Status Update

I want a nice breakfast this morning. So at 9:00am, I finally get out of bed after an hour of reading and listening to music, put on some clothes, find two sandals (they even match), and head to the corner sook to purchase eggs and bread. As I walk the thirty feet, I pass three horses with carts attached to them and men loading them up with bags of grain from the mill. I pass dogs lazily basking in the sun. I pass a few donkeys and avoided looking in their sad, sad eyes. In the thirty feet to my corner sook, I pass seven children. Each and every one of them expects a moment of my time and some small interaction. “Laura, what is your name?” is uttered twice. I fist bomb each and every one and my thirty foot walk takes me about five minutes.

Once at the corner sook, I go through the necessary greetings that must take place before any business can happen. I see the sook keeper’s daughter, scope her up, and tickle her as she giggles happily at the crazy foreigner. The sook is out of eggs but has freshly made bread. I ask him for one and he searches around for the softest he has. I pay my 1.20 birr and contemplate where to go for eggs.

I head away from my house towards a crowded roundabout. Once again, kids come running up to me for a fist bomb or scream my name just for a wave. I turn right at the roundabout and head uphill. I walk pass women washing clothes and men trying to invite me into their homes for reasons I never intent to find out. Some yell “you, you” or the Amharic version “anchi, anchi”. One man knows a bit of English so I get my first, “beautiful girl, come here!” of the day. As I have bed hair, crust in my eye, and unbrushed teeth, I cannot help but make myself chuckle by thinking, “I still got it!”

I finally make it to another, larger sook for the sought after eggs. I again go through the greeting that this country runs on before I can ask, “ink’ulal alla?” He replies that he does not have eggs but points me to where I can find them. I continue uphill and turn left into the animal market. Here, I can buy goats, sheep, chickens, and perhaps, if it is the right kind of day, cows. I walk towards the chicken area and see a pile of eggs next to a man selling chickens. I ask him for three eggs, as his hands are full with two, unruly chickens. It is likely that one of these birds recently produced the eggs I will be eating shortly. He does not want to put them down so he hands them to me. I grab the four chicken legs as their owners flap wildly below. I cannot help but grin as I stand, holding two chickens that will be someone’s dinner tonight, at 9:15 in the morning. We trade the three eggs for the chickens; I pay him the 6.75 birr, and am on my way.

As I walk home, I pass most of the same children and they all require the same amount of attention as before. No men call out for me. They seem to know that I have a deep desire to throw an egg at someone before my time here is done. I am now armed. I make the hundred-yard walk home in about ten minutes. As I unlock my door and set everything down, I am stuck by how normal and routine everything that just transpired feels. I think to myself, “this is my life now, and I am somehow content with it.”

These moments and experiences are happening more and more often. I have been living in Asella for 6 months and something in me has changed. I went through my first, true crisis of contemplating going home and I came out stronger on the other side for it. It is no longer a question of can I do this? but, instead, will I be able to motivate myself to do this?

There is a very specific life cycle of an average volunteer that every PCV in the world is shown. According to this, I am hitting my stride and I could not agree more. My life is by no means easier, my work still feels fruitless, and I am by no means happy all the time; but I, for the first time in the 8 months and 8 day I’ve been in this country, am starting to feel like I have a handle on things. In talking with other volunteers in my group, it seems to be happening to everyone. During a training last week, there was a certain confidence emanating that has never been there before. Group 7’s got little swagger.

It is an enjoyable period of my service. I have a routine that keeps me sane. I have a grasp on what is going on around me. I have fantastic people that I get to see on a regular basis. I have a sense of normalcy for the first time. And while the PCV life cycle says this period will only last about three more months, I intend to enjoy it as much, and for as long, as I can.