Burn After Reading

As some of you may know, I have a rambely train of thought. So allow me to walk you through how I came to the conclusion that Peace Corps deserves the same type of treatment as a violent club. I have a buddy here in Ethiopia named Tyler. Every time I see Tyler, I think Tyler Durdan. Every time I think Tyler Durdan, I think of the Fight Club rules. Every time of think of the Fight Club rules, I think there should be similar Peace Corps rules. There you go: sane to Laura in four sentences.

As I was paying serious attention to Hour 6 of a full day Peace Corps training, I began jotting down what I thought would be appropriate rules for a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ethiopia. As stated before, PCVs tend to lose tact, so forgive me if you find any part of this a bit too strange. Such is life in Ethiopia…

1. The first rule of Peace Corps Ethiopia is: you do not talk about American food to someone unable to get American food.

2. The second rule of Peace Corps Ethiopia is: you do not talk about American food to someone unable to get American food.

3. Any talk of bowel movements is not only condoned, but recommended. Furthermore, if you go potty in your pants, you are required to send a mass text message to fellow PCVs as soon as possible. This is known as the “Own It” referendum. 

4. You DO judge and wonder about any foreigners, which are non-PCV, you see in your town. It is always proper to assume they are temporary, clean, and normal; thus making them an enemy.

5. You DO take the gorsha… always.

6. You DO NOT look twice at an adult picking their nose (elbow deep) in a professional setting or during a meeting.

7. You DO take the side of your fellow PCV and never the local children. The children are wrong and the PCV is right, in every case. Even when it is untrue.

8. You DO NOT judge the pure gluttony created in a PCV when he or she is opening a care package. Likewise, you do not judge the level of aggression shown on the walk from the post office to home. PCVs should be willing to sacrifice him or herself for a package of goodies from home.

9. You DO NOT acknowledge how long a fellow PCV has been wearing the exact same articles of clothing. Also, you give him or her the benefit of the doubt and assume undies are being changed out.

10. You DO NOT judge a PCV for the duration of time in between showers.

You will never be as free as you are here. Seriously, who wants to join!?!

Hiking Lake Wenchi, Ambo, Ethiopia

Three Months after swearing-in, there is a training called IST (it cleverly stands for In-Service Training). My group's IST took place in Ambo. It is a big-ish town about 2 hours outside of Addis and 5 hours away from Asella. The trainings were good and it was great to see people I had not seen it months. The highlight (aside from Mexican food I consumed) was a 6-hour hike around Lake Wenchi. It is one of only two crater lakes in Africa!!! I don't know what that means, but it sounds really impressive. As you can see from the pictures, we all started off happy, excited and optimist. Six hours later, I would not quite describe ourselves that way. The last hour was straight uphill and after hours in the sun and being dehydrated, it was rough to say the least. Fortunately, my camera battery died before that, so there is no evidence of the misery. Overall, the hike took us through one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. If you like what you see, come visit!! (we can take a horse during the uphill parts)

Ethiopian Wildlife

When you think Africa, you think safaris. You think of wild animals, normally just seen at the zoo, roaming free. Ethiopia does not have exciting animals like that. You will not find lions, zebras or elephants here. But there are still come neat animals to see. There is the Ethiopian wolf, the most endangered canine in the world. And we also have the duck-billed donkey. If you have never heard of this animal, do not be embarrassed, it is incredibly rare. On a hike last week, I was lucky enough to spot one. Here you go, you're looking at one of the most endangered animals in the world. Save the duck-billed donkey!!

Ethiopian Health Care

One thing never mentioned on any Peace Corps pamphlet is the complete loss of tact and etiquette most volunteers face during their service. While you know your mother raised you better than to talk about such rude or crude things, it all falls by the wayside when you get together with fellow PCVs. Who has gone potty in his or her pants since we last talked? How much do you love your chamber pot (need a team name for a paper football tournament, how about “Chamber Pants”)? What is the most inappropriate thing that you have been told? These are the common topics of discussion used to keep PCVs sane during times that should truly cause breaking points/insanity.

