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!

 

 

Slow American Xing

I am a product of American society. I expect things to be fast in all aspects. Referencing one of the Black Eyed Peas songs on their new album, I’m part of ‘Generation Now.’ This is a cultural reflection stemming from a developed nation, but hard to transfer to the developing lands of Ethiopia. I have mentioned before how I’ve somewhat enjoyed this change in pace. It is a quality I need to learn desperately, albeit quite frustrating. Living in a place where I need to reduce my speed, quite literally, I have come to realize the speed at which I live my life. I talk fast, read fast, walk fast (I blame that on trying to keep up with mom in the mall when I was young), learn fast, work fast…you get the point. I have to consciously tell myself to slow down if the person I’m with doesn’t beat me to the punch. The only figurative fire I’m running from is on top of my head, so what exactly is the rush? I tell myself that sometime in between now and two years, I will switch to this lower gear. I wonder how pliable this characteristic of mine is. Just like most other things, only time will tell. Being expediently efficient, or the euphemism I give it, has both good and bad traits. Good being that I am more productive. The bad is that most things that are sustainable are not done quickly. Real change takes time and time is not something that can be sped up or slowed down. There will always be sixty seconds in a minute. I realize this. Then why is it so hard for me to practice it? There are quick solutions to complex problems, but these solutions tend to fail before any marked progress has occurred. If I am to do things right, I need to get with the program. The irony is it will take time for me to learn to slow down and adapt this cultural way of life and it is something that I wish to happen now.    

Little Tykes

Every morning on my way to the establishment where there is a desk for me (my office is the community…), which is also literally around the corner, I am greeted by probably two of the most adorable tykes I have ever met in my life. Their names: Samirawit and Huwett. In Ethiopia, almost all names have a meaning. ‘Samirawit’ is taken after a religious figure and ‘Huwett’ translates directly into ‘life.’ When Ethiopians ask what my name means, my answer ranges from something made up like “the queen of the world” to “I have no idea, my mom doesn’t either, she thought it sounded ‘k’onjo.”

 These two kids either wait for me every day or are always outside. Nevertheless, they always seem to know when I’m coming around the bend. They run up to me, which usually causes everyone to stop and stare. I’m used to the constant feeling of everyone looking at me, so I pay no mind. I pick one up while the other waits patiently. The one in my arms proceeds to give me grandma-like kisses on both cheeks. I usually end it after the 5^th kiss or so, namely because my cheeks hurt. This same procedure is repeated with the other. If this happens every day for the rest of my time here, I think it would be rather difficult to stay in a sour mood for long. Their affection is so transparent and innocent. It is a welcomed reminder that not everyone wants something from me. They have been getting into the habit of coming into the place where my desk is, which may need to stop, but I am enjoying it as of now. Instead of doing what I came to do there, we end up talking about their family or counting the freckles on my arm (the most recent tally is left: 13, right: 11). At some point, one of the employees thinks that I should probably get something done and tells them to leave. I’m just as disappointed as they are.

Then there is the landlord’s son on my compound who likes to help me do my laundry. He usually just splashes water everywhere, but I like how he is getting in the habit of doing what is considered for many “woman’s work” at an early age. I usually have to wash it again because he drops it on the ground, but that is the price I have pay, I suppose. He also likes to sneak into my house and touch possibly everything that he can reach. His mother often calls him ‘rabash,’ which means ‘one who causes trouble.’ Some things like the character of two year olds pays no difference to culture.

Whether I’m leaving my home or entering it, there is another group of kids who play around the general vicinity who also like to greet me. The youngest one broadcasts my presence and play-by-play to the other children, much like a sports announcer. They all run out of their respective homes or play sites and congregate in front of me taking turns shaking my hands, bumping shoulders (it’s one of the many greeting styles), and saying ‘hello’ ten different ways. I don’t see how they don’t lose interest.  

