Hope

I was blessed to catch this on a podcast recently, it feels so right. 

Hope

- Victoria Safford

Our mission is to plant ourselves at the gates of hope. 

Not the prudent gates of optimism which are somewhat narrower,

nor the stalwart, boring gates of common sense,

nor the strident gates of self-righteousness which creak on shrill and angry hinges,

nor the cheerful, flimsy garden gate of 'everything is gonna be alright'. 

But a very different, sometimes very lonely place. 

The place of truth telling,

about your own soul first of all and its condition. 

The place of resistance and defiance.

The piece of ground from which you see the world,

both as it is,

and as it could be. 

As it might be,

as it will be. 

The place from which you glimpse not only struggle but joy in the struggle. 

And we stand there, 

all of us, 

beckoning and calling,

telling people what we are seeing,

asking people what they see.

It's been somewhat difficult to 'see the joy' as of late, but it's certainly there in the relationships I've built with the people I've come to love here. I am blessed beyond measure by the love, support and endless kindness of those near and far - thank you times a million! 

Daily living, updated - new and improved!

I've been in country for 9 months now, living on my own for 6 months. I'd say I've pretty well adjusted to the pace and lifestyle here. I live in harmony with the daddy-long-legs and if there's ever one a little too close for comfort I just pick him up by one of his long legs and send him on his way outside with my bare hands. Never would have imagined I'd be capable of that. I'm still not friends with the bigger, hairier spiders, they must die, preferably with one quick wallop from my shoe. And I don't think I'll ever get totally used to the long days when the phone network, electricity, and water are all absent - I've lived too many years with those things to give them up easily! If one or two of them is missing I don't feel too bad, in true Minnesotan fashion I say to myself 'things could be worse.' But when all three are gone it is at it's worst! Maybe sometime in the next 18 months I will achieve enlightenment and I won't let these external forces have power over my mood, but I'm not there yet. My quality of life has drastically improved since my sisters sent me the gift of a portable shower/shower in a bag. When there's enough water I fill it up with water that I've heated on the stove, hang it up in my 'bathroom' and voila! I'm not exaggerating when I say that it's been life changing! I'm lucky to have a space to use it, I have a pretty nice bathroom setup compared to other volunteers. And life has been better when the electricity is out since I bought a kerosene stove. A few months ago I gave in and bought a traditional charcoal stove (mandija) after the electricity had been out for a number of days. They are difficult to light and painfully slow to cook with. I tried not to let it defeat me but truly some of my lowest moments so far were when I was dealing with that god forsaken thing! I probably only used it a total of five times when one of my coworkers took pity on me and set up an arrangement where she would buy the mandija from me (she didn't have one and wanted one) and I would buy a kerosene stove from another coworker (she didn't use it because she preferred her mandija). So it worked out for everyone. The only drawback with kerosene is that it smells bad and there's a really hot open flame to manage but I haven't started myself or anything else on fire yet so I think I'm doing good. Remarkably, I am not yet sick of potatoes and carrots, they've been the staple of my diet because they are in ample supply in this area. Lucky for me I love potatoes and grew up eating them regularly so I don't mind eating them everyday, it reminds me of home! Today I returned from the market with my bag full of potatoes (10 birr), carrots (5 birr), onions (10 birr) and tomatoes (10 birr) for a grand total of 35 birr which works out to be a little more than $1.50 in US dollars. And it's more than I'll be able to finish in a week. Our market also has cabbage, collard greens, peppers (like jalapeños), avocados, bananas and mangos but that's it in the way of fresh produce. I have more available at my market than some of my friends in other regions do, so I'm not complaining. I mix things up by cooking my veggies with rice (ruz), pasta, eggs (killee), beans (bekela), lentils (miser), split peas (ater), tofu, or shiro (chickpea flour). I've started drinking tea more regularly and yes, I've taken to adding sugar, of course! When the landlady returned from the market today she invited me over for honey - straight up, in a cup, with a spoon. It was the real deal, as fresh as it gets, complete with pieces of honeycomb and bees floating in it. That was a new experience! And then we had coffee with milk because one of the cows had a calf two weeks ago (he's so cute!) so there's a supply of milk - from the cow 15 feet away - doesn't get more 'local' than that. Everyone is getting ready for Meskerem, Ethiopian New Year, which is next week. It will be 2009! I knew the holiday was coming but it didn't dawn on me that people were making preparations until I saw that the neighbor brought home a rooster from the market. Her son, Murtesa, was very sweetly petting him while holding a little cup of water for the rooster to drink out of. I was hoping to catch a picture of this adorable moment between a boy and his new rooster but as soon as the camera comes out it inevitably turns into 'Glamour Shots'. So here they are posing with their new friend. But let's be real, the new friend's days are numbered. 

My neighbor, Wasilee

And her brother, Murtesa, hugging a rooster that I'm pretty sure has no interest in being hugged!

The landlady was teasing me about why I didn't buy a rooster and jokingly suggesting that next week I will buy one. As if I know the first thing about tending to a rooster! And if anyone tried to eat my rooster they would be in big trouble! The landlady and her younger sister who has been visiting have started the process of making farso (homemade beer) for the holiday. They invited me to watch and learn. I might actually drink the stuff now that I know how much effort goes into making it. The women here work so hard, I swear their work is never done.

As far as my work is concerned, I continue to go to the health center everyday and while most days are still long and slow, I can see that some things are starting to come together and I think my work will be picking up soon. I had my doubts but now I think we can say 'slowly but surely'. The staff at the health center have a weekly coffee ceremony every Tuesday, there is a rotating schedule of who is assigned to prepare the buna to make it fair. It's like a team meeting of sorts, a chance for the whole staff to connect and socialize. So this week it's me with my coworker (who also happens to be my new neighbor), Ganet, who are responsible! It's a little nerve wracking because it involves serving buna to about 15 people while they all sit around watching the preparations from start to finish. For the typical Ethiopian woman it's no big deal because they do this everyday, but not me! And of course there will be lots of commentary about whether the American can do it properly or not. It's all in good fun and I'll be a good sport about it but I'm glad that it will be another month and a half before it's our turn again! 

