Sticks and stones, cows and toothbrushes

13 July 2012


This afternoon I was visiting with my favorite neighbors who live two compounds down from mine. This family has always been very warm and welcoming to me. They live in a house that is no larger than 6 x 10 ft but 6 people live there, 4 kids (ages 6-16) and two adults. Despite how cramped the space is, their house is definitely a home. It is so cozy inside and I love to hang out, drink tea and practice English and Oromifa with the kids. Today I noticed that one of the boys was suddenly missing a front tooth! He’s too old for it to have been a baby tooth so I knew there was a good story behind its disappearance. As the story goes, two drunk men were fighting in the street and he was an innocent bystander. One of the men picked up a rock to stone the other but his poor aim sent the rock flying into the mouth of this kid who was merely watching. I asked if the men had paid the family some sort of compensation for his tooth and was told that they were given 800 birr, about $47. The family took him to the dentist where the broken tooth was removed and the rest of the money went towards buying a new calf which will bring the family more income in the future. I did also notice a few weeks ago that the family had acquired a sheep, and I was curious to know how, but after learning about how the calf was bought I would rather not inquire. Who knows what bizarre incident occurred before they encountered the money to make such a large purchase.

Since we were on the topic of teeth I told them to excuse me while I ran home. Inside my house I gathered some toothbrushes and tooth paste that my grandma and dentist had sent me from Oregon. The American in me had been nervous about handing them out as I feared it would imply that I thought the recipients were somehow inadequate; when in actuality I know that these types of items are expensive and for many families buying them would mean prioritizing among other more important purchases such as school supplies and food. I returned with the gifts in hand and felt like Santa Clause. There was a lot of clapping, smiling, squealing and selfish grabbing and hoarding. They were so excited to have toothbrushes! They even sang me songs about using a toothbrush though they had never owned one before. We practiced together, discussing how frequently they should brush, which teeth to not forget, why brushing is important and they gave me hugs and said thank you in their very best English. I even helped Zerihun (the youngest) by brushing his teeth for him, but for fear that I would gag him I instructed him on how to brush his tongue. It was quite a bonding moment for us and more than ever I am considering the family’s offer that I take Zerihun home with me to America (not really, but it is tempting as he is really freaking adorable!!)

Oh my hail

12 July 2012

In Ethiopia, one of the oldest Christian nations in the world, it should not surprise me that seemingly biblical events occur almost regularly. Many people are familiar with the terrible famines that have given the country international infamy. Furthermore many foreigners have told me that they feel as though they are in a time-warp in Ethiopia, as things are done here as you would expect to have happened thousands of years ago. Many people live in round mud homes with thatch roofs, walk barefoot, flow by two oxen, eat without using utensils, etc… Simply put, for better or worse, life in Ethiopia is unbelievable. I have long before accepted this statement as a fact but still I catch myself repeatedly exclaiming “I can’t believe it!” So why was I caught by suprise, yet again, yesterday when we received a hail storm of epic proportions. The storm lasted for only 20 minutes but it left the town covered in white except for the areas when the flash floods tore through the town. I shrugged it off, mourning my young and probably deceased garden and stayed inside for the remainder of the evening.

My garden is a goner!

The next day, I woke up early to go to the primary school. Once inside the school’s compound I post-holed through the hail drifts, sometimes breaking through and the drifts I discovered they were as high as my knees! The rivers are thick and brown with mud and the banks are completely washed out. In one area of my town 11 cows were killed from the weather event. I saw snowball fights and kids making their first snow cones (albeit a little bit muddy). More than two days later there are still many patches of hail around town, some drifts still around 1 foot tall. Some of the hail balls were as large as cherries! Finally, people have something to talk about that is new and exciting again. 

The people that you meet when you're walking down the street!

5 July 2012


In public I am called at by at least 1/3 of the people that see me. After 9 months I’m finally fairly gracious about how I handle all the attention. Most of the time when I have the energy I respond, but I am guilty of ignoring the more obnoxious or ridiculing comments. Here are some of the names I am called, in order of popularity:

B

Fereng

Feregitti

China

Booti 

YOU!