These are only a handful of the little tykes that make my day, every day. Besides the kids, I like to think I’m establishing some good relationships with adults as well. It really makes a difference knowing that even though I may be alone when thinking about my culture or whatever else that I’m not lonely. In the same vein, I’m not ignorant of the people who tease and taunt me. Asking me for money or shouting insults. I have chosen not to focus my attention on them. Day by day I let it affect me less, but I still think of comebacks, which is essentially a waste of my time, energy, and happiness I’m attempting to achieve here.

Like I said, there are the people who try to understand me and what I’m here for. The friends I have made listen to my hardships although we come from two different worlds. Ethiopians have a wonderful way of taking you in as one of their own (and asking you personal questions that family would too). Not saying ‘no’ to almost all invitations, whether it is my 7^th cup of coffee or 3^rd dinner allows me to build these friendships and feel constantly full. So, whenever I’m feeling down, all I have to do is leave my house and let Africa save me. 

My First Month

I've been at my site for a month. I feel like I've been there for a year. This is a good thing. Besides still not having a couch, I'm pretty much settled. It is a good way to explain that "No, I don't have any money. I can't even afford a couch." After people gasp in horror, that yes, a person from another country is not here to give you money and then leave, I segue into what exactly I am doing here. I've developed a nice elevator speech as I like to call it. It is nice and short. I suppose after I improve my Amharic, this fictional elevator will be in a taller building.

 

Fun things about where I live and what I do: I can run. I found a fantastic trail that the farmers use to come into town. Just simply wonderful. There are 3 Japanese Peace Corps-like volunteers who also live here. I don't know whether to speak to them in English or Amharic. I may learn Japanese to bridge the gap. I have 3 names that the locals call me: Emily, Emuye, and Hyme (pronounced like 'high-me'). I could do without the latter because it sounds like a female reproductive part. I found a place that has mangoes and avocadoes. It happens to be my friend's juice shop, who also happens to have the 4 most adorable sons in town. Sometimes I sell vegetables at my friend's shop. I like to think it brings her business. I do it for sheer entertainment and to practice the language.

 

As for the work: it is getting 'done' slowly, but surely. Slowly, but surely, pretty much describes any sort of process here. I go around the community meeting with organizations, school directors, etc. asking lots of questions. My mom would affirm that I'm good at asking questions. 'Why' was and still is my favorite question. I usually go around with someone to help translate. I've tried to go alone and it just doesn't work. If it is not the way I talk that gets in the way, it is the way I look. Meaning, why would any local give a foreigner sensitive information. Good point. I should know better, but I was eager to try it out. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way. No projects are supposed to begin until after I do the needs assessment. I have some good ideas when the time comes though, so I'm hopeful for the future.

 

It has been raining here for the past couple of days. It is easy not to leave the house. One thing that has come very apparent is that I have to be very, very self-motivated. No one really keeps tab on me, but myself. Nothing gets done by sitting in my room listening to the rain fall on my tin roof, although it is very pleasant. Good thing I can't sit still longer than 30 minutes before I feel like I need to do something. Other than learning about my town, I am also learning about myself, which I assumed I would be doing as well. One main thing, is that I came here thinking that my life would completely turn around because my surroundings would, but I have come to learn that nothing can change you, but yourself. It will take me the next two years to figure out what that really means.

 

Look at me, I’m a PCV—Reflections of a former Trainee

So after 10 weeks of training and a few tests, they decided to keep me for another two years. Thinking back to the first week, I remember my first "wow, I'm really doing this moment." It was when we were about to meet our host families for the first time. It was Africa raining, if you can imagine. The Gonde group was the first group to be dropped off at our site by Peace Corps. Our bags were thrown at us while a large truck zoomed by and splashed us with muddy water. Alright the last part was a bit exaggerated, but it was still quite dramatic. I had no idea where I was going and was a bit intimidated by the new scenery. Getting to my host family's house was an uphill muddy mess, which didn't make the process any easier. It was when I fell down in the said mud that I realized that "wow, I was really doing this." I somehow managed to make it though and I found my new host sister standing at the door. She was staring at me and I was staring back, looking like a pathetic  foreigner who can't hold her own in the Africa rains. It honestly took a lot for me not to cry as she was washing off my feet. (Did I mention that I make great first and lasting impressions?) True to the Ethiopian culture, my family immediately embraced me and all my flaws. From that one fateful day on, my host sister taught me basically all the things I know now about how to take care of myself in Ethiopia. It didn't take long to feel like I was part of their world.