I preface this blog with that warning. What follows is my experience getting medical treatment here in Ethiopia . Some of it may be strange or down right awkward. It is a bit crude, but hopefully the ridiculous of the situation outweighs it all. If you feel it crosses a line, stop reading. Or better yet, feel happy that you just get to read about it, not live it.  Ultimately, the overall point of my having this blog is to share about being a PCV and this is the effect living in Ethiopia has on volunteers. Our perspectives of what is appropriate and what is not are flexible to get us through certain situations and experiences that might otherwise be unbearable…

About a month ago, I got sick. I had been fighting an upper respiratory infection for about 3 weeks. While I thought it was a battle I was winning, the sickness came back. With reinforcements. Armed to cause mayhem in my body. The Peace Corps doctor was coincidently in my town so I paid the man a visit. After telling him I had had a pretty serious cough for over three weeks and describing my symptoms, he decided to prescribe me some medicine. He told me to come back the next day; while he would not be there, he would have medicine there waiting for me. What service! I arrive the next day, feeling even worse, only to find the medicine to nurse me back to health was: Claritin. Not exactly what I expected. Not exactly helpful. I decided to be a trooper and trust that the doctor knows more about medicine than me. Oh how I should have known that was a mistake- this all only adds to my arrogance! I took it for three days but there was no relief and I was beginning to feel the worst I have ever felt in my life. Three days after getting the Claritin, I called and said I need to go to the nearby clinic to get checked out.

One thing I should interject here is that my town, Asella, is one of the training towns for the new group of volunteers in country. Not only does that mean there are 12 new, fresh-faced Americans in my town, most of the Peace Corps staff is there daily. This has its advantages and disadvantage. One this day, it was full of advantages.

At 12:30 in the afternoon, a Peace Corps driver, Almaz (motherly woman in charger of taking care of the newbies) and a lovely finance woman came to my door to take me in a private car to the hospital. Words cannot describe how amazing it was to have a private car. It was the first time in months I had been in a car without 20+ Ethiopians smashed in with me. They took me to Asella hospital, only to find it was closed for lunch. I asked Almaz, “What happens if there is an emergency?” She responded, “They wait”. This was a public hospital so the three Ethiopians decided to take me to a private hospital so I could get treatment instead of waiting for an hour and a half to be seen.
Once at the private hospital, we found it was the same: lunch break!

The car dropped me off at my house and promised to be back at 2:00 to take me back to the private hospital. After all the running around (and by that I mean sitting in a car exhausted as people did work on my behalf) I was beat so I took a nice nap confident that in a few short hours, I would be on the road to recovery.

At 2:00, the three lovely people returned and we went once more to the private hospital. Success! This time they were open. Since Almaz was there, she told them all my information in Amharic, negating any language barriers that might inhibit my speedy treatment. The finance lady took care of all the payments too. I never filled out a form, signed my named, or paid a bill. Not too shabby. A doctor assessed me and he ordered a chest x-ray, a blood sample, and such.

I went into the “lab” and they took my blood. It was a five- minute process to find my vein. I have never had an issue with that before; I generally have beefy veins (terrible word choice that I am pleased with!). It made me pretty nervous in the level of competency of the staff, but then I saw myself in a mirror and understood how dehydrated and sickly I was. Overall, they took my blood painlessly and efficiently- go Ethiopia.

After the blood was done, the “lab” technician handed me a small plastic cup and pointed me to the shint-bet. I was really happy about this. You see, I have had to give urine before, but I always get stage fright or do not have to go. This time was different. I had to pee pretty badly and it was my time to shine! I went to the shint-bet, fill that sucker to the brim and strutted back in to the “lab” with an air of confidence not often seen in an Ethiopian hospital. I put my pee sample of the counter, look towards the technician, and waited for him to look at me impressed. That is not quite how it happened. He looked at me, looked at the sample, slowly shook his head with a smirk, and handed me another small plastic cup.

It was the dreaded poop test. The moment you become a real volunteer. The moment you lose all sense of self. The moment you realize you would do anything, absolutely anything, to feel better. The moment that brings your aim (metaphorically) to focus. The moment you have to think about the logistics of pooping in a tiny cup. To say the least, things changed that day my friends, things changed.

While it was by no means as easy as the first test, I managed to succeed. I walked back into the “lab” with no air of confidence. No smug satisfaction in myself. Just a small plastic cup in hand wishing that every single person within sight was not staring at me.  Next up was the chest x-ray. We went to the room outside to get the test only to find that the only man who knew how to take an x-ray was away. Back home I went, assured that at 3:30 we would finally be able to complete this process and I could get a diagnosis and some medicine.

Another nap.

