Abi Goes to School

Much like a leaf caught in a raging river whose only choice it is to follow the current, so it is true for children who grow up in poverty. They get swept along in their parent’s current and often wind up at the same destination. I’ve realized in my time here that I may not be able to rescue that child from the river but I can try to create an off-shoot with calmer waters that over time will hopefully arrive at a different destination…one that is filled with opportunity and hope.

Trying to find ways to provide help and encouragement is as challenging as finding a needle in a haystack. How do you help without harming? How do you provide assistance without creating dependence? I’ve really struggled to answer these questions and I’m not sure that I’ve succeeded. I do believe, however, that to do nothing is unacceptable.

In Abi’s case, I first attempted to work with Souwnet. I found her work that would allow her to more consistently feed and shelter Abi. She wasn’t interested. I connected her with individuals who were willing to provide a job opportunity and pay for her to attend school in the evenings. She wasn’t interested. I was willing to help her set up a small business (i.e. raising chickens). She wasn’t interested. It became clear to me, that even if Souwnet is not happy with her current situation she is not interested or willing to work to change that. I cannot help those who do not want to be helped.

Abi on the other hand, at the young age of 4, is a sponge for change. Prior to my arrival, hygiene was not a priority for either Souwnet or Abi. I introduced him to soap and showers and he latched on to the idea wholeheartedly, so much so, that he ASKS to be bathed and have clean clothes. As preposterous as it seemed, I realized that Abi was motivated to change and learn and could possibly be the one to break the cycle of poverty and despondency in his family.

But, how to help and not harm? How can I make an impact when I can no longer be present? How can I use my limited resources most effectively? Education. It is the tool that is within my reach to provide. It is tangible, directly benefits Abi, but also indirectly benefits his mother. But, how can I make that happen from such a young age as 4 and knowing that I soon will be far from this place?

It’s amazing what will happen when you feel like you’re at the end of your rope and are powerless to do anything. Trusting is so hard and yet time and time again I have been rewarded. I had been so focused on seeking an open door that I failed to see the countless windows that were opening.

Within the course of a few short weeks…

• I learned that the private school in town has an all-day kindergarten program for students as young as 4

• Unbeknown to me at the time, the owner of the school is on the hospital board of directors and greeted me by name when I first visited the school

• My friend, Hannah, is a teacher at the school

• The school fee is reasonable and 100% of their students pass the national entrance exam for 9th grade

• There was a spot for Abi!

With Souwnet’s permission we registered Abi for KG1. With the help of friends and family, Abi was outfitted with gently used clothes and shoes, new school supplies, and a shiny new lunch pail. All seemed to be going as planned, but like the roads in Ethiopia, the path is never smooth, direct, or free from roadblocks.

Several weeks before school started, Souwnet’s mother passed away. Souwnet journeyed to the rural area for the funeral and after a week or so, returned to DebreMarkos. When I went to see her to confirm the final school details a week before the start of school I learned that she needed to return to her mother’s home for an extended period of time. She would be leaving two days prior to Abi’s very first day of school. When I questioned her about arrangements for Abi, she merely shrugged her shoulders and indicated that Abi would have to travel with her. She could see no other alternative. Frankly, I was distraught. To have such an opportunity within reach and then to have it snatched away was heartbreaking. I know that Souwnet felt torn, however, she lives a life where planning for the future gets overshadowed by the immediacy of today.

Fortunately, I have been blessed to operate under a different framework. Anything IS possible. I spoke with my friend Hannah (the teacher) and without hesitation she volunteered to take Abi into her home for the duration of Souwnet’s journey. Unbelievable! Souwnet was overjoyed, Abi was excited, and I was RELIEVED. Over the course of the weekend, I helped to introduce Abi to Hannah’s family and Souwnet washed his little bag of clothes and helped move him in.

