Landmarks

The second group of PCVs arrived in Ethiopia last night. It has me
thinking about how far I've come in the past 14 months…and about how
far I still have to go in the next year. I remember stepping off of
that plane exhausted, disoriented, and terrified. Lugging my 80+
pounds of luggage to the bus they had rented for us and staring,
stunned, at the city, which was empty as we drove through it around 10
pm, on our way to the hotel. I remember thinking, more than once,
"what have I gotten myself into?"

With this new group arriving, and with the departures from Bahir Dar
of two dear friends (one a short term intern from Germany, the other
Teddy, my first friend at I-TECH), I've been imagining my own
departure. It's hard to fathom. I can't picture what it would be like
to say goodbye to these people, to this place, that has become my
home. I suppose that's a good sign—that I am indeed settled here. I
have a feeling that, for better or for worse, that this next year is
going to fly by.

It's been a while since I've posted an update. I moved into a new
house about a month ago. My old landlord, not unsurprisingly, given
ridiculous inflation, tried to increase my rent when my contract ran
out in October. The surprise was that he wanted to raise it by almost
50%. So, with the help of just about everybody I know in Bahir Dar, I
found a new place, not far from the old, and moved in. I love this new
place, and kind of can't quite remember how I survived a year in the
old one. I have a kitchen, an indoor bathroom, and quite a bit more
room than in the old house. And particularly nice is the fact that I'm
not alone on my compound any more. There's a wonderful family sharing
the yard with me. Mom, Tsehay (which means "sun") is a jewel: kind and
helpful and with such a warm smile. She often brings me an injera and
a little pot of wot if there's extra. Dad works for the Ministry of
Capacity Building and is often out in the field, but also seems quite
nice. Two kids, Tsion (age 9), and Beniam (age 4), are super sweet,
though still a little bit shy and not quite sure of what to make of a
ferenji living on their compound. They both go to a good private
school in town, and are learning English. Yesterday Tsion came to my
door after school, her first exams of the year in hand. She wanted to
show me how well she was doing (20/20 in English!). I gave her a
high-five. She also drew a rabbit for me to put up on my wall, having
seen drawings from other kids hanging there. Beniam won't really talk
to me yet, but I can see by his shy smile that he wants to like me. We
have a full year—I'm sure he'll be my buddy by the time I leave here.

Holiday time again now, and much better than last year. I remember
being lonely and unsure of myself last year. At Christmastime, we'd
only been in Bahir Dar a little over a week. It's so nice to have
friends and a home and to know how things work here. We orchestrated,
along with 6 volunteers, a huge Thanksgiving celebration at Charlie &
Dee's (my adopted parents here) house, complete with a turkey special
ordered from the US Embassy. What a treat! Their house is lovely and
warm, and they're incredibly generous. A friend from the States had
come for a visit, and acted as a Thanksgiving-food-mule, delivering
cranberries, huge golden onions, celery, and sweet potatoes. Charlie
and Dee's guard didn't even recognize the onions—they look nothing
like our little tiny red onions here. We shared an incredible dinner
(how good to have such friends!), and then spent the afternoon
painting a mural on the inside of Charlie and Dee's gate.

My parents are arriving in Ethiopia in less than three weeks. I know
that they're excited about seeing my life here, and I'm excited to
show them around. It will be interesting to see how they react to life
here. Sometimes it's easy to forget, in the routine of it all, how
different my life here is. I know that all of my friends here are
eager to meet them, as well.

What else? I'm struggling again with finding productive work, but am,
at least, making progress on my thesis. The goal is to have my
proposal done and submitted to the ethical review boards in the US and
Ethiopia by the first of the year. I'm planning to look at the
factors—demographic, clinical, and social—that are associated with
poor outcomes in the first six months of HIV treatment. We're seeing a
lot of clients coming in to the hospital acutely sick, getting tested
for HIV and started on treatment, and then never showing up again.
Will be interesting to see if we can sort out just who the patients
are who are most likely to drop out of care. I'm also hoping to
conduct (through a translator) a few interviews, to try to tease out
some of the problems people encounter with HIV treatment. My best
guess is that transport costs, fear of stigma (and therefore not
telling others about the treatment and not having any social support),
and perhaps drug and alcohol use, will show up as issues. But I
suppose I'll have to wait for the data to tell me…

So life is fine here. It's starting to feel like I've been away for a
very long time, and I'm sure that it will be nice to have a short
break with my parents (and who wouldn't be excited about spending a
few days on the beach in Zanzibar?!). I miss all of my friends and
family back in the States (and around the world…). Know that I'm
thinking of you often, and particularly during the holidays. Hope that
you're all well.

