A Birthday—the Ethiopian Way

On July 18, a miraculous thing happened, I made it another year. That makes 22 total years I have survived on this planet with only a few instances where it was questioned whether or not I would actually make it to year 23. So here I am. Past birthdays have included engaging in the normal debauchery mixed with bad decisions. The bar hoppings, party plannings, and whatnots. It has been happening far enough in the past that it was time to do things a bit different…the Ethiopian way.

This blessed day started with me waking up (as most blessed days do). My PCV friend and I made pancakes. No syrup, but we had bananas and honey straight from the hive. Honey that makes your teeth ache. Honey that makes you think the bees have transplanted those hives into the crevices of your molars. I eat it by the spoonful ("A moment on the lips, forever on the hips"). So delicious, so sweet, so worth it. And coffee. Locally bought and home roasted and brewed. You can't get much better than that.

Then I was off to a meeting. Yes, I work on the weekends and holidays (HIV does not take a vacation!). Twenty commercial sex workers (aka CS-dubs) and I are working on a project proposal. It is a woofcho bet (aka a millhouse, but better known as a woofcho bet) that will function as an income-generating activity for them. Woofcho bets are of particular importance in Ethiopia because they are responsible for grinding the spices and beans into powder that we cook to make our food, such as shiro wat and berbare. Great stuff. During the meeting we selected the committee members, the leaders of the group. We then chose a new name for the organization—Yasetoch Andenet ("Women's Unity"). They knew it was my birthday and had planned something special for me. They presented me with a beautiful green scarf, let me cut the habasha dabo (special Ethiopian bread), and had a coffee ceremony. These women, I love them. I would have cried to show my gratitude, but Ethiopians don't cry in public, for anything really. After all, I was trying to stay in cultural character.

Now it was time to get ready for my Ethiopian-style party hosted at my bet ("house"). Habasha dabo—check. Popcorn—check. Soft drinks—check. Candles—check. Fake flowers—check. Grass for the floor—check. Fruit—check. All things necessary for coffee preparation—check. My landlord lent me some items to complete the set-up including some hand-stitched sheets to cover my couch-bed, incense, and rokobot (small dresser that holds the coffee cups and the "station" in which you serve the coffee)—check, check, check. I quickly changed into my habasha kimise (Ethiopian dress) and awaited my guests. And I waited. I thought the fact that a ferenji was serving coffee and letting them into her house was cause for punctuality. Guess not. When they finally arrived, it was time for me to prepare the coffee. I was a little nervous. I didn't exactly know the ratio of coffee-to-water to place in the jabena. Actually, I didn't know anything since I use a coffee press to prepare my daily cup(s) of coffee. I did it and there are pictures to prove it and thus, I will never have to do it again. There is some rhyme and reason that I haven't figured out yet as to the timing of cutting the bread, passing around the popcorn and fruit, and the number of cups of coffee you serve to your guests. Luckily, I had about 6 Ethiopian women watching my every move and trying to commandeer the situation. I held my ground and served luke warm, watered-down coffee, thank you very much. Hmph.

Uh, uh...she's trying to take it away...

Ah, yes. I win.

Some friends actually gave me some gifts, which I honestly didn't expect and then some other friends had to leave before dark which offered a smooth segue so I could kick everyone out of my house (I thought this was going to be the hardest part). It was a calm 2 hours of getting people to eat the 2^nd batch of cookies I made (the 1^st batch had been eaten by yours truly and justified by having one for every other year I had been alive and one to grow on) and making them "play." The latter part was a present itself because whenever I am silent for more than 5 minutes (yeah, yeah, hard to believe) they tell me to "play." So, I had my birthday—the Ethiopian way. And it was quite the opposite of the "wild and crazy" time my dad notably expected. Next year, I'll hopefully be on a beach and back to my old behaviors.

