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. 

Meet my Neighbors: Part I

23 July 2013

This morning, like most, my neighbor Marie, age 3, is crying.

It is 9am and her beloved sister Nani left for school 45 minutes ago. Marie adores her sister and cries when she goes to school every morning & when she leaves after lunch in the afternoon. “My Nani!!!” She wails as if her sister has been taken away never to be seen again. In fact Nani will return home in a few hours, as she does every day. Marie does not seem to notice or find comfort in this pattern.

Nani is very fashionable. Her shoes
 are wearing sunglasses and wings. 

To be fair Marie’s sister Nani is pretty great. She’s a charismatic leader and natural attention hog.

Nani is adorable. Unlike most kids in my town, Nani’s parents keep her clean and well dressed. Frequently she gets her hair done at the salon; weave is braided into her baby hair making it longer with large bouncy curls. It’s sort of an absurd effort since Nani is only 5 years old, but at 5 I was sporting a bowl cut so what do I know.

Several times I’ve caught Nani standing on an overturned carton singing like a pop music sensation to a small audience of neighborhood babies under her age. They children stand mesmerized as Nani shakes her finger and hits all the wrong notes. I blame these kids’ young age for their impressionability, but as I attempt to be discrete peering through the wooden fence I find myself just as guilty for enjoying her performance.

       Every time I go outside Nani and Marie call out “B” repeatedly to

Nani peeking through the fence.

catch my attention as they sit behind the rickety scrap wood that constitutes the fence between our homes. I say “hello”, wave and look their way, but the girls persist as they started without acknowledging I’ve responded at all. “B, B, B, B” It’s a sweet sentiment but after nearly 2 years I’m short on patience. For all their bravado I find it surprising that outside of their home compound neither of the girls will talk to me. I see them at the neighbors’ get-togethers, at the market, in the street or at school and they are both too shy to utter anything or even make eye contact.  All the other neighborhood kids give me hugs and fist bumps when I am in the street except these two.

Badee

23 September 2013

Loomi disappeared 3 months ago. For a few days I was out of town and when I returned to my compound my stomach told me something had happened in my absence. Everyone was normal, quiet and calm, but Loomii didn’t appear at my window or at the spicket to fetch water. I was afraid to know the truth, so I gave it a day of denial before I began inquiring. I went back to her house and called her name, nothing. I found other people on my compound and ask what happened. Their Amharic was dumbed down for me as it was explained “she’s gone, but she will return.” Why?! I couldn’t get the information I needed to understand the severity of the situation. Where did Loomii go and why? Later that morning one of my English speaking neighbors came home so I began to interrogate him. To my horror I had learned that there was an incident which resulted in Loomii being returned to her family nearly 150km away.

It took a long time and different narratives to piece together enough details to construct a coherent story. Many people tried to protect me by not telling me the upsetting truth. They told me bits and pieces, but spent more time assuring me that it was okay and she would return. Ethiopian’s don’t like to upset or distress others. They keep a constant calm demeanor of happiness from morning to evening (unless they are in a bus station, then all bets are off). As a foreigner, they are very unnerved by my emotional side and avoid instigating it at all costs. Not because I’m a sociopath, but because they don’t understand people being emotional outside of wailing at a funeral or fighting for a seat on a bus.

The story goes loosely like this: Loomii’s uncle, her primary care taker, is Muslim, but everyone else she interacts with in Adaba is Christian, either Orthodox or Protestant. She has Christian leanings because she isn’t exposed to much else on a daily basis. In Ethiopia however, to stray from your assigned faith is an enormous act of treason. At 9 years old Loomii doesn’t understand this, she just wants to be normal and enjoy as her peers do. One afternoon Loomii snuck off to the church with her school friend. She didn’t ask for permission or tell anyone that she was leaving. She returned to her irate and belligerent uncle who beat her and took her back to her parents the following day as punishment.

Loomii’s parents live in a remote village outside of a very rural town. There is not a school within a reasonable walking distance from their home; there are not enough basic resources for them to support her. Despite this level of insecurity, her family continues to grow; she is the second oldest of 4 and more siblings are likely to come. Loomii was returned to her family and they sent her oldest brother (11 years) and 2^nd youngest brother (4 years) to Adaba to replace Loomii. Loomii’s older brother took her place cooking and cleaning for their uncle in Adaba while the youngest spent his days in a homesick-induced daze.