OBAMA!

Jubilant.

And very, very tired.

Stayed up all night to watch the election returns (first ones came
back just after 3am). Watching the concession and acceptance speeches
this morning around 8am (having been there since midnight) at the
Obama Cafe (with fellow Americans, Ethiopians, a Brit, some Dutchmen,
a few Canadians, and a German) was one of the better things I've ever
done. I actually cried with relief.

Congra, Obama, as they say here.

VOTE!

We're getting down to the wire on the US election. It's big news here
(and has been for several months). Many of my friends, both Ethiopians
and ex-pats, are asking about it and thinking about it. A great new
café in Bahir Dar opened up a couple of months ago—Obama Café and
Restaurant. It's quickly becoming one of my favorite haunts. I even
(thanks to friends and family back in Denver) brought them some
additional Barack paraphernalia from the convention last August (which
the proprietors were exceptionally excited about). I got my absentee
ballot in the mail a week or so ago, sent it back, thanks to the Peace
Corps, priority. While my vote isn't going to change the situation in
Washington State, it still feels like such a privilege to be able to
make a choice (at least symbolically) from so very far away. It's
really overwhelming to see how many people here care, and how deeply,
about the results of this election. I'm inspired to see people without
a lot of access to international news media who know more about the
repercussions of this election than many Americans do. A great new
café in Bahir Dar opened up a couple of months ago—Obama Café and
Restaurant. It's quickly becoming one of my favorite haunts. I even
(thanks to friends and family back in Denver) brought them some
additional Barack paraphernalia from the convention last August (which
the proprietors were exceptionally excited about).

If you haven't already, PLEASE make sure to vote in this election. Do
it for yourselves, for me, and especially for those millions of people
in Ethiopia and elsewhere who care deeply about what happens in
America and don't have that privilege.

A year?!

Happy Halloween! My pen-pals (elementary school students from North
Carolina) had lots of questions for me about what Halloween is like in
Ethiopia. They may be sad to learn the truth that there are no
costumes or trick or treating here. Though I can imagine that my
neighbor boys would be absolutely nutso for Halloween if they heard
about it.

We just passed the one year anniversary of being in Peace Corps.
Amazing. We finished our Mid-Service Conference (complete with lots of
interesting--and a few less interesting--presentations, a bowling
outing--human pinsetters!, physicals, a slightly-too-aggressive dental
cleaning, and an eye exam at an Ethiopian clinic that turned into a
join appointment--Kristen and I had our eyes looked at
simultaneously), and I've been hanging out in Addis for the week
taking advantage of some time to get stuff done in the capital. It's
been a nice break, but actually, for the first time in a while, I did
in fact feel sad about leaving Bahir Dar. I've been feeling *good*
there these days. Incredible! I'm making real friends, enjoying my
work, and trying to get started on the thesis project. I've finally
been able to cobble together about 10 different projects at I-TECH and
elsewhere, and have been (can you believe it?) _busy_ these days. So
it felt like bad timing to be away from home this week. It has been
lovely, though, to get to spend time with the other volunteers in a
big group. I haven't seen some of these guys since April. We're down
to 29 of us now (lost another one just last week), and so the group
feels particularly close knit (that's code for small...). Our Country
Director resigned last week, meaning that nearly every single member
of our original senior staff has turned over since we arrived. Ah, new
programs. We've been an experiment from the very start.

So things are looking and feeling up. I'm moving out of my house next
week into a beautiful new place, complete with indoor toilet and
(gasp!) kitchen counters. I'm hoping that my new landlord will have
arranged to turn on the water, fix the windows so that they actually
shut, and get the kitchen door to unlock in the week that I've been
gone. Too much to ask? Potentially. Anyhow, the place is great, and
I'm excited about the move. It's a bit farther from work and town, but
I'll no longer be living on a compound by myself, which I think will
be great news for my (currently struggling) Amharic. The family also
has two adorable little kids, Tsion, who is in second grade, and
Biniam, who's in first. So given how much I love kids, this is going
to be a perfect situation.