Love from Ethiopia!

To bear witness

There is a lot that I don't understand. Things that I'll never be able to truly understand. But I won't underestimate the value of bearing witness. I see you. I see your experiences. I see what you are dealing with. I see your struggles. I see your frustrations. I see your brilliance and how if people would just get out of your way there's nothing you couldn't do. I can only imagine how it must weaken one's spirit - all this smoke in all these mirrors. But I see you. I will not look away. I will not run away. I will not pretend to have the answers. I believe your smile is so bright because although you've been through the mud and the muck, and you're sure to go through it again, you refuse to be held captive by it. The way your face glows is an act of defiance. To see and be seen is a gift. I will not underestimate the value of truly being seen, of truly being heard. I am blessed to be a witness.

Sunset in the Bale Mountains. 

Camp GLOW

Earlier this month I had the opportunity to join some of my fellow PCVs in leading Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) for students in our area. I was able to bring four students (two girls and two boys) from the secondary school in my village. The school was really helpful with identifying the best students to join me. Other things that one might expect to be easy, like getting permission slips signed, proved to be nearly impossible, sigh! Of course there had to be a few hiccups along the way but all five us managed to be ready to catch the early bus out of our village for the start of camp, miraculous! It's an hour long bus ride to the next big town and then another short bus ride to the next town over. Then finally a major hike through town, across a river and up a hill to get to the school where camp was held. In our village the secondary school is on the far end of town and through the mud so the kids seemed to be unfazed by this adventure. The camp was focused on leadership skills, gender equality, goal setting, and confidence building. Sometimes the camp is held exclusively for girls but I appreciated that we also included boys - it takes all of us to create change. There were about 45 students and 7 of us volunteers. Some of the PCVs were able to bring teachers from their schools, they were super helpful, we couldn't have done it without them. In between lessons there were games and songs, we were always busy. The days were full and exhausting and of course the nights were short on sleep but I think everyone had fun. Camp was supposed to be a week long but had to end after just three days due to circumstances out of our control. But even in a short time I think the students learned a lot and made new friends, and I am thankful for the chance to get to know the students from my community better. They made me proud and I look forward to hopefully working with them on projects in our community.

The early morning walk back to town with our mats at the end of camp!

Love from Ethiopia! 

Today's theme is kindness

Today is market day in my town. Market day is always a little overwhelming, there are more people in town than on any other day and I have to sort of gear up mentally before I leave the house, not knowing how much attention I'm going to get. More than nine times out of ten the attention I get is friendly attention, not bad at all, but it can be overwhelming none the less. I watch the local women as they go about their business, no one paying them any attention but me, and I envy them. Only when I return to the US will I be able to move about my daily life unnoticed. Here I know what it feels like to be a celebrity, except no one is taking pictures and selling them to the tabloids, thank heavens!

I stopped at my neighborhood suk on the way to the market, the one I always go to for things like matches, rice, spaghetti, laundry soap, and mobile cards (phone minutes), etc.  When I first moved to town I got a good vibe from this particular suk and the shop owner so I like to give them my business. While I was buying a kilo of rice and a mobile card, a woman also came up to the suk to buy something. I've never met her before but I greeted her and she asked me if I was going to the market. I said I was and she very kindly said in Afaan Oromo that we should go together. The market is on the other end of town so I was happy to have someone to walk with. I was thinking that once we got to the market we would probably part ways as we might be interested in buying different things. But instead she asked me what I wanted to buy and went with me to be sure I found what I was looking for. She would ask in Amharic if there were other things I needed - she stuck with me until I had everything! After she finished helping me then we parted ways and she went on to buy the things she needed. The kindness of strangers. But now we're not strangers anymore.

A new neighbor moved into our compound a few weeks ago. She also happens to be a new employee at the health center and is a very sweet young woman. Her parents had come to visit from their hometown today and this afternoon she invited me over to meet them. Her father was interested to learn about me and I tried to explain myself as best as I could with my limited language. After only chatting for a few minutes he basically welcomed into their family, saying that I should come and visit them and when I do they would treat me as their daughter. It is that Ethiopian generosity and hospitality that I've come to expect but I think he also recognized that I'm far away from my family and was offering to be a surrogate of sorts. His was a heart cracked wide open, something to aspire to. Again, such kindness.

Makta, the five year old neighbor boy, likes to stop into my room every so often. Sometimes he'll be watching cartoons next door and when he gets bored with that he'll come over or he'll be running around, playing outside and when he needs a break he'll stop in. He comes in, rolls around on the floor a little bit, calls my name as he points out things he finds interesting, before too long he's bored, and he's off to the next thing. Today as he stepped out of my room, he turned right back around and called my name as he handed me the tiniest flower that he had just found amongst the weeds near my doorstep. In a flash he was off playing in the yard, as I'm left standing in the doorway holding this tiny flower, marveling at the sweetness of such a simple gesture. 

What a day - so many acts of kindness. I'm feeling thankful for all the kind people in my life and feeling inspired to spread more kindness too.  

Love from Ethiopia! 

An Ethiopian Wedding

This past weekend I was invited to the wedding celebration of my landlord's niece. The day before the wedding, family members started to arrive from miles around - brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins - there was a lot of activity in our compound which reminded me of my family gatherings and made me miss home. Big families are the norm here and it was just like when my big family gets together back home. 

