Time for Timkat

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

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!

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

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!

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

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.