After 55 arduous days of me pretending to be fasting and many Ethiopians actually doing so, Easter arrived. Going without milk, eggs, and meat for that long really causes one to binge on these said items. It was barely even Sunday before they got going—3 AM to be exact. While I was sleeping soundly counting sheep, in real life they were being slaughtered as an offering and later to be eaten. The day before almost everyone and their kids were dragging their sheep on leashes or carrying their chickens by their feet. On Easter day, no clucking or 'baah'-ing could be heard. It was almost an eerie silence. If I had to compare it to any holiday in America, it would Christmas. It was absolute mayhem on Easter Eve (if you will), then complete silence on Easter Day. Prices went up, people got crazy, streets were flooded with eager celebrators, and there were crowds at the local shops and markets to buy things (not toys, but grass for coffee ceremonies). Smells like Christmas to me. However, the meaning and day of Easter in Ethiopia is the same as in America, unlike Christmas, as I understand it.
Wanting to integrate, I decided to make plans with several families so I could be a part of the festivities. Even though my first phone call to eat "Ethiopian doro wat (spicy chicken stew with hard boiled eggs)" was at 5 AM, I managed to stave off these requests until 8 AM. As I mentioned before, Ethiopians have excellent hospitality. I think I was still greeting people at the first house while a plate full of meat was being prepared at the next one. It's not like I have never eaten meat for breakfast. Just like a lot of people, I enjoy my occasional strip of bacon or smokey link (that's what my dad calls them). Sometimes I even have breakfast for dinner, but this was more like dinner for breakfast. Needless to say, I managed to stomach it. To wash it all down, I had tela. Ethiopians describe tela as "local beer." I call it either dirty juice or black water. It is made out of barley, spices, and some other unidentifiable matter. Consistency is not its strong point, but it has alcohol in it (plus). Before I realized it, I had a chicken leg in one hand and tela in the other, all before it was 9 AM. This would be comparable to a typical college football tailgating experience. With this, I gained a new confidence and told them to keep the spicy stew and local beer coming. This continued for much of the rest of the day. I was in sort of a walking trance. After 7 hours of watching three sheep meet their fate (RIP Betsy, Duke, and Fluffernut), eating them, carousing, and sweating (meat sweats, that is), I managed to stagger back to my house without being invited into a stranger's home to eat once again (please…no…more). The rest of the night was a blur.
In the wee hours of the next morning, my landlord knocked on my door to replay the events of yesterday. I mentally prepared for the possibilities of what they may serve me, cried a little, and then put on my jacket simply because I can't be rude and not accept the invitation. Lo and behold, it was meat. Yum. This time I got to wash it down with honey water (it made my stomach burn less). I mentioned to my landlord how I heard a sheep on the compound and asked if that was what I was eating. Nope, this was chicken. The sheep is for tomorrow and a cow possibly the day after that. I had to excuse myself to cry a little more. I guess these are the type of sacrifices (pun intended?!) I make in order to adapt into Ethiopian culture. Things could be more intense and dangerous. With that said, bring on the tela. Round 3 and beyond, here I come.
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