ETHIOPIWHERE?!?

Abi Goes to School

2009-10-29T16:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-27T15:53:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-25T15:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-22T15:44:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-16T16:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-12T21:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-09-23T03:13:00.000-07:00

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.

Girlz Empowerment Trip

2009-09-15T07:58:00.000-07:00

My friend Dee has limitless energy, grand ideas, and a passion for empowering girls. If an idea or program may encourage a young girl to learn, grow, become more self-empowered and confident, or make better choices, then no hurdle will stand in the way to making that happen. For the past year, Dee has been working with a group of 9th and 10th grade students at the local high school. As a year-end reward, Dee invited those who consistently attended her extracurricular English class on an all-expenses paid trip to Addis Ababa. For all 7 of these girls, this truly was the opportunity of a lifetime. None of them had ever visited their capital and most of them had never been outside of their town.

Imagine taking 7 high school girls on a multi-overnight field trip to a city in a developing country. Now imagine you and that group of girls not sharing a common language. Dee does not speak Amharic and the girls English is rudimentary at best, but that didn’t stop her. When she called and asked if I was willing to help, I jumped at the opportunity. During my time in Ethiopia, I have frequently found myself getting hung up on the barriers. Where I see a mountain, Dee barely registers a speed bump, so I leapt at the chance to not only help, but to learn from one who I consider to be an inspiration.

At the absurd hour of 4am, we began our journey….a journey that proved to be empowering for not only the girls, but for me as well.

Our trip objectives were simple….to have fun, to consider “new” things, to broaden their world, to meet successful African women, and to experience the beauty and culture that exists within their own country.

Everything was new and exciting. From the card-key access to the hotel room (this required practice) to the elevator experience at the African Union, this was a trip that I’m sure was as magical as it was overwhelming. From sunup to sundown we were on the go. They experienced Addis Ababa University at the hand of my friend and professor, Wondimu, learned about the amazingly diverse people and culture of Ethiopia through the Museum and Library of the Institute of Ethiopian Studies, cowered in fear and awe at the Lion Park, were dazzled by the artistry and beauty of the immense stained-glass mural at Africa Hall, met with a successful Ethio-American woman working for the Clinton Foundation, tried appetizers at the Hilton Hotel, saw a movie in the only theatre in Ethiopia with stadium seating, rode an escalator at the airport, and toured the African Union.

Looking back, I think we were successful in meeting our objectives. I may never know, however, the impact that this brief and frenzied 3-day trip will have on their lives. I’d like to think that if nothing else, they will embrace the idea that anything IS possible. I sure have.

The girls and I outside of our home base, the RAS Hotel.

Wondimu was my language teacher during training and currently a professor of literature at AA University. He just happened to be standing 2 minutes away when I called to see if he could give the girls a tour.
The girls loved Lion Park. I did not. After seeing these majestic creatures roam the Masai Mara wild and free, it was painful to see them pacing the confines of this man-made prison.
The stained-glass mural, created by local artist Afewerk Tekle, was immense and breathtakingly beautiful. I only wish that it were located in a more accessible public space to be enjoyed by all. Because this building serves as an operations HQ for the UN work in Africa, getting access required passports/government IDs and tenacity on the part of Dee.
Africa Hall was built by His Imperial Majesty Haile Selaisse, emperor from 1930 to 1974, to serve as the HQ for the Organization of African Unity. On our tour, it was a bit confusing to ascertain which body currently makes use of this assembly hall. The girls, however, enjoyed playing “delegate” and took turns speaking to the assembly from the elevated dais.
When the girls were asked what THEY wanted to do or see on the trip, the unanimous response was “ride an elevator and escalator!” They had been reading a book with Dee that talked about both of these modern day inventions and despite Dee’s chalkboard drawings and demonstrations, the girls just couldn’t fathom how they worked. This task proved to be our most challenging one. There is exactly one escalator in all of Ethiopia and fortunately the airport security guards kindly gave the girls permission to enter and ride to their hearts content. The elevator experience proved most difficult to make happen. Despite numerous elevators in Addis, we had difficulty finding a working one due to power outages. On our last day, while at the African Union, we were successful. I had to laugh, though. To access the elevator, one had to climb 8 steps. So much for barrier free access.
Not only did we chaperone 7 high school girls, but a handful of little ones as well. No rest for the weary!

If you can’t tell, there is a gigantic sigh of relief on our faces. We can finally relax and breathe knowing that all the girls we started with are back on the bus, safe and sound.

Farewell to Megan

2009-08-25T20:17:00.000-07:00

I knew this day was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared for it. Megan decided it was time to return home and subsequently left the rest of us behind! Despite living 10 hours apart and only getting to hang out on the rare occasion, I still feel like I’ve lost a limb. Countless times I’ve started to text her about a ridiculous “only-in-Ethiopia” event that we could commiserate over or laugh about, and then realized that she’s thousands of miles and several time-zones away consuming gallons of ice cream and surfing high-speed internet without me! Ugh!

This type of crazy experience forges strong friendships. I’m glad to count her as a lifelong friend regardless of which continent she currently resides on!

Miss you Megan!

A bunch of us gathered in Bahar Dar to wish Megan a fond farewell. (From left to right: Straw, Megan, Me, Anna, and Nicole)

Ok…this photo is totally staged. This is how we wanted her to feel leaving us. In reality, she was busting at the seams with excitement about returning to the States and merely humored us with this sad face.

The Real Deal

2009-08-21T20:31:00.000-07:00

I walked into Gigi’s shop the other day and discovered two buckets packed full of beautiful, long-stemmed red roses. I haven’t seen fresh cut flowers since moving to this country. Needless to say I was excited, but also curious. Why?

Well, this past weekend marked the first graduation ceremony for DebreMarkos University. In anticipation of the event, a few aspiring entrepreneurs arranged to have a truckload of flowers shipped up from the South. (The South is home to numerous Dutch-owned flower enterprises.) The irony is that the flowers didn’t sell well. People here are practical and like a lot of bang for their buck…or more accurately birr. They want something that lasts…they want ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS. The artificial flowers sold like hot cakes and I’m sure will adorn tabletops and bicycles for decades to come.

I, on the other hand, love the real deal. Flowers aren’t meant to be dusted! Regardless of the price, I knew I was going to buy a bunch. I nearly fell over when Gigi quoted me the price of 5birr for 10 roses! For less than 50 cents, I walked home with a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses and a big smile on my face. I so love a GREAT deal!

Ava’s 1st Birthday

2009-08-17T19:49:00.000-07:00

Wearing more eyeliner than a runway model and an oversized gown befitting a bride, Ava celebrated her first birthday in style. Between the yards of lace and satin, the unwieldy birthday hat and the large machete-like knife she was given to cut the birthday bread, she didn’t know what to think. And, neither did I. When the knife was brought out and she started waving it like a sparkler, I hesitated. Do I intervene and use this as a teachable moment on the hazards of sharp instruments and toddlers or do I photo document the moment? Obviously I chose the later. I figured nobody would believe this particular cultural idiosyncrasy without proof.

It’s never too early to learn self-sufficiency and how to wield a large, sharp, machete-like knife.

Ava and her mom, Genet.

Just A Typical Day on Safari

2009-08-13T19:37:00.000-07:00

Being on safari was not the relaxing and restful trip that I imagined. We generally were out for our morning game drive no later than 7:30am, returned for lunch by 1:30pm and then rested for a bit before heading out again. Our afternoon game drive started around 3:30pm and we would return by 7pm in time to clean up for dinner.

Riding for hours in the Land Rover was much like an endurance event. We returned stiff and sore from being jostled about as the vehicle rumbled over rutty dirt paths and splashed through small ponds and branches of the Mara River. It felt like exercise, unfortunately, not the sort that burned any relevant amount of calories. And, of course, the comfort breaks didn’t help with the calorie burning, but did provide a much needed stretch for the legs. Kitchwa Tembo camp did the comfort breaks with finesse. As we padded into the bush for our own personal comfort break (but not too far into the bush), Sofie would construct an elegant mini-feast on a cute folding table dressed with a red and black checked cloth. We snacked on dried plantains, toasted almonds, sugar cookies and our choice of coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. We safari’d in style!

I could have passed on a game drive now and then and spent the afternoon soaking up the rays at the infinity pool, but it is addictive. I didn’t want to miss anything. Our staying power paid off. I can proudly say that I have been in the presence of the “big 5” (lion, cheetah, leopard, elephant, and cape buffalo) and many more of God’s magnificent creatures.

One of our twice daily “comfort breaks”

The Desert Date checkers the Masai Mara

One of my favorite spots for our late afternoon comfort break was this stretch along the Mara River. At first glance, I thought the river was filled with large boulders and then those boulders started shifting. Nope not boulders….just a ton of hippos. Hippos make the most amazing sound. The best way I can describe it is like a deep woofing. The sound carries for miles.

I’m not a lover of birds, but this one caught my eye. What brilliant coloring!

Perhaps not your typical “safari animal,” but isn’t he great. His coloring reminds me of Spiderman.

Sofie, a Masai woman, was a fabulous guide. She grew up with the Masai Mara as her backyard and knew it and its inhabitants intimately.

More of the Masai Mara

2009-08-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

A picture is worth a thousand words. I thought you might like a few more photos and a lot less words. Enjoy!

The Wild Kingdom—Up Close and Personal

2009-08-07T18:10:00.000-07:00

I don’t even know how to describe our encounter with the wildlife that calls the Masai Mara home. Any single adjective would be the equivalent of the tip of the iceberg. I’m not sure what I expected, but I have to admit that this was beyond my wildest imagination.

The quantity and variety of wildlife was phenomenal, and we weren’t even there during the Great Migration. In retrospect, we had to laugh at one of the questions that we asked our booking agent: “will we see hippos?” Absurd. We saw droves of hippos, herds of elephants, a gazillion giraffes, and tons of gazelle, waterbuck, and topi. It got to the point where these magnificent creatures seemed almost pedestrian.

The proximity of our interaction with these majestic animals was extraordinary and palpitation worthy at times. Some of the pictures that you’ll see below are included to demonstrate how close we were. What amazed me is that the animals didn’t seem to be bothered by our presence. We learned from Sofie that they didn’t see us as 7 humans riding around in a vehicle, but one large, harmless creature.

Our timing, thanks to Sofie, was impeccable. We drove up to a pride of lions standing guard over a fresh Cape buffalo kill. We managed to spot (thanks to Dad’s eagle eye) a leopard lounging in the crook of a tree. We passed a pond as 3 gigantic hippos bounded out and stopped in surprise to see us parked there. We watched as 2 lionesses and 2 cubs feasted on a fresh warthog and then realized that the remaining 2 lionesses and the 3 littlest cubs (who had been left out of the hunt) were scampering through the tall savannah grasses toward us and their lunch. And, we drove into the middle of the fray as a cheetah patiently stalked, chased, and ultimately missed a Thompson gazelle …which I lovingly coined a “cheetah nugget.” We truly experience the daily drama of the Masai Mara up close and personal.

A male waterbuck

The kind of roadblock that you don’t mind being stopped for.

Perhaps this encounter was a bit too up close and personal. This lioness walked within 2 feet of the vehicle, which I just happened to be hanging out of to get a better shot. With palpitating heart, I quickly got all appendages back into the vehicle.

Just after she missed her “cheetah nugget”

Hanging with the Masai

2009-08-05T16:52:00.000-07:00

When I dreamed about a safari I only ever thought of the wildlife we’d be seeing and not the opportunity to interact with the people who also call this paradise home. The Masai are a beautiful people…lithe, dignified, colorfully adorned, and welcoming. Over the course of the week, we had an opportunity to visit a Masai village and school, dance with Masai warriors, and help support a local women’s art and craft cooperative.

Did you know:

-Young warriors try to impress the local girls by winning the jumping contest (vertical jumping…it’s impressive to watch!)

-For the Masai, the number of cattle one owns equates to one’s wealth.

-Traditionally, the Masai are nomadic people who follow the grass and water needed to sustain their large herds of livestock

-That this is the first generation of Masai to live in settlements. We have the Masai to thank for the establishment of the Masai Mara National Reserve—a place where the king of beasts and other magnificent creatures are protected and available for the world to see.

-Historically, the Masai diet consisted only of milk, meat, and blood. Recently, development organizations have introduced gardens and veggies are beginning to populate the dinner plate.

-Masai men and women are missing their bottom, middle tooth. Both the baby tooth and adult tooth is pulled in order to provide access for “tube feeding” in case of severe illness and is also considered a sign of beauty.

-Masai villages consist of a double circle. The outer perimeter consists of a dozen or less circular huts that protect an inner, circular perimeter where the livestock are kept overnight.

I danced with Masai warriors! How cool is that!?! Three of the six nights we were at camp, the Masai provided us with interactive entertainment before dinner. I love the Masai music and by the end of the week I was singing along.

This warrior, John, was crazy…so much fun. He could make the best animal noises, which I attempted, but failed to replicate.

The Masai women we visited

Mom standing in front of a Masai hut

Laura, Mom, and I joined the ladies as they sang and danced upon our arrival to their village.

The women developed an art and craft cooperative and proudly displayed their handiwork. It was hard to not buy one of everything!

Welcome to Kitchwa Tembo

2009-08-03T15:55:00.000-07:00

As a kid, we would spend Sunday nights sitting around the television watching National Geographic. With rapt attention we’d take a bite of our toasted cheese sandwich and watch a cheetah stalk its prey and frantic wildebeests plunge into a river filled with ravenous crocs. Since childhood, I have always dreamed of going on “safari”--- of experiencing the drama of the animal kingdom firsthand. I’m a firm believer in dreams realized, and I’m happy to say that this one was.

I’m not sure how we stumbled upon this particular outfitter, but &Beyond enabled the three of us to have the safari of a lifetime. I would change NOTHING about the experience. From the moment we flew out of Wilson airport on a 12-passenger charter to the moment that same plane bounced down a rough dirt strip in the Masai Mara to pick us up, our time was magical.

Our 7 days were spent at Kitchwa Tembo tented camp. Nestled in a grove of trees just ½ mile from the Oloololo entrance to the Masai Mara National Reserve, it was a perfect jumping off point for our twice daily game drives, and a luxurious retreat for a mid-day rest.

After 18 months of living Ethiopian-style, I was ready for a bit of pampering and luxury. I was not disappointed. Our accommodations were luxurious…and yes, they were TENTS! The mouth-watering food was abundant and the staff went above and beyond to ensure we were well taken care of. Each evening we were escorted to our tents by a bow and arrow wielding guard who took his leave with a soft “lala salama” (sleep well) and gently woken in the morning by our tent steward Simon who would call “Kristi, Kristi, wake up” as he set down a thermos of hot cocoa and a plate of cookies on the porch table. After unzipping the tent flap, I’d stumble onto the porch to find my morning mojo and a friendly giraffe munching a nearby tree. Heaven on earth!

&Beyond has done a fantastic job of creating a utopia that perfectly complements the wonders of the natural environment…this breathtaking place known as the Masai Mara.

At the entrance to Kitchwa Tembo with our fellow travelers. We were placed with the nicest group of people…Carol from London, and Matt and Laura…an American couple currently living in Bahrain.

My tent. I seriously could have lived here forever.

Mom and Dad enjoying a quiet moment on the porch of their tent

The staff was truly exceptional. I asked for peanut butter once, and never had to ask for it again. A small bowl of it was waiting next to my place setting each morning. Chef George was one of my favorites. He made dining an event. On the particular evening captured here, he whisked me behind the counter, plopped a chef’s hat on my head and gave me creative license to whip up my own tasty meal.

Langata Giraffe Center

2009-07-31T15:49:00.000-07:00

After trekking around Ethiopia for 2 weeks, I was so excited for our excursion to Kenya…a chance for me to be the tourist!

Upon our arrival in Nairobi, we were met by staff from &Beyond who immediately whisked us away to our hotel. The wisdom of booking an all-inclusive safari was immediately apparent to us. No haggling with taxi drivers, no negotiating the streets of Nairobi with a map and a prayer….just an effortless, stress free transition, served with a complimentary bottle of water.

Although all of us desperately desired a bit of R&R, we couldn’t be in Nairobi and not SEE Nairobi. With the help of the hotel concierge we contracted a cab for the afternoon and set off. Our destination—the Langata Giraffe Center, a sanctuary for a handful of Rothschild’s giraffes.

You may wonder why we would choose to visit an animal sanctuary when we would be spending the next 6 days in the Masai Mara. Me too. Upon my sister’s return from Kenya she couldn’t say enough about this place and insisted that we would not be disappointed. We weren’t!

Our visit to the sanctuary was fabulous. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about how these particular giraffes came to live at the center or anything else related to the center as I spent my entire time with the giraffes. For two hours we fed, watched, petted, and even kissed a giraffe or two. I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to interact so closely with these gentle giants on stilts. Oh…and to prove how close we were, their eyelashes are a mile long!

Mom enjoying a little 1:1 time with a friendly giraffe

Dad made this one work for a food pellet.

There probably aren’t too many people in the world that can say they’ve been kissed by a giraffe. And, in the effort to get the perfect shot, I endured this not once, but three times!

Lalibela—A Place Like No Other

2009-07-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

Should any of you consider a trip to Ethiopia, I would just remind you to expect the unexpected. On the morning of our 8:30am flight from Bahar Dar to Lalibela, I began receiving phone calls a touch before 7am. Given that the number was unfamiliar to me, I’m surprised that I actually answered it. I did, but nobody was there. The phone rang 4 more times and I ignored it. On the sixth ring, I picked up and was greeted by a frantic Ethiopian Airlines worker wondering where we were. Excuse me?! Our 8:30am flight had been changed and it was in the process of boarding. Unbelievable. Good thing I now live by the motto of expect the unexpected. I told them we were on the way (a bit of a fabrication) and to HOLD THE PLANE! Can you imagine doing that in the States?! We pulled into the airport and were met in the parking lot by the gate agent who personally escorted our bags into the airport and around security. Within 10 minutes we were checked in and briskly walking across the tarmac. Only in Ethiopia!