The Peace Corps staff returned as promised. This time, the driver and car had other people to haul around so Almaz and the finance lady caught a bajaj (a small, three-wheeled taxi) and picked me up at my house. Almaz and company apologized profusely that we had to take a bajaj and that I was clearly going to be so uncomfortable. Considering it is nearly impossible to get a bajaj by my house and these lovely ladies saved me from a 10 minute walk uphill that could have killed me, it was hard not to laugh at the idea they felt bad for the treatment I was getting that day.

Trip three to the hospital was a productive one! Sure enough, the x-ray man was there and there was a long line of people ahead of me. I do not speak Amharic well so I will never know what Almaz said, but suddenly, I was next in line. The x-ray man called out my name and I walked into the room. As I entered, I looked at the pervious patient and saw she was putting her shirt back on. It was this moment that I realized I was in for awkwardness. With the door wide open and dozens of people outside, the x-ray man told me to take the shirt off. I shut the door, which made him roll his eyes a bit. But I preferred to not give a show to what, in that moment, felt like half the town. I held my shirt up, as if I had any chance of modesty, as he got the machine ready. As this was happening, I had a bit of a coughing fit. If you even want to know how to look really good, start coughing, as if a lung is about to come up, topless. Pretty foxy! In that moment, I realized I would do pretty much anything to feel better. I would have stripped all the way down just for medicine. Life lesson #143 Pneumonia trumps morals ever time.

Once he was ready, the shirt was dropped and I decided this situation was so silly there was nothing to do but own it and laugh. It was truly ridiculous. I faced the wrong way and due to a lack of communication, he had to steer me (via shoulders) to where I should stand. Apparently, the girls were not in a great position so he, without warning and in a manner that was somehow professional, grabbed the girls, spread the apart and pushed me up again the machine. As I was about to turn around and be offended, he was behind the machine about to take the x-ray. Warning? Nope. Dignity? Nope. Lead vest to protect my baby making parts? Haha, nope!

Once it was done, I made a few jokes, knowing I was the only one to understand them. “I could use a cigarette after that”, “Will you call me?” and finally as the next patient walked in, “I thought I was special!”.  I walked to Almaz and asked if what I experienced (mainly to boob grabbing) was normal or was I just molested. Almaz, a grandmother like figure, responded, “Since they even treat someone who looks like me that way, you can believe it is nothing weird”. This just added to my laughter. And at this point, I was mere minutes away from a diagnosis and medicine. That was until we learned the x-ray reader was not there. We were assured he would be there at 6:00. Back home.

Another nap.

The Peace Corps car and crew came once again and took me to the hospital for the fourth time in one day. We all had a good laugh about it. The x-ray reader was there and told me I had pneumonia and wrote me a prescription. He also informed me I had bacteria infection in my stomach. At this, I just laughed. He looked at me strangely and repeated himself since I clearly must not have understood. I told him I understood perfectly. The pneumonia makes everything hurt and wrecked expect my digestive system, but the bacteria infection was taking care of that.  He grinned, as he finally understood why I was laughing.

The Peace Corps folks and I went to a pharmacy, got me medicine, and dropped me off at my home for the fourth and final time. Back home. Another nap.

Overall, there are two things that really stood out in the day (besides the overall humor and silliness of going there four times, mistaking a plastic cup’s meaning and getting more action that I have seen in months).

1. The Peace Corps staff is absolutely amazing. This all took place on a Friday. A lot of it after hours. While they said it was their job, they went above and beyond what was required. They treated me like a family member and got me the best care possible. When sick in a foreign country, it is so easy to feel isolated and depressed. Like no one within thousands of miles cares. But these three individuals showed me tenderness normally reserved for family and I will never be able to sing their praise enough.
2. I was carted back and forth throughout the day. I was able to cut every line and never waited more than 5 minutes for any service. For average Ethiopians, the process must be pure misery. While I was in a private car, they were stuck in uncomfortable seats. While I was napping between visits, they were stuck in uncomfortable seats. As I was getting treated, they were stuck in uncomfortable seats. The entire experience opened my eyes to yet another hardship Ethiopians face but somehow never complain about. It is that silent perseverance that makes me respect the people of this country even more.

Home Sweet Home

After being at site for a little over two months, I finally feel like my home is close to what it will be for the next two years. While two months may seem like a long time to get things in order, I had set the date of December 20th to be where I am now. I am quite pleased. There are one or two things I still need to get before I can call it done. I know Peace Corps is suppose to be an isolating experience, but I would still like to have more than two chairs. I’m pretty posh these days…

People have asked me what my place is like and I have avoided answering because I am confident what you imagine is much worse than reality. If you want to think I am living is a mud hut, that is fine and you should continue thinking that. But if you really think I live in a mud hut, you should probably send me a care package due to my harsh living conditions. In reality, I truly cannot complain about my living situation. I have two nice rooms, a shint bet that gets the job done, regular electricity and as much water as a girl can dream of. While luxuries like a toilet or sink (oh my god, I would kill for a sink) would be nice, I feel pretty lucky. Now that I have a fancy new camera, here are a bunch of picture of where I spent most of my time.