My parents will be coming to visit in just 8 weeks. I'm already
counting down. Excited to get to share Ethiopia with them, and also to
get to see a little corner of Tanzania. Many of the volunteers have
visitors over Christmas and New Years or are going home. It feels like
a really big milestone in our time here. I'm sure that the next year
is just going to fly. The new volunteers--Group Two--arrive on
December 4th. We're all excited to get to meet them. There's lots of
speculation about what this group will be like. If it's anything like
ours, then *unique* might be the best descriptor.

To an English Friend in Africa

A poem by Ben Okri, a Nigerian poet. Yes, it's a little cheesy, but
sometimes these things just speak to me, and I thought I'd share it
with you all. I particularly liked these lines: "Remember that all
things which happen/ To you are raw materials." I think that it's a
good mantra for when things don't go exactly the way that I would have
liked them to go, here and elsewhere...

_To an English Friend in Africa_

Be grateful for the freedom
To see other dreams.
Bless your loneliness as much as you drank
Of your former companionships,
All that you are experiencing now
Will become moods of future joys
So bless it all,
Do not think your way superior
To another's
Do not venture to judge
But see things with fresh and open eyes
But praise when you can
And when you can't, be silent.

Time is now a gift for you
A gift of freedom
To think and remember and understand
The ever perplexing past
And to recreate yourself anew
In order to transform time.

Live while you are alive.
Learn the ways of silence and wisdom
Learn to act, learn new speech
Learn to be what you are in the seed of your spirit and
Learn to free yourself from all the things
That have molded you
And which limit your secret and undiscovered road.

Remember that all things which happen
To you are raw materials
Endlessly fertile
Endlessly yielding of thoughts that could change your life
And go on doing so forever.

Never forget to pray and be thankful
For all things good or bad on the rich road:
For everything is changeable
So long as you live while you are alive.

Fear not, but be full of light and love;
Fear not, but be alert and receptive;
Fear not, but act decisively when you should;
Fear not, but know when to stop;
Fear not, for you are loved by me;
Fear not, for death is not the real terror,
But life—magically—is.

Be joyful in your silence
Be strong in your patience
Do not try to wrestle with the universe
But be sometimes like water or air
Sometimes like fire
And constant like the earth.

Live slowly, think slowly, for time is a mystery.
Never forget that love
Requires always that you be
The greatest person you are capable of being,
Self-regenerating and strong and gentle—
Your own star and hero.

Love demands the best in all of us
To always and in time overcome the worst
And lowest in our souls.
Love the world wisely.

It is love alone that is the greatest weapon
And the deepest and darkest secret.

So fear not, my friend.
The darkness is gentler than you think.
Be grateful for the manifold
Dreams of creation
And the many ways of the unnumbered peoples.

Be grateful for life as you live it.
And may a wonderful light
Always guide you on the unfolding road.

A bit of promotion

Just found the URL for the orphanage that I've been working with.
They're are really great organization, currently struggling to find
room for more and more children who are being given up for adoption.
When I arrived in Bahir Dar, they had about 12 live-in children and
maybe an additional 20 attending day care. They're up to 23 live-ins
and probably 60 total in day care. They're building an additional
center, hiring qualified staff (including a social worker, hurray!),
and trying really hard to do what's best for these kids. Grace Center
(or Centre, if you were to ask them) is one of the best stops on the
tour that I give to every visitor to Bahir Dar. It's a pretty special
place. Clean, bright, filled with happy, healthy babies. My visits
there (and the relationship I'm forming with the family that runs it)
have definitely helped me to keep my sanity, and it's doing SO much
more for the kids and the families it serves.

Here's the link: http://www.gracecentres.org/index.html. Take the
religious affiliation as you will--they're a pretty fabulous group
(and the religious element here in Bahir Dar is actually rather
minimal). I'm sure that they would appreciate your support.

It's the Little Things

It was Ethiopian New Year last week. I've never seen so many sheep and
goats being dragged, pushed, carted, or carried home for the
slaughter. People must be so sick of sheep leftovers after New Year's
Day. It was a festive week; very little work got done. Everyone was
out and about, dressed to the nines in their traditional clothing,
visiting friends and family. Little boys also carry around flowers or
drawings of flowers and exchange them for coins (kind of like trick or
treating).