Despite our rocky start, our time in Lalibela was perfect. Lalibela, tucked into the Lasta Mountains, is such a fantastic gem. It’s unfortunate that the world knows so little about it. But, then again, maybe that is part of its charm.

I was excited to return to Lalibela for several reasons. First and foremost, the rock-hewn churches are an architectural marvel and I knew my parents would thoroughly enjoy the experience. We spent an entire day stumbling around, in, over, and under all 13 churches. Secondly, I was looking forward to seeing some of the friends that I had met during my first trip to Lalibela nearly a year ago. Much to my delight, I was warmly welcomed and greeted by name. This familiarity led us to a unique invitation…to join our tour guide and his sister for lunch at their home. At this point in the trip, Dad had had enough of injera and we were exhausted so I politely declined. But, it is not common for Ethiopians to take “no” for an answer. When I realized the chicken had already been sacrificed there was no turning back. What never ceases to amaze me is the generous spirit of Ethiopians as a whole. Regardless of how little or how much they have, they are always willing to share. The invite also enabled my parents to experience yet another quirky Ethiopian custom….the “gorsha.” To gorsha someone is to hand-feed another. By the time I realized what Destaw was intending to do, I was too late to intervene. Dad and Mom both survived an enormous gorsha. What good sports!

Tukul Village is my favorite place to stay in Lalibela. The hotel structures are built similar to the traditional two story stone home that is unique to this region of Ethiopia.

Mom stops to purchase a few trinkets from the children who linger outside the church complex.

This shot was taken pre-gorsha. I love how Ethiopians entertain guests whether their home is a one-room mud structure or something more elaborate.

Mom and Dad pose in front of the most recognizable of the Lalibela churches…Gyorgis.

Off the Beaten Path in Bahar Dar

2009-07-27T15:36:00.000-07:00

In an effort to continue to experience the unadulterated Ethiopia, I chose to take Mom and Dad to Bahar Dar via public transportation….namely, the big old bus. If there was one aspect of their trip that kept me awake at night it was this. But, I honestly couldn’t come up with any less painful or safer alternative.

On the morning of our grand adventure, Tambarat graciously picked us up at 4:30am and drove us (by bajaj) to the bus station. We boarded, jockeyed and traded for suitable seats (which means one with enough leg room for Dad and for my “prone to motion sickness” Mom, a seat at the front) and then settled in for the journey. In the spectrum of my bus experiences, this one was relatively mundane. The journey was long (a touch over 6 hours), but I think they actually enjoyed the experience and more importantly, although dehydrated, stiff, and dirty we arrived alive and intact.

Our stay in Bahar Dar was short, but we utilized our time well. Unbeknownst to Mom and Dad, I had arranged for a surprise hippo excursion….something well off the beaten path. We met a friend of a friend’s nephew and blindly followed him to a remote location on the Blue Nile River. From there we boarded a rickety boat (no motor; just oars and a few strong men) and drifted downriver. Within 15 minutes we were expertly guided to a pod of 7 hippos. I must say it’s surreal to find yourself co-mingling with these magnificent creatures and difficult to remember their reputation for being one of Africa’s most aggressive residents. We watched their antics for about an hour and then began our return journey. I had wondered how our motor-less boat would be able to pass upstream through the rapids with the 4 of us and a handful of locals on board. We soon found out. One man jumped overboard (keep in mind….this is hippo territory!) and swam/pushed us to the far bank. We were then deposited on the river’s edge and told to walk while our empty boat was swum and dragged upstream. I guess the price of admission only covered a one-way ticket. What a hoot!

The 7th hippo was on guard duty and just outside the scope of this shot

If you look closely you can see the young boy (on the right edge of the herd) swimming his cattle across the river.

Abi Goes to the Doctor

2009-07-24T15:32:00.000-07:00

I have always been concerned for Abi’s health. In the time that I have known him, he hasn’t grown an inch. So, I took advantage of his unexpected arrival in DebreMarkos and invited both him and Souwnet to go to the clinic….my treat. I’m sure Abi would have much preferred some other type of treat, but he is so agreeable and willing to do whatever I ask of him. He bravely allowed himself to be examined by my friend, Dr. Iskayis, endured having his blood drawn, provided the required urine sample, but couldn’t come through with the stool sample. It was so hard to keep a straight face when he marched out of the shinta beyt, shrugged his shoulders and loudly declared, “caca yellum” (there isn’t any poop!), and “embi alle” (it’s not willing). He may not be growing, but there is nothing wrong with his sense of humor!

Abi getting his blood drawn

Abi, Souwnet, and my friend—Dr. Iskayis

Dr. Iskayis just had this clinic built, and despite that it is still under construction, he’s open for business. His wife, Hewot (who is also a nurse) gave Mom and I the grand tour. Can you imagine using a public building in the States with an unfinished (i.e. open to the elements; no protective rail) stairwell?

Killing time…Mom and Abi entertain themselves with a game of balloon.

About Town

2009-07-22T15:25:00.000-07:00

It was so much fun showing my parents around town…and a perfect chance to capture shots that I tend not to take when I’m by myself. Seeing Ethiopia through their eyes made everything seem new, exciting, and unique again.

Dad and I standing in front of one form of public transportation. This horse should be relieved that we decided to walk!

I love getting fresh juice and this little shop is my favorite. Situated above Gigi’s store, and reached via a rickety, winding, exterior staircase it not only serves up a tasty treat, but also serves as a great vantage point for people watching.

The Gojam rural people have their own unique sense of style. You can easily identify these men as hailing from Gojam by their short shorts and great caps.

Mom quickly learned how to become an instant hit with the kids…snap their picture and then show them. Oh, the power of a digital camera!

Although, the vast majority of Ethiopians in my town are Orthodox, there is a small percentage of Muslims. Mom and Dad are standing in front of our beautiful, and quite large, mosque.

Experiencing “My Life”

2009-07-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

My life in Ethiopia is such a trip and I’m so glad that my parents were able to experience the real deal. In our 5½ days in town, we had water once and power twice! We hand washed clothes, hauled water, burned trash in the street, hosted my neighbor kids for game day, washed dishes crouched on a small stool, walked EVERYWHERE, ate by candlelight, and cooked by headlamp. No special accommodations—just pure, unadulterated Ethiopian life.

Bonding with Ava.

Dad burning trash. Everything I do draws a crowd and Dad got to experience that first hand.

Mom provided a helping hand with dishwashing duty.

There is always something happening on my compound. Here, Mom is helping Aselef pound the husk off of the kernels of wheat.

A visit to Ethiopia wouldn’t be complete without trying your hand at making injera. As Mom found out, there is a bit of technique involved.

Aselef couldn’t disguise her astonished reaction when Dad requested a turn at injera making. This is NOT men’s work. Ironically, Dad’s technique was superior to Mom’s!

I spend a significant portion of my “free time” dealing with water these days and this week was no exception. Fortunately, we have a well on the compound. Unfortunately, the water is a good 25-30 feet down.

I just had to show off my prowess at Dutch oven baking.

Hand washing clothes is hard work, but Mom was up for the challenge.

Exhausted after hauling water and washing clothes, Mom and I decided we deserved a break!

My neighborhood kids, who attend my Friday afternoon program, were so excited to meet my parents. And, desperately hoping for a sweet treat from America. They didn’t leave disappointed.

Making the Rounds

2009-07-16T07:29:00.000-07:00

I can confidently say that my Ethiopian friends were just as excited to meet my parents, as my parents were excited to meet them. I had anticipated a couple of invites for lunches or dinners, but the outpouring of invitations and repeat invitations was unreal. The menu I had planned for our 5 ½ days in town was whittled down to breakfasts and two dinners!

We visited Souwnet and Abi (he and his grandmother traveled for 5 hours in order to meet my parents), Gigi and Tambarat, Belete and Hannah, Aselef and Getachew, and Hapti. It was great that everyone enjoyed each other’s company, but I have to admit that by the end of the week I was exhausted. Constant translating is HARD WORK! Every once in awhile Gigi or Mom would look at me quizzically and then I would realize that I was translating in the wrong language for the wrong person. Talk about feeling discombobulated! Fortunately, a smile and a hug require no translation!

Gigi and Tambarat love to play cards. I’m so glad that I taught them how to play one of my parents’ favorite games (3 to Kings) as it became something we could easily do together (and required no translating on my part!)

Mom, Me, my good friend Hannah and her girls (Yordanos and Tsion)

Despite my plea of “no gifts,” Hannah and Belete gifted my parents with a traditional Ethiopian painting on hide.

Hapti considers my parents his parents and greeted my mom with a “Hi, Mom” and a gigantic hug.

Gigi did her best to fatten everyone up and she does not take “no thanks” for an answer. Here we are dining on baked spaghetti in the middle of her shop.

Seeing Abi was as much of a treat for me as it was for my parents. I had NO IDEA that he and his grandmother would be making the trip to DebreMarkos.

Souwnet, too, went against my plea for no gifts. Doesn’t Dad look great in his Habesha hat?

Mom and Dad with Souwnet, her mother (Addis), a cousin, and Abi. As you can tell, he is NOT camera shy.

A Visit From My Parents—The Fun Begins

2009-07-12T16:06:00.000-07:00

I recently received a card from my sister that said, “Mom is GLOWING and Dad is RAVING” about their trip. Now, I must be honest…I’m not sure either one of them would have used those adjectives during their 2 week Ethiopian adventure, but I can see why they would say that in retrospect. It was an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime adventure for all of us. Travel in Ethiopia is not for the faint of heart…and I’m proud to say that when the going got tough, my parents were able to keep up.

Our adventure began with me arriving late to the airport….already off-program. During my 18 months in country I have never seen so many people trying to get into the airport. Why tonight??? As I skirted one security line and people-hopped in another (for the record I NEVER using my farenji status for special privileges…until tonight) I frantically hoped that they would remember the childhood rule that was pounded into us as kids, “if you get lost….just STAY PUT!” I finally arrived to find them “patiently” parked in the middle of the arrivals lobby behind a mountain of luggage. My mom has been a faithful care package sender, but why send packages when you have a 200-pound luggage allotment??!!

I had hoped that by being a brilliant logistician my parents would not have to suffer through a litany of lessons on patience their first day (perhaps MOMENTS would be more apropos) in country. Not only did I arrive late, but also lost my cab driver…hence an awkward 15 minute wait while I assured my father that the cabbie would eventually return to his car. We arrived at our “luxurious” one star government hotel (which I made even more affordable by asking the “bell-hop” to throw a mattress on the floor for me) and sat down for the first of many cultural lessons. After 24 hours in route it probably wasn’t the most “teachable moment,” but they endured. Watching my Dad practice the “triple cheek kiss,” listening over and over to Mom’s tongue tied (she gets an “A” for effort) rendition of “Amasayganalahoo” (i.e. thank you) and my demonstration of the toilet squat was the perfect beginning to what has proved to be a hilarious (given your perspective) Ethiopian adventure.

Our journey to DebreMarkos was done in fine style. I decided to go easy on their first Ethio-road trip and rented a Land Cruiser (complete with driver). Million (our driver) was worth a million. He stopped for inane photos, patiently smiled and waited so that Mom could listen to the symphony created by donkeys carting eucalyptus leaves and branches as they trotted down Entoto Mountain, stopped at fruit shacks so we could load up, and even squeezed in a coffee break for Dad. I have to admit, that was money well spent!

As we rolled into town, I couldn’t have asked for a better welcome. My neighborhood kids poured out of their respective houses as we proceeded down the hill and waited, breathless, outside of my compound for the first sight of “white haired farenjis.” Desperately wanting to rest, we entered the compound to find Mom and Dad’s very first bunna ceremony ready and waiting. Today, and everyday from here forward, there will be no rest for the weary! WELCOME TO ETHIOPIA, MOM and DAD!

Road Trip to Awassa

2009-07-09T15:55:00.000-07:00

As I sit staring at the map of Ethiopia that is plastered to my wall, I’m amazed and disappointed with how little I’ve actually seen of this country. I know the Amhara region well, but have hardly stepped outside of it. In an effort to get to know Ethiopia a bit better, Megan and I boarded yet another bus bound for Awassa…a city situated approximately 275 km south of Addis Ababa and the capital of the Southern Nations, Nationalities’, and Peoples’ region.

Our journey by mini-bus took us through the Great Rift Valley. A valley that earns its prestige as the largest geographical feature on the continent…and for you historical buffs, was the only feature visible to the astronauts who first landed on the moon. As our mini-bus hurtled down the road, for the first time I felt like I was in Africa. The South is SO different from the North. For as far as the eye can see, there are expansive landscapes dotted with huts, liberally sprinkled with acacia trees and bodies of water, that eventually kiss the feet of softly rising mountains. If I were to close my eyes, it would be easy to imagine a herd of zebra or kudu roaming the plains where now there are only run-of-the-mill cattle and scrawny sheep.

After 6 hours we arrived in the lakeside town of Awassa. My first impression…..HOT! My second impression….CLEAN! What a treat to be in a town that doesn’t struggle with a lack of water.

Our agenda for the weekend was to eat good food, relax, and explore (and yes, in that order!) Our hotel, situated on the lake, became a perfect haven for the R&R aspect of our vacation as well as our best wildlife-viewing venue. Monkeys outnumbered humans 2 to 1 and provided hours of cheap entertainment. Their audacious antics were amusing for us, the guests, but an annoyance for the staff. All meals were served with a side of stick….that is, a monkey whacking stick. As I watched the monkeys pilfer bottles of Pepsi and snatch treats from unsuspecting patrons, I could almost hear them snicker and taunt, “keep your eyes on your fries!”

Our wildlife highlight occurred on our walk back from the hotel restaurant to our cabin. It was pitch dark and the light from my headlamp was casting but a sliver of illumination when an Ethiopian man approached us from behind our cabin. Cause for alarm…maybe. But considering Megan and I dwarfed him by a good foot and a fair number of pounds, we decided to hear him out. He was speaking only Amharic and when my pounding heart slowed enough to hear above the din, I heard two words… “gumare” and “ahun”. Translation—hippo…NOW! We followed closely on his heels and found ourselves within 20 yards of a young hippo moseying and munching his way down the shoreline. All reasonable thought vanished. All warnings of hippos being aggressive creatures and the leading cause of human death vanished as we quietly crouched in its presence. What a magnificent animal! What a surreal life I am living! I now KNOW I live in Africa!

Our only full day in town was spent eating and exploring, which we did with gusto. We roamed every aisle of the market while bargaining the socks off the sellers for trinkets that I’ll probably wonder what to do with when I return to the States. And we ate! When good food comes your way but once in a blue moon, hunger is inconsequential and calorie counting is prohibited. We ate a slice of Black Forest cake at the Pinna Hotel, washed it down with a fresh juice, devoured an ice cream cone purchased for us by two kind American military guys, treated ourselves to an amazing Italian dinner at La Dolce Vita, and tested out onion rings at the Pink Burger. The onion ring snack turned out to be quite the adventure. The Pink Burger, striving to look like an American Fast food joint, invested in a dazzling sign that advertised big juicy burgers and golden onion rings. As signs are meant to do, it lured us in. When we placed our order for onions rings and the waitress looked at us quizzically we knew there was a problem. But, Megan is not one to back down from a challenge. She firmly grasped the waitress by the arm, hauled her to the street, and pointed at the magnificent pictorial rendition of the perfect onion ring. Well we got our onion rings…they were neither big, nor beautiful, and I question whether an onion even lurked within the glob of fried dough. So much for truth in advertising!

Travel in Ethiopia is rarely restful or hassle-free, but it is always full of adventure. I just wish that a simple “weekend” excursion didn’t require 28 hours of bus travel! It’s going to be awhile before I venture out again. I need a chance to recover from my vacation!

Lake Awassa

Megan and I

They’re cute AND pesky!

Our charming little cabin.

We completely wore this man out with our highly advanced bargaining powers.

I’ve become a scarf girl. I just can’t stop buying them.

Oh, I just love the things that you see here that you would never see in the States.

Ok, one of those purchases that I know I will regret. Megan talked me into this, because “we can get a better price for two than for just one.” An example of bargaining skills gone awry. Where in the world am I going to wear this thing????

Well Said

2009-06-15T16:15:00.000-07:00

As a cultural ambassador I often find that it is important to identify commonalities. Differences are dividing and it becomes easy to fall into the us/them trap. Regardless of our nationality or skin color or geographical address we are all still part of the human race. We have fears and frustrations, struggles and triumphs, dreams and hopes. Our access to resources may be different, but that doesn’t mean our desires are. We all want to feel safe. We all want to have a full belly. We all want happiness.

The current economic crisis in the States has not gone unnoticed here. Although on different scales, it has been a source of commonality that resonates with my Ethiopian friends. I love how my friend, Tadeseh, so eloquently described our similar situation…. “poorness has come to our pockets!” Well said, Tadeseh!

Peeps On Tour

2009-06-12T16:11:00.000-07:00

I’ve come to the conclusion that the American way of celebrating certain holidays must be seen as absolutely ridiculous to the rest of the world…and completely unexplainable. How does one explain leaving a plate of cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve or hunting for Easter eggs presumably laid by a bunny? If anyone could help me out, I’d sure appreciate it. In the meantime, I continue to try to share some of the nuances of our culture…as silly as they are. This year, I introduced PEEPS…the nasty, sugary, bright-yellow candy chicks that make their appearance one time a year. Fortunately my group of kiddos could care less about the significance (or really the insignificance) of this typical Easter candy. They simply inhaled their chick and asked for more.