I approached many people to help me resolve this issue of Loomii’s exile and her unreasonable uncle. It all seemed like an over-produced Disney movie script without the assurance of a fairy godmother or a magical prince to remove her violent uncle. Everyone sympathized with my distress. They agreed that Loomii’s uncle had disturbing behavior but his age classified him as an elder, meaning he is to be respected and left unchallenged by all who are younger. If I were to approach him it could make things worse for Loomii if/when she returned. I spoke to my landlord who permits her uncle to live on his land and who has known him for 30+ years. He agreed to speak with her uncle and demand that Loomii return. So I waited, unable to do more than sit on my hands and keep quiet. Every week I was told she would return in 2 weeks, until one day I was told she would arrive the following day.

For selfish reasons I wanted Loomii back in Adaba. She has many friends who look over her here, she has enough to eat, a good school to attend and she seems happy most of the time. Her uncle is dangerous but she seems capable at delicately walking on eggshells and avoiding trouble. In her home village she can’t go to school, she doesn’t get enough to eat and I worry that she is more vulnerable to harmful cultural practices (FGM, abduction, early marriage, or painful body modifications). Both options are risky, but at least she has options. Loomii’s story doesn’t instigate much sympathy or label her as unusual among Ethiopians. Most kids are disciplined by physical violence at home and at school, many are separated from their families who cannot provide for them, many are kept out of school to work and support their families at a young age. Surprisingly Loomii, compared to some of her peers, has many privileges.

Loomii did return to Adaba. My neighbors told me of her arrival one rainy afternoon as I arrived home. Elated, I ran to her house, slipping through the mud calling her name eagerly. She came to the doorway with a quiet smile, apprehensive to step out in the rain and mud. I picked her up and hugged her as we became drenched in rain and sentiment. Loomii was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiastic display as her uncle had visitors who sat starring at us. To avoid causing any trouble for her, I set her down and asked her to come to my house later that day. When she arrived later we celebrated by playing games with Joe and my friend Ibse and went out on the town with her school director for dinner and coffee. I seemed more shaken by it all than she was. She seemed normal, albeit a little taller, thinner and with newly pierced ears. She told me stories about her family and seemed un-traumatized by the summer’s events.

Through this many people have told me that I should adopt Loomi, an option I have given much consideration to. They reminded me that I seemed to be concerned for her more than anyone else and I’m a privileged American who can provide for her easily in my country, why don’t I take her? While this may be true I have some questions that no one here can seem to answer: WHY am I the one who cares about her more than anyone else, though I’ve known her for less time and can communicate with her the least? WHY is it culturally uncommon for Ethiopians to adopt children outside their family, but encouraged for foreigners who cannot adequately speak or understand the child’s native culture or language? Why do I feel more guilt and responsibility for this young girl than those who have known her longer and more intimately than I? I suppose the only answer to these questions is “cultural values and differences”.

It may afflict me the rest of my life but I do not plan on adopting Loomii. As someone who is still financially depend on her own family, I am not prepared to accept responsibility for a minor nor am I in the position to pay tens of thousands of dollars to complete a successful adoption. I’ve lived in Ethiopia for 2 years, and understand not everything but enough to know that Loomii’s situation is manageable. She’s doing well in school, she’s accustomed to her own culture and meets friends who love and look after her everywhere she goes. I cannot protect Loomii from everything or ensure that she has all of her needs met, but I believe that she is in the position to grow up and do well for herself. While I have lived here I have tried to take actions to improve her situation and feel confident that she is generally happy and will continue her education at least until 8^th grade. This is more than most Ethiopian children can hope for.

I also realize that like many experiences I’ve had in Ethiopia, none of this seems like reasonable logic to my acquaintances in the United States. I’ve run out of excuses to mask the complacency and helplessness I feel for Ethiopia’s disturbing customs. I’ve run out of the naivete that everything will work out well in the end. 

Fuel efficient stove coop in action!