On Tuesday, Abi successfully completed his first full day of school. For me, this was as monumental of an occasion as a graduation. I would be naïve, however, to think that the hurdles have been overcome. When she returns, will Souwnet make it a priority to get him to school? Who can I find that I can trust to pay the school fee each year? Who will help him with his studies? Who will ensure that he has a decent lunch?

Much like the fable of the lone man tossing stranded starfish back into the sea, I will continue to toss Abi back into the ocean of opportunity for as long as I am capable. I can only hope that when I leave that I will have built a network of local people around him that will continue to do the same. It truly does take a village!

Me and my favorite 4 year old.

An empty classroom that soon will be overflowing with eager, rambunctious, and I’m sure a bit nervous 4 year olds.

Each morning is begun with the entire student body (KG1-8th grade) lining up in the courtyard.

Abi was less than engaged with the first day of school ceremony. You could just here him thinking “lets get this show on the road!”

Bored already! I know he was thinking, “is it time for lunch yet?” I sat his lunch box next to him (so he would realize it was his) and realized my mistake when I turned around to find him having a snack…already….he hadn’t been seated 2 minutes!

I’m sure he's thinking “this is gonna be one LOOONNG day!”

I don’t know what I’d do without my friend Hannah. She has really gone above and beyond to help both Abi and Souwnet.

Abi’s 4th Birthday

I have to admit that I thought I was as excited about Abi’s 4th birthday party as I anticipated he would be. I, however, grossly underestimated the enthusiasm that a 4 year old can generate!! As he came careening through my doorway on the day of his party, he was beside himself. I don’t think he had a clue what to do with all of his energy and joy.

For his 3rd birthday, I was pretty cautious. I didn’t want to do anything that would make Souwnet (his mother) feel displaced or discouraged by what she could or couldn’t provide. Since then, I’ve learned that Souwnet is happy for me to do whatever. With that knowledge I set out to make this birthday a memorable one…not over the top, just special.

I invited my friend Hannah and her little girl Tsion as well as Genet and Ava. Souwnet prepared the bunna and brought bread while I took care of the party hats, party favors, cake, candles, presents, and soda. We sang happy birthday, blew out candles and then I introduced the concept of party favors. I decided that having small gifts to give away would potentially thwart any meltdowns on the behalf of Abi’s little guests. What I didn’t take into account was Abi’s lack of understanding of the party favor. It was so cute to watch him pass out these little wrapped gifts to his friends with a look on his face that could only be interpreted as “what about me?” Truly priceless!

In an effort to respect cultural norms, Abi wielding a large knife, cut his own cake and then dove into his gifts. This year he didn’t have to be told that the gift was not the pretty paper!

Despite a broken glass, two minor meltdowns, one “didn’t make it to the shinta beyt in time” accident, and an unexpected afternoon rain the party was a raging success. The kids went home well sugared-up and the adults exhausted. Perhaps it’s a good thing that birthdays only come around once per year!

This is the picture that I captured on his second careening pass through the house. His excitement was contagious!

The revelers…pre-rain.

Abi wasn’t quite sure he wanted to give away his party favors.

Abi cuts, or rather stabs, his birthday cake.

Just a few trinkets and toys to ring in the special day. The biggest hit—his own set of keys. Lately he has taken to setting up my porch chairs, one in front of the other, and “driving” us on various adventures. He, however, prefers to drive from the backseat. Me too!

The birthday boy and me.

Abi and his mom, Souwnet.

Roadside Entrepreneurs

I’m sure that when the main asphalt road between Addis Ababa and Bahar Dar was constructed it was met with mixed reviews on the part of the rural peoples—part blessing and part curse.

While traveling home from Bahar Dar recently I came across a horrendous site—a crumpled truck and 6 dead cows. All of the men in the village had turned out. While the young men were rapidly butchering to salvage what meat they could, the elders were holding an impromptu court of arbitration to determine the driver’s penalty and the farmer’s compensation. An accident such as this one is devastating for both parties.