When I’ve asked about what I consider to be an unusual Ethiopian tradition, I am simply told “its culture” and nothing more. Perhaps when it comes to Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, Valentine’s Day, and trick-or-treat I should adopt the same strategy. There are just some things that warrant no further explanation.

Preventing “African Foot”

2009-06-10T16:09:00.000-07:00

When I first met my friend and fellow PCV, Eden, I vividly remember thinking “I must do everything within my power to keep my feet from looking like his!!” Eden had already been living in Africa for a year and his feet had taken a beaten. Dry heat, dirt roads, limited water, and sandals everyday do not lead to feet as soft (or even as clean) as a baby’s bottom. Megan and I promptly coined this phenomenon the “African foot” and set out to design a prevention program. As a physical therapist there is nothing that I hate more than nasty feet…especially if they’re my own!

Despite pumice stones, foot files and graters, extra thick lotion, plastic bags, and a nailbrush it’s amazing how quickly I can begin to lose the battle. I suspect that despite my daily “anti-African foot” routine, I will carry a bit of Ethiopian soil and grime in the soles of my feet long after I no longer call this place home.

When a group of us gets together a “foot program” is always on the agenda. There is nothing better than the combination of a cup of cocoa, good conversation (in English!), and a pedi program.

Potty Training

2009-06-08T16:04:00.000-07:00

I never dreamed I would move to Ethiopia and write a blog post on the joys of potty training. But, these pictures are just too cute to pass up. Ava, at the ripe old age of 9 MONTHS, is not quite sure what to make of all this. She’s more interested in exploring her environment via placing anything and everything in her mouth, than taking care of business on the pot….but who am I to interfere. I just keep my mouth shut and do my best to serve as photographer in residence.

Given that diapers are a luxury here (and aren’t even sold in my town), I can understand Genet’s desire to get this potty training show on the road.

I can just hear Ava thinking… “You want me to do what?!”

It’s safe to say she’s had enough of this experiment!

A Veggie-tale

2009-06-05T16:00:00.000-07:00

Oh what I wouldn’t give for the Jolly Green Giant to pay me a visit. I never dreamed I would CRAVE vegetables. I was the kid who hated veggies. I’d pick mushrooms off the pizza, swallow peas whole so as to avoid my tongue coming into contact with their nasty taste, turn my nose up at brussels sprouts, and only eat cauliflower if it was smothered in cheese. The pinnacle of my anti-veggie stand came when I proudly announced at the dinner table one evening, that I would rather eat a night crawler than another bite of the veggie du jour. Of course my bluff was called and my brother was promptly sent outdoors to find said night crawler. Given that my Dad was an avid (borderline fanatic) fisherman, night crawlers were always on hand and within minutes a long, fat, juicy night crawler was baiting my fork. I sat at the table long after the family was done with dinner that evening, debating the potential taste of night crawler versus the known nasty taste of the veggie. In the end, the veggie proved more palatable.

Fast forward some 20 odd years and here I sit lamenting the fact that my veggie selection is so limited. I dream about broccoli, crave a cuc, wax poetic on the attributes of zucchini and would give my right arm for a bunch of green beans. I finally decided to take matters into my own hands. I’ve proven to have quite the green thumb when it comes to flowers, but would my luck hold for veggies? I sent an urgent email home with a request for seeds and solicited help from the troops on my compound to prepare the soil. I even personally walked the fields collecting cow poop by hand (desperate times call for desperate measures!). I started the seeds in small pots, celebrated when the first glimpse of green peeked above the soil, carefully transplanted, and faithfully watered. The folks on my compound even began referring to my zucchini, yellow squash, and cucumber plants as “Kristi’s kids”. After weeks of waiting (and salivating), I wound up with ONE yellow squash! Talk about a crushing blow both to my ego and menu. I’m just hoping that my failure is due more to conditions (perhaps zucchinis do not find the high altitude, scorching sun, and cool nights suitable) than my gardening prowess.

Although I’m resigned to the fact that cucs, zucchini and squash aren’t going to grace my dinner plate anytime soon, I am wondering how sautéed zinnias and daisies might taste over a bed of rice? They find the Ethiopian climate extremely suitable and are growing in abundance!

Like a proud parent, I just had to take a picture of my beautiful squash.
Cleome is my new favorite flower and I have to thank my Cherry St. neighbor, Mary, for introducing me to them. They have grown extremely well on Ethiopian soil!

Bye, Bye Burdie!

2009-06-02T15:56:00.000-07:00

If there is one thing I can say about Peace Corps it is that the medical support is amazing. When we head out to site we are armed with a medical manual chock full of interesting tidbits about diseases that we hope never to contract and a kit full of medications, ointments and other paraphernalia to treat a host of ailments…both the mundane and the exotic. I remember when I first met our medical officer, Burdett (whom we affectionately call “Burdie”), I greeted her with a smile and a “you won’t hear much from me, I’m as healthy as a horse!” Little did I know that Burdett and I would get to know each other so well. When I woke in the middle of the night with what eventually proved to be my gallbladder acting up, she was the cheery voice on the other end of the line. She has been with us since the beginning…a voice of reason, an empathetic ear, and a heart of understanding. She encourages, she treats, she problem-solves, and most importantly she cares. As she prepares for her next journey, we prepare to survive without her. I’m not sure it is possible! Burdie…you will be greatly missed!

For whatever reason, a group of us all happened to be in Addis at the same time. A perfect time for an impromptu going away party for Burdett!

Burdie and Me.

Cipro=New Best Friend

2009-05-27T13:50:00.000-07:00

I truly have never been so sick, so frequently in all my life. My head loves Ethiopia, but my gut does not. What is crazy is that I am sooooo careful. I only drink purified or bottled water, I refuse food that is cold, I don’t eat raw veggies unless they’ve been soaked in a bleach solution, and I hand sanitize like there is no tomorrow. One would think that after 10 years of working in healthcare (hospitals to be specific), I would have built up some type of super-immunity. Instead I’m like Superman to kryptonite.

Fortunately I have found my miracle cure (as prescribed by my fabulous medical officers, of course!). It comes in the form of a little white pill, which I like to call my new best friend…otherwise known as Ciproflaxin, or Cipro. I now don’t go anywhere (even into town) without a 3-day course in my bag. But should I run out or accidentally leave it behind, all I have to do is stop into my friendly neighborhood pharmacy, ask for six 500mg tablets of Cipro (no prescription necessary) and shell out a whopping 45 cents. The lack of regulation on medications at the pharmacy is a bit frightening, but when I get hit by one of these bugs I’m glad Cipro is as easy to buy as candy.

Lost in Translation

2009-05-19T16:56:00.000-07:00

A trip wouldn’t be complete without at least one good bus story to share. After hitchhiking to Gundwegn, we realized we couldn’t be choosy about our next destination. Originally we had wanted to go to Mertolemariam to visit a friend. But, considering the daylight hours were waning, we decided we’d hop in whichever bus came along first. Hence, we found ourselves squeezed like sardines onto a bus headed toward Mota. Smith was shuffled to the back and I found myself on the platform above the engine sitting Indian style and facing backward. I really just wanted to close my eyes and let my mind drift as at this point I was on Ethiopia overload. That, however, was not meant to be. What ensued is what Smith describes as the most ridiculous conversation she has ever overheard. Over the roar of the bus engine and through the 3 people squeezed between this man and I, I had the pleasuring of participating in the following chat.

Random Dude: “have you see the ICELAND?”

Me: Excuse ME?

Random Dude: You know, the ICELAND in Lake Tana. Have you been?

ME: (What in the world is he talking about????? OH….does he mean island? Crap, I don’t know the Amharic word for island.) “Ummm..do you mean the land in the lake?”

Random Dude; YES! (said, while practically jumping up and down from excitement). The ICELAND!

ME: “I think you mean ISLAND”

Random Dude: Yes…ICELAND!

ME: (I should really just let this go, but I can’t have this dude accosting another unsuspecting foreigner with this ridiculous and completely random conversation). NO…it’s “eye-land”.

Random Dude: Huh? ICELAND?

ME: No, sir, It’s iiiiiiiii-land!!!!!!!

At that point I was fed up and he was thoroughly confused. Truly the most ridiculous, frustrating, random, pointless, and in retrospect, hilarious conversation I’ve had yet! These are the moments when I think, how in the world did I end up here?!?!

The Kindness of Strangers

2009-05-13T13:53:00.000-07:00

When I thought through the logistics of visiting Abi, I didn’t spend much time thinking about what would happen when we returned to the dusty, dirt road in the middle of nowhere. I never anticipated the reality of being somewhere without a bus station or even routine traffic. So, there we stood, along with 50 other hopeful souls. What we learned from our fellow roadside squatters is that we had three chances of getting out of Dodge…the bus from DebreMarkos (which would roll through sometime around 10am), the bus from Bichena (unpredictable arrival), and the bus from Addis, which if we were lucky would come through no later than 2pm. From that I surmised that our chances were poor at best. What is the likelihood that enough passengers are going to choose to get off the bus in the middle of nowhere to create space for us? And, what are my chances of beating out the other 50 people who all seem to be heading in the same direction as I?

After standing roadside for approximately an hour, the Bichena bus rolled through. We elbowed with the best of them to make our way to the front of the crush only to discover that the bus was not heading to our destination of choice. The ticket taker assured us that the DebreMarkos bus would be arriving shortly and it was heading to our destination. In retrospect, we should have just elbowed our way aboard, but we didn’t. And as luck would have it, the DebreMarkos bus vanished into thin air much like ships traveling through the Bermuda triangle. Feeling a bit desperate and having no desire to sleep alongside the road, we decided to become a bit more aggressive with our approach and a lot less selective. While I guarded our bags, Smith stood in the road with the goal of flagging down any moving vehicle heading north. Two large transport trucks came along shortly and rumbled by as if she were wearing Harry’s invisibility cloak. Perhaps two are better than one? I asked Souwnet to guard our stuff, and joined Smith roadside…or rather roadmiddle. Much to our delight, the next truck to pass through stopped (it was either that or run us over!). Smith clambered aboard, confirmed that they were at least traveling as far as the next town, and without negotiating a price (we knew we’d empty our purses if he asked), we all piled in. Within minutes we had struck up a conversation with Tesfaye (the driver) and learned that he knew of our friend Kristina. What a small world. Tesfaye not only safely brought us to the next town, but refused to accept payment and even bought us lunch. I am truly humbled by the kindness of strangers!

Me standing roadside, “patiently” waiting for a ride north.

The bus we should have elbowed our way onto.

If I didn’t see so many of these trucks crashed and bashed alongside the roads, I would travel this way more often.

This was truly a massive truck.

Ironically, when we rolled into Gundwegn, Souwnet just happened to spot her 15 year old brother, Sintiyew, who lives and attends school there during the week. It was fun to get to know him and a nice surprise for Souwnet.

Visiting Abi—Wednesday

2009-05-08T07:29:00.000-07:00

Wednesday dawned bright and sunny, but my disposition was more on the overcast end of the spectrum. Even before arriving in Abi’s community I was dreading my departure. I have always hated “good-byes”, but I knew this would be one of the hardest.

Smith and I entered the gojo beyt for breakfast and discovered Abi hunched over a plate of injera, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Addis and Souwnet tried to make excuses for him, but I knew better. He was trying to be a little man and keep the tears at bay, which only encouraged mine to start flowing. I picked at my 1-egg breakfast and tried to find the silver lining in what was proving to be a day chock full of clouds. But sometimes the silver lining is beyond our capability to see or determine. Instead we must just trust that it does in fact exist.

As I slung the backpack over my shoulder and headed down the hill, I allowed myself one last wave and glimpse of the kiddo who just happens to have stolen my heart.

Addis (Abi’s grandmother), Souwnet, Abi, and a cousin (on the far left)

Heading out.

Visiting Abi—Tuesday

2009-05-02T14:19:00.000-07:00

By Tuesday morning Abi had warmed up, cleaned up, and was nearly back to the little boy I remembered. As we sat in the gojo beyt eating our breakfast of fur-fur (soggy injera served with a side of injera) Smith and I overheard snippets of conversation. The phrases hike to Gundwgn, pasta, sleep in hotel clued us in to the fact that we needed to figure out what was going on. Well, the powers that be had decided that Souwnet should hike to Gundwgn this morning to buy pasta for our lunch and then we would hike to Gundwgn in the evening so that we could sleep in the comfort of a quarter star hotel. I need to inform you that hiking to Gundwgn is a 2.5 hour trip one-way. I also should share that pasta is a luxury and not part of their routine diet. We quickly intervened and assured them that we were happy to eat what they eat and to sleep where they sleep. The fact that they were going to do whatever it took to make sure our stay was enjoyable was humbling, but completely unnecessary. We truly just wanted to be a part of the family and I believe in the end they welcomed us as such.

That doesn’t mean that we still weren’t the odd man out. If you ever want to truly be able to empathize with the creatures at the zoo, you need to spend a day in a gebaray community. At one point, Smith and I just needed some downtime—a moment where we weren’t the center of attention. We hauled the barley mattress out of the gojo beyt and sought out a shady spot to read, journal, and catch a nap. After a brief respite, I sensed the presence of others and looked up to discover 75+ school kids circled around us. Some standing, others sitting, but all quiet and content to just soak in the view of us. They whispered amongst themselves, pointed on occasion at something we were doing, mimicked sounds and gestures that we unconsciously made, and continued to inch closer and closer. I gave up journaling and decided an impromptu “program” was in order. Smith and I decided to teach them how to “make rain”…an activity that I used to do at summer camp. We rubbed our hands, snapped our fingers, slapped our thighs and created quite the storm. Our rainmaking program seemed to be a big hit, although, I’m not quite certain they understood exactly what it was that we were doing!

Another highlight of our day was watching the men work with the oxen to separate the kernels of teff from the shaft. Previously, during my walks into the rural area, I had come across giant circles of trampled earth that up until this point have mystified me. I now have witnessed the circle-makers in action. It’s truly amazing how these men have trained the oxen to walk shoulder to shoulder in such a tight circle for hours on end. I truly could have sat and watched this process all day until I realized that I was holding up the show. I had been taking pictures (as well as video), when I realized that the entire operation had come to a halt…including the oxen. Talk about obliging. The man in charge stopped everything and positioned the oxen just so so that I could capture the perfect shot.

Before we knew it our last day with Abi was drawing to a close and I decided that I had better begin preparing him for my departure. Throughout the afternoon I attempted to remind him that I would be leaving early in the morning. For a 3 year old, he’s got the “denial” coping strategy down to a science. Each time I brought up my departure he would respond with “so…tomorrow, what will we play?” Oh, if only I could just scoop him up and whisk him away!

Some of the school kids and a rather tall Ethiopian woman who was desperate to have her photo taken!

Just some of the gebaray boys who spend their days guarding the family herd. I was dismayed to discover that none of the kids attend school. When I questioned them as to why, they responded with “because we are farmers.”

One of the many shots I captured of the threshing process.

The gojo beyt was a hive of activity from the moment we arrived to the second we left. Everyone had to come and have bunna with the farenji. That being said, in one day we consumed 6 cups of bunna and 4 cups of tea!

Abi consumed his share as well. He ate like a horse the entire time we were there, but I suspect that this amount and regularity of food isn’t always available to him. From my estimation he hasn’t grown at all in 6 months time. If anything, he is smaller.

Abi thoroughly enjoyed the toys that I brought for him (thank you, Roz!)

Abi even had to share his toy with the old men.

The camera, as usual, was a big hit.

Visiting Abi—Monday

2009-04-27T07:58:00.000-07:00

As I sit down to write about my experience to visit Abi, I’m overwhelmed. I am not sure that I am capable of finding words that can capture the essence of this trip…what it meant to me, the emotional cost it exacted, or the indescribable beauty of this place and these people. Many of you know that when I returned from being Stateside last October, I discovered that Abi was gone. His mother, Souwnet, was given a choice—lose the child or lose the job. Souwnet did what she had to do and took Abi to live with her mother in a community hours away from DebreMarkos. I was devastated to lose him, angry to hear of the choice she had to make, and at a loss as to how to help. I also truly thought that I would never see him again.

In February, I decided to make seeing Abi a reality rather than just a hope. I worked with Souwnet to obtain days away from work (KB’s Assertiveness Training) and then attempted to deal with logistics. The first of which was to determine exactly where Abi was and whether or not it was feasible for us (Smith, my sitemate, and I) to visit. Souwnet initially began by telling us that Abi lived in Mota, a decent sized town about 6 hours by bus from DebreMarkos. The next time I saw her, I confirmed. “So, we’re going to Mota?” Nope. It is at this point that I’m told that Abi actually lives in Gundwgn. I searched and searched my table-sized map (circa 1995) and couldn’t find anything called “Gundwgn” within a forearm’s circumference from Mota. I decided it would be best if Souwnet showed me. On her next visit to the house, I stood her in front of the map, and asked her to point in the general vicinity of Gundwgn. I’m pretty sure that this was the first time Souwnet had ever seen a map of her country. She was unable to locate our current position let alone the tiny little berg of Gundwgn. It was then that she decided Abi didn’t live in Gundwgn, but “nearby.” I gave up with needing to know specifically where we were headed, but instead settled on what we would be getting ourselves into. My questions started with the following: 1) do we reach Abi’s house by foot or by transport? (answer= transport), 2) Is this a town or rural area? (answer= town), Do we stay in a hotel or in Abi’s house? (answer= hotel). As it turned out none of the answers were correct! I’m not sure if it was a “lost in translation” moment or if Souwnet was deliberately softening her answers to ensure that we would still come. When I joined Peace Corps, I signed up for the “adventure of a lifetime.” Souwnet has definitely done her part to ensure that that holds true!