On the day of the event I didn't really know what to expect but decided, like everything here, that I would just go with the flow. The landlady had checked with me a number of times to make sure that I was planning on going, so I knew she wouldn't leave me behind! When it came time to go, Gosaa, my 12yo buddy basically yelled at me, "Angela! Haa deemnu!" (Let's go!) It was said in a very commanding tone and with urgency even though there isn't actually any urgency about it. (We didn't leave for another 20 minutes.) It made me laugh to myself, thinking of this child yelling at me with such authority; at the same time bringing me comfort, making me feel like part of the family.

I think walking across the village to the party with Gosaa was my favorite part of the whole day. In anticipation of the special occasion the children had been taken shopping for new clothes in the nearby town a few days before. So Gosaa was very proudly sporting a new pair of jeans (which will be too short by the end of the month already, I'm sure), a new jacket (with his hands in the pockets), a pair of his dad's dress shoes (too big), and sunglasses. Even though it's sunny here everyday, no one wears sunglasses. They were purely a fashion statement. He always walks so confidently and deliberately, with a long stride. To see him walking it's like he's all legs. It was a sight to behold. He's one of the coolest kids I know!

Weddings are an opportunity to bring the community together and because it's a rural village the whole community is invited. And the community contributes to the event - supplies such as benches and dishes and party tents are shared. It is a collective effort. Neighbors, family and friends contribute food and beverages, including alcohol, as this was an Orthodox wedding so it is allowed. And everyone gives the gift of money, even if it's a modest amount. 

When I first arrived I was made to eat, of course! There was a large tent set up next to the home of the bride's family - in the middle of the main road through town - apparently not a problem. Many people were seated inside, socializing and enjoying lunch, which consisted of two different kinds of meat stew with injera. I was relieved to see some familiar faces. There were mostly new faces, however, guests from neighboring towns, who were curious about my presence. I felt a bit awkward as my language skills are not at the level where I can really socialize in the local language. It is common to be told "tapadhu" a command which means "play" but in this context means "talk playfully" or "haasa'i" a command which means "chat". It's a nice gesture, it's meant to encourage conversation and be inclusive, but it mostly just leaves me feeling frustrated - of course I would like to chat with you, and I would if I had the language skills, but I don't. And the truth is I've never been the type of person who likes being told what to do! 

I knew there were women working somewhere around the premises and I wanted to be helping them. Somehow my landlord read my mind and came to the rescue! He took me by the hand and walked me into the family's compound to another area where tents were set up with a makeshift kitchen. Of course I wasn't allowed to help but he wanted to show me what was happening behind the scenes. 

A woman tends an enormous pot of meat stew. 

A room full of huge plastic barrels, some containing farso - homemade beer, some containing kenito - a homemade soft drink. Homemade hard liquor, called araki, was also served. 

After the tour my landlord found me a seat between two English speakers. Very kind of him. 

Finally the bride and groom arrived in a small caravan with horns honking. The guests gathered outside to greet them - some women started singing together accompanied by a drum with clapping and ululating and shoulder dancing (eskista). When they would do the shoulder dance it was like the women in the center of the group were having a dance off, competing to see who was the best! They would take it very seriously then eventually erupt into laughter. The men also had their own celebratory song.

The women singing and dancing. 

After this it was time to eat again and socialize some more. As dusk fell I walked home with the neighbor kids. Sometimes the celebrations continue for many more days and in this case they did. There was a sheep that was presented upon the bride and groom's arrival that would be the next day's lunch. I could be wrong but he seemed to know his fate. 

Love from Ethiopia!

Peace begins with you and me

It feels strange to be far away from my home (America, Minnesota, St. Paul) when so much is happening there. Living in a rural village in Ethiopia I could easily choose to be shut off from current events around the world, but I've always been the type of person who wants to know what's going on even if it's painful. I have a few news apps on my phone so when the network is functioning I'm able to read some news stories from America or elsewhere in the world. It is impossible to make sense of all the craziness. Feeling disconnected is one of the challenges of Peace Corps service that I struggle with the most.

"If they mean to have peace, let it begin here." - Sargent Shriver, the first Peace Corps Director

Here. H e r e. With me. With you. With 'us'. With 'them'. Wherever we happen to be. I don't believe that means putting a bandaid on things and moving on. I believe it means having the difficult and uncomfortable conversations; the ones that are meaningful and powerful because they are difficult and uncomfortable. It means slowing ourselves down, being strong enough to admit that we don't have all the answers, that we actually need each other in order to find solutions. To me it means embracing a willingness to see things from another's point of view - to open our eyes, minds and hearts wider. And wider still. We need to hear each other's voices which requires listening, paying attention. Can I listen and genuinely hear what you have to say? Am I willing to give my full attention? Am I willing to bear witness to your reality? And somehow, through it all, managing to find peace within ourselves as we examine hard truths about the way our society is set up, about things that we are taught to believe that we don't question, about pain that we perpetuate quite often unconsciously, about our role and responsibility in all of it.

"Peace requires the simple but powerful recognition that what we have in common as human beings is more important and crucial than what divides us." - Sargent Shriver

We are all different and yet we are all the same. It's not wrong to acknowledge our differences - we have our own cultures and traditions, unique experiences, thoughts, feelings, ways of being - sharing our differences is an opportunity to learn from each other. As an American living in Ethiopia for the past 7 months, I am intimately aware of my 'difference' and 'otherness'. But what I am struck by is the way that I am treated as the same. When the landlady prepares a plate of food for me, brings it to my room and tells me "nyaadhu" (eat!), when I'm walking past my neighbor's door and she calls out for me to come in and share buna (coffee) with her, when I'm walking down the street and a woman I don't even know calls out to welcome me into her home, when the neighbor boy calls my name 20+ times a day, everyday, to show me something that he finds interesting because he wants to share his world with me, when the staff at the health center invite me to join in their events and activities even though we don't fully share a common language - so I don't actually know what's going on - but yet I feel included. It certainly feels to me like they accept my differences *and* see my sameness. I have the same wants and needs; I'm just like them, only different. 

