birds, rodents and the tortoises who languidly munched away.

Most of the animals were taken from Jijiga, the capital of Ethiopia's eastern Somalie region. This area has a lot of wild animals being taken as pets because it is close to the D'jibouti/Somalie border where they are taken across the Red Sea. The animals are frequently sold to wealthy Arabs in the Middle East. Most commonly this is the case with Cheetahs, who I learned are not that aggressive, but rather sweet, enormous house cats. As Millian was telling us how this group of cheetahs were discovered, he reached his hand into the fencing where two male cheetahs walked towards him and began purring as he scratched their ears. I asked if I could also try my luck at making a cheetah purr, and he winced explaining that since they aren't familiar with me it might not be very safe. I have never seen cheetahs so closely, and even as an animal enthusiast I have never fully appreciated, until now, how gorgeous they are. If I were wealthy and without better ethics I would also be tempted to own a cheetahs as a house cat. 

We also saw 5 Abyssinian lions. Most of who will not be able to return to the wild due to the harm done from their previous owners.

One lion had striking blue eyes which I learned had been the result of nerve damage from a too-tight collar which the owners were afraid to adjust as the animals grew from a cub to an adult. The two mature males showed their stunning black manes, a unique feature of the Abyssinia lion found only in Ethiopia. Previously the original name for Ethiopia was Abyssinia, named after this rare sub-species. These lions are a national symbol known as the Lion of Judah, made most famous by Emperor Haile Sellassie and henceforth the Rastafarian community.  Like the Cheetahs, I was struck by the beauty of these creatures, but refrained from sticking my hand into the fence to see if I could make them purr.

Born Free works throughout Ethiopia to control animal trafficking and also to support the Ethiopian Wolf Conservation Project. The day at their animal sanctuary was eye opening to see the commitment the organization is making to improve conservation of these precious African creatures.

Anchi! Wadishalo

11 October 2013

In 7  weeks I will complete my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ethiopia. For 22 of these months I have lived alone traversed through language and cultural obstacles. Without my amazing home-stay family, who I lived with the first 10 weeks in country, these obstacles would have been more difficult to clear. Several times through my service I’ve returned to visit them. I’ve noticed my parents make career advancements; both have traveled to South Africa to represent Ethiopia in international medical conventions. My 11 year old sister has transferred to a more rigorous school which she commutes alone to each day on a public bus into Addis Ababa. When I first arrived her English was very basic, but she now speaks easily and with great confidence. My 22 year old brother who had only started college is now a junior engineering student at the military school. My aunt finished her master’s degree this summer after several years of working full time and attending classes. I am extremely proud to see them each have their individual successes which make the family a stronger unit. They are an upstanding and hard working family who represent the best of Ethiopian cultural and the country’s potential.

Unfortunately, not all change has been good. The beloved family dog Jack, who was a favorite friend of mine during those first few months, was eaten by a pack of hyenas last year. More recently my uncle passed away due to alcohol related illnesses earlier this spring. May they both rest in peace.

 Though the time I’ve spent here has seemed quick, I consider all of these changes and realize how significant 2 years are. No single individual has proved this more than my beloved home-stay sister Guza-guz. Also known to me as the most adorable child alive!

When I moved into my home-stay family’s house Guz was only 8 months old. She spent most of her days

wrapped tightly against her mother’s broad back asleep to the laundry, cooking and sweeping that kept her mother busy all day. By the time I left the house her first 4 teeth had arrived, only adding more charm to her smile. I returned 4 months later at Easter to a toddler who was crawling busily and had doubled her pearly whites. The next visit, 6 months later she was mobile and alert! Instead of being swaddled, she spent most of her time she spent walking, dancing and feeding me food helpings (a cultural practice called “gorsha”) from her small palms.
Another long stretched passed without much contact between me and my family until one holiday when I called to catch up. As the phone was passed between each family member we shared greetings until it was finally given to Guza-guz who said

“salam nesh Brijet? Wadishalo anchi”

(“How are you Bridget? I love you!”)

I was silent in dumbstruck disbelief and I felt my heart soften and ache with guilt that I could be absent from her long enough to let her grow up so suddenly. She was talking in sentences! Saying my name! Professing her love for me! I ended the call with  promises to see it all for myself in a short time and soon enough I was reunited again with my sweet family and my favorite baby. We spent the weekend dancing, cuddling, napping and chasing each other. I have spent more hours holding her and observing her development more than any other infant in my lifetime. Maybe I should blame my age on my growing maternal side. Maybe it’s simply that this girl is so charming that anyone with a pulse would feel as enamored as I do. No matter the rationality, to put it plain and simple I am in love with this sweet child, even if her nick name Guza-guz unfortunately means “diaper”.

Easily I can recall the first week I arrived in Ethiopia, Peace Corps held a panel discussion for my group with more experienced PC volunteers where we could voice our concerns. Many people were worried about language acquisition (worldwide, Amharic is the most difficult language PC volunteers are trained in). In response to our trepidation one volunteer plainly stated “By the time you finish your service in PC Ethiopia you could have conceived a child, given birth to it and taught it to speak. You’re already grown adults, so all you have to do in two years is learn to speak the language.” I remember the silence in the room as we all realized the simple, yet astounding truth of his statement. Low and behold, Guza-guz and I have both acquired sufficient language skills in the last two years. Though our Amharic and Oromiifa vocabularies are more robust than when I arrived 24 months ago, the most profound message we’ve always shared is between our smiles.