Fortunately I have good instincts. My premonition that we were being told half-truths led to a re-packing the night prior to our departure. We did not pack light, but we were prepared for any eventuality. Given that neither Smith nor I have a sleeping bag here, we threw in a set of sheets, 2 blankets, and a camp mat. We also carted our steri-pens (water purifiers), snacks, baby wipes (for the waterless sponge bath), Peaceful Sleep (this wonderful lotion that seems to keep the fleas at bay), and what I like to call “Burdett in a bag”—our amazing supply of medications for any ailment.

Monday we set out. The bus ride was truly uneventful—one of the first. We traveled for approximately 3 hours when Souwnet indicated that we had reached our destination. Our “destination” turned out to be a dusty hilltop collection of mud and stick shacks alongside a dirt road in what felt like the middle of nowhere. I naturally assumed this was where Abi lived. Nope. While Souwnet flitted about greeting friends and distance relations (big city girl returns to the sticks), Smith and I camped out in a tea house and ‘patiently’ waited. After an hour and a half our social butterfly decided it was time to head out. Our party of three, now a caravan of thirteen, headed out into the hills as Souwnet kindly reassured us that it wasn’t far. After 20 minutes of hiking in the heat of the day, I started with my first “are we there yet?” Like a parent toting kids on a family vacation, Souwnet promptly returned with “almost…just a little further.” After 90 minutes of trudging up hills, down hills, over creeks, through fields, and between herds of cattle and sheep we finally arrived…dehydrated, sun burnt, and exhausted (my nasty sinus infection did not help matters!).

I was so taken in with the idyllic setting that at first I didn’t even notice Abi standing among a collection of toddlers and young kiddos without an adult in sight. Other than the grubby, way too small, knitted blue pants and shirt I had given him, it was difficult to accept that this was indeed the spirited, clever, bubbly kid that was whisked away from DebreMarkos in October. The gebaray life is a hard one and unfortunately it is visible even on the faces of the youngest.

While we waited for Abi’s grandmother to return from parts unknown, Smith and I took a moment to take in our surroundings. Abi’s tiny little community is located on a gentle slope rising from the end of a long narrow valley. It consists of a primary school (which serves the population of the entire valley), 3 gojo beyts (the traditional round mud huts with thatched roof), a handful of government houses (square mud/stick house, but with a tin roof), and a wufcha beyt (mill) that is run off of diesel. The only water source is a small lazy creek that serves both man and beast and there is no electricity. We were pleasantly surprised, though, to find an outhouse (yes, only one for the community) located about a football field away from the congregation of houses.

Addis (Abi’s grandmother) eventually returned, warmly welcomed us as if we were long lost family, and graciously invited us into her home—our first gojo beyt. This is the same house that Souwnet and her brother grew up in and the place of Abi’s birth. As I ducked through the doorway, I was transported into another world much like Alice in Wonderland. It was an assault on the senses. Save for the doorway we entered through there was no other source of light. To the left was an elevated platform for sleeping and below a storage area. Ringing half of the main living space was a mud ledge approximatlely 12 inches off the ground that served as seating and workspace. In the middle, taking up most of the available floor space, was a fire pit emitting caustic black smoke that made our eyes water and our throats constrict. And, in addition to Addis and Abi, their beyt was shared with 2 hens, 5 chicks and the detritus that accompanies feathered friends. I truly had a laugh out loud moment when I saw the chickens. As a kid growing up on the farm, I vividly remember my Dad saying how dirty the chicken coop was and to try to avoid breathing that air. Abi and his grandmother, out of necessity, are cooking, eating, and sleeping alongside their chickens. What a different world!

Our first day in the community flew by. Our time was spent drinking coffee, visiting with the endless parade of guests that just had to stop by and meet the ‘farenji’ (we were the first to ever visit their community!), popping out of the gojo beyt for a breath of fresh air, entertaining the kids, and bathing Abi via creek water from a jerry can. Before we knew it nightfall was upon us and our sleeping accommodations were yet unknown. As we sat in the gojo beyt earlier in the day the thought did cross my mind that there was not even enough floor space for me to stretch out without being half in the fire pit. Not to worry. Addis was way ahead of us and had found a young agricultural worker who was willing to give up his room. Much to our surprise (and elation) we actually slept in a real bed!

As we settled in for the night, it hit me how amazing, unique, and surreal this experience is. I suspect that there aren’t many foreigners who have experienced this side of Ethiopia. I truly am blessed to have Ethiopian friends from all walks of life who graciously and unabashedly invite me into their hearts and homes.

Heading out into the unknown. No road or path to follow. Thankgoodness we are traveling with Souwnet!

A view of Abi’s community

Yes! An outhouse!! Truly a cause for celebration.

Bathtime

Souwnet, Abi, a cousin, Smith, Me

Abi in front of his home

Inside the gojo beyt, Souwnet and her mom, Addis, work to prepare us a snack

Real Life

2009-04-12T22:13:00.000-07:00

I love to capture shots that reflect true Ethiopian life. These shots center around the Geberay…a word used to describe those people who live in the rural areas and whose livelihood is via subsistence farming. I love the geberay people. As a whole, I find them to be extremely hard working, resourceful, resilient, and a bit shy. What I most love is that they haven’t yet adopted the annoying chant of "you, you" and "you, money" that many of the townsfolk (especially the children) have.

The geberay people of the Amhara region are distinctive. From their demeanor to their dress, they stand out in a crowd. The men are clad in short shorts, carry long sticks, and often have no shoes. Their strength and endurance is not assumed it is visible. The women and girls routinely wear pleated dresses, have extremely short hair (its just not practical to have long hair), wear no shoes, and are adorned with facial (primarily chin and neck), wrist, and ankle tattoos.

These shots capture some of the young geberay hard at work. Their work is endless. From sun-up to sundown they work to survive. Any excess is sold to purchase necessities that can’t be home grown. The young men in the photos (the walking haystacks) are carting loads of "chid" which is the shaft of the wheat and/or teff. The chid sells for about 30birr a bundle (roughly 3USD) and is eventually added to mud to be used as house construction material. The women, on the other hand are hauling kubet---or what I like to call "crap cakes" and "poop patties." Kubet is used as a fuel source, which as far as I’m concerned is a much better alternative than continuing to decimate the tree population. The contents of one basket sell for about 15birr (roughly 1.50USD). For both the men and women (I should probably say boys and girls as well), there is a lot of labor that goes into these two products and yet what they reap is minimal.

As an aside, I tend to take the Geberay folk by surprise. For many, I’m the first foreigner that they’ve ever seen. After our walk, Genet and I were sitting at a cafe along the route that many of these folks take to market. I thought I was rather hidden given that I was tucked into a corner, but I guess that was not the case. One man riding by on a horse at a pretty decent clip must have caught a fleeting glimpse of me. Instead of reining in his horse to take a better look, he just kept turning backward (while the horse kept moving forward) and nearly unseated himself. A truly laugh out loud moment!

Gaining Perspective

2009-04-03T19:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes one just needs to take a step back (or in this case ‘UP’) to gain a bit of perspective. Since I tend to go most everywhere on foot, it’s been hard to get a true sense of this place I call home. My view is either obstructed by my umbrella (which not only serves as a sun shield, but comes in handy as a people shield as well) or is limited due to the fact that my eyes tend to be focused on the ground to ensure that my next step isn’t the one that makes me even more of a human spectacle. On the rare occasion that I’m traveling through town via some sort of motorized transport, my thoughts are never on "the view" but rather on my safety. I often have a white-knuckled grip on the "roll-bar" of the bajaj while my friend Tambarat drives helter-skelter through town dodging large trucks, other bajajs, stray dogs, oblivious children, and the occasional wayward donkey.

That being said, I decided one Saturday morning to do something about this lack of perspective. I had previously noticed what looked to be the perfect vantage point on a hill opposite the town and I wasn’t disappointed. Now I truly understand why my lungs are always working double-time! There is hardly a level surface here!

A view of my town. In the lower left region of the picture you’ll notice the white spire of the town mosque. My neighborhood sits a little lower than the mosque and about a º mile to the left. I truly am at the bottom of town…which has turned out to be quite fortuitous as we are the last neighborhood to run out of water. Another orienting landmark in this picture is the Shebel Hotel, which is the white structure nearly at the center of the photo.
In the far left corner of this photo, you should be able to pick out the Shebel Hotel as a reference point. As you can see, this isn’t a small town, but actually one that is quite sprawling. I always want to laugh when the PC staff calls to notify us of a "village visit." Cute and catchy, but far from accurate.
If you haven’t figured it out by now, I love trees and am always on the lookout for a unique one.
Yes, another fun tree picture. With the town at my back, undulating hills extend for as far as the eye can see and eventually meet the feet of the Choke Mountain range.

Genet served as my exploring partner for the day.

Some people have asked, "why don’t you have more pictures of you on your blog? Well…hopefully this picture provides some insight. Basic photography skills are something that "we" are working on!

This University student has the right idea. What a perfect study spot!

Love Is In the Air

2009-03-25T07:26:00.000-07:00

During the months of January and February Cupid takes a rest and sits back to watch the outcome of his well-aimed arrows. He dons his best and joins every other Ethiopian in town for wedding after wedding after wedding.

On Sundays the streets are filled with well-dressed people either coming from or going to a wedding celebration and the air is filled with the honking of horns as each bridal party circles the town in a procession of rickety cars and mini-buses garishly bedecked with ribbons and plastic flowers.

Recently, I attended my second Ethiopian wedding. Although I am by no means an expert on the traditions, I will do my best to describe what I saw on this particular day and what I have learned via my married Ethiopian friends.

There is a trend these days for many Ethiopian weddings to have a very Western feel. The bride wears a traditional white dress (usually rented) and the bridesmaids don formal floor length gowns in shockingly bright colors.

On the big day, the happy couple heads to the church around 5am for a brief religious ceremony. I didn’t attend this and I’m not sure who does attend other than the bride and groom. From that point on the couple is sent off in opposite directions…the groom to the home of his parents and the bride to hers to prepare themselves for the party. Later in the day, the groom and his men are sent to "capture" (i.e. escort) the bride and her maids to the reception tent. The groom comes bearing a peace offering (flowers), but as they enter the big tent you would think that this is the worst day of her life. The bride and her entourage of young women play the part of the captured spoils by looking distraught, fearful, and sad while the men follow behind celebrating and whooping it up like they’ve just returned from a successful raid.

Finally they’ve arrived! Smith, Sofie, and I have been sitting on hard wooden benches underneath this gigantic multi-tarp tent waiting for Maza (the bride and an acquaintance of ours) and her new husband to enter. At the recommendation of Maza’s brother, we arrived early. Early enough to get a back row seat (perfect for people watching) in the ladies section (yes…seating is segregated), but also to lead to numb bums (hard wooden benches without backs are tortuous for more than an hour). While the ladies around us have used the wait to work their way through liters of tella—the local home brew, we’ve whiled away the interminable wait people watching and attempting to avoid the eye of the photographer and videographer. Unfortunately our attempts are completely unsuccessful. Poor Maza. I cringe to think of the day that she sits down to watch her wedding video to find that three farenji women have stolen the limelight from her on her special day! Oh well, I guess that’s the risk one takes when inviting all three of the DebreMarkos farenji chicks to a special event. The reception proceeded much like a wedding reception in the states….blessings from a selection of priests, food, loud overbearing music and before we knew it the event was seemingly over.

I say seemingly, because at that point we were off the hook. The bridal party, however, continues to celebrate by driving their caravan of rickety cars and buses to the forest where the party will continue with more local brew and the delicacy of raw meat sliced off a hindquarter of something that dangles from a tree. Hmm…not sad that I missed that part of the festivities!

Overall, I must admit that I was a bit disappointed that the event had such a Western feel. My friend Gigi assures me that there is a more traditional ceremony (which I believe takes place the following evening), but this is not something that everybody and his brother attends. I do hope that is true.

Smith, Sofie, and I. Sofie is a British volunteer with VSO who came to town a few months after our arrival

The "ladies section"

Tella—the local home brew which I like to refer to as "muddy water"

Cheering the arrival of the bride and groom

Maza and her bridesmaids

Maza and her husband

Shedding Light

2009-03-18T15:41:00.000-07:00

Q: How many Ethiopians does it take to change a light bulb????

A: One very BRAVE Ethiopian!

I have been so fortunate to wind up living on a compound with a family that takes such great care of me. When I’m under the weather, they come knocking with a cup of steaming tea and slice of bread. When I don’t feel like traipsing to the market, they ask what I need and go for me. When an annoying and persistent Ethiopian guy follows me home (harmless, but annoying none the less), they shoe him away and wait to ensure that he’s truly on his way back to town. When I have to wake up at 5am and walk to town in the dark to catch the bus, one of them always accompanies me. When the sheets need washing (which is a difficult job when you’re hand washing and ringing them out), Aselef insists on doing the task for me. So why I worried about what would happen when my light bulb burned out is beyond me!

I should preface this by saying that I’m a fairly self-reliant person and the thought of having to ask for help to change a light bulb seemed ridiculous. But, no matter how I did the math, I couldn’t figure out a way to get my 5’9” body to safely reach a 15-foot ceiling. After 3 days of stumbling around in the dark, I realized that I had to ask for help. Help came in the form of my guard, Dawit, who didn’t seem phased by my request in the least. He fabricated a rickety ladder out of sticks, twine, and a little bit of leftover electrical wiring and nimbly scaled the rungs that were held together by a prayer. As I held my breath and prayed that we wouldn’t need to take a trip to the hospital, Dawit quickly brought light back into my hallway. He also shed a little light on why community is the thread that holds the fabric of Ethiopian life together. Things can be daunting here when resources are limited, but together, nothing is impossible.

Dawit constructing the ladder

Dawit is a braver soul than I. You couldn’t have paid me money to scale that ladder!

Passion Flower

2009-03-15T06:33:00.000-07:00

Just before I left the States for my big move across the pond, I traveled to North Carolina to visit my brother and his family. One of our excursions was to the Asheville Botanical Gardens. I remember at the time seeing this most amazing flower and thinking that I would love to have that in my garden someday. Given that it looked rather exotic, I thought my chances were slim to none. Funny how things work out! I was in the yard the other day doing the wash and letting my mind wander as often happens when one is doing a mundane and routine task (yes, hand washing clothes is second nature to me now!). All of a sudden I realized I had been staring at this flower—the same one that caught my eye in North Carolina. Unbelievable. I’ve been living here and doing laundry in this exact same spot for more than a year and have just now realized that my exotic flower grows like a weed all over our rickety compound fence.

This is the picture that I took while roaming the botanical gardens in North Carolina. The flower is known as Hareg here and was labeled as Passion Flower in the States.

Growing Up

2009-03-12T15:25:00.000-07:00

It has been so much fun to watch Ava grow up. At nearly 9 months old, she is a happy, healthy girl who is already learning how to do the customary head bob and enjoys a spoonful of bunna now and then. Ethiopian childhoods are so different than American ones. Not better or worse, just different. Consider this:

Diapers are a luxury here. Hence, Ava just goes when nature calls. I just always hope and pray that I’m not the one holding her at the inopportune time. But, on the flip side, think of all the landfills in America that are filling up with diapers that will probably outlive me. For the sake of the environment here, I’m glad diapers are a rarity.

Ava’s first haircut was with a razor blade. Scary for me, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it. Fortunately, Aselef and Souwnet have steady hands.

Infants are rarely out of physical contact with their mother. I’ve yet to see a crib—mother and baby share the same bed. Need to go to market, do the wash, prepare dinner, or ride the bus? No problem. Baby just gets strapped on back and carted along. It’s rare to see a fussing child strapped to her mother’s back. I’m not sure why this phenomenon occurs. In many ways, it reminds me of a momma cat carrying her young by the scruff of their neck. The kitten just hangs limply as momma carts them to and fro just as Ava seems to go into a trance when riding along on Genet’s back.

Toys (or what we would traditionally call a toy) are scarce, but the kiddos seem perfectly content. An old water bottle, a cup, or a long stalk of grass can provide at least minutes worth of entertainment. I did, however, interfere with playtime one day when I realized that Genet had placed a plastic bag over Ava’s face for a game of peek-a-boo! Yes, a teachable moment!

Kids are rarely told “don’t do that, you’ll get your clothes dirty.” Here, where many homes have mud floors, dirt is just an unavoidable reality. At the end of the day, clothes and kids are washable. No sense stressing about it.

Ava and Genet

What child do you know that would tolerate a leaf stuck to her head day in and day out? The leaf covers a glob of kibe (a homemade butter) that is used to moisten Ava’s naturally dry hair and scalp.
Ava showing off her new pink outfit courtesy of my Mom.

Culinary Delights…make that Frights!

2009-03-07T02:44:00.000-08:00

Just when I thought I was done with edible surprises, I found myself faced with three new treats within the span of a week. Smith and I were sitting in my living room one afternoon when this very unusual (code word for FOUL) smell came wafting through the house. I realized at about the same time that Aselef had been pounding something with the mookacha (mortar) and zenazena (pestle) for quite some time.