My major accomplishment over the holiday was baking a pumpkin pie with
Marcy. Here is what we used: one pumpkin (7 birr, or about 80 US
cents), a graham cracker (actually Digestive Biscuit) crust,
disposable aluminum baking pans, and a Dutch oven. It took the greater
part of an afternoon, but with what results! How rewarding to have
started with nothing and to end up with something so great. We also
managed to play about three games of Scrabble while it was baking,
which was an added bonus.

Other recent achievements: forming a committee for my thesis, making a
toilet paper holder for my latrine (out of dental floss, duct tape,
and a stick, no less), finally getting all of my utility bills up to
date, and making hotel reservations for when my parents come to visit.
It's the little things.

I'm trying hard to reframe my attitude. It's easy to complain: about
lack of work, about cultural difficulties, about the rain or the sun
or the mud or the dust, about not being able to find cheese, about how
gosh-darn hard this language is. But I'm trying to start thinking a
little more positively, about what I do have, and what I have
accomplished. I think that this is especially important as I'm coming
up on the year mark of being here in Ethiopia. It would be easy to
feel like I've done nothing this year and like I've achieved very
little. But instead, I'm trying to focus on the fact that I'm
comfortable in this town that was completely foreign to me a year ago,
that I can have a basic friendly conversation with the little old lady
selling me salad greens, that I have friends and neighbors who I love,
and that I understand the HIV treatment system and can navigate the
hospital, which was once such a scary place. And, of course, the
knowledge that I can bake a delicious pumpkin pie without a pie tin or
an oven!

Also...

Check out Ruth's photos of her trip to Ethiopia and our trip to Uganda!

On Community

It’s incredible to finally feel like I belong, at least in some measure, in this place that is so very different from my home and what I’m familiar with. It’s surprising and heartening. Not to say that I feel totally comfortable or “at home” here all the time—far from it, still—but I at least feel like I’m making some steps in the right direction and being rewarded for them.

The Olympics have been a tremendous community-builder. People here are crazy for the track and field. I’ve been watching a lot of it at the small café on the corner of my block. The first Ethiopian gold medal race was one of the most memorable moments for me here so far. Kristen Straw was here visiting, and we were walking by with some groceries when we saw a huge crowd gathered at the café. We went in and it was 21 minutes into the 29 (ish) minute race. Tirunesh Dibaba, the Ethiopian, was holding steady in second place behind a Kenyan. She was keeping pace, but barely. The crowd was tense. At the very end, though, just a couple of seconds after the bell rang signaling the last lap, Tirunesh took off, and ended the race at last 10 meters in the lead. I’ve never seen spectators as excited about an athletic event—jumping up and down, hooting and cheering, high fives all around. Straw and I cheered along with them. What a moment of national pride. And then they showed the American who won bronze pulling the flag around her shoulders. Straw and I applauded and cheered. The whole bar—maybe 50 men (we were literally the only women in the place)—turned and stared at us. And then they stood up and cheered along with us. How incredible…to think that athletics can bring people together like that. Amazing.

We said goodbye this week to a dear friend and colleague, Dr. Happyson, who is ending his year-and-a-half long contract here in Ethiopia, to return to his family in the US (Zimbawean, he emigrated to California a few years ago). He’s been a great friend and mentor, and I’ll be sad to see him go. It was interesting, though, at the hospital, to realize how much a part of the work community he had become, even given the language barrier and the various ambiguities of working here. It gave me hope that when I leave in a year or so, people will feel the same way about saying goodbye to me as they have to him. It was also nice to see that Happyson felt sad on some level to be leaving here, despite his excitement about seeing his wife and daughters.

I’m also starting to feel more and more comfortable in my neighborhood. There’s a big group of pre-teen boys who have taken to me. They come over every day (sometimes more than once a day!), wanting to play soccer or hang out in my yard or chit-chat with me or practice English or just to say hello. Sometimes they’re enormously annoying, like when they knock on my gate at 7:15am and won’t leave me alone, but I’m also really growing to like them. And it’s nice to know that they’re looking out for me. (At all times! They always know whether I’m home or not). We have English class every weekend for half an hour or an hour, and this week I read out loud the three storybooks I have here. They were hanging on every word, and hanging off of me to look at the pictures. That’s something I could use more of if you’re interested in sending—picture books (about a 2nd grade level, with pictures, no figurative language, and lots of repetition). They needn’t be new, and I’ll just plan on leaving them with a school here when I go.