The exterior of my compound. There are about 8 other people living here in various rooms.

 The very popular shint bet. Again, shared with 8 other people. Awesome.

My front door. None of the plants shown are mine. But eventually, I will start growing amazing things (like cilantro!!!)

As you enter. I have a bunch of maps on the wall. A world map, Africa map and Ethiopia map. By the end of two years, I'm going to know me some geography!

 

My sitting area where I spent most of my time. There is only room for two people to sit. Luckily (or sadly) this is rarely a problem. A bench is on the way for more seating! Perhaps I should have emptied my trash prior to this picture.

My "kitchen".  I have a propane stove so it is actually pretty easy to cook here. 

 The red container is for untreated water. The white is filtered drinking water (not a good idea to confuse them) Above, on my fancy shelves, are fruits, veggies and spices (I'm alls growns up). My favorite part about the shelves is that the walls are not flat so they tilt downwards and are by no means flush with the wall. The likelihood they last two years is slim, but for now, I love them.

Towards my second room; Go Ducks! Always have to represent!

Where the magic happens (and by magic, I mean sleeping and watching The West Wing)

Where I get my pretty on

Never know when an impromptu game of Pin-the-Tail-On-the-Donkey will break out. But I am always prepared.

All the cards you fine people have sent and tons of photos. I think I should add some newspaper clippings with random things circled just to complete the stalker wall.

 Finally, my world map. My finger is on Asella. Turns out I am really far away.

Don't ever challenge me...

            Ernest Hemingway was once challenged to write a short story in as few words as possible. He succeeded at the task and his short story was a grand total of 6 words, “Baby shoes. For sale. Never worn”. I was recently challenged to do the exact opposite of that. Take one, arguable mundane, event and turn it into a long story. I believe the gauntlet was thrown at approximately 750 words. And due to this scholarly introduction, I am already at 82. So be warned and take this blog entry for what it is: not exciting, memorable, or noteworthy moments as a PCV in Ethiopia, but the acceptance of a snide challenge to write a long story about killing an ant. 

            When you think of critters and bugs in Africa, I am sure the images conjured are of spiders the size of your hand, roaches that could eat mice and horned beetles that could be mistaken for rhinoceroses. While those are definitely around, even in Ethiopia, I landed in a fairly unintimidating bug zone. There are spiders that are uncomfortably big, but they could not carry me away. There are roaches that hop like crickets and you cannot tell the difference between “normals” and “jumpers” until your shoe is at the point of no return and the roach is suddenly flying at your face. To date, the scariest critters are centipedes. And I am do not mean some goliath, snake-like creature, but your average centipedes that are no more than 2-3 inches long. Their fur (fuzz? Skin? Grossness?) has a poison on it that leaves a pretty awful rash. While you are asleep, they crawl on you. When you wake up in the morning, you can literally see the trail they followed from the rash on your body. I have yet to wake up to this nightmare, but I have seen two in my house and promptly murdered them.

            While a lack of truly terrifying animals has its obvious advantages (i.e. I don’t live in constant fear of death), I am often lured into a false sense of security. There is a two-inch gap between my door and the outside world, but I only remember to put a net blocking entry half the time. I sit on my floor with no regard that I may not be alone. And I have long since ditched the mosquito net that would guard me from critters while I am at my most vulnerable: sleeping. (I’m at 416 words and have not even mentioned the antagonist yet. I may actually have to edit this down).

            With all this in mind, I was sitting on my floor doing dishes from a delicious dinner I had prepared- if I may be allowed to toot my own horn.  I had my computer facing me and was enthralled with an episode of the West Wing (I can’t believe the President has MS, the republicans will surely use this against him). My hands were full of suds as I washed my dishes in a bucket. There was a battle between a pot, some burned rice on the bottom of it, and me, but that is another story for another time. Between the West Wing and the elbow grease I was applying, I had no hope of spotting the lurking monster as it crept up. My friends, I am no ant expert. But one thing is for sure, this 1-inch long ant had blood on its mind and would not stop is its assault until one of us was no more. Through sheer luck, perhaps it was fate, I saw the attacker just before it reached me. In that moment, everything else disappeared. There were no dishes. There were no thoughts about saving a once beautiful pot. There were no worries about whether or not Congress would confirm Mendoza, the hopeful new Supreme Court judge. No, it was just two moral enemies, whom the gods had decided would fight to death this day. We looked deep into each other’s eyes, maybe even into each other’s souls. I saw nothing but hate and blackness emanating from the two-inch long creature. There was a stand off. A calm before the storm. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was respect. But it all came crashing down as the trumpets of war began to play.

