If you aren’t wearing pants why bother with the shirt?

13 February 2012

Frank always makes friends when we go out in public

Daily observations often leave me with questions and comments that I’m not allowed to express or find answers to due to cultural sensitivity. Fortunately, I have a blog and enough of an audience who can help me ponder these thoughts:

1)   I know a woman who works in rural towns to teach mothers about health and hygiene. The catch of it is that her own 2 year old son enjoys going #2 outside, preferably in front of doorways, and also likes to poke, stomp and splash his own feces before it dries. I may or may not have stepped in some of his business recently, and doing so would not have been the first time my shoes have met human feces in Ethiopia.

2)   I believe the children’s song “head, shoulders, knees and toes” was written after the women’s dress code in my town. The other female PCVs and I have had a lot of discussion about whether conforming to this dress code is crucial for cultural integration, or if we wear pants we can discretely encourage some sort of women’s liberation movement. I wear pants frequently and I must admit I think Emma Goldman would be proud!

3)  Even though geography is taught in all schools children, and even adults call all white people China.” Conversly, all dark skinned people are accused of having Ethiopian ancestry. What I want to point out is that there are thousands of ethnicities in the world besides these two. Never in my life would I think that I could be mistaken as Chinese. It's actually a bizarre compliment.

4)   If your horse or donkey is vital to your livelihood why don’t you treat it better? So many people have a horse cart taxi, or depend on their animals to haul things to and from market. These animals are a status symbol between really poor and poor, and you think that people would be more proud of owning such an important asset, yet they treat their animals terribly. My fried Tarikwa told me that many Ethiopian’s are so poor they can’t afford to treat themselves well, let alone their animal. I understand this to some extent, but whipping your animal, or using it to haul until the load creates open and bloody sores seems avoidable to me. Horses cost around $100 here and donkey are even cheaper. The price reflects the monetary and social value people have for these creatures.

5)    Why wash your coffee beans 3 times if you don’t bother washing your hands to prepare them? If I make it 2 years without contracting typhoid it will be a miracle.

6)   At market there are at least 20 people in each area selling the same thing. Where is the innovation? Atleast pile your produce in a clever manner to make it more appealing. Twenty women with kale or potatoes or red onions or moldy butter or basket grass… well you get the idea. If I pick one over the other I immediately hear about how I offended those I didn’t chose. “My kale is beautiful, why didn’t you buy it?” When I point out that it all looks and costs the same they seem confused, like that has anything to do with it. Am I missing something?

7)  If you aren’t wearing pants why bother with the shirt? I’ve seen this mostly with children, and even a few grown men. Really though, if you don’t have pants what is a shirt concealing? 

Goodbye Sisay

4 February 2012

          Nestled between Assela and Bokoji, I never thought that the lonely town of Sagure would be a destination of ours, nor did we think that the events leading up to it would occur; but it did happen, and today we went... to Sagure to mourned the death of our beloved Oromifa teacher:

Sisay Lemma.

The last day of class: Me, Sisay and Dexter learning vocabulary for body parts. I was teaching Sisay Spanish. 

Sisay had been working with PC for around 7 years. Dexter and I were his last two students in training. Somedays it was difficult to tell if we did more laughing or learning, but I suppose they are enhanced by one another anyhow. To learn new vocabulary occasionally we would play “Go Fish.”  Some cards would hold the vocabulary word and the idea was to ask others for the card bearing the translation or definition in order to make a pair. After English, Oromifa is the first language Dexter has attempted to learn and after 30 years of being a chiropractor, his memory doesn’t retain as much as he would like. During our games of “Go Fish” Dex would quickly end up with 20+ cards in his deck because he couldn’t recall the word to match his hand in order to find pairs. Sisay of course knew all the answers and would let Dexter fill up his hands until cards were falling on the floor, then Sisay would clean Dexter out by asking for one card after the next until he was the winner. Fortunately Dex was a good sport because Sisay didn’t have much self restraint when it came to laughing, and these moments would get him choking with laughter until his eyes would tear up. Soon enough I would begin laughing at Sisay’s antics and then Dex would give up and join us.  

Sisay was easy company because he was hilarious, intelligent and considerate. He had the mannerisms and lingo of a 20-something American, yet he was also Habesha through and through. I have yet to meet an Ethiopian who can balance the best of each culture. He was never put off by our strange questions about Ethiopia culture, though to others they may have seemed insensitive or ignorant. He was also very familiar with American culture and politics. Once, Dexter and I wrote a short life story in Oromifa about Michael Jackson. The exercise was to practice tenses and time sequence vocabulary, instead we all three ended up in deep discussion about the virtue and integrity of the Kind of Pop’s career. I still have the story and I read it occasionally with others to have a good laugh. For me, the novelty of being able to talk about Michael Jackson in an African language is fantastic, but Sisay would be pleased to know that I can have such a profound conversation in his mother tongue.