The last week of training was packed full of parties, crying, tests, and packing. Our last day of official training we did superlatives. I redeemed my loss in my senior high school superlatives for "best hair." It's the things that matter you know. That same night, my sister and I decided to make coffee. Somehow we ended up sitting on the ground outside in the same place we did the first night we made coffee together. This time though, it was me grinding the beans and she was looking at the stars. I congratulated myself for the progress I had made to avoid getting too caught up in the coincidence of events. I personally cannot believe the time has gone by that fast, but then again 10 weeks is a drop in the bucket comparatively.  The last night in our town we attended a party that consisted of all of our families. They exchanged some words about us and we did the same for them. It was nice to show our appreciation for one another. We ended the night by three generations worth dancing to a mix of traditional music, Sean Paul, and Michael Jackson. Some of these women who are my grandma's age danced like you wouldn't believe. What a great way to conclude my life in Gonde. The next day Peace Corps picked us up just like that first day they dropped us off. This time it was sunny and the streets were full of families and friends saying goodbye. This time I did cry. And it was that awkward crying that I try to avoid. Sometimes I wish I looked at least somewhat cute when I opened the tear ducts, if that is even possible. Imagine someone choking on a whole box of sour patch kids and that is what it is like. Anyways, training is usually one of those things that you forget about after it is over. I don't know how I could forget a whole town that welcomed 9 foreigners in their homes. Fed us, loved us, and tried to understand us. They were and that was the beginning of my life in Ethiopia. I'll miss you, host family!

Last Friday was the swearing-in ceremony at the Embassy in Addis. All 40 of us speak 3 different languages total: Amharic, Tigrayan, and Oromifa. One person from each language made a quick speech to the audience about their training experience. We then took an oath, got certificates, and shook a couple of people's hands to seal the deal. It concluded with me eating about a half a loaf of banana bread in bite-size pieces, taking pictures with my BFFL, and chatting it up. It was short and sweet (my dad's banana bread is still sweeter though). They now address me as a volunteer instead of a trainee, which makes me feel a little more legit.

The next day we packed up our belongings again and prepared ourselves for another bumpy ride to our sites. It was relatively painless except for when my mobile was stolen then later retrieved by the police. Apparently every event in my life that I am starting or ending needs to have drama (It finds ME, I tell ya!). When I arrived in my town later that day, I just stood there in my empty house wondering where to begin. Kind of like when I was packing to come here. I am still sleeping on the floor because my furniture is not ready yet. I did do some laundry and walk around town buying arbitrary items. I did find some spoons finally, which pretty much made my day. On Christmas Eve, I will be heading back to the place where my cell phone was stolen to celebrate Christmas with a good handful of other volunteers. After the weekend, I will start getting serious. Until then, I will enjoy the holiday. I hope you do the same. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

.

 

 

Thanksgiving

I just celebrated my first and one of my most favorite holidays in Ethiopia—Thanksgiving. I like any solid excuse to dedicate a day to eat, drink, and play excessively and also where there is no expectation of gift-giving. The pilgrims got at least something right. Celebrating an American holiday an ocean and continent away is always interesting. This one was not as bad as July 4th in Argentina. No one really cares about that one unless you are American. At least the concept of eating food and drinking all day with your family is not foreign here. Actually, that is exactly how they spend most of their many holidays anyway.

Luckily, I was not forgotten back home (we’ll see about next year). I am thankful to have such a thoughtful family who still made a place for me at the table decked with a name plate and framed picture. They reported back that I was well behaved. A little creepy, but sweet.