Camper's Delight

In early July, the Amhara region PCVs combined our awesomeness once again to plan a summer camp for Ethiopian students. We all got to recruit two kids from each of our towns, which totaled to 30 kids. I selected my little munchkins with an essay contest and an interview for the finalists. I disguised the camp as a “Gender Equality and Leadership Summer Program” namely because the word “camp” evokes images of internally displaced peoples and refugees. A stark contrast to all the fun we were going to have. I’ve never done a camp before. Sure I have been there in spirit with the likes of “Parent Trap,” “It Takes Two,” and Disney’s “Bug Juice.” My only personal kind-of-camp experience is soccer camp. And the only thing I can remember from that time in my life is waking up early to go running, running more, and getting into a fist/girl fight for eating half of a fellow camper’s chocolate. Thus, I was able to conclude that this experience was bound to be different.

The camp was hosted in Gonder which is a historical town in northern Ethiopia. Fit with castles and most importantly, a beer factory. This camp thing is what most PCVs from all around the world do. It often goes by the name ‘Camp GLOW,’ which is another lovely acronym for ‘Girls Leading Our World.’ Since we invited both genders, we switched it up a little and called it ‘Camp G-Glow,’ but to a select few we called it ‘Camp Gigilow.’ Inappropriate. Yeah, let’s keep that one to ourselves...

Camp is tiring. We played a lot of games. We talked a lot. It was like hosting a 5-day dinner party without the booze. You know the constant need to feel like you have to entertain and make sure your guests (the campers) are having fun? Me being still a little self-centered made this a little difficult. No, actually, we did have a good time. It was classified as a win in my book of life. Each day had a theme. The first day was "Independence Day" since it was July 4th. We began with dicussion of self-esteem, goal setting, and a weak attempt to teach the song 'Yankee Doodle Dandy' ("with the girls be handy"..?!...what were we thinking?!) and ended with a bonfire and s’mores (an aptly named treat if I do say so). A great way to start a great, albeit exhausting, week. Other themes included Gender Day, Health Day, Leadership Day, and Lifeskills Day. Sprinkle in a few catchy, but annoying chants and songs (see picture below), spirit awards, Kate's whistle, and meals. We ended the week by visiting the castles and the campers locking themselves in the lion cages (why didn't we think of this earlier?!).

"Ride the Pony"...or in African context "Ride the Donkey"

This would be a "firecracker"

The majority of Ethiopian kids don’t have the opportunity to leave their community. Imagine. Not ever leaving your town. From my little suburban neck of the woods in Georgia, the pure thought makes me want to cry in a bad way. These kids got to hang out with probably the coolest people in the country (Amhara PCVs, of course), practice their English, visit another town, see the historic castles, learn interesting stuff, and so much more that I haven’t realized. It was honor to be a part of this monumental moment in their lives. It obviously made an impact. I know this for sure because all the campers were ballin’ their pretty brown eyes out on the last day of camp. That my friends, is called success.

The whole gang

Oh, and this additional comment in one of the camper's evaluation, "I love you more than me the American Peace Court; I am sorry because you are leave me tomorrow; I am not forget until the end of my life." Can't wait until next year...

Digging in the Dirt

I have always liked the idea of gardening. It is one of those hobbies that I put off with excuses like I’m not old enough or I don’t have the space. I thought this is one of the more ideal times in my life to hone some skills and finally put these excuses aside. I was pleasantly surprised to discover some herbs growing in front of my house when I first moved to my town, which gave me some initial inspiration. I have lived here long enough that I like to think I had a part in it all, but really it is half landlord, half nature. Actually I think I managed to kill some mint plants by throwing my dish water on them. Whoops.

