“Life is calling, where will you go?”

22 September 2012

For nearly 4 years before I joined Peace Corps I was confident that this was the right decision for me. I’m adventurous. I can use a hole for a toilet because I enjoy camping. Adversity, no problem! During all those years at a desk studying for school, feeling my muscles atrophy from a lack of exercise I comforted myself knowing that when I was a Peace Corps Volunteer I would lead an exciting and active life. Ohhh yes, the grass is always greener.

I do not regret my decision to be a PCV, I know that my frustrations and discomforts are proof that I’m learning and improving my character. I know that there is a reason, some destiny of sorts, that has led me to live in Ethiopia, but I often find myself playing the “what if game.”

What if I had accepted my offer to serve in Mexico? Would that have been so bad to have an office job volunteer position rather than living in a small town where no one really wants to work (with or without you).
What if I had just gotten a job abroad and learned through a much quicker process what living abroad is all about? I could have gone to a place of my choosing (and probably be home already).

What if I had finished graduate school first? Would I still have wanted to be a PCV afterwards? Would the headache of a thesis be easier or harder? I could of had my M.S. by now!

Ethiopia is the epitome of an exotic culture. We have tribes of people that stretch their lips using plates, and the topless women, their bodies painted in natural dyes. We’ve got cute babies wandering alone everywhere, their bellies are often swollen from amoebas or because their muscles are not strong enough to hold their organs in place. We’ve got poverty folks! Honest to god poverty, and even if you aren’t poor you put on a sad face and rub your stomach so that the white person might give you some money. I live in Africa, a place that was previously only a series of memories I could recall from National Geographic magazines. This is no longer simply a remarkable photograph, an unimaginable culture, this is my life.  Living with these images is a lot more emotionally disturbing because I can’t flip the page and move on.

Life in a lucid dream

7 September 2012

While waiting at the bus station to see me off to America
Theresa and Orion found this piece of trash that closely
resembles the US... a coincidence? 

Back in Africa, back in Ethiopia, back to reality. While I was in the states for 3 weeks visiting family and friends it felt as though nothing had changed, that my time in Ethiopia was a dream. I had brief instances of culture shock, once at the D.C. airport where I felt like a foreigner and found some Ethiopians to talk to, to help me feel at ease. At grocery stores I was impossibly indecisive. Have there always been this many types of cottage cheese? What’s the difference? Turns out that whole fat, large curd is not delicious and is nothing I’ve ever eaten before. Many things felt different and others, like my nearing-retirement father who is growing out his hair, were obvious difference which were easier to adjust to. Despite some hiccups it really felt as though not much had changed.

Laughing at Charly Parker's awkward "pet me" poses. 

Returning to Ethiopia was more of an adjustment than leaving. I dragged my heels in the Frankfurt airport, hesitant to arrive at my gate, to be a minority among a waiting area congested with Ethiopians. As the attendants spoke on the intercom announcing the seating order of who should board plane first, all the Ethiopian passengers stood up and rushed to the desk. I laughed to myself thinking, typical Ethiopians always in a hurry to go somewhere and not interested in following order and logic. I sat in my chair, stalling, waiting for life to slow down. After I had my ticket scanned and began walking towards the plans entry door I was passed by an older Ethiopian woman headed back to the gate entrance. “Leave her be” said the flight attendants “she doesn’t want to go.” The older lady was alone, obviously overwhelmed with no plan for her escape. She wanted to be return to Ethiopia but was unwilling to complete the journey it would take to get there. A handful of strangers began to inquire what was going on and went to help this grandmother. “Izoch ihuite” (be strong my mother). They told her that she would not be traveling alone because they would be there to help her and ensure her safety. Together the group walked to board the airplane, seconds ago they were strangers but now they were bound as friends, family, as Ethiopians.

Beautiful is the kindness of strangers.

This scenario is quintessential Ethiopia. This is a culture that I love. Suddenly I was ready to board the plane, to embrace my journey once again.

I found a kitten while I was home! and my dad is even
letting us keep it! Someone extra to look forward to
returning home to: Professor Catkins

It’s been 3 days now and each morning I’ve woken up confused. Am I really here? Was I really there? It is the same feeling that I had when I first arrived nearly 11 months before, except with less excitement for the uncertainty. The solution to fix my ambivalence: if I have to be estranged from the people and the places that I love so far away I vow to be as productive as possible, to use my time wisely, to make the most out of my experience and to give myself wholly to help those who live here with me. Ethiopia is a difficult country but never before has change been so rewarding. Thank you to my friends and family who shared my time home with me. I am cannot express my fortune to have such love in my life. My time here is enriched with your continuous support and enthusiasm. Thank you! 

Deep Thoughts by Thoreau

8 August 2012

Greater Kudu

“If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary, new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be.” ( pp. 209)

“What I have observed of the pond is no less true to ethics. It is the law of average. Such a rule of the two diameters not only guides it toward the sun in the system and the heart in man, but draws through the length and breadth of the aggregate of a man’s particular daily behaviors and waves of life into his coves and inlets, and when they intersect will be the height or depth of his character. Perhaps we need only to know how his shores trend and his adjacent country or circumstances, to infer his depth and concealed bottom. If he is surrounded by mountainous circumstances, and Achillean shore, whose peaks overshadow and are reflected in his bosom, they suggest a corresponding depth in him. But a low and smooth shore proves him shallow on that side. In our bodies, a bold projecting brow falls off to and indicates a corresponding depth of thought. Also there is a bar across the entrance of our every cove, or particular inclination, each is our harbor for a season, in which we are detained and partially land-locked. These inclinations are not whimsical usually, but their form, size, and direction are determined by the promontories of the shore, the ancient axes of elevation. When this bar is gradually increased by storms, tides, or currents, or there is a subsidence of the waters, so that it reaches to the surface, that which was at first but an inclination in the shore in which a thought was harbored becomes an individual lake, cut off from the ocean, wherein the thought secures its own conditions, changes, perhaps, from salt to fresh, becomes a sweet sea, dead sea or a marsh. At the advent of each individual into this life, may we not suppose that such a bar has risen to the surface somewhere?” (pp. 188-189)

Walden; or, Life in the Woods, Henry David Thoreau

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.