Love Is In the Air

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

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

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

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!

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)