He and his mother were very close as she was a single parent of two boys, Sisay was the eldest. Sisay’s mom taught him to cook and clean as would have been the case if she had had a daughter. It is rare for Ethiopian men to know and exercise such skills, and Sisay was proud of them which made it even more unique. During training he cooked for and taught other PC instructors (both male and female) their way around the kitchen.

When he wasn’t working and traveling with PC, Sisay lived with his mom in his hometown of Sagure. Last Sunday they went to a nearby lake to relax and visit the Orthodox church on the lake’s island. When they returned from the boat ride to the island the family was resting on the shore, and Sisay was in the water. Before anyone realized anything had happened they saw clothes floating on the surface, and then they recognized it was Sisay floating… drowned… dead. No one heard any struggle or splashing, they are unsure if he slipped and hit his head or if he had been trying to swim. It happened too quickly for them to recognize a problem or to revive him. Sisay was only 27 years old.

As with all Orthodox Christian funerals he was buried the following afternoon and the mourners have been with his family each day since. Today, 5 days after the event, we went to visit his family and pay our respects. We wanted them to know that the time he was away from his family, and with us in training, we loved and appreciated him also. As soon as we walked in the front door it was obvious our arrival was a surprise, her astonishment quickly transitioned into loud wailing and chanting of his name. It was as if she’d forgotten that he wasn’t simply a wonderful son, but also a compassionate teacher who touched many lives. She cried for him, for his kindness and talent as a teacher, for his future which had been cut short. Another one of our Oromifa teachers, Ayu, had come with us to Sagure. She had not only worked with Sisay the past 7 years, but they also went to the same University together. Though Ayu is Muslim, she attends Christian ceremonies if she is invited or interested. In the Muslim religion women do not attend the funeral. Families may fast for weeks, and crying is not encouraged. As with Sarah’s funeral just 2 months before, Ayu was weeping alongside us. I admire her spiritual flexibility and the courage it takes to show such raw emotions.

After we cried ourselves dry we were served a lunch of lentils and injera followed by a coffee ceremony. In return we gave them gifts of coffee, sugar and money. The room’s emotions lightened and we began to chat amongst ourselves. During this time many people visited the family offering their condolences and gifts. Sometime after lunch we heard an engine running outside the house. People began shuffling the furniture and Ayu sat fidgeting next to me. She whisperd “the priest has come and I don’t know what it means.” Dressed in ornate outfits and each carrying a hand carved wooden cross, 4 Orthodox priests floated into the room. The highest priest (as made evident by the shape of his hat) sat next to Sisay’s mother and brother. He offered a prayer and two more priests spoke after him (it is times like this when I wish I had learned Amharic). After prayer a pitcher of water was presented and prayed upon to create holy water. Most everyone in the room gathered around the priests as they dipped their hands into the pitcher and threw water against the already damp faces. One of the priests came over to greet me, and I told him that Sisay had been my teacher. We embraced and just as quickly as they arrived they departed. Inside the home, I am not sure if the priests’ attendance is common, judging my Ayu’s words I think it was a special event, and it seemed to please Sisay’s family as they settled back into their seats, soaking wet and in a daze.

Out of all the opportunities I have had to integrate into Ethiopian culture, mourning over the people I’ve grown to love is not my favorite. Before Ethiopia I had never attended a single funeral. In the past two months we have said farewell to two very young, vivacious and remarkable individuals. There is no rationality for such tragedies and my heart goes out to their families: may they have the strength to live for those who are still with us. 

So what are you doing for work anyway?

31 January 2012 

My assigned work office is the Agriculture and Rural development office, which I am involved with through my connection with Zewditu. Our town is the center of the woreda, or district, in the zone of W. Arsi which is in the Region (essentially a state or province) of Oromia, there are 9 regions in Ethiopia.