            I studied my 3-inch long enemy. I thought to myself, maybe under different circumstances, we could have been friends. In another world, in another time, we (750) could have set aside our differences. But that was not the fate given to us. The ant bowed its head and murmured what I can only assume to be a prayer that god may be on its side. We began our battle. It scurried towards me with all of its might. Since ants can carried 100 times their body weight and this was a 4-inch ant, think about the sheer strength approaching me. I was in a very vulnerable position: sitting helplessly with buckets of water, towels and dishes all around. I knew I only had one shot if I was going to make it through the day. I grabbed a freshly washed bowl and tried to throw it on top of the 5-inch behemoth. In that moment, everything stopped. I saw loved ones back home flash before my eyes, childhood memories and the nieces and nephews I may never get to meet. Everything was silent and I heard a voice say, “Because I could not stop for Death / He kindly stopped for me”. I knew, in that moment, if the bowl did not land on top of the 6-inch creature, I was dead. The outer rim landed just past my nemesis. It bounced to its front. Back and forth. Back and forth. With each passing bounce, I could see the ant underneath. It had a knowing look in its eye- as if it understood the gravity of the situation, and that it would not see the light of day again. And when the bowl finally settled, the war was over. It ended as quickly as it started. While the ant made some last attempts to escape, there was no escaping fate. I gathered myself and got a can of bug spray. As I lifted the bowl to spray death upon my foe, I could not help but tell it, “you battle well, sir, you battled well”. After I sensed there was no life left under the bowl, I swept the 7-inch monster out of my room, and out of my life.

            As is true with any war, there really were no victors. I was forever changed that day. I know the preciousness of life and how quickly it can all slip away. One moment you are going about your business and then, BAM, you’re trapped under a bowl with poison seeping in. That is my tale and my only hope is that you learn from this and go hug someone you love, while you can. As for me, I just wrote 1,167 words on killing an ant.

             

Merry Meskel!

      Last week, there was yet another holiday here in Ethiopia. And while with New Year’s there was a certain familiarity since (believe it or not) there are New Year’s in America, this was my first holiday that was completely foreign. Meskel may now be my favorite holiday in the world. My camera was broken a few months ago so, sadly, I cannot share any pictures of my actual experience. But who needs real pictures when there is Google images!?!

      There is a long history behind Meskel that I am about to butcher because: 1. I don’t have Internet and cannot Wikipedia it 2. There’s a language barrier here so I am never sure that I understand things correctly. So bear with me but most of all, accept what I say as fact and don’t bother looking up how wrong I am… Some specific amount of years ago, a woman (whose name I should definitely remember) was like, “I’m pretty sure a part of the cross Jesus was crucified on is buried somewhere in Ethiopia”. Then some angels visited her and said, “Hey, good call on that Jesus thing. Part of the cross is indeed in Ethiopia. To find it, create a huge pyre and the direction it falls, is where you will find the cross”. She said, “Thanks angels!” and they all high-fived. Are you still with me?

            So this woman, let’s call her Nancy, Nancy builds a really big bonfire. There is a ton of smoke and sure enough, the pyre collapses in a very specific direction. She begins her trek, not knowing how far she will travel. Along the way, if I remember correctly, she had to fight kangaroos, lemurs, and a pack of knife wielding octopuses (that‘s 8 knives each!). But she finally made it to the mountain the pyre lead her to, started digging and BOOM, found part of the cross that Jesus was crucified on. And so concludes “History With Laura”.