And there’s an incredibly sweet old lady who lives on the next block who has made a special effort to befriend me. It’s hard, because she speaks not a word of English, and my Amharic is still not great (and I probably have a very strong accent…), and she’s somewhat hard of hearing, but her face just lights up every time she sees me. She kisses each of my shoulders, which is a sign of great respect, and holds and pats my hands while talking to me. She’s asked a couple of times to come see my house, but I’ve always been on my way somewhere. This morning she came by at about 9am (thankfully I was already awake and dressed!) and I had her in for tea. Conversation was, predictably, a little tough, but it was clear that it was so special for her to be at my house. She lives alone, and I’m sure that even just the company was nice. I enjoyed spending time with her as well.

This whole day was one of the best so far in Ethiopia. After tea with my neighbor, I went to the market and had a surprisingly hassle-free shopping trip. Then went to my friend Tigist’s daughter’s 10th birthday party. Tigist works with me, and another three of the women I really like from work were there too, as well as some of Rewina’s friends and aunts and uncles and neighbors. What a lovely celebration! We all crammed in around the coffee table in their one-room house, and Tigist had prepared all sorts of special foods. We all brought little gifts for Rewina (I brought a set of Uno cards), and Rewina was so excited about all the attention. She had been in the hospital last week for pneumonia, and it was so lovely to see her well and happy again. She was dressed up in a traditional dress, and everyone got jazzed up about taking pictures. They also had some fireworks (sparklers and tiny miniature fountains for the top of the cake), which the kids (and some of the adults!) were half crazy for and half terrified of. We hung out all afternoon, drinking coffee and eating cake and fruit and playing Uno and taking photos of each other.

How great is it to have friends? It’s been almost 11 months since I got to Ethiopia, and I’m just beginning to make real friends. I’m feeling pretty proud of myself, and really happy about that development. I’m realizing how much being a part of a community means to me, especially in a place like Ethiopia where community is everything. I feel tremendously lucky to be finding—or making—little by little, a community of my own here.

On an unrelated note, thought that I should share that the mouse problem has been solved by my friendly neighborhood cat, who caught and ate the mouse (Or rat? Even though it was huge, I’d prefer to believe it was a mouse…) in front of me. There may have been a time in my life when that would have freaked me out. That time is not now: I was (a) fascinated, and (b) rooting for the cat. So nights are once again peaceful, without mice eating my tomatoes or scurrying under my bed. I did, however, find two small frogs in my living room tonight. Oh, rainy season.

One other thing. Today is the end of a fasting season for Orthodox Christians (they’ve been abstaining from meat, milk, animal products, and alcohol for 2.5 weeks). So, fittingly, everyone is gorging on dairy and meat today. On my way back from the market, I took a bajaj (motorcycle taxi, usually holds three or four people). Passengers: me, a young technical college student, and his very large, very vocal sheep, on its way to being lunch.

No, I haven't fallen off the face of the planet (quite...)

Yes, it has been more than six weeks since I've posted anything. Let me tell you what I've been up to...

I just arrived this morning from the most wonderful trip. My best friend Ruth came to visit, and we went together to Uganda to see another dear friend, Lauren. Ruth arrived in Ethiopia on July 11, and I have no idea where the past three weeks have gone. It was so lovely to spend time with these two amazing people, and we also managed to pack in quite a lot of activity. Photos to follow, I promise. Here's--in brief(ish)--what we did. I'm exhausted! And a bit bummed to be back to the "real" world after such a nice vacation.

I met Ruth at the airport late Friday night, and we spent the next rainy, cold day in Addis, checking out museums that I had never seen. We saw Lucy (Australopithecus afarensis) at the suprisingly poorly maintained National Museum, and learned about the ten-zillion Ethiopian cultures at the surprisingly lovely Ethnological Museum. Low point of the day? Me ruining a pair of Ruth's socks with my disgusting wet muddy smelly leather shoes.