I wonder if minorities (or those who on the surface we might see as 'other') in America are made to feel the same way? Knowing the answer I am actually asking myself: how can I pay forward the gift that I've been given? 

"We are not separate beings, you and I 

We are different strands of the same being

You are me and I am you

and we are they and they are us

This is how we're meant to be,

each of us one

each of us all

You reach out across the void of Otherness to me

and you touch your own soul!"

- Leonard Peltier

I wonder how things would be different if all the energy that is spent in conflict, arguing, vilifying, spreading hate, and dividing ourselves was instead directed towards curiosity, exploration, reflection, and a genuine interest in finding common ground?

'It is possible.' Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Sending love and peace from me to you... 

Across the country and back again

After three months at site our group of volunteers (G14) met together in Addis Ababa for a week of training. It felt great to reconnect with friends and share stories about our experiences thus far. It also felt great to reconnect with the outside world again with ample Internet access! It was a bit of a shock to be back in the big city but it didn't take long for me to get into the swing of things - hot showers, a comfortable bed, Thai food, Chinese food, Middle Eastern food, ice cream, oh how I've missed you so! During training we learned more about project ideas, changes within our programs, and reporting our work. I will meet with some of our group again in 3 months for another training and the entire group again in 9 months. 

After 'reconnect' some of us decided to travel together to Bahir Dar in the northern part of the country. Bahir Dar is in the Amhara region so Amharic is primarily spoken there. It's a major city with a bit of a tourism industry because it is on Lake Tana, the largest lake in Ethiopia, and near to Blue Nile Falls.

We took a boat ride across the lake to a peninsula where there are a few Ethiopian Orthodox monasteries. The oldest one was built in the 14th century with paintings from the 18th century. It was interesting to learn a bit more about the religion. There were many women and children selling crosses, jewelry and religious artwork along the walk. 

Near the mouth of the Blue Nile River on Lake Tana. 

The next day we took a long, bumpy ride out to the falls. I enjoyed the drive through the countryside, it was interesting to observe the different styles of dress and adornment compared to my region. It was surprising to see many men wearing shorts there but it makes sense as it is much warmer than my part of the country. Some women there had more obvious facial tattooing; women in my region also have such adornments but more discreet. It was a beautiful hike to the falls. We basically made a loop from one side of the river to the other and then took a short boat ride across the river back to our minibus. 

The falls were very powerful when we were there. We were lucky, they are not always so impressive. 

The Blue Nile River joins up with the White Nile in Sudan and eventually becomes the Nile. 

After our sweaty, muddy hike we found a resort hotel where we could pay to use the pool and shower (the much cheaper hotel we were staying at rarely had running water) and a three course meal was included. Dessert was a brownie that was the real deal. You can find cake in every bigger town in Ethiopia but every time they look more beautiful than they taste. It's the never the cake I want it to be. But this brownie, this brownie was legit. 

On my way back to site I stopped in Hawassa, also a lake town but in the Southern Nations region. Here a variety of local languages are spoken. Some people speak Afaan Oromo because it borders the Oromia region so I started to feel a little more at 'home'. It happened to be the New Year celebration for the Sidama people who live in and around Hawassa. There were a lot of celebrations around town and many people were out and about wearing their traditional clothes for the occasion. 

When I finally made it to the last stretch of my journey back to site and got on the bus to my neck of the woods it felt like a relief. The bus was full of laughter and smiles for the Ferenji who was joining them and her earnest attempt to speak their language. Even though my Afaan Oromo is terrible they tell me it's terrific. These are my people.

After being gone for nearly two weeks it was great to see the smiling faces of my compound again. Wasilee, the 9 yr old neighbor girl, had a surprisingly long, strong hug for me; Makta, the 5 yr old boy, grew taller I swear; and Gosaa, the 11 yr old boy, greeted me at my door with his signature smile delivering a bowl full of marqa (porridge) from his mom. It's good to be back. 

Love from Ethiopia! 

The sun rises and sets

I am settling into the rhythm of life here; things feel ordinary, normal. What you would expect anywhere in the world - older siblings are annoyed by their younger siblings and do things to make them cry, kids are curious and have to touch everything, families watch TV together in the evenings, coworkers don't always see eye to eye but have to manage to find a way to work things out, old friends are joyful when they're reunited and sad when it's time to part ways. The sun rises and sets.

The neighbor kids have been coming over more, especially the 5 year old since he's too young for school so he's always home. I usually keep the door open when I'm home to let the sunlight and fresh air in but it's interpreted as a 'welcome, come on in!' sign. As I'm preparing my breakfast my heart sinks a little when I see him slinking in the door as he slips off his shoes, I was planning to start my morning quietly and peacefully before interacting with the world. But he flashes his big smile and says, "Angelo! something, something, something" (I still don't know 95% of what he says) and how quickly my feelings change from disappointment to happiness that he's come to join me. He still has to grow into his ears which adds to the cuteness factor. Sometimes he wants to sweep my floor (my little hand held broom and dustpan is pretty cool), can't argue with that! When he's done he says, 'amma shararitti hin jiru' which means now there are no spiders. Oh if that were true! 

His older brother is about 12 years old and is super helpful and kind. On the weekends he's usually responsible for tending the animals, taking them out to pasture. One day he brought me back a handful of pea pods, what a nice surprise! It was only about four spoonfuls of cooked peas but, fresh peas, what a treat! 