The 40 of us did a pretty nice job making the most of the day. Thursdays are the only day of the week we are together. We all manage to get along, mixing and mingling among our four small training groups that make up one larger Group 3. A little awkward, but so is everything else we tend to experience here. The best way to describe the difference between our training set-up and the two previous years is to say that our training is great for Peace Corps, but lacking in the social aspects. The Group 2 volunteers all lived together in one area, but our group is divided into four for Community-Based Training. It is probably better this way and maybe it will lessen the shock when we live on our own in the next couple weeks (yikes!). From what I hear, Group 2 has some stories to tell from their training. As for our group, a crazy night may include us staying out 30 minutes after dark (which means 7 pm) in order to finish a card game. My how things have changed from my recent college days. A fellow trainee and I joke that so far our time here resembles more like rehab than anything else. It’s a nice thought, so far it is working (and it is cheaper).

Every week a couple of Group 2 volunteers come into town to school us Group 3 trainees. For this week in particular they utilized some of their cooking skills to prepare our Thanksgiving meal. Although nothing remotely close to my family’s cooking, the funfetti (!) cake and mashed potatoes and gravy were legit. I don’t even like gravy, but I find myself eating anything that looks remotely familiar. I never took a strong liking to beets, avocados, or hard boiled eggs, but now I find myself smiling when they are served to me. It’s funny how living abroad increases the tolerance of your taste buds, while simultaneously lowering other sorts of tolerances. To help us all feel a little loved on our first holiday in Ethiopia, we all gave thanks to one another in the form of a written compliment. To sum up the remarks I received (because I know you are all dying to know), they think I have a decent sense of humor. So much so that I can make someone ‘giggle like a little school girl’ and have the capacity to ‘make a dead man smile.’ I prefer comments like this more than a compliment/insult (depends on your perspective, namely what culture you identify with most) I received a few weeks ago that went something like, “Look, Emily, this bean is fat like you.” Although I’ve never been compared to a bean before, I appreciated the poetic effort. I even journaled it, so I would never forget that special moment. When it came to thinking of what I was thankful for in the other trainees, it made me realize our group’s dynamics a little better. Each and every one of us contributes something in one way or another. Unfortunately, I do not know everyone as well as I would like, but I have managed to find a few people that are willing to tolerate me. We all come from different backgrounds (i.e. not everyone has a health degree of some sort), but we share many similarities. Obviously, there are some values we all have in common, but what knocks my socks off is that redheads make up 1/8 of this group. This type of statistic is unheard of. I just had to document it for proof (see Figure 1).

Figure 1.

Look how wonderfully awkward we are. I am even wearing the map shirt my grandma gave me as a going away present (Grandma, it was a hit!). Since it is 100% polyester, it is wrinkle-proof, which makes it the ideal garment for travel. Not to mention the fact that I have no need to carry around those pesky paper maps anymore. Although a bit outdated, all you need is a friend to point out the next destination. My job is to just sport it proudly. Who other than a grandma would find such a shirt in a church rummage sale that had the USSR and Korea as one country still printed on it? She is such a sweet angel. All in all, it was a nice, relaxing, language-class-free day spent with each other. I’m thankful for that (and the map shirt).

So friends, family, and others who have mistakenly ended up reading this whole blog entry, the countdown has begun. Soon I’ll be lugging my life cross country in a couple of bags on a bus praying for my life so I can start a new life in Injibara…Kosober…er…I’ll figure that out later. Before I know it, I’ll be leaving the comfort of Gonde (just when the kids started to remember my name) for a bigger town with more people who don’t know me, learning how to live again, and doing what I came here to do. Yet, I have a feeling these two years will be over before I have time to figure out how to squat on my heels and I’ll wonder how the time went by so fast. Yet, unlike college, I’ll remember most of the memories. So, to future self—I knew you could do it! Cheers!