I went outside to investigate and found what I can only describe as a cow crap like substance. It was foul looking and foul smelling. When they told me it was a type of food (for human ingestion) I couldn’t resist telling them my initial assumption—payback for thinking my no-bake cookies were cow patties. (I assure you that they found this as funny as I did!) Based on the fact that we do a lot with cow crap around here, the act of pounding it with the mookacha and zenazena didn’t seem that far outside the realm of reason. Well, 15 minutes later the pounding process was complete and I was called back outside to sample this treat that they call NUUG. I seriously considered passing on this “opportunity,” but in an effort to live by my mantra of “carpe diem” and “what doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger,” I stuck my spoon in. I will admit that it wasn’t nearly as bad as my vivid imagination had predicted (kind of like a very bitter peanut butter), but the texture was atrocious. In my book, definitely NOT a treat. I’d much prefer an OREO and a tall glass of skim milk with ice!

And as for the other two edible surprises, let’s just say that I’ve added two new cow parts to a growing list of things that I never knew were fit for human consumption. I walked out back one morning to find Genet and Hannah preparing lunch. I was hoping it was the dog’s lunch, but no such luck. Now I know people who consider cow’s tongue a delicacy, I just don’t happen to be one of them. And watching this preparation wasn’t going to make me a believer. The other “treat”—cow stomach. I was a good sport and sampled both (neither of which tasted like CHICKEN!), but I don’t plan to do it again. I think there are some things that you just have to grow up eating…slowly training taste bud by taste bud. My taste buds, however, are well past the training stage and are just not willing to accept cow stomach as a viable food source!

Food and one’s perspective on food is truly a fascinating aspect of cultural exchange. Just being willing to sample Ethiopian foods has taught me so much about this culture and people. I also know that my willingness to try their traditional foods have earned me their respect and acceptance. I don’t have to love it; I just have to try it!

Preparing to try NUUG.

Still alive and not gagging….that’s a good sign.

Hannah having a little fun with the cow stomach. Oh, just for clarification. This is not eaten raw. Thankgoodness!

Hannah and Genet cutting up the parts while Ava appears to be thoroughly bored by the entire process.

Yum—cow tongue! (two words that should never be used together)

Time for Timkat

2009-02-26T14:46:00.000-08:00

It seems like just yesterday that I participated in my first Timkat (Epiphany) celebration and yet here I am again. This year I attended with Aselef and her niece, Hannah. As the crowd of 4,000 strong processed along, it reminded me of a herd of wildebeests during the Great Migration. Elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, blindly you proceed following the lead of the person in front of you. As an individual you don’t really care where you’re going, you just focus your energy on not being trampled or getting poked in the eye by a wayward umbrella. Unlike that of the wildebeests, our pace was a bit more sedate and there were no predators lingering on the sidelines patiently waiting for a straggler. Instead of an undulating river of wildebeest brown amidst a cloud of dust, we were a sea of white (all traditional Ethiopian clothes are white with a colorful trim) capped by a rainbow of umbrellas.

I don’t know if it was because I was wearing a skirt and hidden partially by my umbrella or because I’m now a Timkat veteran, but I drew very little attention. I truly felt like just one of the many. Although I still don’t fully understand the significance of the long, slow procession, the chanting and beating of drums, and the circling of the church, I do at least feel like I belong.

While I was celebrating locally, Smith (my sitemate) decided to make the pilgrimage to Gondar, which is the Mecca of Timkat celebrations. It would be safe to say that tens of thousands of Ethiopians made this trip along with her and although it would have been impressive to witness the events there, I am not envious of the chaos and crowds that she had negotiate. She was, however, able to capture some beautiful photos and graciously allowed me to share them with you. Enjoy.

DebreMarkos Church

Three young girls wearing traditional “Habesha Libs”

Everyone is encouraged to make a joyful noise

The streets of Gondar filled with crowds, chaos, and celebration

On the day of Timkat, worshippers gather at the Royal Pool where they are blessed and sprinkled with its holy water.

I just love the colors worn by the priests and the reflection cast by the pool.

Only in Ethiopia

2009-02-22T10:31:00.000-08:00

I love the randomness of this experience. I can't emphasize enough how every day is truly an adventure. Even on the days that I don't have the energy, desire, or sometimes courage to leave the compound, I can always count on the "adventure" finding me.

Perhaps it is all about perspective. There have certainly been a fair number of my volunteer friends who have had guests visit to only have them purchase an immediate return ticket home. Where they see poverty, I see tenacity and hope. Where they see dirt and dust, I see the aftermath of a magnificent rainy season and the patience to wait for the rain to return. Where they experience inconvenience, I see challenge and an opportunity for ingenuity. Where they meet annoying kids chanting "you, you, you," I see kids hungry for love and attention. Ultimately, where some people get bogged down in the difficulties and hassles here, I see instead the opportunity for yet another adventure or in many cases my comical "misadventures". My intent is not to glorify this experience, this country, this culture. It is real people, living real life…with all of its bumps and bruises. There are times that I have to put on a smile and search for the adventure buried in the rubble of the frustrations of the day. But like a good treasure hunt, the joy is often in the hunt, not the treasure.

Some of my recent experiences that I like to coin…."only in Ethiopia":

….i returned to my home after a month absence to find my house a mess. Truly a disaster zone. The bathroom water problem that should have been repaired was "in progress," the living room had been the site for a party, and the dining room table was shoved up against a wall tomake room for a mattress. When I inquired as to the reason for the mattress, Aselef replied…"the house was afraid". Yes…only in Ethiopia!

…walking home from town one day I took a route that I had only traveled once previously. As I was passing this home a woman came racing out to the road calling "you, come for coffee. Come!" I had refused her on my initial foray down this particular road and didn't feel that I could refuse again. So, I went. I entered the home to find a crowd of 12 or 13 Ethiopians none of whom I knew. I sat perched on the edge of the couch, sipping bunna, while fielding questions that flew at me like bullets. The number one question(asked by more than one person)…why aren't you married? Yes…only inEthiopia!
I'm trying to put this experience in the Western perspective. Here is the closest scenario I can come up with. Imagine you look out the window and spy a runner passing the house. You race to the roadside and invite him to your family reunion, which is in progress. He accepts and you sit him down at the head of the table and send a volley of questions at him, none of which are socially appropriate. Now, can you imagine accepting such an offer? ONLY IN ETHIOPIA!

…only in Ethiopia can you be called fat regardless of your size. We can't quite figure out what the requirements are for "fatness". It doesn't seem to matter if you are a petite, athletic size 2, or a Goliath sized 42….we're all fat. And, we also can't figure out if it's a compliment or a cut. So, in an effort to keep everything in perspective and to see the "adventure" in the most biting of remarks(at least from a Western perspective), I respond with…"thanks, you'relooking quite fat yourself!"

…only in Ethiopia can you be riding in a cab from the airport and receive an invitation from a fellow passenger to join her and her family for Christmas dinner. When, you ask. NOW! Sadly, enough, I didn't take her up on her offer…an adventure that got away!

…only in Ethiopia is Barack Obama such a phenomenon that cafes, and buildings are named in his honor (pre-election). For election night the Barack Obama café in Bahar Dar was open all night and we watched the results from a big screen set up on the veranda during the wee hours of the morning. For the inauguration, the same café hosted a Miss Obama beauty contest, which I'm sad to say that I missed. I just couldn't endure one more excruciating bus ride.

…only in Ethiopia can the act of making homemade spaghetti sauce turn into an adventure. I need to preface this by saying that I had completed a 3-hour laundry program earlier in the day. As I went to open a can of tomato paste it exploded...much like a grenade. Intruth, it looked like I had been shot. Tomato paste sprayed over my shirt, pants, neck, face, hair, and directly into my left eye. That is where the adventure comes in. I freaked out. Flew to the sink, scrambled to wash my hands while my eye was burning so that I could then yank the contact out of my eye. In the process I smeared tomato paste everywhere that it currently wasn't located. My biggest fear(enhanced by the fact that I wear contact lenses when I was expressly discouraged against doing so) is to have an eye injury while here. Suffice it to say that 4 hours later my eye was still hurting and my hyperactive imagination convinced me that I'd wake up blind. I didn'twake up blind, but I woke up to a ton of dirty laundry that needed re-washing. Ugh!

I've Got Work!

2009-02-14T20:16:00.000-08:00

Well, that may be a bit optimistic of me. Perhaps I should rephrase
that as "I may have found a place where I can kinda sorta use my
skills at least a few hours per week". Ever since my brief
assignment with World Learning came to an abrupt end, I've been
looking for a way to be of some assistance to this community. In
effect, I've been searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.
I've felt like a kid lost in a grocery store…at times content to
aimlessly wander and at other times frantically searching the aisles
looking for a familiar face. At some point you just want to sit down
and wait to be found. And ultimately that's what I did.

Charlie, my New Mexico friend, is a hospital CEO currently working for
the Clinton Foundation. Based out of Bahar Dar, his job is to serve
as a mentor/advisor to his Ethiopian peers while they in turn try to
implement a Hospital Management Standard developed by the Yale School
of Public Heath and the Ethiopian Ministry of Health. Suffice it to
say that this project is an enormous, but desperately needed,
undertaking.

And where do I fit in? Well Charlie can't be everywhere at once.
The hospitals that are under his responsibility are days apart. Phone
and internet service are inconsistent. I, consequently, have found
myself serving as the "in-house" advisor to the hospital CEO in our
town. When I first met Shegaw and heard Charlie rant and rave about
my experience and skill set, my first thought was OH NO! I've never
been a CEO. I've never worked at that level in administration. Yes,
I have hospital experience (lots of it), but managing two PT
departments is a far cry from running a hospital. But Shegaw doesn't
seem to think my experience is inconsequential. He's never been a CEO
before either. He is gracious, humble, and open to new ideas from
anyone and everyone…me included.

Part of his on the job training is through Jimma University where he
and the other newly established CEO's are working on their Master's in
Healthcare Administration. His assignments for the program are things
that he is expected to implement at the hospital. What a great and
practical way to learn!

So what do I actually do? It's certainly not a 9 to 5 type of day.
I guess I would consider it "project based." One of the first things
that I was asked to do was administer a pilot study on patient
satisfaction. The concept of soliciting feedback from patients and
using that information to enhance service is new to Ethiopia. It is
also a foreign concept for patients to be encouraged to give a
critique. In this country, speaking out has not always been met with
the best of outcomes. I've also assisted Shegaw in performing a
hospital wide quality assessment (for you healthcare people out there,
think JCAHO—but miniaturized). It was fabulous to be on the side of
the reviewer rather than at the mercy of said reviewer for once in my
professional life!

In Shegaw's short tenure (he's only been on the job for 10 months)
he's made some significant strides. For example, we now have a
bio-fuel system that collects all of the hospital waste, allows the
gas to build, and then channels it to the kitchens for fuel (no more
environmentally disastrous tree cutting…woohoo!). There are still
many challenges and obstacles ahead. The first and foremost being
that there is no water in the patient wards. Can you imagine working
in a hospital where you can't easily wash your hands in between
patients? And, then, consider what that means for infection control.

I can't tell you what a relief it is to have been found. To have a
place where I feel needed and useful and where I may actually be able
to make a contribution. Like many things here, this may be a fleeting
opportunity. But for now, I will gladly jump in with both feet and
see where the current takes me. Carpe diem!

Shegaw

The entrance to our hospital.

Y-Chromosomes

2009-02-12T15:30:00.001-08:00

I'm constantly surrounded by Y-chromosomes. Yes, there are women and
girls that live here in my neighborhood but they are ensconced behind
compound walls washing clothes, preparing meals, toting water. The
boys on the other hand seemingly have ample time to roam, play, and
hang out with the "farenji".

As I was walking down the big hill to my house one day, I found myself
surrounded by the usual group of my Y-chromosome friends plus a few
extras. They were playing on and around a big Isuzu truck…climbing
into the bed, sitting on the bumper, sword fighting like swashbucklers
with one group up and the other down. In unison they chanted PHOTO,
PHOTO, PHOTO! A photo is something that is so easy for me to do.
It's costs me nothing and yet it is something that provides great joy
to them. So I bent down to retrieve the camera from my bag and when I
stood up I found myself face to face with a bunch of scrawny,
shirt-less, Arnold wanna-be's diligently trying to make their biceps
bulge. Boys will be boys...regardless of their nationality!

The Great Car Giveaway!

2009-02-07T07:36:00.000-08:00

I returned home from the States with a dozen or so lovingly used
matchbox cars, courtesy of my friends the Hellands. My intention was
to quietly give them away to my posse of little boys who faithfully
come over to play. Previously, this motley crew of 6 to 11 year olds
had discovered three Fischer Price cars that I had sitting around for
Abi and they constantly asked if they could take them home. I didn't
relent, but was excited to receive other cars to give away. So, on
the day of the Great Car Giveaway I put all the cars in a bag and
invited the boys over. One by one they selected a car from the bag.
All seemed to be going smoothly. They left talking animatedly about
their new acquisitions, comparing models and swapping for colors.

The trouble began the next day. At 8am I heard a pounding on my door.
I quickly threw on a pair of shoes, opened the door, and was
immediately bombarded by the incessant yell of "makina siching!" (give
me a car) by two boys and a girl none of whom I had ever seen before.
That was the beginning of what I'm sure my landlady would refer to as
the most obnoxious days of her life. Cries of "Kristie, makina
siching!!" could be heard at all hours of the day and night. News of
the Great Car Giveaway spread like wildfire and kids swarmed to my
house from far and wide. When I asked one particular boy where he
lived, his response…up the hill over a road and up again! Eventually
the pounding and yelling got to be too much for Aselef (my landlady)
and she'd briskly open the door and scare them away.

Then my little friends (i.e. first time car owners) started to return
with their cars in tow. "Kristie, the tires are bad. I need
replacements." "Kristie, the paint is chipped." "Kristie, I lost
mine. Give me another." With a barely concealed smirk and a shrug of
the shoulders, I kindly informed them that those defects weren't
covered under warranty and sent them on their way.

Sometimes my good intentions go a bit awry. Even after living here
for a year, it is often hard to imagine the impact (both good and bad)
that a thing, a possession, something every kid in America has dozens
of can create. I've decided that I'd much rather see them working
together to create chess pieces out of mud or running along trailing a
homemade kite then fighting over a matchbox car. For now, the odd
assortment of toys that I do have will remain here at my house,
reserved for special days, shared between those who are present, and
ultimately returned.

The Habesha Way

2009-02-03T16:50:00.001-08:00

Call me crazy, but I couldn't resist myself. As I sat huffing and puffing from the climb up from the waterfall, a young guy crested the gorge carting an extremely large load of sticks and stuff on his head. He dropped his load and sat down beside me for a rest. Unlike me,probably the only rest he allowed himself since starting his climb.

It is then that I got the crazy notion to give it a try. Why not?! So, with the help of two teenage boys, I hefted the load to the top of my head. It can't be that heavy, right? WRONG! Much like a foal testing out his legs for the first time, I weaved and wobbled trying to find my balance point as my arms quivered and my cervical spines houted ENOUGH!! Suffice it to stay, I never found that elusive cone of stability. After a minute (hmm, that might be generous…let's say 30 seconds) I crumbled like a house of cards and the heap landed with a resounding thud at my feet.

I am once again amazed at the strength and endurance of Ethiopians, but I don't envy the back pain that they must suffer as they enter their sunset years.

In Search of a Little Peace and Quiet

2009-01-26T21:52:00.000-08:00

Before I left for the holidays, I was desperate to find some wide-open spaces. To be able to walk and think undisturbed. To have a little "me-time" that didn't involve hiding in my house. What I was so desperately craving was something next to impossible. It's hard tofind an opaque corner of a fishbowl!

Hapti and I set out early one morning. Bound for the rural area that's a good 4-5 hour hike from my house. He seemed to sense my need to not carry on conversation in a language that causes the neurons in my brain to cry out in pain. We walked in silence. Occasionally I stopped to take a picture. Miracle of all miracles, we passed very few people for the first 2 hours, and the people we did encounter didn't seem to think I was anything special. A nod of acknowledgement was sufficient.

I had told Hapti previously that I would be game to stop at his Aunt's home on the return trip, but only after soaking up some solitude overlooking a grand vista in what has become one of my favorite places. We passed his Aunt's home without the warning cry of a scout sending out the alarm of "farenji,farenji"--- yet another miracle. However, at this point I seem to have used my quota of miracles for the day (two isn't bad!). We rounded the bend and came upon a field crawling with kids who decided within a nano second that I was anything but "un-special."

I took photos, bantered back and forth with them, promised to return and then gave Hapti the universal look for "help!" He quickly explained that we were going on a hike and that they were to stay put until our return. Ha! That was about as effective as trying to stop the powerful spew of Old Faithful with a cork. Optimistically I headed out while Hapti lingered trying to enforce his decree. I looked back after 100 yards to discover twenty very persistent boys carting long walking sticks, nipping at Hapti's heels.

It's amazing that sometimes what you think you are searching for ultimately isn't what you need. I wanted peace and quiet and solitude. That's isn't what I ended up with, but I wouldn't trade this day for the world. Initially the boys seemed to sense my need to just walk and they quietly and respectfully accompanied me. At one point they began singing a song as we hiked, reminding me of childhood days traipsing the perimeter of the farm with Dad as we sang a rousing chorus of "the red red robin goes bop bop bopping along."

I anticipated that we would be returning to the vantage point that I had found on a previous trip. But, here in Ethiopia I have very little control over anything. I'm learning to just let myself float like a leaf upon the current hoping that I'll end up where I want to be or perhaps where I need to be. I was not disappointed this time. The boys insisted that they knew of the perfect place. I followed. As we crested a moderate hill I was met by the most amazing, breath-taking view. The gorge stretched out before me for miles, fields of teff and wheat rippled with the wind, and the familiar but now much more powerful waterfall nestled in a cove to my left. I would have been content to just sit and soak in the view, but the current insisted on taking me further. Like a string of pack mules we descended down into the gorge while I incessantly prayed that I would be able to eventually make my way back to the top. As promised, we hiked right up to the base of the falls. Magnificent! There is nothing better than cooling down with the mist of a waterfall. We sat, jockeyed for position, took countless photos, and then began the return ascent.