There are those, however, who have recognized and capitalized on the benefits of the asphalt conduit…namely busload after busload of potential customers. Each little town along the route specializes in something. Roadside in Dembecha one can find cowhide stools, Finote Selam sugar cane, south of Injebara horse tail fly swatters (otherwise knows as the Chera), North of Injebara charcoal, and between Emanel and DebreMarkos the local spirit (Arake) sold in repurposed Whitehorse liquor bottles. The season also influences the roadside market. At this time of year, kids stand roadside waving bags full of lemons (the entire bag of 12-15 lemons for 1 birr which is less than 10cents) and roasted field corn. It’s a veritable Wal-Mart, just one that is stretched out over the course of a couple hundred kilometers.

Initially, I didn’t get in on the buying frenzy. Instead I would get frustrated as to the delays that would result when the bus or mini-bus would pull over for yet another passenger to purchase something. I realized, however, that the best way to curb my frustration was to join in the fun. Now, whether I’m in a big bus or a private vehicle, I happily shop my way home and in turn support small business at a true grassroots level.

I’m not a big fan of chawing down on raw sugar cane, but Tambarat (Gigi’s husband) is. He can’t get enough of the red sugar cane that grows near Finote Selam and I’m more than happy to pick him up a bundle whenever I’m passing through. I have to laugh, though, because I now shop like an Ethiopian. When this group of boys raced to the car, I inspected what they had in hand, turned up my nose, and then told them I wanted a fresh piece cut “tulu, tulu” (quickly, quickly). I have most definitely adapted!

Happy New Year 2002

Happy New Year 2002…again! For those of you that find yourself wanting a “do-over” or claim a “mulligan” after a wayward shot, perhaps you should consider relocating to Ethiopia for a time. Where else in the world do you get the chance to do-over an entire year?!

This year’s festivities were a little more low-key than the previous year. To the dismay of all Orthodox Ethiopians, New Years fell on a fasting day. For me and the sheep, that meant a day of reprieve. But, on New Years Day +1, the festivities commenced. I could have made the round of households with Gigi and family, but to be honest, I just couldn’t face the multiple sheep slaughterings and the platefuls that follow. Instead, I spent the day on the compound with my landlord and his family. It was a delightful day…and especially so as Aselef has learned what I can and can’t eat (perhaps will and won’t eat is more apropos). She kindly prepares me my own plate of well-cooked meat free of sheep parts, sheep fat, and sheep bone. Now that is truly a reason to celebrate!

Ava rounds up our New Years’ Feast. This is a girl after my own heart—a true farm kid.

Genet, Ava, and Hannah

It’s a rare opportunity that I am able to catch Getachew and Aselef in the same shot. The sheep slaughtering is celebrated by nibbling on injera served with a spicy berbery paste.

Just to prove that I was indeed a part of the festivities

It is customary that the men of the family perform the slaughtering. Getachew’s son, Addisu (in the foreground), takes the lead this New Year.

Ava the Layba

Ava is such a charmer. With her sweet smile, infectious giggle, and precocious personality she finds a way to brighten my everyday. Honestly, it doesn’t take much. Her outstretched arms the second she catches a glimpse of me, and the meltdown that ensues when I return her are enough to melt my heart.
At the wise old age of 15 months, it is not uncommon for her to sneak away from her house at the back of the compound (unbeknownst to her mother), enter my home through the door that I perpetually leave cracked open, and help herself to my endless supply of "treasures": shiny DVDs, keys, loose change, and her favorite—my cell phone. It is because of her kleptomaniac tendencies that she has earned the nickname "Ava the Layba" (layba is Amharic for thief). She has even developed her own signature. Everything that catches her eye and is soon within her grimy grasp is given a nice big fat kiss—the smacking sort of kind.

How could you not smile to see this little burglar trying to sneak in?

I love this perfectly timed shot! And, if you’re wondering, a big smacking kiss was bestowed upon the mirror.

I love a good meltdown and ironically I seem to be the root cause of most of Ava’s meltdowns. Lucky for me, I can just return her!