We hired a car the next day to drive us up to Bahir Dar (not wanting to submit a jet-lagged friend to the misery of the minibus journey, but still wanting to see the countryside). We spent nearly a week in Bahir Dar, meeting all of my friends, impressing people with Ruth's height (she's 6'2"), making lots of delicious food (and having delicious food prepared for us, including--gasp--homemade pizza), having our hair done in cornrows (much to the delight of all of my neighbors, who watched the whole process), and checking out the local tourist sites. A highlight was definitely taking the local bus out to the Blue Nile Falls. We paid a third of what we would on an organized tour, and our luck was phenomenal--timing was perfect both ways, and on the bus we met a great newlywed Ethiopian couple (the wife had actually presented about psychosocial support for orphans during our Pre-Service Training) and a fabulous family from Addis, including a nine-year-old with the most flawless English I've experienced in Ethiopia ("I think there's going to be a stampede!" he shouted when we saw a herd of cows). We shared a great hiking/boat tour to the foot of the falls, which were, unfortunately, pretty anemic since the hydroelectric plant upstream is straining to produce enough electricity to cope with increasing energy demands. At any rate, time in B/D was great (and no rain, except for some spectacular thundershowers late at night, which was a treat).

Next spent some time in Gondar with the volunteers there. Saw the impressive castles and churches, and spent some nice time with people there. Then back to Addis, a morning spent being overwhelmed by the hugeness that is Merkato (it's reported to be the largest outdoor market in Africa, which is definitely saying something). Spent hours scouring the market for various odds and ends...jars for honey (we were convinced to buy 4 kilograms of raw honey, it was so tasty...We'll hope that US customs will allow it in...), gifts--including some pretty awesome shoes (wait for them, Andrew), etc. All in all, it was much less of a hassle than we had expected, and we came away from the morning quite pleased with the experience and proud of our bargaining prowess and anti-pickpocketing abilities. We both decided, however, that Addis might not be the greatest place to live; given the traffic, the pollution, the overcrowding, the hassle, the cold, and the rain in Addis, I much prefer Bahir Dar. It is nice to be in the city occasionally though--hit up some good foreign restaurants and actually get some productive work done (I had a couple of really great meeting regarding thesis work before Ruth arrived...more about that another time).

And then. UGANDA. We flew in last Friday and Lauren met us at the airport. I don't think I've ever crammed as much activity into a week as we did this past one. First spent three days at Murchison Falls National Park in the Northwest of the country. Downright amazing. The falls purportedly are the largest in the world, in terms of the amount of water going over them. I'd believe it. There was frothy white foam (apparently from minerals being scraped off of rocks upstream) trailing down the river for miles. We saw crocodiles, hippos, approximately a million different species of antelope, giraffes, elephants, warthogs, and some spectacular birds. Favorites included the Goliath Heron (huge!), the hideous Maribu Stork, the Red-Throated Bee-Eater, the Pied Kingfisher, and an enormous, odd-looking fellow called the Abyssinian Ground Hornbill.

We also got to spend lots of quality time together, and I especially enjoyed seeing Lauren's work. She's a Yale Med Student who's in Kampala for the summer doing research on lead poisoning among schoolkids on the outskirts of Kampala. She and another student are testing 150 kids and doing home visits, including GPS surveys of the homes' proximity to the dumping site, which they suspect is leaching heavy metals. Pretty neat work, and I'm so impressed at Lauren and Danny for their organization and competence in carrying out such a big project. The kids (age 6 and 7) were so so cute. One was quite vociforous about not wanting his blood tested. "Mzungu [aka farengi, aka white person] needles hurt too much!" he yelled. But then he got some stickers, a lollipop, and the opportunity to play with Ruth's camera and it turned out that the mzungus weren't so bad after all.

On Wednesday, we went on a day trip to Jinja, where Ruth and Lauren mountain biked and Danny and I went whitewater rafting on the Nile. Ironically, I didn't bike because I was too scared. Ironic, because this rafting was pretty much the most terrifying (and at the same time one of the most amazing) things I've ever done. We went off of an 8 foot waterfall. Got flipped five times. Sucked under water multiple multiple times. Went through a rapid known only as "The Bad Place." Danny somehow tricked me into going on the most adventuresome boat ("Team Extreme"), with a bunch of crazy people. It was wonderful. Terrifying. Totally, completely, entirely, paralyzingly terrifying, but also so incredibly fun. Lauren and Ruth biked to one of the rapids to take our photos and captured a pretty nice time lapse series of us paddling like crazy, then holding on for dear life, then flipping vertically up into the air, then being rescued by safety kayaks. Having survived it, it's both incredible and hilarious.