Any adventure of mine would be incomplete without a corresponding misadventure. While hiking alongside the waterfall/river, gazing backward, I managed to plunge into a large muddy sinkhole. Just call me graceful! Not wanting to hike the 4-5 hours home completely covered in mud, Hapti washed my jacket, while several boys doused me with clean water and the rest of my entourage circled around bestowing upon me countless "ayzoshes" (translation…"take care, take heart"…acure-all for any ailment or unfortunate situation).

Our ascent began again, but this time I was afforded every courtesy. Walking sticks were loaned to me, hands were outstretched anytime I had to negotiate a large rock, and the boys kindly paused to allow for my "I come from a land of no elevation" lungs to catch up. Despite their outward composure, I'm sure this strong, sinewy band of boys couldn't wait to laugh and tell stories of the clumsy, mud-caked farenji woman that just happened to cross their path one November day.

Part of my entourage

Standing amidst a field of teff (their staple grain).

When I'm hemmed in by the people, the exhaust that belches from lumbering buses, and half-finished structures in town I lose sight of how beautiful and vast this country is. But when I stand here and gaze upon this vista, I'm acutely reminded that this country is one of the unsung treasures of this world we all call home.

The scene of my misadventure.

The boys jockeyed for position around me while I worried that one would tumble off the edge. Not to fear, though, they are as nimble as mountain goats.

My only and fleeting moment of solitude.

Hapti, my loyal friend, who is generally game for any journey I decide to embark upon.

Home for the Holidays

2009-01-15T13:02:00.000-08:00

I was so blessed to be home for nearly a month over the holidays. Which explains (and I think provides a valid excuse) as to why there have been no new blog posts. Now that I’m back in Ethiopia, I promise to get back on track!

My time home was wonderful and very much needed. From the moment the plane wheels screeched down the runway, I hardly had a moment of downtime. The highlights of my time home:

` Baking cookies with my little friends, Abby and Alyssa
` Pulling off a surprise 80th birthday party for my favorite Uncle John
` Ice Skating (I managed to stay on my feet. I guess those ice hockey lessons paid off!)
` Shopping, Shopping, Shopping (oh, how I miss Target)
` Being christened “Aunt Kiki” by my niece, Natalie
` Listening to Natalie’s version of Jingle Bells and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
` Mom’s Pecan Cinnamon Rolls (reserved for Christmas morning only)
` Catching up with great friends
` Discovering “Chocolatea” a fabulous little tea house
` Quality time with extended family
` Christmas Eve Candlelight service
` Cheesy Hallmark Holiday movies
` Mom’s home-cooked meals

My little friends…Abby, Alyssa, and Dominic

My sister, Amber, and I

“Grandpa Don” joined us for Christmas Day as well as our second Christmas when Corey and family arrived.

Me and Natalie…she is so yummy.

Our family

Turkey Day

2009-01-06T13:04:00.001-08:00

It’s amazing how resourceful a group of displaced Americans can be when they desperately want to celebrate Thanksgiving. Dee and Charlie (originally from NM) opened their home to us and were the driving force behind the fabulous food. Now keep in mind, one doesn’t just dash to Meijer or D&W to pick up the necessary fixings. Here’s how it all came together.

The turkey was purchased at the Embassy PX by a Peace Corps staffer and flown to Bahar Dar securely tucked into Charlie’s suitcase. Charlie and Dee’s friend, Ed (from TX) arrived for a week vacation and served as our best mule. He carted sweet potatoes, pecans, sweet onions, karo syrup, cranberries, and celery. Megan dropped off a tub of crisco (necessary ingredient for me to successfully make my Mom’s pie crust) on her way to Addis and Nicole bused down from Gondar with stovetop stuffing and biscuit mixes courtesy of a recent care package. The rest of us served as the labor force. Beginning Wednesday evening we peeled, sliced, diced, shredded, stuffed, and baked up a storm. During the course of preparations we managed to buy out every last egg from Dee’s egg lady (77 eggs in total)…a fact that still amazes us. On Thanksgiving Day, we prayed for no power outages (how in the world would one cook a turkey in a dutch oven?) and eagerly awaited the arrival of all 14 guests so the celebration could commence. Our Thanksgiving Day feast was truly fabulous and one that I won’t soon forget.

Charlie and Dee

Since there was no post-turkey football game for entertainment, Charlie and Dee asked us to jazz up their gate. Here, Nicole and I are adding our creative touch.

The finished product.

The Monasteries of Lake Tana

2008-12-15T11:00:00.000-08:00

For whatever reason, up until now I’ve never gotten around to taking the popular boat tour of the monasteries on Lake Tana. The stars however seemed to align on my last trip to Bahar Dar…I had a free day…an invitation…and a nice discount courtesy of my friends at a local hotel.

For 5 hours we putsed about the south end of Lake Tana hopping from one island or peninsula to the next. There is just something about wind, waves, and the buzz of a 15HP outboard motor that is soothing to the soul.

The monasteries themselves are rustic with elaborate interior paintings. We visited four, which was one too many for me…and this included the island monastery where, as a female visitor, I was told to sit at the dock and wait lest I lead the monks into temptation.

Our tour ended with a short detour to the outlet of the Nile where I incessantly scanned the waters for hippo. I’m a huge hippo fan, but I’m sad to report that the Lake Tana hippos continue to remain elusive. At this point I’m starting to doubt their existence!

Mystery Solved

2008-12-11T11:00:00.000-08:00

There are still sights that I encounter while I’m out and about that leave me utterly perplexed. Even though I frequently stop and ask, most of the time I walk away no less enlightened with yet another unsolved mystery to add to my ever growing list.

While walking along the road to the hospital I encountered this trio traipsing toward town carting these fascinating straw and twine barrel shaped containers. It didn’t appear to hold anything and was closed on both ends. My curiosity got the best of me and I just had to inquire. This time I actually understood the response. Would you believe that these fabulous creations are beehives??? These guys were kind enough to stop long enough for me to capture a photo, but not long enough for me to figure out exactly how these hives function. I guess I’ll just have to solve that mystery another day.

Bonding over Bowling

2008-12-08T13:13:00.000-08:00

When we arrived at our mid-service conference and learned that our team building activity would be BOWLING we looked at each other in astonishment. Addis has a bowling alley?!?!?! Indeed it does…circa 1950. Shoes with paper-thin soles, human pin-setters, a ceiling that looked like it was held up by a prayer, and our Ethiopian PC colleagues who had never before seen a bowling alley let alone attempted to bowl, made this a truly unforgettable event. And get this….I bowled the best score of my life—236.

The bowling shoes (I’m sure that they were circa 1950 as well) added the perfect finishing touch to Liz’s ensemble.

Bowling the best score of my life was truly a feat given the head hazard that I had to factor into my approach.

Our mini-team: Dave, Megan, Nan, Me and Fisha

Although neither Megan or I consider ourselves bowling alley junkies, it was fun to do something that was not only familiar, but reminded us of home.

Visiting Megan

2008-12-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

After nearly a year of being at site, I finally had the opportunity to visit Megan and get to know the place that she calls home….DebreTabor. It is a beautiful mountain town, a little smaller than mine and definitely colder. Right now it looks as if a natural disaster or a bomb has struck the town as the buildings along the main road have literally been halved in preparation for road widening and paving. Quite an unusual method given the back half of the buildings still stand and are in use! But, I shall not complain about the tactics as long as the asphalt comes. Traveling between Woreta and DebreTabor for 3 hours on a muddy road with ruts deep enough to swallow a car was bone jarring as well as downright scary at times and I don’t relish the thought of doing that again!

Our time together was packed with fun, food, forays, and new friends. One day we traipsed out to the prison to do a little shopping (yes, the prisoners make some of the best traditional blankets) and got caught in a torrential rainstorm. Initially we took shelter in a shed near the prison, but quickly decided it was better to be soaked to the bone than to have to deal with an over-friendly guard and an antsy ox with enormous horns!

Our culinary masterpiece for the weekend was making homemade crab and parmesan stuffed ravioli with a garlic white sauce. I’ve never even considered making my own pasta let alone ravioli, but necessity is the mother of invention. The process was tedious and lengthy and was eventually completed via candlelight and headlamp, but it was worth our effort!

My time in DebreTabor passed by quickly and before I knew it I was once again aboard the bus for my journey home. After 10 hours and 5 bus changes (some expected, most not), I arrived home. Oh, how I wish we lived closer as the journey is so excruciating!

Just some of the beautiful scenery along the way to DebreTabor

Megan makes a milk run by merely leaning over the wall that separates her from her neighbor’s cows. How convenient!

A glimpse of Megan’s home

Megan is quite the pasta chef

Yes, I know I look ridiculous, but what’s a girl to do when the power goes out!?

Hapti Graduates!

2008-12-03T08:55:00.000-08:00

Hapti, my faithful friend whose dorm is an arm’s reach from my window, has graduated high school!!! It is quite an accomplishment and I’m so proud of him. I thought I’d take an opportunity in this post to explain a little bit about how the Ethiopian educational system works and the road that Hapti has had to take to achieve this goal.

Hapti grew up in the countryside outside of town and was able to attend grades 1-6 in a rural school near his parents’ home. In order to attend grades 7 and 8 he had to move to his aunt’s home, a 4-hour walk from his parents and still an hour walk to the school. At the end of grade 8, a national examination is administered and for those students with a passing score, they are allowed to enter 9th grade. For those students who do not have a passing score, formal education ends. Hapti, fortunately, passed and continued to live with his aunt for grades 9 and 10.

At the end of grade 10 another exam is held to weed out those students who will enter preparatory school (grades 11 and 12) from those who will be invited to attend a technical training program. Hapti, again, passed. Our town, however, has only one preparatory school and this required Hapti to move once again. Due to the fact that none of Hapti’s family members lived in town, he found a room to rent and every 10 days or so, Hapti’s mom would walk in from the rural area bringing dried injera, colo (a snack made of roasted barley and peanuts), and a small amount of money for additional food.

At the end of grade 12 another national examination is held which is used to differentiate those students who will be selected for university (the higher scores) from those that will be admitted to colleges of teacher training. It is also at this time that each student completes a form that ranks their choice of university and choice of program. For Hapti, the summer passed by slowly, fraught with an equal mix of anxiety and eager anticipation. At the end of August he finally received his test score and then in late September via radio he learned of his placement. The Ethiopian education system does not afford a lot of choice and for Hapti his disappointment was great. He was placed at a new university near the Sudanese border and in a program that he has little to no interest in. And now he waits again. As with almost all of the new universities in Ethiopia, construction has not yet been completed and there isn’t sufficient room to accommodate first year students. Currently Hapti bides his time working at a café for 50 cents a day while wondering if he can handle one more move, one more sacrifice.

The road to opportunity and advancement in Ethiopia is a long and arduous one. Although education is available to all, not every family can afford or is willing to make the costly sacrifices. Hapti’s story is not unique, but rather that shared by the vast majority. It is at times like this when I feel so blessed to grow up where I did. Where freedom of choice is a given and such sacrifices are the exception rather than the rule.

Hapti proudly sporting some of the graduation gifts that he received from my parents and me. He was so appreciative to have a backpack filled with school supplies and a few “new to him” clothes. In fact, after he opened his gifts he immediately set out for the market to see if he could find someone from his rural area that would be able to get a message to his parents and in the process ran into his mom.

Gunfo

2008-11-29T12:49:00.000-08:00

I’ve yet to find a traditional Ethiopian dish that I crave. In fact, I don’t believe that I ever will. What I have found are a ton of concoctions that I would prefer not to sample again and at the top of that list is GUNFO. I was first introduced to this creation while in training. When my host Mom set before me a heaping dish of gunfo all I could do was pray that for every spoonful I ate, 10 more would vanish. Unfortunately, it seemed to behave more like the loaves and fishes!

Gunfo is a dish made of wheat flour and water that is boiled into a paste, shaped like a volcano, filled with homemade butter (kibe) and topped with a spoonful of berbery paste. Think play-doh with toppings. Given that I now cook for myself, one would think that it would be fairly easy to avoid gunfo, but no. At one point early on in my time at site, Aselef (my landlady) made gunfo for me and in an attempt to be polite I must have implied that I enjoyed it. I very much appreciated her thoughtfulness, but I’m continuing to reap the consequences of not being direct. Big mistake! Now I am either summoned out back to pick up my heaping bowl of the stuff or am given the powder to make my own with instructions to return and show them what I’ve made. Talk about no way out! One evening while entertaining Smith, Straw, and Megan, I heard a knock on the door and opened it to find Aselef with gunfo for a party of four! Perfect!

Smith, Me, Straw, and Megan

Ava’s First Haircut

2008-11-24T14:47:00.000-08:00

A first haircut is a momentous occasion for parents here much like it is for us in the States. The tools, however, aren’t quite the same. Needless to say when I saw the razorblade appear I nearly freaked out. I was more uncomfortable and on edge than Ava was during the process. Somehow, Souwnet managed to shave Ava’s head without a nick…quite a feat as far as I’m concerned. I sure hope, though, that that is the first and last time I’m called on to serve as photographer for an infants first cut…or perhaps “hairshave” would be the better word.

Meskel

2008-11-20T14:36:00.000-08:00

The Ethiopian calendar is chock full of Ethiopian orthodox holidays. Some I understand as they are the equivalent of our Christian holidays, others are unfamiliar. The holiday known as Meskel celebrates the finding of the true cross. Legend has it that a piece of the True Cross (the cross on which Jesus was crucified) was brought to Ethiopia in the 14th century and stashed away in the Gishen monastery. Whether fable or fact, the event is celebrated every year on September 17th (Ethiopian calendar). For me and about 4,000 other souls the festivities began on the eve of Meskel with a big gathering in the town square. I was told that the event would consist of lighting a large demere (bonfire). I was not told that I would give up what felt like a year of my life waiting for the bonfire to begin. It had slipped my mind that this was an Ethiopian orthodox holiday and therefore the requisite prayers, chants, and dances would have to come first. After nearly 2 hours of standing shoulder to sweaty shoulder and experiencing a moment of panic while half of the crowd began to stampede (a very large OX decided to infiltrate the crowd), the bonfire was lit. Had I only had a box of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, and a Hershey chocolate bar I would have truly been a happy camper.

Saturday, the actual day of Meskel, began for me far earlier than I desired or anticipated. At 6am, I awoke to Hapti pounding on my bedroom window and yelling, “come.” I tried to play possum, but he wasn’t fooled. So…I grabbed my glasses, threw a jacket over my PJs, plastered an “I couldn’t be happier to be outside in the cold at 6am” smile on my face and set out to see what the commotion was all about. As it turns out, it is tradition to have a family bonfire the morning of Meskel, drink bunna, and yes….kill yet another unsuspecting sheep.

Gathered in the town square, I not so patiently wait for the bonfire.

Hapti, Tambarat and I attended the Meskel eve event

The demere (bonfire) was quite beautiful.

Our 6am group shot

Aselef prepares her bunna ceremony in the yard

I’m hoping this is the last of Little Bo Peep’s lost sheep or at least the last Ethiopian holiday for a while.

Market Daze

2008-11-17T14:23:00.000-08:00

Getting used to the inconvenience of shopping has probably been one of my greatest adjustments. I truly miss the “one-stop-shop” at Meijer where prices are clearly marked and there is no need to haggle. Initially, shopping here meant preparing for war. I went to the market armed with a hand-made list detailing what fair prices might be for my usual purchases, a sturdy basket to lug all of my purchases, a bottle of water and an umbrella to avoid getting dehydrated or burnt, and most importantly a thick skin to deal with all of the comments.

Things have changed. I’m not so much an oddity anymore. I can roam the market fairly undisturbed. I can hear the whispered “she speaks Amharic” ripple ahead of me and most importantly I’m treated fairly. I no longer worry about being overcharged or having the “farenji tariff” applied to my purchases. The market has transformed from a battlefield into a place where I have a chance to catch up with the vendors that I have gotten to know. I also spend a lot less time searching for things. Although there are no “aisle markers” Meijer style, there is a bit of a system. The vegetable vendors congregate in one area, the grain sellers in another, and so on. I’ve also reached the point where I no longer do a lot of comparison-shopping. I buy vegetables from Addis, coffee from Getachew, string from Genet’s friend, kitchen supplies from Ghion, and odds and ends from the couple that I lovingly call my junk people.

I am fortunate to live in a town with a market that is open everyday excluding Sunday. Saturday, however, is the busiest day of the week. Hoards of people from the rural area descend upon town to buy, sell, trade and socialize…some walking as far as 4 hours by foot. Between the people, transport donkeys, and the assortment of livestock to be sold it is a veritable jungle. To preserve my sanity and avoid the hazard of getting run over by a wayward donkey, I avoid Saturdays like the plague.

A view of my market on a slow day

My vegetable lady…Addis.

While I purchase veggies from Addis, a crowd gathers round to listen and watch.

My junk lady.

Just a picture that I like of a part of the market that I don’t often frequent.

I love this picture and trust me, it’s not posed. I suspect that this kiddo and his donkey are waiting to be hired. I love how he not only protects himself from the sun, but his donkey as well

Genet and I are standing outside the stall of my bunna supplier...Getachew.

Isn’t the egg guy a cutie? He was so excited to have his picture taken, but needed to do a little primping (i.e. he combed his beard) before Smith and I were given the “all clear” to take his picture.

You, You, You!