 Inside our woreda we are responsible for 22 kabeles, or rural towns. These kabeles were originally separate klans which had their own means of governance and land distribution. In 1974 when the imperial regime fell with the death of Emperor Haili Selassie, the communist Derg regime came into power and land reform was at the top of their agenda. The idea was that before private land holdings created a system of feudalism where very few people held land creating an enormous lower class of indentured workers. The Derg nationalized all the land so it was not possible to own private land. The traditional klans became kabeles with “peasants associations” as a form of small-scale local governance. The office I work with acts as a liaison to implement the national government’s policies in the rural kabeles. Are you still following me? If so, here are two of the ongoing projects my office is busy working on:

Soil erosion mitigation: Creation of physical structure to reduce soil erosion. These terraces, check dams or canals are all built by hand, not machines. My office loans out tools as the peasants don’t even have the basics to begin the work. Currently soil conservation measures are of high priority because the rainy season (our first of two) is coming next month and with the rain washes the soil and the potential productivity of next year’s crop. It is astonishing to see the work ethic of these farmers as they build 300+ m of bunt terraces, and canals to channel water away from fields.

Nursery development and reforestation: Since Ethiopia has seen a deforestation rate of 150,000 hectares annually with a total forest cover loss of 40% (historically) to 3% (currently). The government is attempting to replace trees in hope of reversing the trend. My office is mandated to give free tree seeds to any individual, group or peasant association that desires to plant trees. The strange part is that my office has to buy these seeds from the government and their budget is pretty limited already. Regardless, they do their best to meet the needs of the people. Currently we are weighing, sorting and delivering tree seeds from several native and exotic species. The recipients are expect to grow the seeds to seedlings are replant them to their permanent site taking all the precautions necessary to ensure their survival. This process requires a lot of time and money spent by the people in my office who work 6 days a week, unfortunately their efforts are trumped by an annual seedling fatality rate of around 50%.

Somewhere in all of this there is an opportunity for me to have a master’s thesis. I’m considering investigating the mortality rate and figuring out a way to give greater incentive to the farmers for them to better ensure the seedlings’ survival. Also, there seems to be a lack of training to care for seedlings, which are notoriously finicky. A project to encourage reciprocal knowledge sharing so that the people were teaching each other, instead of waiting for someone from the government to re-train them every few years would be ideal.  Seems like a good area to spend my time that would give back to my office, the greater community and the beautiful landscapes I get to call home for 2 years. 

Staying centered

29 January 2012

In Ethiopia I find myself walking through the pages of a National Geographic magazine, whose timeless photographs are now animated, the characters have become my neighbors and the scenery the route of my daily morning run.

I witness happiness where others see hardship and hunger.

I see beauty through wrinkles, scars and exhaustion.

I hear hope in the laugher of children, rustle of eucalyptus leaves and the pounding of the mortars and pestles.

I am learning a culture of tradition, spirituality and patience;

a lifestyle of love, gratitude and simplicity;

a disposition of optimism, compassion and curiosity.

Sometimes I forget that I am living the most outrageous, exquisite and memorable adventure of my life. When I least expect it, like today riding back from Hawassa on a stuffy, overcrowded bus I find enlightenment. I am overcome by emotion as my eyes scan the landscape through the open window, as I notice the stranger I share my seat with, or as I begin to tune back into the background noise of conversations in numerous different languages.I must be adapting if these sensations are just moments, instead of astonishment every waking hour of the each day. 

"Plant your love and let it grow"

23 January 2012

            A month into my 27 at site and I’m finally beginning to feel comfortable. I’ve got somewhat of a routine now, and I’ve gained enough endurance to make it through the day without an afternoon nap. I’m even getting anxious and ambitious scheming up projects. What a transition! Regardless of how clever my ideas may be without language, integration and understand my efforts are trivial. So instead I am taking baby steps, appreciating the small things, and as a result of such patience I believe I will make bigger strides in the months to come.

The first and most important step is easier said than done:

Saying “YES!”

To coffee with strangers

Meeting and training invitations (even if I can’t understand the language)

Accepting hugs from children and kisses from old ladies on the street

Agreeing to drink home-made beer concoctions (with food I’m not as brave)

To playing ping-pong against the elementary school teachers

Invitations to eat lunch (I’m never allowed to pay and it makes me uncomfortable)

To the countless awkward proposals from disrespectful men who want to immigrate the U.S.

(just kidding on that last one!)

            Next, I remind myself that even though it can be overwhelming, the attention that I’m receiving might dissipate and I need to take advantage of people’s interest while I’ve got such a captive audience. With this I go to meetings, job shadow and listen to every invitation and idea even if I’m not too keen on it or don’t think that it is plausible. Who knows!? I’ve heard from other volunteers that sometimes the most unlikely projects turn out to the most successful and rewarding. Just today I was given a tour of the public library and cultural museum… we’ll just say it has a lot of potential. Basically all the university textbooks that have lost their campus value end up in small towns libraries in developing nations (who knew?)! I haven’t found too many American’s, let alone Ethiopians, that read macroeconomics, organic chemistry or accounting textbooks for fun. No wonder there isn’t much of a reading culture here!

