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.