2008-11-13T14:17:00.000-08:00

Ethiopia has a reputation for bold children who love to chant “you, you, you” and “you, money” to any foreigner who happens to cross their path. One child chanting this once on one-day is not a problem. But 50+ children chanting this everyday, everywhere one goes is exhausting and annoying. I have no idea how the “you, you, you” got started, but it is seemingly here to stay. I, however, am on a personal mission to eradicate this from my town. It’s an uphill battle and I’m not sure that I’m making any progress but I have found some tactics that at least have a little bit of carryover.

I have realized that the camera is a powerful tool as is verbal recognition. When I walk the familiar route to town and cross paths with kids who have seen me a thousand times before and yet still cry out “you, you, you,” I don’t stop. But…as soon as I hear one of them call out my name or an appropriate greeting I stop and acknowledge that specific child and then coach the rest. And as for the camera, what a great motivator! I’m constantly asked to take photos. The kids have no desire for a printed picture, but desire the instant gratification that digital cameras can provide. So, this has become a part of my “you, you, you” eradication program as well. Call me by name or address me properly and I’ll stop to take your picture. Below are some pictures of town kids who are gradually figuring out more appropriate ways to greet an unfamiliar farenji face…or at least mine anyways.

This is a group of little tykes with big voices. It has taken me weeks to be able to walk by their corner and not be met with astoundingly loud cries of “farenji” and “you, you, you!” I realized that for this little gang my farenji name was a bit challenging to remember so I adopted a habesha name…Tigist (which means patience…how appropriate, eh!). They have latched onto “Tigist”. Unfortunately, I don’t always remember that they are addressing me!

Jobs that Kids Do

2008-11-06T17:31:00.000-08:00

Initially when I arrived in town, I was bound and determined to do everything myself. I didn’t want to appear like the pampered farenji who required a slew of worker bees in order to survive. I still don’t want to have that reputation, but I’ve realized that kids and adults who ask for meaningful work are much better than those who just want a handout. So…I’ve changed my tactics and now often pay very nominal fees for things that I can do myself or really don’t need to have done, but do because it helps real people with real needs.

I now pause to have my shoes-shined, sit and drink tea while the mini-bus “broker” flags me down a bus, hire boys to cart my packages home from the post-office and pay Souwnet to do my wash on a weekly basis (that I’m glad to give up!). It feels good to help support those who have carved out a job in this job-less economy and its even more fun to hand out a hefty tip for a job well done.

The picture that I’m missing is the one that depicts Abi’s job. Because he was always underfoot and I had minimal toys, I was constantly searching for something to keep him occupied. One day it occurred to me that he might enjoy having a job and that’s when I introduced him to my “sheep food bucket” which is full of scraps that need dumping. That was one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. He was so excited and so proud of the fact that he had a job. And boy was he thorough. He would dump it, check, whack it against the ground to dislodge anything hanging on and then would promptly return to the compound to wash the bucket. Now when Abi bops over one of the first things he asks is, “is the sheep bucket full?”

Asirtsehi shines my shoes outside of the post-office. Shoe shining is a popular business and there is definitely a market for it given the amount of dust or mud that coats our shoes. Typically, one is charged 1birr (roughly 10 cents) for this service.

These boys cut grass and sell it alongside the road. Pretty ingenious given that most grass is free for the taking…provided that you beat the cows to it. Grass, such as this, is used for bunna ceremonies. I bought it because Gigi said that if I sprinkled this all over my house that the fleas would flee. Consequently I bought these 2 boys out of everything they had for the grand sum of 3 birr (roughly 30 cents…which Tambarat thought was too much) and paid them 2 birr each for walking it to my home. Unfortunately, the fleas didn’t flee, but my home did smell like a freshly cut lawn for days.

No matter how I might have tried, I would never have succeeded in carrying all of the stuff that this guy carted for me.

Real Men Knit

2008-11-06T17:26:00.000-08:00

Tambarat’s father (who Tambarat kindly refers to as the “dictator man”) couldn’t wait to impress me with his knitting prowess. Reluctantly I handed over the needles and sent a prayer Heavenward that he wouldn’t undo 5 months of work. I can knit, but I’m not good with the whole knitting-disaster-recovery-process. Much to my amazement (and relief), he did know what he was talking about. Someday, when I’m huddled under my hand-knit blanket, I can gaze at row #302 and fondly recall that real men (at least Ethiopian ones) can knit!

Enkutatash—Part II

2008-11-03T12:33:00.000-08:00

Oh…my New Year celebration isn’t over yet!!! After eating a full meal at Gigi’s parent’s home, we walked around the corner to Tadeseh’s home and repeated the process step for step. And then, we traipsed down the road a bit (not far enough to burn the calories from 2 full meals or to generate any sort of hunger) and, yes, went through the entire process again…hand washing, appetizer, fried sheep (or raw if you would prefer), hand washing, popcorn, and bunna. My gut was full to bursting, and yet refusing to eat is commensurate with a slap in the face. So…I ate. I did put my foot down when the plate of raw liver appeared. No way…no how. For Getachew’s two young girls and Gigi’s Mom, they were perfectly fine with this as they had no desire to share.

For me, Ethiopian New Year was a day full of surprises…interesting food…and fabulous hospitality. Whether the feast is meager or plentiful, the adage “what’s mine is yours” is something that all Ethiopians hold dear. Today was no exception.

Me and my dear friend Gigi

Amela, Simegne, Gigi, and Yimegne

I love the Ethiopian tradition of hand washing. Due to the lack of running water in most households, I’m sure this custom was born out of necessity, but I think there is something special about helping to wash each other’s hands.

I’ve never tried to teach a 4 year old how to crochet, but Yemisirech was bound and determined to try.

No…this isn’t a kool-aid mustache on Yemisirech, but something I’ve coined “liver lips”

On our way to house #3. Gigi (far left) and Yemegne (next to me) our wearing the traditional “Habesha camis.” Many of the women continue to wear the traditional dress on special occasions, but I see very few men who sport their traditional outfit.

Enkutatash (Happy New Year)—Part I

2008-10-28T15:10:00.001-07:00

Travel Advisory: Attention Lambkin, the lost sheep of Little Bo Peep, Baa Baa Black Sheep and others of your kind. Travel to or through Ethiopia during times of Orthodox holiday, government holiday, or even Hallmark Holiday is not advisable. Risk of abduction, dismemberment, and death is guaranteed. Many have tried…all have died. Due to total annihilation of our lawns, the US Embassy as well as the British Embassy, Irish Embassy, and Scottish Embassy will no longer provide refuge or asylum should you find yourself in grave danger.

It’s pretty much safe to say that it sucks to be an Ethiopian sheep. They are hauled around by one leg….hoisted to the rooftops of various vehicles where they lay hog-tied with head lolling over the side while the mini-bus hurtles helter-skelter down the road at dizzying speeds…and even carried backpack style (seriously…I have seen this!). And if you thought that sheep transport methods sound awful then I shudder to tell you about the holidays. Ethiopian holidays are not something that a sheep anticipates with excitement like that of a child on Christmas morning. This morning, New Year Day 2001, my wake up call was not that of an over zealous rooster, but a chorus of very panicked sheep repetitively crying…”not a good day…definitely not a good day…flee if you can…run and don’t look back….every man for himself!”

Unfortunately, for the sheep anyways, there were few, if any, survivors by day 2 of 2001. I alone participated in 3 sheep slaughterings. One was a given, but I had not prepared for three. I had been invited to spend the day with Tambarat, Gigi, and her extended family. Our first stop, Gigi’s parents’ home. It was there that I learned yet another Ethiopian tradition…and I must admit that this one took me aback. Prepare yourselves…it is customary that the sheep is slaughtered within the home! I of course couldn’t resist asking “why?” and yet I should have anticipated the answer. “It is TRADITION, of course!” So…as per mode of transport #1, the poor little sheep was drug into the living room by one leg and slaughtered as the kids played, the TV droned on and I calmly sipped my Pepsi. While the men commenced with the quartering, the women sliced, diced, and fried meat that couldn’t have been any fresher, and in less than 30 minutes from start to finish we were eating. Knowing now the speed at which this process can be done, what in the world takes OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE so long to get a meal on the table??

Sheep #1 at Gigi’s parents’ home

Amela, Gigi, and Me get the meat ready for the frying pan

Yemegne is on frying duty

Sheep #2 at Tadeseh and Yemegne’s home

Sheep #3 at Getachew and Semegne’s home

Abi Turns 3!

2008-10-21T08:02:00.000-07:00

I know that Abi has built quite the fan club, so I thought you’d perhaps like to attend his 3rd birthday party with me!

As usual, I’m the last to know anything of importance and found out the morning of his party that my attendance was requested that afternoon. Good thing I don’t have work!
So I promptly raced to town bound for Gigi’s shop and the display of birthday hats she has. I purchased a birthday hat, a candle and then raced back home to wrap a couple of gifts in wrapping paper saved from my birthday. Fortunately a good friend (who is a huge Abi fan) had just sent a package with items for Abi. What perfect timing!

Aselef and I then headed to Souwnet’s third “new” house in as many weeks. The good news about this house is that it is a stone’s throw from mine. THANKGOODNESS! Souwnet had borrowed from Aselef all the necessary items for an Ethiopian birthday party—namely bunna, cups, and a jabena! (yes…even a 3 year old celebrates by having a cup of joe!). I pulled out Abi’s birthday hat and his eyes lit up like the rising sun. He was SOOOO excited and we hadn’t even gotten to the gifts! When I gave him the 2 wrapped packages he thanked me with his version of “amesaygenalo” and sat them aside. He had no clue what to do with wrapped packages! In a language that only Abi and I share and understand, I provided instruction and he followed like a pro. The first gift that he opened was a package of gummy worms (I had to inform him that they were candy). As soon as he understood that he had just been gifted with “carameylas” he insisted on tearing into them. What followed was the most priceless and humorous 5 minutes that I’ve experienced since being here and I’m so disappointed that I didn’t get it on video.

I removed one lone gummy worm from the package and he freaked out. He was literally scared to death! As he frantically backed away from me and the wriggling worm, he screamed, “it bites me…it bites me.” At this point, I’m practically in tears from laughing while at the same time trying to explain that it won’t bite…you BITE it! I then had to demonstrate that it was toothless by eating half the worm. This gave him the courage to reach out and touch it only to freak out once again from the texture. This time the worm went flying and we were again back to, “it bites me!” After a lot of coaxing and further demonstration, Abi bit into the first gummy worm of his life and his eyes lit once again.

I have to say that Abi is the bravest Ethiopian I know. He is willing to try anything and everything I throw his way. When Aselef turns up her nose or Souwnet backs away, Abi raises his eyebrows and jerks his head upward as if to say “bring it on!”

Happy Birthday my dear little friend!!!!!

Visiting Awramba

2008-10-09T07:43:00.000-07:00

Tucked 2km off the main dirt road between Woreta and Debre Tabor is a unique little village known as Awramba. Frankly, I’d never heard of it. Nor would it have made my destination list had it not been for Megan’s desire to buy hand-woven goods and our good fortune to be riding again in her German friend’s vehicle.

Awramba is a world to itself. The community was begun in 1985 by an Ethiopian man who believed that the only way to rise from poverty was not through dependency upon others or through prayer, but by education and hard work. Amramba is the only known atheistic society in Ethiopia. And it is the only place in Ethiopia where I’ve experienced a true equality between men and women.

As usual, I had no idea what to expect. “Clueless” is the best way to travel because then you are never disappointed! Anyways….the community is charming. It’s clean, quiet (no gaggle of kids chanting “you, you, you” or “you, money”), and well-run. I only wish that some of the same principles would be adopted by other Ethiopian communities.

The community has its own pre-school that is attended not only by 4 year-olds, but by adults who would like to learn to read and write. The kids of Amramba take advantage of government education for primary school and beyond and ultimately have a choice whether or not to spend their adulthood in Awramba. Some leave, many return.

The 100+ families in this community are quite progressive. They’ve constructed 2 libraries, a hostel (for visitors), and a fabulous nursing home. The concept of a nursing home does not exist in Ethiopia and consequently there are many sick, elderly people who are left by their families to sit and beg along the streets during the day. In Awramba, the elderly are not only respected (as is true in the rest of Ethiopia), but are cared for by everyone in the community.

Awramba’s income is primarily generated from weaving. I had no idea the cachopony that results from shuttles being flung back and forth across 20 looms. For a moment I thought we were entering an arcade! The adults in Awramba work 6 days a week and then have the 7th day to do their own personal work or to rest (not everyone is at the same level financially due to how each individual chooses to spend their 7th day).

Overall, it was an enlightening visit, and once again, I left with a few less birr in my pocket. I couldn’t resist a beautiful hand-woven cotton robe to remind me of this fascinating place.

Amrumba’s schoolhouse.

The original library

The new library. The “bookshelf” is entirely constructed from a mud/manure/straw mix. Creative, eh?

No problem with bringing your child to work here!

This woman kindly opened her home to us. She’s working on her own personal weaving. The little guy was breastfeeding while we were there, but stopped long enough to give me a wave on our way out.

Blue Nile Falls

2008-10-06T15:33:00.000-07:00

I love spontaneous trips and when Megan’s friend from a German NGO invited us to join her on a short road trip to Blue Nile Falls, I couldn’t resist. Traveling in a private vehicle is a true treat and one would be crazy to pass the opportunity up!

The Blue Nile Falls are located just south of Bahar Dar and used to be quite the destination. Lately, however, the falls have gotten a bad rap due to the construction of a hydro-electric plant, which diverts nearly 95% of the water. The locals have always referred to the falls as Tis Abay (Smoke of the Nile) because of the spray that clouds the air as the water thunders over the falls. Nowadays that name might not be so fitting. In fact, my fabulous Bradt Ethiopia guidebook refers to the falls as THE CLIFF FORMERLY KNOWN AS THE BLUE NILE FALLS.

Given all of this information, I went with ZERO expectations. Thunderous or not, it was an opportunity to see a new part of the country. Much to my surprise, I was pleasantly surprised! Of course, I have nothing to compare the falls of now with the falls of yesteryear, but I found them to be impressive. It’s not Niagra, but Tis Abay is beautiful in its own way. Just the sound of moving water was music to my ears.

On our hike up to the falls, we walked through a very tiny village that was lined with handcrafts for sale and manned by “less than bashful” children. In fact, I’m pretty sure that these children must have taken “Entrepreneurship 101” at the local school because they had their spiel down to a science. We heard a chorus of, “My name is Tigist/Hannah/Mehiret. I go to school. You will buy from me when you turn back. I wait you here. My name, again, is Tigist/Hannah/Mehiret.” Given that it had started to rain on the return hike we didn’t know if the “I wait you here” promise would still apply, but rain is not a deterrent for these little businesspeople. As we came in sight of the village, we heard the patter of running feet and the cries of “you promised to buy from me, remember.” We walked away from this village with a few less birr (the local currency), a few more trinkets, dirty shirts from over-zealous children trying to divert our attention away from the competition, and a feeling that we had just run the gauntlet and lived to tell about it!

It’s the Little Things

2008-10-03T05:29:00.000-07:00

It truly is the little things that brighten my day and make the distance between Ethiopia and all the things and people I left behind seem not so far apart. It’s the routine Sunday night phone call from my parents, the surprise package from a good friend, a “blooming” card from my sis, a newsy email, an old (but new to me) PEOPLE magazine, and the list could go on and on. I love all of these things, but there are times when I crave a taste of home. Injera will never serve as comfort food!

The other day Straw arrived and brought with her a taste of home that we never would have believed possible….CHEESECAKE! Her dad sends the most amazing care packages and Straw so generously shared her treasure with us. I did make a small contribution to our impromptu party. Somewhere along the line I acquired a can of cherry pie filling. How fortuitous!

Smith, Me, and Megan

The Kristens’ (Smith, Me, and Straw). A very big thank-you to Straw’s dad!!!!

Another Year Older

2008-10-01T05:24:00.000-07:00

Having a summer birthday meant never having the privledge of bringing cupcakes to school, but it did mean that I would often celebrate my birthday in unique locations. I fondly recall celebrating my 11th birthday in Traverse City, MI at a McDonalds where “Shang-hai chicken nuggets” were served with complimentary chop-sticks. And then there was my 13th birthday which was celebrated in Yellowstone National Park with a most unusual but welcome guest…a wayward buffalo. I’m fairly confident, though, that I never dreamed I’d celebrate a birthday in Ethiopia! I’m so blessed to have such great friends and family on 2 continents who went out of their way to make my birthday a special one!

Gigi wanted to learn how to make zuccini and banana bread so we decided that they would serve as my birthday cakes. Even Tambarat got in on the baking action!

Celebrating at Gigi’s house with (from left to right) Belete, Tadeseh, Yimegne, and Tambarat.

Lalibela-Part III (The Experience)

2008-09-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve learned that to have a plan or a timeline here in Ethiopia is much like spitting into the wind---POINTLESS! I’ve also learned that there are adventures in store for the person who not only accepts this fact, but learns how to wholeheartedly “live in the moment.” I will admit that I’m not always successful at foregoing my agenda, but I’m getting better. Our Lalibela adventure is a case in point.