24 July 2013

Filling the molds with cement which is pounded down for compaction

Last year I was approached by a representative of a local women’s cooperative who wanted training to learn how to produce fuel efficient stoves. It’s a desirable technology in Ethiopia as traditional 3-stone fires consume a lot of fuel wood leaving Ethiopia at its present state of having lost nearly 90% of natural forest coverage. Additionally, these traditional fires produce a lot of smoke leading to pulmonary issues in women in children; this is common in Africa and is the 2^nd largest cause for mortality next to Malaria. Fuel efficient stoves reduce and redirect smoke, use less wood which saves families time and money.

The coop organized themselves by writing a business plan and formalizing themselves through the regional cooperative office. Meanwhile, I wrote a grant to some local NGO’s: FARM Africa and Frankfurt Zoological Society (FZS) who partnered with us to purchase our raw materials and provide us training. Our fuel stove training was done by FZS who brought 3 experienced women from Dinsho town.. Everyone was consistently punctual and worked really steadily.

Our advertisement in 3 different languages

The coop has 20 members: all women who are unemployed between the ages of 40-70, half of who are illiterate, all mothers with demanding families to feed, clothe and care for. I didn’t know what to expect with this group and I’ll admit I wasn’t initially eager to work with them because I was concerned they wouldn’t appreciate the reality of the opportunity as much as the concept (which I’ve seen with so many other people who approach me about collaborating on projects). My trepidation was quickly dismissed the first day when all women were present and punctual and continued to work 6 hours a day for the next 3 days until we finished. At the end we gave them per-diem for their work and they said they didn’t need to be paid for

learning this skill, so they decided to each donated 60% of their payment to the coop to build capital. My head was spinning I couldn’t believe how motivated and clever these women are! Our next step is to continue purchasing our supplies, build a workshop for our production and hold demonstrations at the weekly market to advertise our product. We’re on the way to something great!

This part diverts the smoke by acting as a chimney (see the advertisement photo)

4 of these parts make up the main wall around the fire

Hauling the cement from the mixing area

Add caption

1 of the walls waiting to dry after the mold is removed.

This piece is the final chimney to divert the smoke and is also used as a "stove burner"
for preparing wat and soup

traditional 3 stone fire

 

Finished Mirt stove. The main fire is covered by a large clay plate
which is used to cook injera, the main staple food of Ethiopia

Camp GLOW 2013!

17 August 2013

Last week I directed South Oromia’s Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) which was attended by 12 Peace Corps volunteers, 9 Ethiopian counterparts and 21 8-9^th grade female students. We selected only females of these grades because they will all be high school students next year. High school is a difficult time for girls in Ethiopia as their studies become more demanding so do their responsibilities with house chores and pressures for them to get married and drop out of school also increase.  Our main focus for this week of camp was self-confidence, good communication, HIV/AIDs and safe sex awareness, team work, strength, goal setting and creative writing. Here are some pictures from the week.

Discussing how the girls define "self-esteem"

Two of our amazing counselors who joined us at camp

Peer pressure skit

Self-esteem collages

We made it to the top of the mountain!

The whole camp before our hike

Highlights included a hike up Mt. Gelama, an enormous obstacle course, a professional women panel discussion, hilarious condom demonstration (included interactive song and dance), HIV + music band who came and performed songs and skits. On our final day we held a giant bonfire where we had the campers throw in their “I can’t” lists they had made earlier in the week, the act of incineration would symbolize  that over the camp they had gained skills and self-confidence so that all they had listed the first day as things they felt were their weaknesses had since been invalidated; the fire would devour their doubts in themselves, leaving them only with an “I CAN” attitude. I noticed one girl didn’t throw her “I Can’t” envelope in the fire and I asked her to do so, but she refused. I figured she was still holding on to doubts and negativity so I started in on a big speech about how amazing she is and that she needs to cast her self-doubts away. She replied “No, that’s not it at all” and she read her note inside the envelope which said ‘I can do anything I set myself to’. Apparently, some of the girls at camp didn’t need the self confidence boost as much as others.

It was an amazing week of fun and learning for EVERYONE, even the adult counselors who were teaching. I learned many new dance moves, gained several fantastic friends, got my first cornrow braids and only got thrown-up on once during the week. What a success! 

