Tseyion’s 1st Birthday

Tseyion is the daughter of my Amharic language tutor, Belete. One evening I received a call from Belete that was extremely short and sweet. It was comprised of three words…”come over now.” So…I went and discovered that I had been “invited” to attend Tseyion’s 1st birthday party.

It was fun to see how birthdays are celebrated in Ethiopia. There is no birthday cake dripping with frosting, but instead a platter of sweetened bread, popcorn, oranges, bananas, and hard candies that is then adorned with a couple of candles. Tseyion could have cared less about the bread and fruit, but was all about the candy. It’s safe to say that she consumed at least a cavity’s worth of treats. I introduced a bit of American birthday culture by teaching everyone to sing “happy birthday.” Thank goodness they were all exceptional students because nobody should have to endure me singing a solo!



The birthday girl




Belete with his wife, Hannah, and their children…Tseyion and Yordanis

Another Wild Ride

I would be remiss if I didn’t invite you to join me on yet another wild ride...courtesy of the Ethiopian bus system. I’ve been reading an excellent book by Alice Steinbach titled, “Without Reservations…The Travels of An Independent Woman”. In the book she encounters a man who lives his life by the following equation, M=EA (Mishap equals Excellent Adventure). In a nutshell, it all boils down to perspective. An Ethiopian bus ride could be something to endure or a “sit on the edge of your seat” ride of a lifetime. Two years is a long time to endure something, so instead I’ll choose to sit on the edge of my seat with my hands in the air ready to conquer (and live to tell about it) another bus journey, Ethiopian style.

So…my journey begins at 4:40am when the alarm sounds. Worried that I will oversleep, my slumber has been restless. I struggle out of bed to find that I’m still without running water so I perform a quick and cold bucket shower. It is dark outside. I yell out the window to wake Hapti who will join me in my 25-minute hike to town. I am to meet my co-workers at 5:30am at a pre-arranged location near to the bus station. I arrive right on time. My co-workers are rarely on time so I’m not concerned that they have yet to arrive.

At 5:45am, when they have yet to make an appearance, I place the first of two phone calls. I have clearly woken Muluken. Our conversation is brief, but I’m sure that I understand him to say that he is coming. At 6am I place the second call. This time it is difficult to hide the frustration in my voice when he responds to my “where are you??” with “oh, I meant 5:30 Ethiopian time.” Let me do the conversion for you….that would be 11:30am! So…I lug my stuff and my grumpy self back home. For the 25-minute walk home, I alternate between profuse apologies to Hapti for waking him at this hour, kicking myself for not quadruple checking the time with Muluken, and plotting ways to do him harm!

I crawl back into bed hoping that when I awake this will have all been a dream. Fat chance! At 10am, I rise for the second time. I try to tame my hair and set about to prepare a meal that is neither breakfast nor lunch. I’m trying to recall if chicken soup is ever on a brunch menu. At 11am, I begin the trek to town…again. I arrive at our meeting place, happy to see that Zeleke is present. Things seem to be coming together. Zeleke’s opening remark to me is, “have you eaten lunch?”. I respond with, “Of course. Aren’t we leaving now?” That question seems to have been lost in thin air as he tells me to wait while he sets off to find lunch. So much for things coming together!

Muluken arrives at noon wondering where everybody is; I in turn wonder where he has been. I continue to wait. At 12:45pm, the group has finally gathered and we make our way to the bus station. We board the bus. I sit down and immediately am told that it is time for tea break. We disembark, leaving our things onboard with Zeleke’s reassurance that the bus won’t leave without us. I’m not convinced but follow like a lemming. We don’t take tea at the café that is in line of sight of the bus station, but at one a block up the hill. At 1:30pm, the bus driver wanders by on his way for tea and informs us that the 1pm bus will be leaving at 1:45pm, which at this point in time makes perfect sense to me.

At 1:50p the bus pulls out of the station. Before we reach the turn off to my house, we make our first stop. We’ve traveled less than 10 minutes. The ticket taker hops of the bus with a tire iron in hand and proceeds to fiddle with the wheel that I happen to be sitting above. I seriously consider just calling it a day and heading home, but I’ve got nothing better to do. We resume our journey. It has now become glaringly apparent that I have chosen the wrong side of the bus (none of the windows open), the wrong seat (there is a bolt jutting out of the seat in front of me that is in perfect alignment to my patellar tendon), and the wrong seat partner (the woman next to me is sicker than a dog). But, the bus is full and I have no options. Twenty minutes later we stop again…same man, same tire iron, same wheel.

