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.