            Meskel (Nancy’s adventure) is celebrated every year towards the end of September. Last Wednesday, what felt like the whole town, went to the huge Orthodox Church here in Asella. There were at least 1,000 people there of all ages. In the middle of the crowd, the church had built a pyre that was probably 40 feet tall. All throughout the day, various groups and people came to the woodpile, singing songs, and throwing more kindle on the wood. There was a lot of praying and a group prayer as night began to fall. Then, around dusk, it all started. Before any match was lit, you could feel the anticipation of the crowd. Everyone got a little closer to each other and surged towards what would soon be a raging fire. As I was about 50 feet back, I could not see who actually threw the first torch on the mound. But the second it happened, the pyre was engulfed. The crowd cheered. Little kids screamed in excitement. Everyone clamored to get a better view. Fortunately, I was not downwind of the fire because those devoted people were pelted with burning embers, though it affected them in no way. It truly was a Meskel Miracle that no one was burned, the tree downwind did not catch fire and that the power lines directly over the pyre somehow held. This holiday would be shutdown before it started if this was in America.

            After a while, people started leaving. While the burning is intended to be to see which direction the pyre falls, (people in that direction are suppose to have good luck for the next year. But my favorite part is that every town has a burning so throughout Ethiopia, a pyre will fall in every direction meaning everyone in Ethiopia gets good luck for a year. Every year. Classic.) but since the cross has already been found, I suppose there is not much of a point of waiting around. After meandering around for a bit, I went and got some delicious food with lovely people. One the way back to my house, there were mini-pyres all along the street. Kids singing songs and happily having an excuse to play with fire. Again, this would never fly in the US.

            The next day, the actual day of Meskel, was much like New Years but much slower paced. I had first lunch around noon. It was at a house I went to for New Years but it was a much more intimate affair. Just the family and two foriengis sharing some delicious sigawot and kitfo. I had second lunch at 3:00 and it was just as good as the first. More food than I could ever possibly eat but for some reason, I tried to force myself to. The night ended at the same local hang out that I ended New Years with and just like before, was “gorsha’ed” handfuls of food by the owner.

           It was a really great experience overall. The food was good and anytime there is a giant 40-foot fire, it is going to be a good time. I think about how in most areas of Southern California, you cannot even have fireworks on the 4^th of July. I wonder how a 40-foot pyre resting just below power lines would go over. It is those spectacular sights and experiences, that I could never have back home, that make me remember why I am here, willingly sharing a hole in the ground as a toilet with 8 other people. 

The Day I Ate Everything…

            Happy New Year or Malkom Addis Amat! Tuesday was the Ethiopian New Year and I rang in 2005 pretty well! Yep, 2005! I’m in high school again and Brad and Jennifer are still together. Oh, what simpler times! Ethiopians do not use the Gregorian calendar and are oddly boastful and proud of this fact. I love living in a country that takes pride in being seven years behind the rest of the world.

            Since it was my first holiday in Ethiopia, I did not know what to expect or even if I would get to experience a traditional holiday since I do not know many people in Asella yet. As it turned out, I got perhaps too much traditional holiday experience. I will explain the day in detail but the main take away is that Ethiopian holidays seems just like American holidays- you are obligated to see a ton of people and by the end of the day, you cannot move you are so full of food.

            My day started at 9:00am. Well, that is not entirely true. My day started at 6:30am. I awoke to Ethiopian music blaring and the sounds of little girls going from compound-to-compound singing songs for people. I would like to say I eagerly got out of bed to experience this adorable tradition, but at 6:30 in the morning, sleep trumps culture. I threw in some earplugs and eagerly fell back asleep.

            Anyways, at 9:00 I arrived at my counterpart’s house. My counterpart is this fantastic woman who is the head of the English department at my school. She was charged with the task of being my… well, everything until I finally figure things out on my own. She warmly invited me to her house on New Years for breakfast and I shared the meal with her family. When I entered the house, I was instantly given a full glass (Ethiopian hospitality dictates a glass must be poured to the brim- practically overflowing) of tella. Tella is like an Ethiopian home brewed beer. Just about every house makes their own and my counterpart’s is absolutely amazing. We sat down to breakfast, which was more like a feast. The meal consisted of many traditional Ethiopian foods. So at 9:15 in the morning, I found myself eating dorowot (a red, slightly spicy chicken stew), sigawot (similar to dorowot but goat instead of chicken), homemade cheese, chicken wings/legs, and hard-boiled eggs. Just a tip, when you see people eat hard-boiled eggs in one bite, you know it is a serious meal. By 10:00, I was absolutely stuffed. I stayed for a little longer and had coffee with the family. My counterpart and I then went to her mother’s house for coffee and bread.