(If anyone is interested in organizing a book donation please contact me)

            Expanding the library’s inventory never crossed my mind, and it would definitely be a large, but worthwhile project. Being a PC volunteer, no matter if your focus is health, education or environment, means being a community member so I shouldn’t be narrow minded when it comes to picking projects.  After all, my family is full of devoted library patrons (what an understatement)!

            Learning new hobbies such as crocheting, making grass baskets, taek wondo (it’s huge here!), and playing the harmonica are other ways I’m developing a sense of fulfillment and getting to know people in my community. I’ve also been re-igniting my long lost love of soccer by playing at the high school a few days a week. My teammates include teachers and students both young and old. It should be no surprise that I am the only woman on the field. Probably the only females some of these men have seen play soccer in person, let alone played soccer with. Fortunately, everyone is welcoming and enthusiastic about my participation (when I play poorly they kindly say “B, you are not lucky today” and I correct them by saying.. “yeah, I’m terrible”). On the side lines though, I’ve had a conversation correcting the myth that men are biologically stronger than women… if only my athleticism could speak for itself (maybe after I get in shape?). Regardless of my huffing and puffing, I love playing with these guys and slowly getting back in shape.

            Little by little I am planting seeds and sowing them. My circle of friends is growing, I’m out of my compound most of the day instead of hiding inside reading and sometimes I even hear “B” when I walk down the streets instead of “china” “mister” “you, you, you” or “ferengi”. Becoming more integrated in my community has helped alleviate my homesickness (somewhat) and given me that patience to work through the challenges and frustrations that are an inevitable part of life here.

New Years and new friends

3 January 2012

Libbey, Brian and me on our New Year's hike.

After a fun filled Christmas weekend in Hawasa and Wondo Genet, I barely had time to get working at my new site as New Years came the following weekend. We don’t frequently get permission or excuses to leave our sites so Theresa, Orion and I seized the opportunity and took off East to Dinsho, the entrance of Bale National Park and the home of a fellow volunteer Brian.

New Year's Eve sunset in Bale National Park

Brian is one of approximately 20 people who live(legally) inside Bale National Park. His closest neighbors are the bushbucks, hyenas, baboons and nyalla that frequent his compound, sometimes even coming into the kitchen looking for snacks. The variety of volunteer living conditions, work environments and communities is astounding. Just last week I was on a college campus where Bob and Nancy work at Ethiopia’s only forestry college. It was landscape full of avocado trees, monkeys, asphalt roads and even adults who are accustomed to foreigners and don’t harass them. Bob and Nancy teach at the college where they have an office and a house with a sink and even an oven inside! In Hawasa Rich works as an IT volunteer at the AIDS resource center. He too has a desk with a computer! Outside his office big city is full of ferengi grocery stores and offers postcard worthy views daily of the sun setting over lake Hawasa.

Brian’s electricity and cell phone reception doesn’t always work, he doesn’t have internet, an office or close neighbors to invite him to coffee, yet I covet his site the most. There are 4 simple reasons for this:

1)      Brian has a hot shower with great water pressure!

2)      At night the hyenas and warthogs surround his living quarters and they make so much noise it is frightening to walk 25 feet uphill in order to simply use the bathroom.

3)      When researchers come to visit the park they live in the dorm rooms next to Brian. This has given him opportunities to become involved with various projects including some work with National Geographic!

4)      There is a marvelous rickety old fence around the park and an admission fee that does a pretty great job ensuring that Brian and his wild friends have the place to themselves most of the time.



The sleepy town of Dinsho



Crossing a bridge of a waterfall on our hike N. of Dinsho

Fueling up with food before our celebration!

For New Years we went on a hike north of Dinsho with a flat rocky landscape so unlike the mountainous forests behind it I almost forgot where I was. We spent the evening cooking delicious food, staying warm over a bonfire and having a shameless dance party. Other volunteers have told me that the “Bale crew” is a fun one, and now I have witnessed it for myself. I am elated to be a part of it.

24 hours of lunacy, but nothing too out of the ordinary

28 Dec 2011

Yesterday while returning home from Wondo Genet I had to change buses in Dodola for the last 30km of my trip. I resisted demands to put my duffle bag on top even though I knew the bus would be a full one. Unwilling to separate from my luggage, I climbed into the van and sat on the last 6 inches of the seat closest to the door. By the time we left there were 20 people in a van built for 12 passengers. Obviously, me having my luggage didn’t make things more comfortable, but I was unwilling to let my belongings sit on top and risk them becoming damaged, or being forced to pay 10 Birr to have them removed when I got off the bus. Within less than 10 minutes after taking off we pulled over to collect the jerry cans that had fallen from the top of the van. Two more times we stopped to re-tie the water cans down again. I smiled to myself knowing that for once my stubbornness had served me well.