Anchi! 

“Uhhhh”

Mister

Sister

Habasha

Budget

Bridget

British

After such charming titles these demanding or inquisitive phrases follow:

“seena” (come inside)
“quarta me” (come to me)
“Shy bunna dugdhee” (come drink coffee or tea)
“How is the life?”
“Are you fine?” (often followed by a creepy eyebrow raise)
“Neh Anchi!” (come girl)
“Essa baade?”  (where did you disappear to?)
“Biyya barrate?” (are you familiar with the country?)
“Where where do you go?” or “essa demta?”
“Where where do you come?”  or “essa dufte”

 

Get Together

1 July 2012

Thomas stirring the pot-of-meat

Yesterday I was invited to attend the High School faculty’s annual “get together” an end of the school year celebration. I was told to arrive at 10 am and that the party would last all day. I didn’t believe it. I was wrong. I arrived a little tardy at 10:30 (proof of my level of integration) and found the school yard was crowded with giant vultures. Their necks stretched tall, wings spread wide and beaks ready to bite as they fought over each vertebrae, hoof and other miscellaneous fresh carrion pieces. For around 60 adults, two oxen were slaughtered, one for the Christians and the other for Muslims. They say different prayers before killing the animal so they do not eat each other’s meat. The meat was thrown into the largest pot I have ever seen, with water, salt, onion, garlic, ginger and oil and cooked for 2 hours. I helped gather wood from around the school yard and chopped garlic. Inside the meeting room the desks were aligned in two rows with signs which declared “Muslim seating area” and “Christian seating area” so that no one would mix up the meat when they brought it out to serve. I sat in the Muslim area, trying to make a subtle statement because they all think I am a Christian. “Why are you sitting there?” “Come sit over on this side.” I explained that I did not have a preference for a seating area or for either meat. Furthermore, in order to avoid getting sick, I wasn’t even going to eat meat, but a lentil dish that was also provided. Eventually they pulled me over to the Christian side, where I was asked repeatedly why I would not drink beer (because in my community women don’t drink beer in public) and why I did not eat meat. I was gorshad a few times with bits of meat, but successfully avoided being pressured into drinking a beer.

Me with some of my favorite high school faculty holding my boratii

After the meal there was an award ceremony for those teachers who had successful projects or who had gone above and beyond their duties. They were given a certificate and a book. Even the school district authorities were there and they were given beautiful cultural items. My name was the last to be called and I was presented with a certificate of appreciation for my commitment and work with the school’s environmental club and tree nursery. They also gave me a “boratii” which is a wooden pillow that was used back in the day by the Oromo people in my region. Afterwards we had a long and awkward photo session. Each department took a photo of all the teachers, friends posed together and there was even one with the entire faculty. I am pretty sure that I am in each one of those photos (by invitation, not because I’m a meglomaniac). Then I helped prepare a large coffee ceremony and we had a great dance party, which I also participated in. One of the highlights for me was a poem read by one of the English teachers that went something like this:

“Get together

Together we laugh

Together we cry

Together we hold hands

Together we share secrets

Together we make love

Together we share joy…

Get together with me”

Yes, the title of the party was “get together” and yes the poem used the word “together” repeatedly. But no, the direct translation is not appropriate for a High School teachers’ party.

Overall, it was a fantastic celebration. It did last all day as I was there for 7 hours, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. The next day we had a follow up meal to finish all the leftovers. The room where we stored the meat smelled rotten when I entered it as I discovered two huge buckets of raw meat. They just cooked it up and re-created the previous day’s events. These teachers know how to have a good time, and I’m glad I get to be included in their fun.