After an hour and half of listening to my seat partner hack and sneeze, Muluken gives her a piece of soft (tissue) and demonstrates that she should be coughing/sneezing into this to prevent the spread of germs. I’m thinking the damage has already been done. It’s hard to suppress my smile when she thanks him and then tucks the soft away for a true emergency.

At the 2-hour mark, we turn off the main road and onto the dirt road that will take us to Bichena. Within minutes, we have stopped to pick up additional passengers for which there are no seats. At least 20 people stand in the aisle or lean up against those of us with seats. The journey commences only to come to a screeching halt a few minutes later. There is quite a commotion at the front of the bus. Voices are raised, people with seats are standing, and Zeleke is trying to mediate something. It is then that I notice the air is thick with a medicinal/alcohol smell. I ask Muluken for translation. It turns out that a women decided to pop a squat on another man’s bucket. In the process of doing so, she crushed the bucket causing a tidal wave of arake (a home-brewed hard liquor) to sweep across the bus floor. The arake owner is justly upset and demanding payment. The woman hasn’t the means to reimburse him. The arake owner changes tactics, realizing the futility of demanding payment from this woman, and insists that the bus driver should pay for taking on more people than there are seats. This is why the bus has stopped as I think the driver found it difficult to drive when facing backward and yelling.

Eventually everyone returns to their seats and our journey resumes. I’m just about to ask Muluken what the resolution was when that thought is interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. I turn around and come face to face with a wooden cross and a very animated Orthodox priest. He’s talking a mile a minute and I’m catching less than 10% of what he is saying. I assume he wants to know if I’m orthodox and would like to kiss his cross. I respond to this with, “I’m protestant”. Either he doesn’t understand me or my answer isn’t satisfactory. His lightening speed Amharic continues to pummel me. I tap Muluken on the shoulder and ask for help. Muluken listens for a moment and tells me the following, “He wants to know if you believe in St.Mary. You’d better just tell him you believe!” My only thought is that I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid kissing his cross. I’ve already taken in more germs than my immune system can handle.

All seems to settle down and the remainder of our journey, 5km, is uneventful.

With a day respite, I once again board the bus. I proactively make the decision that I will be departing with or without my co-workers, but alas, they are present. The bus departs on time and all seems to be going smoothly, that is for the first 5km.

We barely reach the outskirts of Bichena when I begin sneezing and coughing uncontrollably. I assume it is likely due to the dust. But when my lips begin to tingle, my throat constricts, and my nose starts to bleed, I can no longer attribute this to dust. At this point, I realize that the back ½ of the bus is suffering as I am. Within minutes, Zeleke stands and in his booming, gravely voice shouts, “berbery yet nouw?” (translation….what idiot brought a bag of berbery on the bus?). At this point everyone is up in arms with tears running down their faces and noses dripping. The bus comes to a grinding halt and the search for the berbery begins. Eventually, one woman sheepishly raises her bag of berbery. Within seconds it is whisked off the bus and relegated to the roof. Berbery is a red hot pepper spice that is pleasant when ingested with food, but should be classified as a biohazard when inhaled.

The remainder of the ride passes by without incident save for the continuing mucosal irritation. We arrive back to town in good time. Muluken apologies for “the cursed bus ride” and invites me to breakfast. I accept. Knowing that we will be consuming some type of wat, I graciously volunteer to blow my nose and provide the berbery. Berbery is expensive and I’ve gotten at least a pot of wat’s worth for free. Like I said, it’s all a matter of perspective!

Rub-a-dub-dub

Abi is an extremely good-natured kid, except for when it comes to shower time. I’ve come to the conclusion that I would actually prefer to hear the sound of nails on a chalkboard than his tortuous screams and hollers during bath time. His aversion, however, may be justified given that these “sessions” usually occur after dark and with water brought up from the well. Think COLD, really COLD!

Look at his expression during a simple face washing in the middle of the day. Now, magnify that a hundred fold and you’ll come close to what he’s like during bath time!