When Peace Corps asked for volunteers to nominate his or her town to host a permagardening training, I thought this was my chance to really learn how to make pretty and tasty things grow on my own. So far my track record includes a fruitful jalapeno plant and a wilted basil leaf pot in college. Not to mention an old paint bucket that I converted into a flower pot that is currently drowning and forgotten as well as two compost buckets that are more like glorified trash cans here in Ethiopia. Yeah, it is about time that I learned what I was doing. And so it begins…



My town, lovely Kosober/Injibara, ended up being selected. Volunteers from the Amhara region, about 13 of us, all came with their Ethiopian counterparts to dig in the dirt. We built a nice 20 x 20 meter garden next to a park and river that will go to benefit the local PLWHA (People Living with HIV/AIDS) Association. We planted apples, pears, carrots, onion, broccoli, and other foods that Ethiopians are more or less familiar with. There are no Amharic names for several of the fruits and vegetables we planted, so some of them will be interesting trying to get them to eat. It was suggested that I do a cooking demonstration to teach them how to use them. The first thing I thought about is when you go to a place like Sam’s Club or Costco on a Sunday afternoon with the almost explicit intention of getting free samples, but without the hygienic precautions. As long as I get a taste of what I’m cooking, it sounds like a great idea.

The training covered topics such as composting, double-digging, land contour, plant spacing, and building swales. I still have no idea what a swale is, which I continue to call a ‘squall’ because it sounds better even though I don’t really know what that is either. Half of the training was theory, the other half was practical. I enjoyed the practical component more, naturally. I gained an affinity for wielding hoes and rakes at the untouched ground unearthing fertile soil. Too bad you can only do that once a year, appropriately at least. The most common activity involved in tending to a garden, as I understand it, is weeding. Wonder why I have not started this earlier?!…As a close friend says, all too frequently, “Many hands make light work.” I have been working on building ownership among the PLWHA members and will conduct a training with them soon so it is hopefully not me doing the daily weeding. Just thinking about it makes me want to go use one of those garden tools aggressively.

I’ll let you know if we will be able to reap what we sowed after three months, or however long it takes to grow these things. Until then, I think I’ll try to revive that paint bucket full of flowers that never were.

Patience and Flexibility: The Pillars of Peace Corps

Before you take on the adventure of what is Peace Corps, they write on every page of every single sheet of paper you receive, which adds to about a tree and a half worth, that in order to "survive" you must exhibit patience and flexibility in all arenas of work and play in your assigned country. Me being deluded with the prospect of foraging berries and spotting lion in the wilderness of Africa allowed me to overlook these simple words. Maybe it was over-saturation. I will be the first to admit that the amount of patience I exhibited before I left the States was proportional to the amount of soda I add to my rum and coke. In other words, not a lot. It may be the lack of quality alcohol and the relative absence of rum that has given me a sense of increased patience, but it could just be the additives in the yellow foam water they mismark as beer talking. As I digress. Certain events from the other day caused me to pat myself on the back as I was upholding the pillars of Peace Corps all in an afternoon.