Failing in Love

6 June 2012

I’m a simple girl when it comes to dating. I’ve only been on 1 semi-fancy first date that involved me purchasing a new outfit, being picked up at my home at a set time, dinner at a nice restaurant and ended with the classic extended and tense goodbye.  Mostly they’ve been along the lines of a hockey game, local breweries, parks or hiking trips. A few previous boyfriends have even informed me that I’m a difficult woman to romance, something along the lines of my awkward outbursts, being difficult to read and not easily accepting the classic female role. I’m quick to open the door first, most often the one to make the first move and be the chaser and not the chased. In Ethiopia, I’ve been on the receiving end of very assertive, incredibly awkward and always pathetic pick up attempts. Really I have come to appreciate the dating game of my own culture and all the men in my life who’ve exercised their version of modern day chivalry. You could all teach these Ethiopian men a thing or two…

Scenario 1: Random guy starts showing up at my house, calling me and acting like we know each other. In my confusion I actually believe that maybe I know him but have just forgotten. I agree to a coffee date where-in he quickly informs me of his plans to become a U.S. citizen by all means possible since Stanford Law recently told him that getting a full ride there unlikely. He heard that through false marriage becoming a citizen is a quick and painless process. I listen patiently (kicking myself for not having anticipating this) then I informed him that he has a better chance of getting an all expense paid invation to Stanford Law School. “I’m engaged to be married” I say (not true), “I’ve been with this guy for a long time and we’re madly infatuated with each other” (true as far as I can discern). “Please respect my relationship and my honesty when I tell you I am not going to marry you so you can emigrate from Ethiopia.” He laughed. I didn’t. We finished out coffee quickly and I made a bee-line to my compound, locking the door behind me.

…. The following day…

Text message from Samuel “I think God created me for you. On the first day I met you my heart started to beat for you! My soul desire to live with you everywhere you go. I did not expect this to happen in my life. But I realized that I always want to stay and live with you! My soul needs your love. It may be surprise for you that I failed in love with you. Bridget I really love you.”

A number of these ridiculous text messages (with hilarious misspellings) came forward even after I demanded that he never contact me again. Eventually I got my landlord involved and the phone calls and messages ceased. Fortunately he doesn’t live in my town so I don’t see him anymore.

Scenario 2: I held a high school writing contest to find candidates for a summer camp I and 11 other PC volunteers are putting on. The prompts for the essay were 1) introduce yourself. 2) Explain how you help support your community. 3) What do you see in your future and how are you going to achieve those goals?

Most of the writing was impressive. There was a lot of talk about how one of their parents had died and they worked hard to support their struggling family. A lot of the students discussed being a medical professional in the future and helping people with AIDS in the community. The means to achieve these goals was primarily faith in God/Allah. One of the essays that stood out was this:

“My name is Abda. I must get doctor. Because I help people for disease. I like advice for people for time to time. Oh My God I Love you. Give my solution. I see you my heart is very happy. My eyes see you. My lip kisses you. All my body for you. How will communicate you. I am very love you. I will give me solution in short time. Good luck.”

Needless to say I will not be chaperoning this students to a week-long summer camp. It gave me and the teachers a good laugh though.

Scenario 3: Leaving Addis the other week I was caught in public transit hell, hoping from one line taxi to another all over town trying to get to the most Southern bus station called Kaliti. A nice older man got on the bus and sat next to me. We struck up some small talk. I explained that I’m an environment volunteer who arrived 8 months before, I live down in W. Arsi and speak Oromifa, blah, blah, blah. When we got off the taxi he helped walk me towards my next mini bus. While zig-zagging through the bustling crowds people and boldly dodging traffic in the streets he told me that he was a university professor and he also works for the president’s administration council. This guy was well dressed, at least 50 years old and his phone even had a fancy key pad so it seemed believable. Before I climbed into the next bus he asked for my contact information in case he ever has work in my area and to make sure that I arrive home safely that evening.

… The following night at 10pm…

Text: “Bigit Hi! Why you didn’t answer my cal’? do you have a husband from Adaba? If your answer is yes, please for my disturbace at almost mid night. If you don’t have a husband there really I am highly impressed with your BEAUTY. Bcoz you are CUTE, SMART & ATTRACTIVE.. You are a LOVELY GIRL that is why I LoVe You. It is not JOCKING but it is from the BOTTOM of my HEART. Have a nice NIGHT! Honestly Yours Shimelis.”

