Lessons In Getting Over Myself: The Cooking Apparatus

Talking to friends and family, many of them (and probably, you) think I’m over here saving the world by whatever means necessary. I guess the work I do is for the greater good, but it is most likely not as picture perfect as you may think. Excuse me for being trite, but I’ll benefit more from this experience than anyone I ever helped or will help here. It is just a fact of life as a Volunteer. One of the most valuable things I have learned thus far is that I need to get over myself. I am not always conscious of it though. When I realize and/or remember it, it feels more like a smack in the face or how your head hurts and eyes have to focus after trying on your friend’s eyeglasses.

My first lesson in getting over myself began during Christmas last year and ended  few months thereafter. I remember the conversation with a painstaking memory. We had just sworn-in as volunteers and moved to our sites. The Amhara volunteers got together to celebrate the holiday and were discussing life after training and being on our own. During training, we had all our meals prepared for us, so we all wondered how everyone was getting by feeding themselves. Most of the people in the conversation had already bought a propane stove to cook. When I told my fellow Volunteers I was not planning on buying a propane stove, the words “This is Africa. Life is not suppose to be easy, guys.” may or may not have come out of my mouth. I would later eat those words (pun intended), but I was determined to master the art of the charcoal stove. Ethiopians have a fabulous way of making it look easy, but starting a fire in one of those things is probably the most tedious task I have ever undertaken. I assumed with time that it would get easier, so I thought I would keep up with it. I had every intention of using this method until I did a cost-benefit analysis of my quality of life and time spent cooking. I bought a propane stove with an air of reluctance, but nevertheless, my imaginary tail was between my legs.  

So, for the past 8 months or so I have used it. It now only takes minutes to boil water for a cup of coffee instead of thirty. I love coffee enough to actually fan the fire for this long. This could possibly qualify as an addiction, but I won’t admit to it. Besides having time for more than one cup of coffee, my meal selections have expanded tremendously with the ease of the propane stove. Life has been great. Plus, I can bake those cookies using a dutch oven that I shouldn’t be making nor eating in the first place (so, maybe it is more like a minus).

Then, the most unfortunate, yet inevitable, event occurred the other day. The propane ran out.  As irony would have it, I was making cookies for a visitor from Italy. What’s a girl to do? I had half a batch of cookie dough and a dinner to make for a guest. Well, I had to go searching for that charcoal stove I had long since forgotten about. Now a haven for spiders and their cobwebs, I found it with a mouth full of cookie dough. The dinner took me two and half hours to make. It was one dish. Why did I put up cooking with a charcoal stove for several months? 

Answer: Because I had yet to learn the lesson of getting over myself. Ethiopian women do this for all meals of the day and at a whim. Many of these women have full-time jobs too. Naively, I thought I could do the same. And essentially, I can. But some things have got to give. I got over myself and my personal strive for Ethiopian perfection. I’m American and as an American we cook with gas or electric. I can’t deny my culture. It takes running out of gas to realize the precious gift of a convenient cooking apparatus. Until I get it refilled, I am constantly reminded of this. Lamenting over it with my one cup of coffee. 

Operation Smile

The other weekend I made a trip down to Addis Ababa, the country’s capital, to volunteer with Operation Smile. Besides it not having an acronym for a name, there are several reasons why I like this organization. It is still all in the name though. They perform surgeries on people of all ages from around the world who have cleft lips and/or palettes. Although those afflicted with this facial deformity know nothing else, since it is something that occurs during pregnancy, the stigma and discrimination associated with it keeps many of them from smiling. They are nervous that you will judge them, just like many do. The research on the causes of cleft lips and palettes is unclear. Some say it has a genetic marker, others say it is due to unhealthy habits of the pregnant mother. It may be both or none of them. The unknown can be frustrating, but unlike many medical mysteries, this one has a cure.

Operation Smile is one of the few organizations responsible for changing the lives of the babies, kids, teens, and adults who have cleft lips and/or palettes. I don’t say this lightly either. When it comes to public health, most of the hard work churned out by dedicated community health workers, nurses, doctors, and volunteers alike goes unnoticed. In terms of HIV/AIDS, I will probably never know the impact that I have on my community in Injibara, if any. It is hard to measure for so many reasons. This goes for many public health issues. That doesn’t make us work any less diligently, but once in a while immediate gratification is nice.

I was only there for a couple of days, while other Peace Corps Volunteers came to volunteer for the whole week. I envy them. I got there the first day when the hopeful families came from far distances to register and screen for the surgery. We played games with the kids and tried to keep everyone entertained because the process is long. We also helped translate for the foreign doctors and volunteers who came from places like Sweden, Ireland, and the States on their own dime to help Operation Smile’s cause. I wish I could show a before and after picture of the patients, but I wasn’t there to see them after surgery. Only before and I can only imagine the physically and emotionally changes that occur almost instantly for them after. It is beautiful thing, really.

