Cipro=New Best Friend

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

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

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

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

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.