Tammy and I awoke Sunday morning and headed down to the thatched hut/reception area/café for breakfast. We had just sat down when Massay, the owner/manager, strolled in looking very dapper in a suit and tie. His morning greeting to me….”your flight will be cancelled. You will come to the wedding with me.” I had been turning down “invitations” from Massay since 15 seconds after meeting him, so my response this time was no different. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Shortly thereafter, Tammy and I left for the airport (approx a 40 minute journey from Lalibela). While standing in line to check-in, I meet Mulugeeta the baggage handler. We then sit down to wait for our flight. But, yep, you guessed it…Massay was right. Our flight was cancelled. So…on our way back into town both Mulugeeta and another airport worker/friend (Ashetu), say “now you can come to the wedding!” At this point, I’m seriously wondering if there is some sort of conspiracy. Is Massay the town godfather???? Well, in an effort to live in the moment…we decide to go to the wedding. The airport driver (who I’m sure is also in on the conspiracy) is told to take us back to Tukul Village, wait for us while we change and then drive us to the wedding. Tammy and I are met outside the wedding venue by the bestman who greets me by name and proceeds to escort us to the equivalent of the head table. Massay is “johnny-on-the-spot” and has cleared out the real guests at the “head table” to make room for Tammy and myself. He also doesn’t look the least bit surprised that we are there! Talk about a surreal experience. Where else in the world can you have a flight cancelled and attend a wedding instead?

So…the next morning, Tammy and I again head to the airport for our rescheduled 9:40am flight only to learn that the flight had been changed to noon. But this time our delay isn’t the least bit frustrating….it’s hilarious. We are now on a first-name basis with all of the airport workers as most were at the wedding. Ashetu and Mulugeeta invite us for shi (tea) and we leave the airport and head to the hut that is only for employees. Sitting outside the airport “shooting the breeze” with the guards, I run into, Zelalum, the bestman from the wedding who proceeds to give me an offer that was hard to refuse. “Stay in Lalibela. I will build you a tukul (traditional house). I will buy you 2 goats. We will have 2 children.” Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. Ashetu joins us and chastises Zelalum. “You are out of line. She is my sister. You must ask my permission first!” Oh my gosh….what an unforgettable weekend. One that happened because Tammy and I chose to live in the moment!

We got an unexpected 3rd night at Tukul Village—courtesy of Ethiopian Airlines. It’s a charming place.

Me and my, um, “friend” Massay

New friends…Mulugeeta and “my brother” Ashetu.

Drinking shi with Mulugeeta and Ashetu. The tree that we were sitting under was brimming with these amazing circular birdhouses.

Lalibela Part II (The People)

2008-09-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

I loved the people of Lalibela. One would think that with the number of tourists that traipse through their town every year they would be distant and exhausted by yet another “bright-skinned” face. But this was far from true. I also don’t know if my experience was different from that of the everyday tourist because I went out of my way to not act like one. People were astounded when I greeted them in Amharic. In fact after only a day in town, I would pass people I had never met before and hear them say to their friends, “she speaks Amharic.” I guess news of this Amharic speaking farenji traveled like lightening. Anyways, I found the people of Lalibela to be warm, friendly, and extremely generous.

As Tammy and I were leaving the first church complex, we were approached by a group of young children selling handmade leather cross necklaces. I politely replied (in Amharic) that I wasn’t interested in buying anything. I then spent a few minutes talking with them, introducing myself, asking about school, etc. As I walked away, I heard one of the girls call out my name. I stopped as she raced up and gifted me with the very same necklace that she was trying to sell. Now that may not seem like much to you, but this is their livelihood and the fact that she was willing to just give it to me was humbling. I tried to refuse, but that is like trying to remove gum that is stuck to the bottom of your shoe…IMPOSSIBLE! I kindly thanked her and promised to send her a photo. Tammy and I began to walk away (again) and within minutes we heard them yelling my name. I turned around to discover that they had a second necklace for Tammy. How sweet is that!

This is a traditional 2-story circular home (known as a “tukul”) that is unique to Lalibela

Being gifted with a handmade leather cross necklace.

I just love this picture that Tammy captured. I think it captures the tranquility and peacefulness that could be felt throughout Lalibela

This lady wanted to pose with her prayer stick.

Lalibela-Part 1 (The Churches)

2008-09-23T16:53:00.000-07:00

To live in Ethiopia and not experience Lalibela is like traveling through Egypt and omitting the pyramids from your itinerary. Lalibela is a truly wonderous place--- one of the world’s best-kept secrets. It is an isolated mountain town that is steeped in legend and mystery. Known as Roha until recent times, Lalibela served as the capital of the Zagwe dynasty from the 10th to the 13th century, and its modern name (Lalibela) is derived from the most famous Zagwe ruler, King Lalibela. Rather than reinvent the wheel, I will take an excerpt from my Bradt Ethiopia Travel guide that provides background as to the history or perhaps the legend of this place.

“According to local legend, Lalibela was born the brother of the incumbent king. As a young child he was covered in a swarm of bees, which his mother took as a sign that he would one day be king himself. The king was none too pleased at this prophecy, and eventually tried to poison his younger brother, but instead of killing him he cast him into a deep sleep that endured for three days. While sleeping, Lalibela was transported to heaven by an angel and shown a city of rock-hewn churches, which he was ordered to replicate. Lalibela was eventually crowned king, and set about gathering the world’s greatest craftsman and artisans in order to carve the churches. Legend has it that at least one of the churches was built in a day with the help of angels.”

However these churches came to be, they truly are a sight to behold. Carved out of the earth, they are an architectural wonder. Even though they are an UNESCO World Heritage site, they are not a museum. As we roamed the 3 separate complexes we had to weave around the local parishioners who had come to pray or seek blessings from the priests.

Each church is symbolized by a unique cross and it is customary to ask to see the cross and kiss the cross. You are more than welcome to take pictures, but what I found to be hilarious is that just before the flash went off the priest would don a pair of Jackie-O black sunglasses. Eye safety trumps fashion for these men!

Tammy and I literally spent the entire day exploring all 13 churches. At times we felt like spelunkers as we descended into darkness to traverse the subterranean passageways from one church to the next. We then became rock-climbers to access the tiny cells carved mid-way up the rock wall where monks would live and pray for days at a time. In some respects it is a shame that the world knows not of Lalibela, but I suspect that this obscurity is also what keeps Lalibela a true treasure.

Bet Medhane Alem is the largest monolithic rock-hewn church in the world. On the left side of the picture, you can see a portion of the scaffolding and roof that was constructed by UNESCO as a means of protecting the church from the elements in an attempt to preserve the church for future generations. It definitely is a detraction, but it would be a shame to see these structures destroyed by the monsoon like rains that descend upon Ethiopia from June to September.

Tammy and I couldn’t resist having our photo taken with the priest who prays for single people! Seriously, I’m not making this up. Perhaps those of you who are single should consider a trip to Lalibela instead of membership fees for eHarmony or Match.com.

Tammy works her way into one of the “monk cells” carved into the rock-wall. I was a little afraid of getting stuck and turning into a pile of bones (seriously, some of the caves house full skeletons) so decided to fore-go this experience.

St. Georgies is considered to be the iconic Lalibela church. It is truly magnificent and unspoiled by a gargantuan protective roof. And…it’s not something you only experience from the top. This is the church that most astounds me in terms of its construction.

This is St. Georgies again. Just wanted to give you the full perspective.

Climbing down into one of the tunnels…yes, a wee bit disconcerting!

Visiting Gonder—Part III

2008-09-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Tara Center! I really have no idea how to describe this place. It's part primate sanctuary, private primary school, and arts/crafts center. Nicole, our PCV friend who lives in Gonder, is the one who told us about the place and from her description we knew it was a place that shouldn't be missed.

If I understood correctly, the Tara Center was established by a British woman and her Ethiopian husband and is a conglomeration of a host of her projects and ideas. What was most exciting for me was the baboon/monkey enclosure. The British woman has taken it upon herself to rescue these creatures and attempt to return them to the wild. I was enjoying watching the antics of the baboons from outside the enclosure and was beyond excited when I was asked, "do you want to go in?" Amber, on the other hand, was less than thrilled and elected to remain on the "safe side" of the fence. I did have a moment of concern (make that several) when I wondered what our medical officer would say in the event that I sustained a monkey bite. Fortunately, there were no bites, but I did have a moment of panic when the baboon that was holding onto me lashed out at the puppy that was also trying to create space for itself in my lap. According to Amber and Megan, there was some serious gnashing of teeth. Yikes!

Amber watches from the "safe side" of the fence

This picture reflects the "calm before the storm". Since we all jumped when the tussle broke out between puppy and monkey, the photo that shows the gnashing of teeth is blurry.

Nicole enjoys a little grooming session. The question is, what is he looking for?

Megan has her hands full! By the time she "escaped" the enclosure, she was absolutely filthy from head to toe.

Visiting Gonder—Part II

2008-09-06T18:18:00.000-07:00

Our sightseeing tour included a stop at Debre Birhan Selassie, one of the 44 churches said to exist in Gonder. Most of the original church structures were destroyed in 1888 when the Mahdist of Sudan attacked Gonder, but this particular church escaped untouched. Legend has it that the church was protected by a swarm of bees!

The building itself is unique, but the paintings within are outstanding. The ceiling is absolutely stunning. The 80 cherubic faces looking down at you are considered to be the most famous single example of ecclesiastical art in all of Ethiopia. While I was sitting on a bench quietly gazing at the ceiling and listening to our guide explain the various paintings, I heard this strange, repetitive noise coming from the priest standing guard at the door. I initially didn't think anything of it because I was doing nothing—I wasn't talking, I wasn't taking pictures with flash, and I wasn't wearing a hat. But the squirrel-like chatter continued. When the finger clicking began, I turned and discovered that the priest was less than happy with me. Obviously I was doing something wrong, but I was at a loss. Our guide finally tuned into what was going on and we discovered my major infraction---gum chewing! I "swallowed the gum"—in truth, I plastered it to the roof of my mouth as it was a fresh piece of American, sugar-free gum (i.e. priceless) and I figured it was the act of chewing rather than the physical presence of the gum that was the root of my infraction. The absence of mastication seemed to satisfy the priest and I was finally allowed to resume gazing at the magnificent paintings.

This is the entrance to the church compound.

The ceiling of the church is absolutely stunning!

Visiting Gonder—Part 1

2008-09-02T18:11:00.000-07:00

Amber and I had the opportunity to explore a new town while she was here. Gonder is found 185km north of Bahar Dar and should normally take about 3 hours by mini-bus. My bus experiences, however, never go as planned! I think it would be safe to say that this was the WORST bus experience I've had in the entire time I've been here. It started out rough and my instincts were telling me to abort, but I didn't. I so wish I had listened to my gut. To put it simply, I don't think our driver had ever been behind the wheel before. He ground gears, he shifted down when he should have shifted up, when passing another vehicle or donkey cart he would jerk the wheel to the left and we would go hurtling across the center line only to come flying back to the right seconds later.

We traveled about 40km before dropping off the first passengers. At that moment, I thought about getting out but I didn't react quickly enough before the door shut and we were again on our way. We had just pulled back into traffic when one of my worst nightmares came true---the driver hit a small child! It was a horrible experience. A mob formed…the child was whisked away (I suspect that the outcome was not good)…and Amber and I did what PC instructed us to do in light of this situation--we fled. Fortunately another mini-bus was driving by and had exactly 2 spaces left. The remainder of our journey to Gonder was uneventful and I can't express what a relief it was to have arrived in one piece. The roads here are so dangerous and I count my blessings every time I arrive safely to my destination!

As for Gonder, it is a beautiful city. Founded by King Fasilidas in 1635, the city served as the imperial capital for 250 years. It's now a favorite stop for tourists and a great jumping off point should you want to explore the Simien Mountains. Our time was limited, so we concentrated on exploring the sights within the town.

A "must-see" in Gonder is the Royal Enclosure. When I think of Ethiopia, castles are not something that come to mind. But in Gonder, one can find 6 castles within the Royal Enclosure. I was amazed at how well preserved the structures are and yet mystified as to why Ethiopian building strategies seem to have digressed rather than progressed. To this day, stones are in abundance and yet the majority of homes are constructed using mud and sticks. It's probably one of the many things that I shall never understand!

Megan, Amber, and I

I couldn't resist pretending to pee in the royal shint beyt!

Making the Rounds

2008-08-26T18:33:00.000-07:00

I have fabulous Ethiopian friends! They were so excited to meet Amber and warmly welcomed her. It mattered not in the least that Amber understood hardly anything that they said (and I must admit that I did not do a good job of translation….either I forgot that she couldn't understand or was experiencing translation fatigue). We spent so much time with Gigi, Tambarat and their siblings that we should have just moved in for the week. They are so good to me and were also so good to her. I'm truly blessed by their friendship!

Igigiyew (Gigi for short) gifted Amber with a jabena (traditional coffee pot).

I thought we were coming to share in a simple lunch and instead we found the Ethiopian equivalent to Thanksgiving!

Amber and Gigi's sis-in-law, Israel, found a creative solution to being caught in the rain without an umbrella.

Both Amber and I love this picture. My bunna ceremony presentation was great…my bunna, not so great.

Enjoying a little friendly game of Uno

Amber and Muluken (my co-worker)

Walking in My Shoes

2008-08-22T04:24:00.000-07:00

I think Amber and I would both agree that the best part of her visit was simply hanging out. It was fun to show her my world and all of its quirks. Amber learned the art of washing bunna (would you believe that you use AJAX!?)…I learned how to be patient cooking for two on a single kerosene burner…we perfected baking chocolate chip zucchini bread in a dutch oven…Amber introduced Abi to the concept of kool-aid…we had multiple "movie nights" crowded around my laptop and got to share in Hapti and Abi's first animated movie—RATATOUILLE (Abi literally squealed with delight watching the antics of a cooking mouse while Hapti wrestled with whether or not this was real or imaginary. We wandered the market…screamed in unison over frustrations with internet…witnessed lamb butchering…drank cup after cup of very strong bunna…and thoroughly just enjoyed being able to spend time with each other.

Why is this little guy so darn cute!?!

I've concluded that sheep are truly dumb. This is the one that wasn't butchered (at least not yet). He managed to get himself in a jam and when I couldn't handle the strangled bleating sound any longer, I had to come to the rescue.

Amber (with Souwnet's help) washed and roasted a full kilo of bunna…a time consuming process.

Meet AVA

2008-08-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

There has been a new arrival on our compound. My landlady's daughter, Genet, is settling into her role as a new mom and Aselef is enjoying being a first-time grandma. I had been invited to attend the birth (how interesting would that have been?), but this little one decided to arrive while I was in Addis. I returned home to find a beautiful little girl with a mop of curly black hair and was given the honor of naming her! Can you believe that?!? At first I thought I misunderstood (which is pretty much a given for me), but I hadn't. Genet wanted her daughter to have an American name and Amber and I were more than happy to oblige her. We hemmed and hawed, argued and debated, and ultimately realized that we were grossly unprepared to name a human. Neither one of us have named anything other than creatures belonging to the genus I like to call "furry and four-legged" with the exception of one chicken and 2 hermit crabs. We have always been great "namers", but this was different. The pressure was intense. It's one thing for a daughter to be upset with a mom for saddling her with an atrocious moniker, but this little one could hold a grudge against "farenjis" that may have rippling effects for years to come. Ok….perhaps I'm being a bit dramatic…but this was serious business. After mulling it over for the evening, trialing a host of names and taking into consideration the level of difficulty with pronunciation and spelling using the Amharic script, we both came up with the same idea at the same time. AVA! We love the name as well as the fabulous little girl (our 2nd cousin) that is our "original" Ava.

Proud As A Peacock

2008-08-16T06:51:00.000-07:00

There are moments in life that are so precious that you want to just bottle them and enjoy them forever. This was one of those moments. I had put out the word to my ex-pat friends in Addis that I was in need of little boys' clothes and they came through for me. Amber and I returned home with an assortment of pants, shoes, shirts, socks, and even a stuffed animal or two. We arrived on the compound…were greeted with a squeal from Abi as he came charging from the back…and promptly gave him a bath. We then spent the next hour playing dress-up. I've never had so much fun and the joy in his eyes as he tried on this motley assortment of used, sometimes stained clothes is something that I will never forget. Each "new" little outfit was promptly shown off to his mother and anyone else who found themselves on the compound during Abi's fashion show. The biggest hit…the single shoe that blinked when you stomped down hard and the fabulous orange ELMO hat.

My Sis Arrives!

2008-08-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

My blog posts are always a bit behind the times. So I must tell you that Amber has already departed! Our time together went by too quickly. She was here a total of 14 jam-packed, experience filled, and totally wonderful days. And for those of you considering a visit… I want to assure you that she left here without bodily harm, was well fed, and as far as I know is parasite free! So…now I shall do a little backtracking in order that you can share in our adventure.

Amber arrived completely exhausted and spouting something about a total of 10 hours of sleep in the preceding 4 days. We had intended on leaving for my town the following day, but knowing that she would likely sleep the entire way and miss all of the amazing sites, we postponed our travel by one day. I should have known better….Amber + Vehicle= SLEEP…always!

I had been so looking forward to Amber's visit as she is the first family member or friend that I've seen in 10 months, but also because it was finally my turn to be the "free-loader." When she served as a PCV in Romania, I was working and subsequently subsidized our adventures together. I can't tell you how great it was to hear her say, "Oh, I'll pay for that."

The greatest luxury that she paid for was a private vehicle to transport us from Addis to my town. What normally is a long, hot, and sometimes harrowing ride was instead a comfortable, smooth-sailing excursion. Our driver was willing to stop anywhere along the way even if it was just to capture "the perfect shot." Now that I've experienced traveling in this manner, how will I ever go back to public transportation!?!

Amber and I treated ourselves to pedicures at the Boston Day Spa in Addis. This place is amazing and revivals any spa in the States. The only difference is the price…wouldn't you love to pay 13USD for a pedicure?!

On the road north. It was great to be able to stop along the way and snap pictures of sights that normally are a blur when traveling by bus.

Amber and I at the edge of the Blue Nile Gorge

This is how Amber spent the majority of our road trip.

Traveling by private vehicle is such a treat!