Mr. Cool and His Shades

I know that Abi has built quite the fan club among my readers. He is such a character. I’m totally enamored with him, and I know that you are too. He never fails to make me laugh out loud.

It’s a rare day when I visit him that I’m not wearing my sunglasses. Within seconds of my arrival he’s requesting to wear them. He thinks they’re so cool! He’ll parade around exclaiming at how strong the sun is. Then when he steps indoors, he’ll push them to the top of his head and exclaim “like Kristi.”

When Megan left, she left behind an old pair of sunglasses. There was no person that I knew would appreciate or enjoy them more than Abi. How right I was!

Happy Birthday to Me

Time flies when you’re having fun. I don’t necessary want to claim another year, but since I have little choice in the matter, I shall enjoy my “special day.” Gigi baked me a cake (one of the skills that I’ve passed on), and she even had me light and blow out my candles…an American tradition that she has wholeheartedly adopted. The photo shoot you see below is all her idea!

The City of Lights

I must admit that my life is surreal right now. Returning to the land of 40+ hour workweeks, bills, and commitments is going to be a shock to my system. Don’t get me wrong, I do have responsibilities here, but they are much more flexible and accommodating than anything I’ve ever experienced in the States. It is possible to be outrageously spontaneous here and I love that.

On a Saturday evening my friend Dee called and said, “I’m going to Paris. Want to join me?” I’m not one to turn down an opportunity, especially one that comes knocking on my door. “Um, Yeah…love to go…when?” MONDAY!

In a whirlwind of activity, I cleared the trip with PC, reserved my flight, notified my friends and co-workers in town, and bought a bus ticket (the fateful journey that you just read about). In less than 48 hours from receiving her call, I was on a red-eye bound for Paris.

Little did I know that this last-minute excursion would turn into an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime exploration of Paris. Through a more common than you would believe turn of events, we stayed for free in the heart of Paris (Left Bank; 2 blocks off the Seine) with a woman Dee had briefly met in Ethiopia. There is a tight-knit bond that quickly forms between those of us who live abroad. Alison was happy to share her home and Dee and I were more than willing to accept her offer.

Alison, an American woman, has been living and working in Paris for the past 11 years. Not only is she fluent in French and knowledgeable about the city, but she is currently unemployed and was more than willing to show us around. For 9 days we explored and experienced Paris to our hearts’ content. We hosted 3 dinner parties with Alison’s mix of ex-pat and Parisian friends, spent a day driving through the Champagne region, feasted on French cheeses and pastries, watched the sun set over the Seine from the pedestrian bridge, explored Versailles, napped and read in Luxemburg Gardens, visited countless museums and even toured the Sewers of Paris. We left no site unseen…those above and below ground!

The highlight of our trip is the manner in which we explored Paris. I never envisioned biking the streets of Paris, but that is the BEST way to go. Alison just happened to have 3 bikes and we put them to good use. Our inaugural ride was done in style. Every Friday evening during the summer months, the city organizes a public ride through Paris. All three of us intended to go, but at the last minute Alison was unable to join us. She got Dee and I headed in the right direction for the rendezvous point and off we went. From 10pm to midnight, we and about 400 other people biked the streets of Paris. It was an amazing and beautiful way to experience the City of Lights.

Luxemburg Palace and Gardens

Being able to be in a public space filled with tall trees, beautiful flowers, and a perfectly manicured lawn was so refreshing. I literally could have lounged here all day!

You can’t tour the Champagne region without stopping to visit a champagnery. We wound up at GH Mumm & Co. and sampled a bit of bubbly.

Alison’s home turned out to be a charming one-room (plus galley kitchen and bathroom) apartment with a fabulous private courtyard.

Our evening bike ride was so much fun. I had picked up 3 French words in the two days we had been in town: please, thank you, and “to the left.” I never dreamed “to the left” would be so helpful, but it sure came in handy on our ride!

Versailles is impressive and completely OVERWHELMING.