Concept Car 2009

Ford or GM might want to consider recruiting this kiddo now. He’s an engineer in the making and based on my cursory assessment, he’s likely to be a good one. I never cease to be amazed at what one can create with some spare wire, a stick, and a little ingenuity. What impressed me about this particular car and kiddo is that he has actually rigged a system whereby he can turn the front wheels via the long handled steering wheel. And aren’t the fake flowers a nice, aesthetic touch. I’m sure he was thinking about marketing to the ladies as well as the men.

Just Call Me Betty Crocker!

My culinary skills have improved by leaps and bounds since moving to Ethiopia. Perhaps it is directly related to the fact that I can no longer place a call to Panda Forest for take-out or swing by Applebee’s on the way home from work for that fabulous convenience aptly coined “curbside service”! I actually have to COOK and the old adage “practice makes perfect” seems to hold a grain of truth.

I now can whip up a pretty mean hummus using ingredients that don’t even appear on hummus recipes in the States and my Cabbage Peanut Butter stir-fry is quite delectable. What I am most proud of, however, are my baking accomplishments. On a previous blog post, I described the “Dutch oven” concept. I now have this down to a science and seem to do a better job of baking via this method than with the nice, new Kenmore oven that I had in the States. I mean, seriously, look at this Zucchini bread. It is picture perfect…nicely browned, moist, and totally YUMMY!

Now you may wonder where the zucchini came from as it is not something that is locally grown. Well…I’ve become very resourceful and more than willing to make the most of every opportunity. The Country Director for World Learning called to say that he would be passing through my town on his way from Addis to Bahar Dar. At the end of the call he casually said, “well, let me know if there is anything that you need.” That is the only opening I needed. I placed my order for a ½ kilo of zucchini and ½ kilo of cucumbers and laughed while saying, “I bet you won’t make that offer again!”. Two days later the order arrived at my doorstep via Land Cruiser…curbside service Ethiopian style.

Rural Life

It’s nice to know that when I need to get out of town, I don’t always have to wander aimlessly. Thanks to Hapti I now have yet another home away from home. His aunt lives in the countryside and has allowed me an inside glimpse of what it is like to live in rural Ethiopia. I would definitely consider their lifestyle to be one of subsistence living. They grow carrea (a hot green pepper), cwoke (a peach-like fruit), tomatoes, tef, and chat…the mildly stimulating leaf that is chewed. They have no electricity, no running water, and no way to reach them via vehicle (you could get close, but it would be a rough ride).

The main home, where Hapti’s aunt lives, is a three-room structure. One room contains a bed, the second room is filled with gotas that store the stockpile of grains, and the great room is lit by 2 bread-box sized windows (sans screens) and ringed by a mud ledge. The mud ledge is covered with animal skins, which serves as seating during the day and a sleeping platform at night. Except for the bed, there is no other furniture. Outside is another structure that is called the “mad beyt,” which is where food preparation occurs.

As you can see by the pictures, there are quite a number of family members. I have yet to learn all the names or relationships, but hopefully one day I will make sense of the puzzle that they represent. I have found them to be a shy family---much harder to get to know than the Ethiopian families I know in town. One day, after exhausting my Amharic repertoire, I decided I could sit and smile no longer. So…I jumped in to help with the corn shelling. I think I took them by surprise by the fact that I wanted to help and that I knew how to shell corn. They were very concerned that my “delicate” hands would be damaged by the task. Me….delicate?!? Ha! I will admit to you that my thumb was sorer than I remember it being as a kid, but I would never tell them that! Between the corn shelling and the photo shoot (they absolutely love seeing their image), I do believe I won them over as evidenced by the fact that they didn’t want me to leave and insisted that I return the next weekend. I seriously think that they would be pleased if I came EVERY weekend!




The Family



Hapti’s aunt



A view of the mad beyt














Yes, there really is a calf in the house. He comes and goes as he pleases and at one point even settled in for an afternoon nap.





Shelling corn














Tables and chairs aren’t necessary when you have a sack of grain and a moseb! The moseb is a unique part of Ethiopian dining culture and is used to serve injera.