And then yesterday packed up and spent the night in Entebbe, near the airport, on the shores of Lake Victoria. I waded, probably inviting lots of schistosomaisis and other fun parasites in, but it was worth it. Sad goodbyes last night, and bleary-eyed ones this morning, as I stumbled out to the airport at three in the morning.

What a trip. I am so lucky to have had this opportunity, and so very very lucky to have these girls as friends. Such a treat.

And now I'm back in Addis, getting ready to head back tomorrow to Bahir Dar and to the realities of work and thesis preparations and life with a squat toilet and only cold water. I'm trying to let this trip be refreshing and re-energizing, rather than letting myself feel sad about it being over. I have all sorts of plans for renewed enthusiasm and motivation for work. Hoping that those will last.

I'll write more soon. Perhaps part of my leaf-turning-over can include a resolution to be a bit better about keeping in touch. Keep sending me snail mail, too. I'm actually pretty good(ish) about replying to that.

And so it is

Today: my big news is that my house is infested. With millipedes and
with mice. I hate the rainy season. The millipedes aren't such a big
deal. I pretty much ignore them. But the mice are another thing
altogether. I want them out. I went on an odyssey yesterday to find
rat poison (they steal the food out of the trap I bought without
springing it!). I was so proud of myself for finding it (after asking
about 50 people at the market where to look...). Followed the
instructions: injera covered with poison covered with shiro (a
chickpea and berbere paste). These little jerks dragged the scraps of
injera *under* my bed to munch on them, leaving most of the shiro, and
quite likely all of the poison. I woke up this morning thinking "why
does my bed smell like shiro?" Gross. I suppose I'll survive,
though...

In other news, a post from June 7th:

I'm sitting on my front stoop, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine
and a cool breeze. There are about 20 or 30 small birds flying into
and out of my yard and my trees, pecking around in the dirt for bugs
or spilled grain. A whole little crowd of them will swoop down from
the trees, hop about and peck at the ground, then, suddenly spooked by
something I can't sense, they all take off again and perch high above
me. They're extraordinarily beautiful—brilliant yellow-gold and black,
with delicate little claws and tiny red eyes. I have no idea what kind
they might be. Ethiopia has turned me into a birdwatcher. In my yard
alone, I've seen gorgeous long-tailed flycatchers with two-foot long
white feathery tails, woodpeckers with hilarious mohawks, tiny little
lovebirds that are brilliant teal, red, or neon green, and my
favorites, which someone told me are starlings, small elegant dark
blue birds that turn iridescent in the sunshine, shimmering like
peacock tails. And of course, elsewhere nearby there are fish eagles
(the spitting image of the American bald eagle), huge pelicans, a
variety of hawks and falcons, and enormous toucan-like birds with
monstrous curved beaks. I've never been interested in birds in my
life, but here, I find myself reaching for my camera or my binoculars
and asking my colleagues about the species we see near the office.
"What's that one called?" I ask.
"Wof," they usually answer. Bird. While there are specific words for
each kind, people aren't really familiar with all of the different
species. I'm planning a quest to find a bird identification book when
I go into Addis next time.

It's sometimes easy to forget how amazingly beautiful this place is.
I've made friends with a couple from New Mexico who have just moved to
town, and had dinner with them by candlelight the other night (the
power was out, as it has been three or so days per week for the past
couple of months). After dinner, we went out onto the patio and looked
up at the stars. With the whole city darkened, and incredibly clear
skies, the stars were brilliant. We lay on the driveway flat on our
backs and stared up at the sky for quite some time. Saw some shooting
stars. Or fireflies. Sometimes it was hard to tell. But regardless, it
was lovely, lying there in the total dark, with only a crescent moon
and some low clouds on the horizon with occasional flashes of
lightning.

It's been a busy week, but not in the way that I would have expected.
When we were given our site placements, Peace Corps assigned us a
supervisor and a counterpart—in my case, they're the people at I-TECH
with whom I'm supposed to be working most closely. My supervisor was
promoted about eight or ten weeks ago and moved to Addis. I was happy
for him, and hadn't noticed his absence much, since he had been really
busy with management and administration and wasn't at the hospital
much. But a week ago Thursday, first thing in the morning, my
counterpart, Hailu, mentioned that might be moving to Afar Region
(which is, precisely as it sounds, afar). By the end of the day he had
decided that he would indeed be moving away. When? The following
Sunday—three days later. It's been a shock to see him go. He was
particularly motivated and energetic and was a lot of fun to work
with. So my role, once again, is readjusting. I hadn't realized quite
how mobile people here are, both in terms of moving from one job to
another with little notice, but even from region to region. So I'm
trying to figure out my place within the organization and within the
hospital itself, once again.