I responded the next day simply with “Please do not ever contact me again.” So far I am in the clear.

Honestly, sometimes I want to wear a burka to conceal myself, but I know my hazel eyes will give me away. Other times I think I should see these moments as opportunities to have a discussion about the motives behind emigration. After all, if motivated and educated individuals abandon Ethiopia who will help work towards Ethiopia’s development progress? Mostly I haven’t had much patience to hang around after these men reveal their intentions. My heart goes out to all the Ethiopian women who are approached in such a manner and have less social-cultural liberties to tell these men what they really think.

Trial and error

22 May 2012

Peace Corps project #1:
Tree nursery establishment and management for local schools.

Sesbania seedling growing strong!

This project was given to me by my supervisor who casual asked if I would help prepare the schools establish individual tree nurseries. He told me that I was assigned to 6 different schools and that I should report back to him in 1 week. Even then I knew that he was under estimating the workload, but I gave it my best shot. Four months later, I have successfully help to build tree nurseries at 4 schools and have been working to manage and advise 6. Daily I average 5 miles of walking back and forth across town and to nearby villages to visit schools and help motivate them. Most of my time is spent talking about instead of physically working in the nurseries. That’s the culture here. It has taken a long time to get to know the teachers, school directors and students. Getting acquainted is equally important as each tree seedling that survives.

My high schools girl students helping to fill poly pots to transplant.

For a while I began to feel deeply discouraged by the lack of progress I was making. After the seeds were sown I felt a big sigh of relief, only to discover that the teachers thought the work was over and neglected to water and weed the seed beds regularly. Some schools never built a proper fence as they promised. Others began to remove fencing and shade structures after they were built because they didn’t understand how they helped to protect the seedlings. They told me they thought the shade structures were blocking too much sun and water; when in actuality seedlings need shelter from excessive sun (which will burn them and desiccate the soi)l and direct water (which can uproot and drowned them). GRrrrrr! For a while I considered abandoning certain schools whose nurseries were failing. It seemed logical to devote my time only into the schools that were more invested. After a few afternoons of isolation I calmed down and realized that if I lost motivation how could I expect the schools to stay interested?

Lesson #231 of my PC experience: Set the example you want others to follow.

High School boys filling poly pots at the tree nursery.

I returned to the schools and have been working a few hours in the morning at one school and a few hours in the afternoon at another. If teachers and students help me I am grateful, but I don’t expect them to. I’m making progress and I’m hoping that the outcome will impress people enough that they’ll be more motivated next year. We’re going to sell out seedlings for 2 or 3 birr each. Students have suggested that we can use the money we earn to help less fortunate students purchase books and uniforms. Worst case scenario: If only enough seedlings survive to earn enough money to help 1 student (roughly 70 seedlings at each school: around 170 birr) then I will consider it a success.

Lesson #232: “success” is a subjective term and its standard of measurement changes frequently.

A day in the life of this PCV

8 March 2012

Early morning walk to work. 

It’s 5:00am, 11:00 Ethiopian time, and I’m already awake. Though I lie in silence, it’s the noise I anticipate which keeps me from falling back asleep. Soon enough roosters, mosques, horse hooves and loud radios create a chorus which brings me closer to a conscious state. Finally I surrender and climb out of bed and into my clothes. I stretch, slip on my running shoes and begin the best part of the day. As I run south down my street I watch closely for rocks that wish to trip me and dogs that might bite. I greet sleepy church go-ers wrapped in their white cotton scarves (“natalas”) as the Orthodox Church’s megaphone beckons them. Up the hill miles from town the sun overcomes the mountain range making my shadow as long and lean as the Eucalyptus trees I pass.