Monet’s Les Nympheas exhibit at the Musee de l’Orangerie is a must see. Brilliantly displayed, it is a magnificent masterpiece that can and should be appreciated by everyone.

I had never heard of St. Chapelle, but I shall never forget it. I have never seen such a display of stained glass windows as I have here.

A trip to Paris wouldn’t be complete without a few shots of the Eiffel Tower.

I’m not one for endorsements, but if you’re going to visit Paris the museum pass if something you have to know about. You can purchase a 2, 4 or 6 day pass and it enables you to cut ticket lines at almost all of the major sites and museums in and around Paris. Plus, if you’re industrious and organized you can see a lot and save money. It’s definitely the way to go!

The Arc de Triomphe affords a fabulous bird’s eye view of Paris.

It was hot, we were museum’d out, and the thought of being someplace cool was inviting…so we toured the sewers of Paris. What we didn’t factor in was the strong, inescapable odor!

Truth in Advertising

Each time I enter the Blue Nile Gorge a certain sign catches my eye. In English and Amharic it reads, “Heavy Land-sliding Zone.” Talk about truth in advertising!

On this fateful trip, I was in a rush to get to Addis. I had a flight to catch and not much of a margin for error. I never like to leave town on the same day that I actually need to be somewhere as this is a country where the unexpected can and will happen. However, on this occasion, I didn’t have a choice. I did, however, make one unfortunate error. I actually passed on a ride in the hospital’s private vehicle in order to help my friends (they are biking from Ethiopia to South Africa) navigate and deal with the logistics of our bus station. Josh had fallen ill and they needed to bypass the challenging ride through the gorge. Anyways…we boarded the bus at 5am and began our trek to Addis.

I remember thinking that our trip was progressing along in an uncharacteristically smooth and timely manner. We were nearly out of the gorge when I was met with a preposterous site. In a section of road that clings to the edge of the gorge, the right lane split from the left lane in what I can only assume was due to “heavy land sliding.” In the midst of the mess was a large tractor-trailer…stuck. Ethiopians are resourceful people and when resources are limited you use what you have. In this case, manpower. I have never witnessed a site where 30+ men are attempting to push a tractor-trailer. Fortunately, out of nowhere, came an oversized tow-truck, and together they were able to clear the road.

Josh, Nicole, and I climbed back on our bus and waited our turn to pass through the mess. As the bus rolled backward (in an attempt to pop the clutch?) we realized how stupid and potentially suicidal it was for us to ride across this land-sliding zone. We immediately stood up, headed for the door, and EVERYONE else on the bus followed. As we trekked across the divide, it became apparent that our bus was not moving. In fact, the stragglers of our group had actually turned around and were clustering in front of the bus. We, too, turned back only to discover that our bus decided then and there to give up the ghost. Unbelievable. Our driver’s solution to the problem—refund our ticket! I had a brief moment of panic when I realized that no knight in shining armor (i.e. a functioning bus) was going to come to our rescue. The other passengers picked up their belongings and started walking out of the gorge. And, there we stood. I certainly hadn’t packed for a trek on foot and although Josh and Nicole could have ridden out, they didn’t want to leave me stranded. Fortunately, I stemmed the panic and realized that perhaps the hospital vehicle was behind us. Through a series of phone calls and disjointed conversations in a mixture of English and Amharic I learned that the hospital car was indeed behind us and had space for me. So, we waited. For two hours we stood alongside the road in the Blue Nile Gorge watching the drama of the land-sliding zone enfold, chatting with drivers and their passengers who were patiently waiting their turn, and enjoying the view. I must admit, it was a beautiful place to pass the time and to ponder the question…”will there ever be a drama-free bus ride in this country???”

My Life is NOT My Own!