The landlady is still overfeeding me and as hard as I tried to resist, she's now got me eating meat. One day she brought me a plate of raw lamb meat with a side of mitmita, a delicious spicy powder mixture for dipping meat into. As soon as I saw it I knew I was meant to eat it as is, like, raw. Yeah, raw. It's a special treat. I politely declined and thankfully she accepted. Well about 10 minutes later the landlord calls for me and tells me to come to their home. He's a really nice man but has a commanding presence, when he tells you to do something you do it. I knew I was about to be presented with another plate of raw meat. The other neighbors in our compound had been invited over as well to share in the feast. Even though they also wanted me to try it I was thankful they were there because they could help translate that I appreciated the generosity but I really couldn't eat it. I think the only thing that saved me was that I had just recovered from food poisoning a few days before so it was understood that my stomach might be weak. They decided that I would eat it cooked. The landlady was preparing tibs - chopped up pieces of lamb meat cooked with rosemary served on a plate of injera which you then dip in the mitmita and eat. I had no choice but to eat! It was delicious of course, I just prefer to eat vegetables. The meal was accompanied by Ethiopian-made ouzo. Luckily the landlady found the smallest shot glass for me and I was only given a splash which was plenty, it was very strong! Since then she has also brought over doro wat, a traditional chicken stew made with a spicy sauce and hard boiled eggs. It was only after I ate it that I realized the two hens and rooster were absent from the compound. Who did I eat? The especially vocal rooster? The curious black hen that almost wandered into my room? The brown hen that I almost scared the life out of when I unknowingly threw my dishwater into the plants where she was pecking around? We'll never know. 

The 'traffic' I deal with on my evening commute.

Love from Ethiopia!

The strange and the ordinary

I have a pretty sturdy plastic tarp that is nailed along all of the walls to act as the ceiling of my room (standard procedure). The actual roof of my home is corrugated metal in an inverted V shape. There's a gap of a few feet between my tarp ceiling and the metal roof above it. I'm sure there's a plethora of spiders and bugs that live in that space but let's not think about that. Well late one afternoon as I was sitting in my room I had another visitor in that space. Out of nowhere I hear some critter fall or jump onto the tarp and I can hear and see the impression of its feet pressing down on the tarp as it moves around. I can see it walking around in my ceiling! I'm wondering if it's going to break through the tarp and then I'm going to have to deal with whatever it is being in my room with me. At first I thought it was a bird that had flown in between the space of the wall and the roof. But then I can see that there is the weight of four little feet pushing down as it walks around. It's walking this way and that way like no big deal all the while I'm thinking if this tarp breaks all sorts of bugs and dust and dirt is going to fall in and gross me out. I tried making some noises to encourage it to move along, you know find his way out, but that made no difference. It turns out it was a cat! I figured it out because he pounced on something, like cats do, and right after that he jumped out. I was relieved that it was gone and that it wasn't a giant rat or something. I hope he doesn't make it a habit. 

The neighbor boy has been calling me Angelo. I haven't bothered to correct him because he always has a smile for me and the way he says it he kinda draws out the 'o' so it sounds kinda cute. His mother will send him over to invite me to drink coffee. He comes to my door, pops his head in with a smile on his face and says "Angelooo, buna dhugi!" It's darling. But only when he does it. I'm still Angela to the rest of you! 

A horse cart and the 'backyard' of my town. 

There is a rose bush that has been blooming steadily lately near my front door. It's beautiful, the first time I saw it blooming it took my breath away. A rose! A random act of beauty! How bold! And the roses are so fragrant, really what roses are supposed to smell like, times ten. Whenever they catch my attention I stop to smell them. One day I was walking back to my room after drinking coffee with the other women in the compound when I stopped to smell the rose. The women said, incredulously, "Angela, why are you smelling the flower?!" Um, because it smells good! Really, smell it! It's beautiful! I was only able to convince the neighbor girl to smell the roses with me. She agreed it was nice but wasn't nearly as captivated as me. Oh well.

Sorry this picture isn't scratch and sniff. 

I am also a perplexing creature because I didn't buy three kilos of sugar when I had the chance. Apparently one of the suks in town gets sugar every once and while and divides it into three kilo bags. It's a good price and people are excited because it's a good amount and I guess sugar isn't readily available in this area. In general, Ethiopians love their sugar - buna and shay (tea) always come with a hefty dose of sugar. I'll drink it however it's served but I'm not really in to adding sugar to things myself. Dessert isn't a thing here so I guess people get their sugar fix in their beverages. Almost every woman I know has asked me if I bought the three kilos of sugar and when I tell them 'no', they just look at me in disbelief. From their point of view a person needs to buy sugar and I think they want to be sure that I have what I need, but I'm like what am I going to do with three kilos of sugar?! If I had an oven and I could bake brownies and cookies and pies, than sure. It's kinda difficult to explain that I don't want or need sugar, that I enjoy my tea without adding sugar. At best I've gotten confused looks and non-convincing "okay's". I would rather eat chocolate as my source of sugar! 

It can get pretty chilly in my town. Some nights it's rather cold and there have been a few rainy days where it has stayed cold all day. I have a nice pair of really cozy socks that have been a lifesaver. I wear them to bed every night. I think I learned at one point that sleeping in a cold room adds a few years to a person's life. So I've got that going for me. I brought a pair of slippers which was wise, the floor in my room is always cold. On the cold rainy days I've worn my cozy socks and slippers together. In other areas of Ethiopia it's much hotter, I guess I would prefer being cold every now and again rather than hot and sweaty everyday. 

And finally, after washing two full size bedsheets by hand I will never complain about doing the laundry again when it means using a washing machine. Perspective. 

A beautiful sunny sky near the health center. 

Love from Ethiopia! 