I look terrible terrible in braids but they feel so awesome.

24 hours of normal lunacy

Being a PCV has been more of an emotional roller coaster than I could have ever imagined. In America, or what I refer to as my "real" life, I considered myself to be a pretty stable and consistent adult. Ethiopia has brought out the scrappy 9-year old Bridget I used to be. Where I would pick fights, throw sass around and spend a lot of time in my bedroom dreaming about who I would be when I grew up. Well at 26 I didn't expect myself to become so familiar with niave and irratic inner child, but my life here has led me to discover that in order to survive living in chaos you must be insane yourself. Below is a brief documentary of a 24-hour period I experience recently. 

2 June 2013

6:00 pm: Paid $9 for my 1 hour full body massage

Feeling: calm and content

Thinking: money well spent

6:15: Mistook a monkey to be an alley cat

Feeling: surprised and enchanted

Thinking: Ethiopia is still awesome

8:30: In the middle of an unusual and very detailed dinner conversation of how the 7^th day Adventists started in Ethiopia 3 generations ago.

                Feeling: Amused and informed 

                Thinking: That pizza was delicious

10:00 Almost asleep except for the neighbor’s subwoofers and the barking dog. Soft spanish guitar in my headphones lulls me to sleep

                Feeling: too tired to yell at the neighbor

                Thinking: I wish I could find my earplugs

7:00am  Got caught walking in the early morning rainstorm and enjoyed the company of the street dogs

                Feeling: carefree and nostalgic

                Thinking: Puppy season is the best time of year in Ethiopia

8:00 received a long distance call from my dad and watched Amanda serve the sassy waitress a piece of her mind (no it was not on the menu)

                Feeling: loved and homesick,

                Thinking: Amanda is serious about her breakfast!

9:00 Paid 15% of my monthly salary to fill my propane tank; now I have 25kg/55lbs on my back and 2 buses worth of travel before I can get it home

                Feeling: Poor and apprehensive

                Thinking: I wish I had a private vehicle

10: Saw a man defecating on the side of the road. Rejected bus creeper’s attempts to initiate me in conversation.  

                Feeling: violated and nauseous

                Thinking: Ethiopia’s development goals are highly ambitious

11: After moving my heavy propane tank from 4 different vehicles I’m on the last leg in Shashamene. My onerous tank become the subject of controversy in the bus station: confusing argument in 4 different spoken languages leads to aggressive behavior in belligerent macho men and ends with me physically assaulting the figure of contention by way of my palm across his face.

                Feeling: adrenaline and dissapointment

                Thinking: I wish I could communicate more effective verbally than physically

2pm: Arrived at home in time to miss the rainstorm and in time to enjoy a cup of coconut hot chocolate and the first grapefruit I’ve eaten in 8 months.

                Feeling: relieved, introverted, exhausted

                Thinking: Home is the only place I can have privacy and peace

4pm: Skyped with Joe and counted down the days until his arrival

                Feeling: Adored

                Thinking: August 19^th can’t come soon enough

The girl who brings me flowers

17 June 2013

Every morning I receive a visitor, a small head of braids with big brown eyes peeps through my front window “B!” she sends out her greeting and we run through all of her short English phrases within a minute:

“Good morning Loomii. How are you?”

“Good morning. I am fine.”

“Would you like a banana?”

“A yellow banana? Yes!”

I invite her inside my small home, a place that offers refuge for her, where she can be unseen and not called to work, but instead spend her time coloring, enjoying books, movies and dance the afternoon away. She steps out of her broken plastic sandals and embraces me. When I first met Loomii she didn’t know how to receive a hug. She would run to greet me, her arms spread wide and as we met and I wrapped myself around her she would stand there, arms limp against her stiff body, enjoying the affection but unsure of how to return it. Now she’s a master of hugs which are a fantastic compliment to her beautiful smile and I get plenty of both each day.