The Road Less Traveled

Robert Frost penned the line “…two roads diverged in a wood and I--I took the one less traveled by.” He penned the line, but I’m living it. April 8 marks the day that I will reach the 6-month mark of traveling that lesser known road. No matter the road one chooses you can depend upon the fact that there will be scenic views…and ones you’d rather bypass with eyes closed…, interesting people and people that you wished had stayed on the interstate…, speed bumps, pot-holes and even the occasional break-down. I can say that in the figurative sense, I’ve experienced all of that and more. Despite the highs and the lows I’m still glad, however, that I took the exit ramp off of I-94 and started down that dirt track…destination unknown.

Now in the literal sense, I have also walked the road less traveled. Hapti and I set out for an early morning zor-zor (stroll) and found ourselves straying off the asphalt road onto a dirt road, which then transitioned to open fields and finally a cow-path. For me the destination was unknown, but I was told it would be beautiful. Despite the unrelenting sun, I trudged onward hoping that around the next bend would lay our reward. Hapti had not traveled this path in quite some time, so along the way we added to our group…local farmers who “knew the way”.

By the time we reached our destination we were a group of eight. And finally, around that last bend, we arrived at a magnificent overlook with a waterfall on one side and forever on the other side. We rested, snacked on trail mix (this was not a hit with the Ethiopians!), and soaked in the view. I love finding these hidden treasures of Ethiopia…even if it means that I get a little dirty and completely exhausted in the process!

Following this literal trail that was off the beaten path made me realize that on the road less traveled one often finds the greatest reward and fulfillment. Taking that first step away from the well-worn path can be intimidating and scary. But once you get started, it is addicting. One just never knows what might lie around that next bend.

















Hapti starts off down the road (perhaps in this case “path” is the more appropriate term) less traveled
















A rural family that we met along the way. They were gracious enough to allow the older boys to join us and show us the way.















A glimpse of the magnificent view.














Note to self…next time don’t share the trail mix. I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh when I realized that these guys were spitting out the dried cranberries and M&Ms! Seriously, I consider Trail Mix to be edible gold. It’s priceless!


















I have never been so completely filthy! I wore long pants and was still covered in dirt up past my knee. The entire way home, all I could think about was taking a shower. Ha! I returned home to find that we were without water and electricity! Go figure. Thankfully, I’ve turned into a boy scout and had enough water collected for a cold bucket bath. It never felt better.

Happy Easter!

Easter almost passed me by this year. Between the lack of seasonal indicators and the Ethiopian calendar, I didn’t realize it was Easter Sunday until Smith called and invited me to decorate eggs. I can honestly say I would have rather been home attending the Sunrise service, hunting for the Easter basket that Mom still hides for me (I vow to never grow up!), gorging myself on ham, crunchy cabbage salad, and one of Mom’s melt in your mouth pies, and then trying to make up for the horrendous amount of calories by taking a walk around the farm. But, alas, I’m here… sans Cadbury eggs, PEEPS, and that annoying Easter grass. I instead joined Pam and Sophie (2 new additions to our town who are volunteers with VSO), as well as Smith to color eggs. I then returned home to dine on a lentil/rice/curry dish that I desperately tried to pretend was a nice slice of ham.




Pam from Australia




Sophie from Great Britain

Traffic Cop

I had no idea that Hapti utilized his “protective skills” other than to watch out for my well-being! He walked into my home one day to check on me. I looked up to find him wearing this get-up. We have a very good relationship, so he wasn’t offended in the least when I laughed out loud. Turns out that one of the extra-curricular clubs at school is TRAFFIC CLUB and Hapti serves as a crossing-guard one morning every week. I’m thinking the outfit serves it purpose. If you were driving along one morning and saw this, I bet you’d BRAKE too! Next time you are listening to the radio and hear about a “gawker’s delay,” think of Hapti confidently stepping into the road to halt buses, cars, and runaway donkeys!

How SWEET it is!

Don't tell my dentist, but I finally caved in and tried the local sweet treat…sugar cane. I was visiting Straw and her friend offered us a section of "shankara ageda" (Amharic for sugar cane). It would have been rude to refuse! I do believe, however, that for me this was a one-time experience. Yes, there is an infusion of sugar, but there is also a mouthful of fibrous, pulpy stuff that comes with it and must eventually be spit out. I'm glad that I've tried it, but I'll stick with M&Ms and Reese's Peanut Butter cups when I need a sugar fix.



Straw and I enjoying a little sugar cane.




Just wanted you to see how it grows. These 2 pics were taken during an expedition into the rural area.