For many of you, I suspect that when you consider my life in Ethiopia you shudder to imagine yourself here. You read about my public bus escapades experienced sardine style and think NO WAY. You hear me waxing poetic on that last great warm shower (was that 5 or 6 days ago?), and think NOPE, NOT ME. You picture me wandering about town, mostly clueless and understanding less than 50% of the conversation around me and think NOT IN THIS LIFE. Power outages, scant water, unusual food, Africanized bugs, monsoon rains, intense sun, squatter toilets, and the list could go on and on. Yes, there are a lot of things that have taken a truckload of patience, grit, determination, and optimism to conquer, tolerate, and in some instances grow to love. Despite the inconveniences and differences, I can truthfully say that this country and people have grown on me. I will always have a special interest in and love for Ethiopia. The warmth of this people and the stunning beauty of this country outweigh any of the challenges I have encountered.

There is however, one aspect of my life here that I have yet to welcome with open arms and I suspect I never will. My coping strategies have fallen short in this arena. No amount of visualization, humor, prayer, or sheer stubbornness has helped me to adjust and embrace what I like to refer to as the “your life is not your own” mindset. For an American who cut her teeth on individualism and is an honorary if not actual member of the “ME-generation,” this is a hard pill to swallow. Privacy, personal agenda, me-time and the infamous “personal bubble” truly are foreign concepts here. I know that my Ethiopian friends probably think me crazy…and I will be crazy if I don’t figure out how to cope with this! That I long for a solo-walk, want to hole up in my house for an afternoon of reading, and don’t need to be constantly surrounded by people is unfathomable to many of my Ethiopian friends. I’m definitely not a misanthrope…just a person who requires a modicum of space.

There is no better example of my “life is not my own” than the events that transpired a few weekends ago. Actually it was only a day…24 hours…a full revolution of the Earth on its axis. In the grand scheme of things—a relatively short period of time. In the moment—an eternity.

Aselef, my landlady, approached me on a Saturday afternoon asking if she could use my house for 2 hours on Sunday. It was a seemingly straightforward request that required a simple yes or no answer. Unfortunately, that is not how things work here. I desperately wanted and needed to say no. My home has become my haven. It’s the ONE place in this town where I can almost find a bit of privacy (almost is the key word). I had planned on a “me-day”….reading, writing, cleaning, organizing, movie watching, etc. But I knew “no” was not an acceptable answer; nor could I even begin to explain a “me-day” and my need for it. So…reluctantly, and before a host of on-lookers (Aselef always makes requests to me with peer support in tow) I acquiesced. We agreed on the hours of 12p-2p, all the while knowing that her 2-hour request was probably a gross understatement.

Sunday dawned bright and beautiful. I was in the middle of a bucket shower and planning how I would enjoy my remaining few hours of privacy, when Aselef began pounding on the back door. Time—9am…a mere 3 HOURS before our agreed upon time. Before I could get out of the shower and dressed, she was pounding on my bedroom window. So, while I finished my morning ablutions, she and a small army of workers bustled in and out of my house. They rearranged my living room, carted in armfuls of cut grasses (my house smelled like a freshly cut field of hay), moved in no less than a stack of 50 plates and glasses, large clay pots of Tella (the local brew), and a stack of “fat injera.” It truly looked like they were prepared to wait out a storm of grand proportions. It was at this time, that I was given a job—to remove all of my possessions from the living room and hallway. Books, stacks of magazines, blankets, computer, shoes, and a sundry of other items had to be carted into my bedroom. It was there that I took refuge…for the day. At 3:20p I ventured out (nature calls) and discovered the party to be in full swing. At 4:30p, I had had enough. Although a few stragglers remained sipping the last of the Tella, I began cleaning. Let me tell you, when the farenji picks up the broom and dustpan, things begin to happen.

After 8 hours and 150 guests, I finally reclaimed my home, but not my sanity. “What’s mine is yours” is a fine sentiment, but in practice it’s a bit much. I’m sure that someday I shall look back at this moment in time, this clash of cultures and smile. At the moment, however, I’m not laughing!






Unfortunately these pics don’t come close to capturing the chaos that descended upon me this day. When the party was in full swing, I was hiding. And, I didn’t think to take pics until the clean up was in process.