This morning I found a staple in my oatmeal.Between the oats, peanut butter, cinnamon and sugar I can’t exactly pin down where it came from. I’ve learned to be cautious of rocks in my lentils, beans, wheat and rice. People spend hours combing through their grains to remove such impurities… but how could I have expected an office supply in my Quaker oatmeal?

It’s Wednesday which is my second opportunity to get goods from our market. I was stopped by a man who I’ve met before (but I couldn’t tell you where) and we went through the motions of smiles and greetings. Afterwards, he kept his hand on my shoulder and asked if I needed help at the market. I explained that my friend Taayich was there with me and I didn’t need help. I made my way with her to the fruit stands where he again interrupted me as I was trying to buy mangos. Awkward jokes led to him inviting me to lunch. I politely refused his offer saying that I already had plans and without warning he asked if I was married. As recommended by other volunteers, I do wear a wedding band on my left hand to help people make assumptions and improve my chances of not acquiring any stalkers. If they do ask my status I respond that I have a boyfriend in America which isn’t entirely honest, but again keeps me away from uncomfortable situations. When this particular man heard that I was unavailable he lost his façade and got straight to the point: “I need to go to America. Can you help me?” I told him that I couldn’t help him and that I am unfamiliar with the immigration process. I referred him to the U.S. embassy and the next thing I knew he gave up on me and left. Next time I should just have the embassy’s phone number on hand and tell people to call my friend who can help them.



My compound mate, and english student Rama



Around dinner time roommates insisted on helping me clean the floor of my room. I tried to sweep but the broom was quickly commandeered by Taayich. Afterwards, she grabbed a mop which was accompanied by a bucket full of dirty water. After successfully making the floor of my room wet I thought she would be satisfied, but not quite. She quickly returned with a jerry can full of liquid which she poured on her hands and tossed around the floor of my room. Unable to identify the liquid by how it was being used or the looks of it I finally ventured a guess and asked if it was some sort of oil, "No" she replied “it is gas.” As my jaw fell open my nostrils seized the fumes and began to sting. My attempts to understand why gas was the preferred floor cleaning agent were ignored as Taayich explained how gasoline makes the floor beautiful and after it dries it will not smell. Six hours later my floor is still somewhat damp and the air remains volatile. As far as beautiful goes, I cannot say that I notice a difference of any sort. Next time I am going to have to be more assertive about doing my own housework.

While my room aired-out we went on a walk south of town. Going with friends is best because they can help answer all of the strangers who want to know who I am, where I am going and how I managed to learn their language. We walked towards a low river that intersects fields of wheat and onions as it parallels a dusty road. Walking towards nowhere in particular we passed fences made of cactus which delineated property and wards off browsing sheep. The longer we walked the quicker that word spread and pretty soon I could hear people saying “ferengi” before we could see them. One gentleman walked up to me, gave me a soldier’s salute and pulled his scarf down so that I could see his bleached beard. Many of the older Muslim men in my town grow beards and some are dyed (to symbolize they've been to Mecca), but I have never seen someone fondle their beard in public. He was quirky and friendly so I played along “dhifama garu areda hin qabu” I said (excuse me but I don’t have a beard). We laughed and then he asked me if I would give him money to buy a cigarette. My normal response to money demands is “Quarshi barbaata? Mana bankii demii” (If you want money go to the bank), but because this man was my elder and wasn’t making his demands loudly from across the street so I held my tongue. What I wanted to ask, as he stared at me proudly stroking his orange beard is “aren’t you Muslim?”

A few days later on the same dirt road I was asked by a woman if I had children. Thinking she was making friendly conversation I replied that I did not and asked if she herself had children. Not only did she have children, but she went ahead and asked if I wanted one! Unprepared with appropriate language skills, and too astonished to say anything worthwhile I just stared at her wide eyed saying “Why!?” “No I don’t want your kid… it’s your child!” “Why!?” Even if my words were unclear, my face had grown pale with shock and my eyes were wide, upset by her offer. She said “ok, ok, ok” and moved along. I want to hand out condoms the next time someone asks me that so I don’t have to say anything at all. However, because I’m trying NOT to be culturally insensitive I think I should just work on my language skills instead.