            By 11:30, round one was done and I was heading off for round two. Luckily, I had a 30-minute walk ahead of me and was able to digest a bit of food. The second stop of the day was at one of the best homes in Asella. The family hosted a PCV named Lisa during the months of training, and Lisa and I were invited for lunch. Once there, we were given more tella and I finally had time to sit and settle into my food coma. Before long, it was time to eat again. Lunch was pretty amazing. They had killed and butchered a sheep the night before so it was as fresh of food as possible (as a side note, it was no small feat to avoid seeing an animal being killed in the days leading up to New Years). I was able to enjoy some t’ibs (as you may know by now, one of me favorite) and k’aywot (a spicy red stew made with sheep). After more coffee and tella, I was past the point of uncomfortably full. I was so full of food that I could not take a deep breath- there as not enough empty space inside me to allow my lungs to expand. That is serious-full. But, it was only 2:00 and there were more place to go and food to eat.

            Lisa and I departed and met up with married Asella volunteers, Joe and Kelly. They took us to a friend’s house where we were able to experience yet another version of the New Years. We happily spent the afternoon with Telahun, his wife and their two beautiful (and hilarious) daughters. When we arrived, we were given glasses of arake. Arake is the equivalent of Ethiopian moonshine, slightly like drinking fire but surprising good for digestion. To show what good quality arake it was, Telahun poured some on the floor, lit a match, and we all watched as it burned for a solid minute.  Unbeknownst to me, Telahun and his wife are some of the best cooks in the world. For second lunch, we had kitfo (raw meat, mixed with butter and spices [fun fact: arake kills any worms you can get by eating raw meat!]), k’aywot (amazingly good, I could eat their k’aywot everyday and be happy), and homemade cheese that was a lot like ricotta. My only regret is that I was only able to eat one plate. We again had coffee and slipped back into the daylong food coma.

            We said our thanks and left Telahun’s house at about 5:00. The last stop of the day was to Girma’s, a local hang out with wonderful owners. We somehow managed to walk there (I suspect it was closer to a roll) and shared some tella with Girma himself and his wife. We stayed for a while and had a great time. Towards the end of the night, Girma and his wife came out with a huge plate of food. Although we had not eaten in 4-5 hours, we were all still stuffed. We ate some food but it was apparently clear we were just eating to be polite. Girma did not like that. As is Ethiopian culture, if someone is not eating properly, feed him or her! It was the only “gorsha” of the day. It started out reasonable. He would hand feed us each, in turn, small bites. But one thing to know about Girma, he is a funny man. By the end, he was feeding us handfuls of food so big, it was nearly impossible to fit it all in our mouths. Remember when you would (or still do, let’s be honest) spray whip cream in your mouth but you would spray so much you could not really close your mouth? That is pretty much what it was like. Except instead of whip cream, it was injerra and some sort of wot. To make matters more difficult, we were all laughing hysterically and could hardly eat anyways.

            The day was a fantastic time filled with good people and good food. I really feel lucky to have been welcomed into so many homes and share the holiday with so many people. The day was a synopsis of Ethiopian culture. No matter who you are, there is also someone kind enough to invite you into his or her home and share what they have.

So all in all, 14 hours, 5 different houses, 4 giant meals, countless cups of coffee, and a solid amount of Ethiopian traditional drinks rounded out my first Ethiopian New Years. I’m just a little scared I set the bar too high for next year.  

The time they let riff raff into the embassy

            About three weeks ago, I was sworn-in as part of the newest group of Peace Corps Volunteers in the world (a title another group likely has by now). It was a very exciting time that was only made better by the struggles with which we all faced in order to be there.

            When you join the Peace Corps, it is 27-month commitment. There are three months of training and then two years of being an actual volunteer. When planning and envisioning what life will be like, most volunteers (myself included) glaze over the three months of training. It sounds like a relatively short amount of time and everything is taken care of for you. You live with a host family who cooks your meals, attend language/culture classes and receive technical trainings. What you cannot possibly realize until you are in the situation, is that it is truly some of the hardest times during a Peace Corps service.

            Every facet of your life is planned and taken care of with little to no regard of your actual opinions or feelings. It is ironically one of the most regimented experiences I can ever imagine going through. You eat when you are told, go to school when you are told and yes, I was even told, “go to bed” a few times. This lack of control, in addition to living in an entirely new place and culture, is enough to drive a person nuts.

            But, yet another thing you do not know before joining the Peace Corps is that the people you go through PST with will become family in a matter of weeks. While you start off as strangers, you grow together in the experience. Your highs become other people’s highs. Your lows are other people’s lows. You help each other out and build each other up because you are in it together. And the whole experience, though just 10 weeks, culminates into a party at the embassy.