When I was trying to find potential patients for the surgery in my town, I realized that I have never seen a single soul with a cleft lip or palette. They are here. I know it because the health extension workers found quite a few. It goes to show how little these people leave their houses for fear of how the community might react. One little baby from my town was not in the best condition when she arrived in Addis at the hospital to get the surgery. Actually, the volunteers and doctors questioned whether or not she would make it through the week it was that bad. Needless to say, she was not ready for such a drastic event. Right now I am trying to find this family. Not so much to follow-up and schedule her for another Operation Smile mission in five months as to try to save her. In a sense I feel like it is futile to go searching for one baby who is malnourished when there are probably hundreds in my town, but I suppose when something, or rather someone, is called to your attention like this, it would be negligent not to. I can only wish for the best.

Not everyone who registers for surgery is eligible. It has a lot to do with weight, age, and complexity of the cleft lip and/or palette. But each family comes with hope that maybe their life will change for the better at the end of the week. Many of them do. And from what I hear it is amazing to see that transformation, especially those old enough to realize it. I plan on doing this again, only I will be there the whole week to see it for myself. 

Happy First Year Anniversary, Ethiopia!

If you print this out, I got you the traditional first year anniversary gift. We have come a long way, but I still wish you chewed with your mouth closed.  (I know, I know. Compromise.) It seems to me I have survived my first year as a Peace Corps Volunteer serving in Ethiopia. Does it look the same from where you are? I remember when it was my first day in country. I was the tender age of 22 and I couldn’t even say “thank you” in Amharic. Aw, cute. This kid has grown up. I am a whole 365 days older.  

 I suppose this is the best time as any to look back on the past year as a Volunteer. First, I’m still alive and enjoying most moments. My friend and I recently had a discussion on happiness. I think there are so many different levels and kinds of happiness. Such that, what I previously thought happiness was, was later proved wrong. I think it is safe to say that I am content here. Content is the best word. Coming from someone who is always thinking about the next step and at times (too many times, really) speaking before thinking, this means a lot. I tend to have this buzz in my ear saying, “Ok, you got here. What is next?” I would be dishonest if I told you I don’t ask myself this question now, but it is quieted down some. I have come to realize that although two years in my lifespan is not much, these two years will (hopefully) make an everlasting impact. In order to get as much as I can from this experience, I need to live in the present. Not the future, like I tend to do. Admittedly, I have already charted out the available options for my After- Peace-Corps-Life. I’ll share that with you later.  

So, what is different about the October 7, 2009 Emily from the October 7, 2010 Emily?

October 7, 2009 Emily

October 7, 2010 Emily

Well, it is hard to say. My hair is longer. I can speak and write Amharic better, for sure. I shower less. I could possibly be more patient, but that is still up for debate. I enjoy being by myself more. I can locate more countries in this colossal continent. A year is not long, but when you are placed in a situation like this, one might expect a complete lifestyle transformation. Eh. At least an enlightened perspective of living and working in a developing country. Yeah, I guess I have that. When I actually reflect about this experience more than the 10 minutes it took me to write this post, this “enlightened perspective” will be more apparent. (Here’s to hoping.) I’ll keep it updated. Promise.

The Musings of a Peace Corps Volunteer After the First Year

1         Today is probably a holiday for that saint

2.       Any names kids call me besides “You, You, You,” “Ferenji,” and “China” will suffice

3.       There are two seasons: muddy and dusty

4.       Never trust a fart

5.       One outfit can last a week and no one will question it

6.       Chacos, I hate that I love you

7.       Look down while walking or risk tripping over a rock

8.       Coffee comes from a raw bean, not a paper cup with a plastic lid (I will perform this magic trick at your next party for a nominal fee)

9.       There will most likely never be any budget available for this or that project

10.   Bargaining can be fun, especially if you don’t really want it

11.   Onions, garlic, and tomatoes are the key ingredients in 98.3% of all meals I cook

12.   Don’t get offended when Ethiopians say things like “You are fat, just like this bean.”

13.   Most people think I have lot of money and an endless supply of pens

14.   Don’t drink the water

15.   I still look awkward when being gorsha-ed (hand-fed)

16.   Barbare (red pepper spice) is my new ketchup

17.   The post office is closed

18.   Any non-Ethiopian seen on the street is thought to be part of my immediate family

19.   Squatting is the preferred rest position

20.   Don’t sit in the back seat or look out the front window while riding on a bus

21.   The meeting will never start at 8:30 AM

22.   Speak the local language and earn points

23.   Recite an Amharic proverb and earn bonus points

24.   It is never your idea, it is always their idea (if you want a project to be sustainable)

25.   I still don’t know what I’m doing and probably never will