I just got back from out of town. I don't know what it is, but I always get sick when I travel here. Whether it is a minor cold, strep throat, or debilitating stomach cramps. This trip I had the joy of experiencing the latter, but add on a horrible case of the runs. At least when I'm at home I can keel over in my very own latrine. Being out of town for a week caused me to be backlogged with work somehow, which is weird for most Peace Corps Volunteers anyway. I had spent the hour before this particular unfortunate latrine experience waiting in the Mayor's office devising clever tactics as to why he should give me land to host a permagardening training. My reasonings most often resorting to the very well known fact that, hey, I'm a ferenji. Him or the other two people who, may I add scheduled the meeting, never showed. Patience, because I waited for 30 minutes. I am not known to wait for much anything for 30 minutes. Flexible, because I knew there were other things I could get done. I needed to go to the bathroom anyhow, it had already been over 30 minutes you see.  I still had a couple minutes to spare before my spinchter gave in, so I had time to shake the kids hands, explain to people that I had a very important training to attend that is why you didn't see me for a week, and give a few shoulder bumps all the while looking relatively pleasant. After my 16^th pit stop of the day, I thought I deserved to lay down for a bit and pick up a National Geographic. You know to see what was going on in April 2001 (this is a solicitation to send me magazines that are at least from the past year).  While I was becoming enraptured with the issue of commercial whaling in Norway and Japan, one of the meeting absentees phoned me. The conversation went like this (translated into English): "Absentee: Emily, where are you? Emily: "I'm at my house, where were you?" A: "How are you?" E: "I'm fine, how are you?" A: "I'm fine, how are you?" A: "I'm fine, how are you?" E:"No, really, where were you?" A: "I'm fine. How are you? You must come to the Mayor's office soon." E: "Ok. I'm on my way." Can we say patience and flexibility here?! As I was finagling my big toe into my Chacos, he calls again. This time more urgently, reporting that I must come now. Now! Method of transportation: foot. I think he forgot that I don't have a motorized bike to scoot me up the hill and around the bend. If I move too fast my insides started making funny and uncomfortable noises, so I resorted to speed walking that my mother trained me so well to do. Made it just in time. Whew. The meeting was a relative success because I convinced them with a little help from my innate ferenji power to help me out. Off we went to check out the plot of land I had been trying to acquire for the past month (patience). Before I knew it, I was running in the rain and jumping over fences in a skirt with the Mayor to speculate the donated area. He had work to do and had no time to dilly dally. I liked his style. At one point I mistook the rumblings of my intestines as an approaching thunderstorm. Did I mention that I have been having stomach issues? All I know is that 15 minutes before I was in the comfort of my home figuring how I could make the oral rehydration solution (ORS) taste like anything except dirty feet and now I was trapezing through the forest with the most respected man in my town. Who knew life could be this adventurous? After we observed the bountiful gift, he had to go and I really had to go. I thanked him and went on my way home. Jiggity-jig. All the prancing around I just engaged in made my walk back to my latrine particularly urgent. Was it just me or were people stopping me in the middle of the streets to ask me the most inane questions.  How do you perfect the English language? Well, you should have come to my English class that I taught at your school. Can't you see I'm clenching my backside? Come on now. All of a sudden kids started popping up from the brush shouting my name. Is that snot running down your chin? Do I really have to shake your hand? Please don't make me bend down to give you a hug. I look back and the whole neighborhood of kids are following me. Does this always happen? I think they are chasing me. Made it back to my compound. Now they all want to come in and play. This can't really be happening. My landlord kicks them out. Thank you for that. I throw my stuff on the porch and high tail it to squatting position. Patience? Flexibility? Hey, at least I waited until I got home and didn't soil my pants. I deserve some credit. Alright, so maybe this was not the most exemplary way of demonstrating my commitment to maintaining these pillars of impossible. There is a proverb in Amharic that roughly translates into "Step by step, the egg moves by foot." I'm getting there—maybe at the incubation stage. Mother Ethiopia is still sitting on me until I can get by on my own. 

Talent

The other week Peace Corps rallied all 70 of us together in Yergellum, which is close to Awassa. You still don’t know where that is? Well, it is in the southern part of this country. To be honest, I was a little nervous about this week that I prematurely dubbed a “shit show." I think we were all a little apprehensive of 70 foreigners congregating in a designated area and ordered to occupy ourselves while this country does its business (I’m being vague for a reason). All this worry was just a waste of energy, which worry normally is. It went surprisingly well. I garnered a few friendships and only made a fool of myself on selected occasions. One that pokes my cranium is when I was asked to emcee the talent show with another Volunteer. Me talking a lot and loudly apparently gave the false impression that I was good at improvising. I’m not, especially when you ask me to improvise improvising. I really just wanted to eat the cheese that was sent via care package and watch other people showcase themselves. Why me?



Nevertheless, I did it and have a video recording of it, which will be stashed right next to my high school hip-hop recital. Some things are never to be shown again, but not entirely worthy or environmentally friendly to be burned. However, there are a handful of very talented individuals amongst us. Some are great singers, others dancers, storytellers, and we have a triple threat as well. Makes up for the rest of us.