When I moved into my house I noticed Loomii immediately because she was always fetching water from the spout outside my door. Where did she live? Who did she live with? Eventually I learned that she lived on my compound in a small shack out back, but I saw no family that cared for her as made evident by her perpetually filthy clothes and independence. After inquiring to the people who share my compound I learned that Loomii moved to Adaba 3-4 years ago, when she was around 6 or 7 years old. Her parents and siblings reside in Kokoso, a small village about a 4 hour drive away. She moved to Adaba to help her old petulant uncle with house chores as he never married and has no immediately family. For Loomii’s parents, giving her away was financially a smart decision as they could not afford to send her to school and provide for her other essential needs. At 6 years old, Loomii moved out of her family’s home and into a world adult hood.

In Adaba she began going to Catholic school, which offers free tuition for many students. After school Loomii would come home to help wash, cook, run errands and clean for people on the compound. An Ethiopian version of Cinderella. She quickly learned her second language, Amharic, as her mother tongue Oromiifa, was not spoken by many people she interacted with. She adapted, matured and made the most of life without her family.

Loomii always intrigued me because she is sweet and respectful, unlike 95% of rural Ethiopian children. She never begged or expected much. She never cried or carried herself with anything other than a smile and patience, yet it seemed that she had every excuse to do otherwise. For these reasons and more it didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Loomii.

We started sharing meals together, as it was evident that she needed the nutrition and calories. She taught me some Amharic and Oromiifa and I helped her with English. We colored together and I read books to her. Before much time had passed Loomii was taking warm water baths in my home, I was washing her clothes and helping her study.  In return she would indulge me with short stemmed flowers she picked on her walk home from school. Through these small expressions of love Loomii and I have bonded immensely.

It may sound crazy, but I have considered adopting Loomii. She deserves so much more and I worry that she won’t meet her potential. I worry that no one in her life will advocate for her and that she may get pulled out of school early. I worry that she won’t get enough affection, nutrition and emotional support. I worry that she may never realize how amazing she is and how bright her future could be. However, compared to many children in Ethiopia, especially in Adaba, Loomii’s situation is good and I have spent much of my 2 years here trying to help her succeed. I am convinced that pulling her out of her country, culture,  and further away from her hodge-podge “family” would be more harmful to her spirit.

Loomii with her cousin Rama (left) and another kid who briefly lived on our compound.

My recipe for loving Loomii is affection, good food, attention and compliments. I believe that these things will help Loomii grow up healthy and happy. Her height is measured monthly against the dingy paint on my door and quarter inch marks reveal her rapid maturity. We stroll around town, hand in hand as children approach

wishing to join our parade and Loomii corrects them by saying in Amharic “Her name is not ‘ferengi’ or ‘china’ don’t be rude” and we smugly walk away. She stands up for me, and once after I witnessed her uncle physically attacked her, I had the opportunity to stick up for her too. We are each others’ alibis.

I transferred Loomii to the best primary school in Adaba. A private school with small class sizes, the only one where kids attend full day instead of half, and the teachers stay late to help with extracurricular activities. Loomii loves her new school and has made a lot of great friends. For an annual enrollment fee of 100 birr ($6) and a uniform for 250 birr ($15) Loomii’s education has had a dramatic upgrade. At 9 years old she has just finished kindergarten; her graduation program is at the end of the June. From grade 1-8 I will set up a fully funded scholarship so that she can stay in school and no one will have an excuse to remove her. I’m hoping after 8^th grade, at 17 years old, she will be confident enough to stand up for herself. To insist that her education is important, that she is important, and she wants to continue to high school.

Loomii and her best friend Mituu at school.

When I leave I don’t know how to keep in contact with Loomii. She’s too young and our communication is too poor for me to tell her that I will leave, forever, that I want to be in contact with her, but until she gets a phone or e-mail or understands the post system this will not be possible. I don’t want her to forget me or to think that I could ever forget her. I want to make her a photo album of our 2 years together and write a message for her in the back. Maybe when she’s older and can read English fluently she will know that that ferengi called “B” was more than just a food vendor. That crazy white girl adores you and hopes that your life is fulfilling, full of people who love and respect you, full of mystery that is welcoming and not daunting, and unlike the hundreds of other people who have asked me, that YOU, Loomii, do have a sponsor in America if you wish to immigrate or join University across the Atlantic. Maybe 12 years from now I will get a long distance phone call in America from a woman named Loomii When I say “hello” she will greet me brightly, “B!”.