I'll be fat soon, thanks to the landlady

Marqaa is a special kind of porridge made from barley (most people in my area are farmers and they primarily grow wheat (qamadii) and barley (garbuu)). It's usually made for special occasions or celebrations (or when you're just sitting in your room working on your 'Community Needs Assessment' the landlady might bring some over). It's kind of gelatinous with a little divot made in the middle to hold milk (annan), butter (dhadha) or honey (damma) for dipping the marqaa into. I had it once before with honey in the middle, tasty. My landlady brought me a bowl of it with melted butter in the middle to which she added a spoonful of berbere. The butter here is the real deal, straight from the source, it has a strong flavor so it was a very rich dish. Berbere is a red chili powder commonly used here, like, in everything! It's made by drying red chili peppers in the sun and grinding it with other herbs and spices that have also been sun dried. When I saw my neighbor making her batch in preparation for Fasika (Easter) it included rosemary and cinnamon among other things I didn't recognize. She offered to give me some but I was already given a bag by my host mother as I was packing up to leave their house - and the amount she gave me is more than I'll probably use in 2 years! Additionally, I tried to return the little cup of extra berbere that you see in the picture but the landlady wouldn't accept it, she told me to keep it and use it when I'm cooking because it's good for my health. I'm not really in to spicy foods but I add a touch here and there because why not. 

This is what my landlady brought me around lunchtime one day. To be fair, the electricity was out and she knows I only have an electric stove so I think she wanted to be sure I didn't starve. I'm in no danger of starving. Even without electricity I managed to have a healthy breakfast of a banana with cold oatmeal, complete with some nuts from a care package. The longest the electricity has been out is two days and that time I did start to get a little desperate. On day two I was set on buying a charcoal stove but then the electricity returned so I never got around to it. Anyway, what you see pictured is two kinds of bread (dabo), a cup of coffee with milk (buna fi annan), and what looks like chocolate ice cream or peanut butter ice cream or cafe mocha ice cream (I'm dreaming of ice cream!) is actually braatto. Braatto is barley flour mixed with butter, definitely not ice cream, but surprisingly pretty tasty if you don't think about the fact that you're eating straight up butter and flour. It's a special treat and it truly is good in small doses. One of the pieces of bread is a chewy variety with butter and berbere slathered on top and the other is more dry and crumbly, not bad with peanut butter, jam or Nutella. Have I mentioned that my landlady is one of the nicest people on the planet? 

Leading up to Fasika, orthodox Christians had been fasting for about two months, meaning no animal products - no meat, eggs, milk, butter, etc. On Fasika they broke the fast and prepared and shared many meaty dishes. I was out of town for the weekend so I missed the slaughter and feast of two chickens and an ox - thank goodness, I do not have the stomach for that! While I'm not interested in eating meat, the landlord's family has a few cows so I do enjoy the fresh milk and butter now that fasting is over. 

A particularly vocal rooster who I thought had been eaten, a casualty of Fasika, because I hadn't seen or more accurately heard him all week. But alas, he was back this morning, guess he was just on vacation. If we're being honest, you do cockadoodle too much.

Love from Ethiopia!

Day to day life:

Forget needing an alarm clock, there are plenty of other noises to wake a person up around here. Of course you can always count on the roosters, but sometimes also the cows, donkeys and sheep, not to mention the pigeons (whose little feet on the corrugated metal roof sound more like Big Bird's feet) to let you know that they're awake and you might as well be awake too. Other early morning noises include: the Ethiopian Orthodox Church's call to prayer (a man singing over a loud speaker from the church occasionally accompanied by a musical instrument, for certain holidays it can be heard in the middle of the night too) and the buses and trucks bouncing down the road into town. The buses either have their music blaring or their horn honking on their way through town to alert people to the fact that, 'hey, the bus is here, this is your chance to catch it' which is great except when its before 7am, in my opinion. With any combination of these noises I'm usually awake sometime in the six o'clock hour. 

For those that are curious I usually wash my hair once a week and bathe once or twice a week but never on the same day because that's too much work. Seriously! I'm a person who loves a hot shower and feeling all squeaky clean. But with no running water (except at nicer hotels) it's been an adjustment. Bathing now means splashing a little cold water on myself and calling it good. Because it's cold I use remarkably little water.  It might come as a surprise that it actually feels satisfactory and even good, but it does! Of course if I had the option for a daily hot shower I'd take it. I wash my hands and face often and with the supply of wipes I brought from home and those sent to me (thank you!) I manage to feel as fresh as a daisy everyday. Hair washing day involves flipping my head upside down over my basin and pouring cold water over my head and shampooing and conditioning like usual. It's my indulgence. It takes a fair amount of water but it feels so great to have clean hair and to be able to wear my hair down and curly for a few days before pulling it back for the rest of the week. 

The water supply comes through a water pump in our compound randomly every few days. Usually the landlady or neighbor will tell me when it comes and I will fetch a bucketful to last me for a few days. If the water doesn't come then the landlord has a storage container that they keep mostly full that I can collect from. I have to manage my water supply to last for bathing, washes dishes, washing clothes, and making water for drinking and cooking. We also collect rainwater and I use that for washing my feet and shoes. I'm impressed with how little water I use but I'm sure I still use more than the average Ethiopian, they know how to use water efficiently. Washing clothes takes up the most water and its a lot of work to do it by hand so things get washed way less often than they would back home. I wash a few things every week and hang them out to dry - just a few things at a time is about as much as I enjoy doing. 

It's difficult to know how to dress for the climate of this particular region of the country. There is a significant temperature difference when it changes from sunny to cloudy and then even cooler when it rains. Layering is the name of the game. 

I have no refrigerator of course, I prepare all of my meals as I go. The fresh produce that I buy at the market gets eaten within the week. I make rice, pasta, soup, etc. with varying combinations of vegetables and eggs. As a person who is happy to eat vegetables all day, everyday, I've felt satisfied so far. At the supermarkets in the bigger towns I've bought things like tofu, quick cooking oats, and cheese. 

Other sights, sounds and smells that I might experience on any given day include: the call to prayer from the mosque, the spirited services of the Protestant church just down the road (they pipe it out over a loudspeaker), kids playing directly across the street in a small open, recreational space, the sound of women pounding (grinding) coffee beans at different times during the day, the smell of incense burning when coffee is being prepared, dogs barking at night - what starts as just a few turns into all the dogs in town, the occasional smell of burning trash, motorbikes buzzing down the road. 