            I mention the struggles not to sound like a martyr, but to give you a glimpse of what an incredible feeling it is just to make it to swearing-in. There you are, 9,000 miles away from anyone you have ever known as of 10 weeks ago, but you feel as though you are among family. Everyone is smiling and congratulating each other.  It is an exciting time. Before the reality of leaving each other and beginning this crazy journey takes place, there is this one-day that is just about celebrating getting through the (at times) horror of PST. Here are some picture commemorating the day!

We’re kind of a big deal!

Moment of truth!

Just me, the Ethiopian minister of education, the Peace Corps Ethiopia Country Director, and the US Ambassador to Ethiopia - your average Friday.

They don’t serve sushi for just any group!

And finally, a lot of happy people...

Strange Times

           In Ethiopia, one of the most important political events in the past 20 years happened about two weeks ago. The Prime Minister, Meles Zenawi, passed away. He had been the Prime Minister for decades and is greatly responsible for the economic growth Ethiopia has seen in the past 10 years. He started a 5-year plan, a few years ago, that aimed to improve just about every facet of Ethiopia and it is moving the country in a positive direction. As with any political figure, there were groups who adored him and others who were more critical. No one was quite sure what the response would be to his death but one thing was certain, it would be an interesting time to be in Ethiopia.

            From a personal standpoint, I had no idea what to expect in terms of a reaction from the people of Ethiopia. In my limited experience, it seems like most people are so caught up in the daily grind of trying to survive that there is no time to activity participate in politics. There are many people struggling but that is suddenly common around the world. The country has most definitely seen harder times and there is a resilient spirit here. But overall, working to feed your family and keep a roof over your head takes priority over everything else.

            To be here and see the reaction from the people has been an unique experience. When the news first broke, every where I went, people would ask me, “did you know that our Prime Minister died?” There was a definite sorrow that I did not expect, like it was a close and personal lost. In my lifetime, I have never experienced being in a country when an acting leader dies. I do not know if this is the normal reaction, but I was definitely taken aback. This was not some distant man who had only ever been in their homes through TV, this was the personal lose of an intimate friend. People were glued to the TV as all the stations aired various reports and histories of his life. Everyone was caught up in the moment. When his funeral was on TV, the country literally stopped. Coffee and food stopped being served. Merchant stopped selling. Everyone stopped to witness their Prime Minister’s last appearance. As an outsider, it was a surreal experience. I sat in a café, watching these people truly grieve.

            The following Saturday, some volunteers and I went to a nearby big city, Nazret, to pick some things up. As we were waiting for the Ethiopian who was going to show us around, we began to hear this rumble. We looked to our right and suddenly, there were 50 motorcycles riding down the street. The people on the back were waving flags and hold pictures of Zenawi. That was followed by hundreds of Bajaj’s (small three wheeled taxis), all of which had flags and pictures hastily strewn about them. There were a few full sized trucks equipped with large speakers in the back and men with microphone I can only assume talking of the Prime Minister. It seemed as though there were hundreds of megaphones, all fighting for the growing crowd’s attention. This rally came and went multiple times as we all stood back, taking it in. It was not as much a demonstration as a celebration. They were celebrating the life of Zenawi and all he had done for their country. I never felt unsafe or scared; it was simply the people showing their appreciation and love for a man they believe did so much for the country.

            I have been watching a lot of news reports lately and all of them still revolved around the Prime Minister. There have been rallies like this everywhere (including in Asella). People with flags and pictures showing their support to a man they never met. There was one lady that especially stuck me. She was probably in her 70’s and being interviewed as she paid homage during one such rally. I could not understand a single word she said, but she looked as if one of her children had just died. While it is typical human nature to ham it up for a camera (which there was plenty of), this woman clearly would have been behaving the same way whether she was in front of a camera, or at home by herself. You could just see that she remembered the times before Zenawi and the struggles she must have faced. She was openly weeping, uncontrollable, at the lost of the Prime Minster. I was so stuck. This is a man she had never met. Someone who realistically did not know she even existed. Yet her level of sorrow and grief was as though he was her family. While there were men and women beating their chest, holding candle light vigils and chanting his name, it is the image of this old woman that will stay with me.

            So no one is quite sure what the response will be from here on out, but one thing is certain, it is an interesting time to be in Ethiopia.

'Merica

Nothing makes you more patriotic than living in another country!!!!!