“Dhena adesh” “Nagga boultanii”

“Salam no” “Akkam jirta”

“Good Morning”                                      “Dhena adarachuu”

It has only been 1 hour since I left my home, yet I’ve shared greetings with at least 20 people. I return home to shower, dress, eat breakfast and walk to work. Going to the office, or anywhere public, is the same performance of smiling, shaking hands, removing my hat, waving, greeting and making small talk. When I have the energy I am good at it and even enjoy it. I am always given the opportunity to meet new people each time I walk outside my compound. The trick of it is that Ethiopians are all better at socializing than I am (believe it mom!). They will often remember your name, talk to you as if you had nowhere else to be and then invite you to have coffee with them. When I explain that I have a destination, work, they smile and offer to accompany me. So we continue together, hand in hand, having a conversation that I may or may not be following. Today a man chased me down to ask me if I knew how soldiers were commanded to salute the flag in America…what? There is really no way I can best prepare myself for these encounters.

I caught my neighbor boy on his front porch pretending to wash clothes. 

At work there is another parade of people to greet as I creep closer to the office. After 3 months at site I only remember a fraction of their names and faces. They quiz me occasionally, which results in crowds of laugher and some embarrassment on my part and that of the person I can’t recall. Normally I am honest, but occasionally I mumble “...Mohammed?” and 50% of the time I’m correct. Then I give them a taste of their own medicine and ask if they know my name… silence. Now we can all laugh without embarrassment.

The woreda (district) natural resource, agriculture and vet offices. 

The office is full of friendly faces. People busy heading out to the field or writing reports. I appear to make the attendance roll but often leave within 2 hours to meet with school directors, friends or buy food from the market. If I have work to do I find an empty desk and get to my business. It won’t be too long before some bored co-worker from another office drops in to say hello and stare over my shoulder. I answer questions until I make it clear that I am interested to work and not shoot the breeze. So we will sit together in silence, me writing away, he staring at me writing away. After some time I may ask “you don’t have any work today?” and I’ll hear “yes, I do have work. That is why I am here at the office.” This confuses me because he is not from my Agriculture office, but his duties are next door, and so how could he be working if he’s not in his office…? My thoughts manifest themselves on my confused face and he goes on to explain “in Ethiopia culture it is common to be idle at work.” So that is that. Some days I have left work to find a group of 20 people standing under a tree outside the office. When I ask if the electricity is out, thinking that would explain things, they smile and say “no, the lights are on. Why do you ask? Never mind, come chat with us!”

More government offices. Made with local clay soil, manure, straw and cement. 

I return home and cook up some lunch. This normally involves some combination of kale, tomatoes, lentils, beans, rice, carrots or beets. Afterwards I read, write letters or work on computer documents (school work, proposals, PC reports) until my next appointment with friends, organizations or schools. After lunch I prefer to stay around my compound because with the warming temperature, the wind starts to rush through the streets bringing dust and stirring people up, making some of them too obnoxious for my patience. If I do go out at this time I walk with my head down to avoid dirt in my face and eye contact with socially aggressive individuals.

My walk home from work at the end of the day.

By the time the mosque calls at 6:30pm I’m normally in my compound preparing dinner and winding down from the day. Often I cross the street to visit with Zewditu. Her home frequently has guests and we sit comfortably watching Ethiopian news and making small talk. Zed’s house feels like home to me and I rarely go a day without a hug from her. When I leave to return to my house she follows me out to make sure I get inside my compound safely even though it is only 30 feet from her home. We remark about the ceiling of stars that float above us and identify the few we know. The stillness of night mollifies me and I am ready lie down. Usually before 9pm I’m already snug under my blankets working through my latest book.

It’s a comfortable life that offers frequent rest and relaxation. However, please believe that the down time is well earned. Though I may not be working steadily for 8 hours a day the few public activities I am engaged in are exhausting because I am listening to 2 different foreign languages and having to play the part of a spunky, carefree and competent individual, even when sometimes I feel just the opposite. Each day I am making strides, enjoying the culture and developing project ideas. At the very least I will be in good running shape for the duration of my volunteer service and teach people that freckles are not dirt, but a permanent part of some white people’s complexion.