There is a running joke between a friend and I about how I have no talents. Enter Goal 4 to the three goals of Peace Corps, which is me finding my talent that has to be lurking in the depths somewhere. Right?! So far, I have the ability to wink with both eyes, which only makes me look creepy. I also have a great trick that I can perform with paper clips, but not really the party starter. As you can see, my progress is minimal, but I have not lost hope yet. Instead of wallowing in my ineptitude, I thought I would dedicate this blog post to a very, very gifted friend and fellow Volunteer, Sher Vogel, who has the everlasting ability to impress and enchant the masses. Below is video she made that exhibits kids from our sites singing to Knaan’s “Wavin’ Flag.'

Click the link below to enjoy!
Wavin' Flag-Peace Corps Ethiopia Version

http://www.vimeo.com/12768450

Ethiopian Easter aka Holiday of Meat Sweats

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.

The Road Less Paved

The other week we had In-Service Training (IST) in Sodere. Sodere is the place where monkeys and Addis Ababians vacation, as well as Peace Corps Volunteers. It is nice area with hot springs, which is not so nice when I tried to get a morning work out. There is a reason why the manufacturers advise against exercising in hot tubs (…learned that the hard way). IST was fun though. We all got to see each other, which is always a pleasure. We also learned some helpful things that will help us be more effective or just effective in general. The food was decent too. Can't really go wrong with french fries.

After that week was over, a friend and I decided to accompany another volunteer down South to her site since she had been having a hard time. It takes two and a half days to get to her house. That is two and half days using public transportation. I have noted my fear and apprehension with in-country traveling, but I have become accustomed. I wouldn't say I enjoy it, but I am finding the humor in it. Most of the roads we traveled on were unpaved. Thus I was constantly regretting not double layering my sports bra (or just wearing all of them in that case). I also wondered why I ever complained about our annual road trips to North Carolina to our family reunions. What I would give for leg space, open windows, beef jerky and juice boxes, and on demand pit stops because I didn't have any of that for the whole week. We would literally get into town, go to sleep, wake up at 4 am and do it all over again. I like being on the go and moreover, I like adventure. We experienced it all, from flat tires, group singing with the passengers, arguments with the bus driver to get going already or to give us a fair price, rushing to get seats, filming documentary segments, Ethiopian staring contests, unwelcomed conversations, and so on. That was only the bus. We managed to visit six different places and dropped off friends on the way. Most of the days were filled with walking around town sight-seeing or riding in a bus and the nights ended in dance parties, which I always enjoy. Towards the end of the trip was one of the volunteer's birthday party. Other volunteers met us there and like usual, we danced the night away. So much so, that my friend borrowed my cell phone as a light to use the bathroom and subsequently dropped it down the latrine. He made a valiant effort to retrieve it, but to no avail. Another one bites the dust (or human waste in this case…gross). The last stop was in Debre Markos or as we call it, Club Peace Corps. We wined and dined—a great way to end an action-packed, sleepless, and bumpy adventure. If you asked me during the trip how it was I would tell you the only reason why I am enduring this is because I love and care about my friend, but in retrospect, it was quite fun.

After all this pandemonium, I came home. I was eager to get there. It really felt like home too. People actually noticed my absence, which was a bonus. After two weeks on the go, it was nice to be able to snuggle with my pillow (my most prized possession here) and wake up after the sun does. Since then, I have been busy trying to find work. I have met with several people. In the near future, I will be teaching English classes to high school students and a HIV/AIDS education course to primary students. I also have met with one of the PLWHA (People Living with HIV/AIDS) organization and there are talks about starting IGAs (Income Generating Activity). I have already become aware of many barriers that come in the way of starting programs in the town. Maintaining motivation will be the key. We will see how it all goes!