Every evening the landlady still brings me buna (she's also started bringing me a cup at lunchtime, so much for cutting back!) and sometimes bread or on chillier evenings she brings me a cup of some sort of hot porridge. I'm pretty sure she told me she's going to teach me how to make the porridge so when I return to America I can make it there. I told her that where I come from in America its really cold sometimes and she says this porridge is good for health when the weather is cold. She is so kind, sweet and generous, I don't think there is a nicer landlady out there. She works all day cleaning, washing, preparing food and coffee, taking care of other things around the compound, and does it all with a smile on her face, I swear. Amazing. I suspect she and I are about the same age, it's strange to think about how different our lives are. 

Lately I've been spending my evenings catching up on episodes of  Fargo (thanks, Amy!) and eating nut goodie bars, dontcha know?! Sometimes I listen to podcasts that I had saved on my phone before I left the US or read books on my kindle. I should be spending more time studying the language but for now it feels good to take a break and enjoy things that I would do at home.

Some of my decorations to make this place feel like home! I love looking at them. One of my sisters gave me the heart before I moved away as a travel nurse 10+ years ago and it has hung in every home I've lived in since - in other words it's been a lot of places. Feel free to send a picture to add to the wall!

Love from Ethiopia! 

What I've been up to...

I really enjoy my morning walk to the health center. It's only about five minutes. It's usually pretty quiet and sometimes the lighting is right so you can see the mountains in the distance with enhanced clarity. Whenever I walk into town the mountains look different, they always look new in someway. Now that it's started raining everyday they are more green - they remind me of 'The Sound of Music' and I imagine myself running up the side and singing a song. I crack myself up. 

For now I've still just been hanging out at the health center getting to know the staff and observing how things work. I was able to go with one of the nurses to a neighboring health post to get to know one of the health extension workers there. We had to go by horse cart which is not what one would call a comfortable ride. But I know things could always be worse - while we're bouncing along on the bumpy dirt road I think to myself 'at least I'm not a laboring mother' - pregnant women in labor come to the health center by horse cart (some come by ambulance if one happens to be available) and two times already I've seen a laboring mother give birth within 30 minutes of getting off the horse cart. I don't have words to describe it, I am in awe. Just getting on and off a horse cart while in active labor is not something I can imagine much less enduring the bumpy ride. These women are something special. Anyway the health post that we went to isn't too far, I could walk there in about an hour and next time I think I'll do just that. It will bring me pleasure to go for a walk and I can take some photos along the way. People don't walk around without a purpose, whenever I'm on my way somewhere people always ask where I'm going, and for those people who feel a responsibility for me here I have to have an answer - if I said 'oh you know just over there a little ways, I promise I'll come back' I don't think they would let me go on my own! The health extension worker at this health post seemed interested in working with me so hopefully we can figure out some projects to work on together. Unfortunately language is an issue, my Oromifa isn't that great and her English isn't that great so there will be some struggles for sure. 

View from the health post that I visited

I've gone to the two schools in town, we have one primary and one secondary, and have been introduced to the students. Both times all the students are gathered outside, staring at me while my counterpart takes advantage of the opportunity to do some health teaching (gobez!) before introducing me. I'm really thankful that I got to be introduced in that way, that all the students in attendance got to see and learn about me at the same time. I think it was effective. The director of the secondary school (9th & 10th grade) has shown an interest in working with me (like the most interest out of everyone) so I'm excited to see what we can figure out. 

The walk to the secondary school 

Part of the way is lined with cactus, it's peaceful!

I also had a community meeting arranged and facilitated by Peace Corps where I was formally introduced to the important community leaders. We had a good turn out and I was well received. I wasn't surprised, I can't say enough how welcoming and supportive this community is. One of the older men who came said (my translation), 'yeah I saw her last week at the market, we exchanged greetings, she knows Oromifa' and like that's all I needed to do to be accepted by him. Everywhere I go whenever I see someone looking at me I greet them in the local language because 1) it's awkward to be stared at and if I say something it dissipates the awkwardness, 2) as soon as people hear me speak in their mother tongue it brings a smile to their face and who doesn't want a smile and 3) it helps people feel comfortable with and accepting of this new outsider in their community. 

Now that I've been introduced to lots of people, more and more I'm being called by name. Rather than calling out 'Ferenji' to get my attention the kids will say 'Angela!' It's pretty cute. Of course there is still the occasional child screaming 'Faaaa ren jeeeeeee!' like their head is about to explode because I'm the most exciting thing they've seen all day. The other morning a little girl was wailing and carrying on after a little boy did something to upset her but upon seeing me she stopped mid-wail and said with a surprised voice 'Ferenji?!' and immediately stopped her carrying on to watch me walk past. All of us who saw this shared a collective laugh. It feels strange to have this effect, all I can do is laugh. 

Love from Ethiopia!

Compound Life (ft. baby donkeys and electrical fires)

My morning walk to the health center. 

I live in a fenced-in compound on the edge of my town. The compound family (the landlord, his wife & two sons) lives in the main house and they rent out three rooms on either side of their house. The compound family is really great, the landlord knows how to take care of business and the landlady is super sweet - she invites me over or brings me buna and food everyday. Sometimes it's a little much if I've already eaten and then I have to eat more, but it's very kind of course. The 12yo son is helpful and nice, the 5yo son couldn't care less about me. He's super busy doing 5yo boy stuff. When he does talk to me I can't understand a word he is saying, I swear he's speaking Italian (he's not really). The two other neighbors in the compound work at the health center. One of them has two kids, a 9yo daughter and 7yo son. It's fun to have kids around. The first day I moved in they were really curious and all up in my room. But since then they have been respectful of my privacy and my space. The compound family has animals - oxen, cows, a horse, donkeys, chickens and a couple of cats. There was previously only one chicken; they recently acquired 3 hens and 2 roosters. I was thinking it would be great if that meant the possibility of buying eggs from the landlord in the future but with Fasika (Easter) just around the corner it's more likely that the chickens will be made into Doro Wat (traditional chicken stew) for the occasion. And the other day I woke up to a brand new baby donkey in the yard! My heart skipped a beat. Baby donkeys are my favorite and I didn't know we had a donkey that was expecting. Whenever I see a baby donkey I have to resist the urge to hug it. (I would never really try to hug a donkey but dang they're cute.) 

