Hair Care(less).

Hair styles are varied in Ethiopia, from men to women and all the children, everyone has something different. Here are some of the most entertaining hairstyles that I've captured on camera.

If you turn a wig inside out this is what the stitching looks like.
My favorite part is the little tail coming out the crown of her head.

Rat tails are still in style for Ethiopian boys

Loomi after she took her braids out

Mituu with her Tigray region bumps

Once, I braided Loomi's hair for school. Not to bad ehh? 

Tigray girl who hiked with me, the thin cornrows are traditional,
 the dread locks are her own style.

My fellow PCVs in the Tigray region took it upon themselves to experience Ethiopian beauty salon magic.
 Yes, that is a lot of yellow weave!

I had a moment of trepidation about leaving Ethiopia, so my friend Burtukan braided my hair. It seemed like a worthy activity at the time, but obviously is not something I should have explored. It's not a look I plan on repeating, but plenty of laughs were had from it. You're welcome.

This is after I took out my cornrows. It looks like I'm a librarian addicted to prescription drugs.
 Again, it's not a look I plan on repeating or a lifestyle I will adopt, but it gives plenty of laughs. You're welcome.

How to make a world map!

Starting fresh! 

All the world oceans

South America is penciled out

Recruit friends to help make the mundane work more fun

Joe starting to paint

We recruited Ibsa to help us paint, over 200 countries takes a lot of time.

All the countries are painted and our little friends approve!

Labeling, labeling labeling

Labeling, labeling, labeling...

Finished product! 

Bad signs

These are poorly written signs that I have seen in Ethiopia. I hope they make you laugh as much as they did me. (This blog idea was taken from my friend Stasia, who is serving in Peru.)

Turns out this organization works on food security and tree nurseries that generate income for vulnerable women and children; an ideal work counterpart for me in my town. Unfortunately, I only recently was able to read their sign and figure out what they call themselves. There are no cognates between English and Oromiifa for "Action for basic development initiatives." This is the worst attempt I've seen for written English.

I'm not much for hamburgers, but this one looks especially unappetizing.

A "perception desk" is not a bad idea.

Public litter boxes would be an improvement in Ethiopia, but alas they don't actually exists.

Birds as transportation? 

Just bad advertising. 

Meet my neighbors: part II

4 November 2013

“Peaceful Fruit”

With a name like “Peaceful Fruit” one would find it hard to believe that Freissalaam is so much trouble. At 3 years old he’s asserted his dominance between the 30 meters of street in front of his house. Few cows, sheep, goats, horses, donkeys or children go unattended to. From sun up until sun down my little friend runs wild. Mostly it’s his mom that suffers from his poor behavior and antics. Fortunately for Freissalaam, he’s cute...

REALLY cute!

Along with the mosque and the Orthodox Church, Freissalaam is one of the main reasons I wear ear plugs at night. Without them I would probably average only 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep per night. I don’t know when Peaceful Fruit sleeps because whenever I’m awake, I hear him. I hear him harassing the livestock. I hear him bossing around his friends. I hear him pretending to cry when he’s disciplined. And most of the time I hear his mother:

“SALAAM, quarta mei!!” (SALAAM! Come to me)

This is repeated about 6 times before she just hauls off on him and starts yelling and screaming high pitch noises and chasing him down the street; shortly thereafter I hear him crying and hitting things to vent his frustration. From the comfort (but no peace) inside my home, I can identify all the neighbor children by the sound of their crying and tantrums. I know each of them for their unique build-up, their chorus, I know when it’s fake and when it’s real and I know their mother’s response. It is like musical theater, one that would never sell tickets or gather a gratifying audience.

Looking cool in Amanda's sunglasses

My favorite part of having all these noisy, needy children as my neighbors is not their cacophony of cries, or that they’re always sticky, snotty and pooping in the middle of the road, my favorite part of all these kiddos is how sweet they are to me. As soon as I leave my compound, no matter how discrete I try to be, I am quickly spotted.

“B!!”   Shouts the first witness, then like a stampede of clumsy puppies they come running towards my kneecaps. In a remarkably short amount of time I am surrounded, as if trapped in quicksand, I lose mobility, I feel trapped. The more I resist the tighter they squeeze. At least once a week they share fleas with me, but as a lonely foreigner who doesn’t receive much affection, I dismiss any concerns about flea bites and hug them back, rubbing their small backs, tickling their necks and scratching their rough and untidy hair. Their giggles and lingering embrace lets me know that they appreciate the extra affection too. We finish our group huddle with some fist-bombs, bumping our knuckles together when I command them with “gitch!” which means fist. Many of the children will kiss their knuckles after they pull them away from mine and tap their chest. This is a version of street slang and hoodlums that I can hang with.