Not a good pic but this is him on his first day of life. Hopefully there are more photo ops in the future. 

On the subject of animals - I have woken up a few nights to the calls of a hyena roaming the street outside. They make some very distinct sounds and when it's close by it is quite loud. I could tell when he was right outside and when he was further down the road. I am safe inside my home, inside our fenced in compound but it's still freaky! 

I bought an electric stove for cooking, rather than the traditional charcoal stove that most people use. There is also the possibility of buying a propane or kerosene stove but I've had pretty consistent electricity at my home and electric is so easy. I had been using the stove without any trouble for a week but then I decided to tempt fate. It's actually a double burner electric stove - I had previously only ever used one burner at a time but this particular day I decided to use both at the same time. It started out ok. Then out of nowhere I hear sizzling and crackling and see sparks (imagine fireworks) and smoke as the wire to the outlet is on fire. The wire is hanging from the ceiling and then comes down alongside the wall (standard procedure). I'm completely taken off guard and then panicking as I don't know what to do except call for the neighbor while seeing the wire burn all the way up out of my reach. I manage to yell for her to come quickly in Oromifa - by the time she arrives the wire is still on fire but has stopped at the plastic woven tarp that makes up my ceiling, burning a hole in it. My room is right next the landlord's main living area so I imagined something more catching fire and then being responsible for burning the entire house down. I was a basket case! Luckily the landlord was home and he quickly turned off the electricity so the wire that was on fire went out. Everyone was remarkably calm about it (except me of course). The landlord just steps right in and starts replacing and upgrading the wiring. My lunch hadn't finished cooking so the neighbor kindly invited me over to eat with them. We had a good laugh about the day's excitement. And then later when we went to the health center we recounted the story and had another good laugh. I think the landlady felt sorry for me because that night she brought me more snacks than she usually does. And now there is a permanent singe mark on the wall and hole in the tarp ceiling, so am always reminded of the day I almost burned the house down. 

My water filter (so I don't get sick drinking the water), the things I use for washing (my dishes, my clothes, myself), and my bed with bed net. 

Love from Ethiopia!

To market, to market

We have a small market on Wednesdays and a big market on Sundays in my town of about 3,000 people. There isn't a fresh fruit or vegetable to be found around town unless it's market day, so to eat for the week one needs to plan their trip to the market accordingly. I had been waiting for Sunday to come for a few days, I was looking forward to stocking up on fresh veggies that I could be excited about eating for the week. I had gone to the market the week before with my neighbor so I kind of knew where things were located. Going to the market is not especially enjoyable - there's a lot of people making their way around a small space and I attract a lot of attention as a Ferenji (sometimes it's ok when it's just people smiling and showing an interest in me, other times it's exhausting when I'm being yelled at repeatedly to get my attention or a crowd gathers around me - I understand their curiosity about this newcomer to their village but it wears me out none the less). A major rainstorm had come through in the morning (we're currently in the little rainy season, the real rainy season is coming in the summer months) so the roads were all muddy. I decided to put on my rain boots and head to the market by myself, wondering if I would regret the decision to go alone. My home is on one end of town and the market is on the other, it takes only about 10 minutes to walk from end to end. As I get close to the market I notice that a man struggling with his mental health is clearing the way for me - he is walking ahead of me, silently but with exaggerated gestures, pointing out anything hazardous in the road ahead of us, like bigger rocks, horse carts or animals walking in the road, looking back to be sure I'm following behind without difficulty. His body language was so animated. It seemed like in his mind I was some kind of royalty. It was a very unique and unexpected experience. (Side note: there are no services for mental illness or chemical dependency here as far as I am aware, there is a need but as a developing country it's not yet a priority). Anyway, I make it to the market just fine except that the road is muddy and slick. Well that was nothing compared to the state of the market itself. The entire market is mud and puddles. If I hadn't been wearing my rain boots I would have had mud up to my ankles. Everyone is slipping and sliding and sloshing around. For a moment I thought about turning around and going back home, but then I would have nothing to eat and a person needs to eat. I carefully made my way to the part of the market where the produce is and start looking around for what looks good. It's really fun to ask for the price in the local language and see a smile come over the seller's face, you can tell they are slightly stunned and thereby delayed in responded. I got a bit of attention but nothing too overwhelming. I was surprised that many of the women who were startled to see a Ferenji would look at my feet to see my footwear and then give me an approving 'gobez' (smart/clever). I feel like I gained some serious street cred! I bought tomatoes, onions, carrots, potatoes and a mango. I didn't see any avocados so I asked a man if there were any at the market that day and he said no. A little boy who was nearby overheard and said he knew where the avocados were and he could show me. (One little boy turns into five little boys, all of his friends needed to help too). He was very eager to help me out, it was really sweet. When I got home I was anxious to show my neighbor what I bought to make sure I got a fair price. Sometimes there is Habesha price - the price for Ethiopians, and Ferenji price - the price for foreigners. If I were here as a tourist it wouldn't be a big deal to be charged Ferenji price, but since I am here as a volunteer and I consider this my home for the next two years it would feel different. My community didn't let me down! I bought from four different sellers and no one overcharged me. It made me feel very proud to be placed in this community. Even though I was hesitant to go by myself, I feel like the experience accelerated my integration into the community because more people saw me out doing a common activity in the local language. And because it was a good experience overall, it helped me feel more at home here.