I realize every once in a while both that I'm learning a lot about
this place, and that there's still a whole lot more to figure out. I'm
constantly surprised; there's never a dull moment when it comes to
navigating my way through this country and this culture. I'm beginning
to understand that my expectations of how any situation will unfold
are so thoroughly colored by my own culture and experience that it's
no wonder that they're rarely fulfilled as I predicted. Here's a for
instance: in collaboration with the Clinton Foundation, I'm
coordinating a project tracking all of the pediatric patients who have
missed appointments at the hospital. There are about 375 patients, and
we've trained seven outreach workers, mainly women living with
HIV/AIDS, to go out to nearby communities to find the families, record
why they stopped coming in to care, and to encourage them to see a
doctor. The Clinton Foundation folks prepared a
questionnaire/reporting form for these outreach workers to fill out,
and I made a master list of the patients, both of which got translated
into Amharic script because the outreach workers don't speak much
English. What I didn't anticipate, didn't even consider, however, was
the fact that some of the people who would be good candidates for this
job might not read or write at all. It's not something I would have
even thought about asking about it. I'm not sure that I've ever met
adult in the States who didn't read (or at least I wasn't aware of it,
if I have). We had a meeting last week with the outreach workers to
see how the first round of tracking had gone, and I watched as one of
these ladies had a friend read out loud to her the names of the
children she had tracked. I was stunned for two reasons. First,
although I knew that female literacy in Ethiopia is something like
24%, knowing that and actually absorbing the meaning of that statistic
are two very different things. Second, I was baffled by this woman's
memory. She told the story of how she found five of eight children in
the town where she was assigned to search, telling details about where
the houses were, what the children's siblings' names were, who at the
town administration had been able to help her. I can barely remember
what I had for dinner last night without writing it down. I can't
imagine what it would be like to not be able to rely on that
off-loading of information. I was really impressed with her, and
stunned at my own insensitivity.

So, all in all, things are fine here these days. The "summer" (rainy
season) is starting in earnest; we've had some spectacular thunder and
lightning, and a couple of nights of serious rain: even one of hail!
I'm enjoying the slightly cooler (though much more humid…) weather; it
feels like a personal triumph to be able to wear long sleeves during
the day. Meanwhile, I'm feeling myself growing restless, wondering
when the next trip will be. Good thing it's only five more weeks until
my "bestie" comes to visit from the States. We have an adventure to
Uganda (including going to see chimps!) planned for the end of July.
The other priority on my list is to come up with something to write my
Master's thesis about. I'm open to any and all suggestions. J

I watched Hillary's concession speech live the other night on the BBC;
that was sort of odd. I've felt pretty disconnected from American
politics (though one of the tourist agencies here in town is a clear
Obama supporter, with a bumper sticker on their desk at the airport
and another on their van!). Honestly, I was stunned to hear that
Hillary and Barack have been campaigning for sixteen months already
(and the election is still 4 months away!). When did the run-in to the
election get so damned long? I'm already keeping my eyes open for my
absentee ballot.

Why do we give?

I owe a post about the more mundane things in life, but thought I'd indulge myself with a little philosophy today. I've been thinking a lot lately about what it is that motivates us (well, me, really) to do "good" things, and why and when that altruistic spirit fills or eludes me. Here are two different takes on how I've felt about the whole matter of giving and helping. I wrote the first bit a few weeks ago, the second tonight. Perhaps each has its place. I'm definitely still a bit baffled. Anyhow…

 

Am I a cynic?

 

Joining the Peace Corps is one of the ultimate American tropes for doing good. I've noticed in a number of movies that I've watched recently that people refer to it all the time; "if you want to save the world, join the Peace Corps" is a leitmotif in Hollywood (I hadn't noticed this before actually up and joining…). But what really brings us here? Why did I join Peace Corps? Did I have some illusion that I would be helping to save the world? Maybe. But I think that what motivated me more was my own personal needs.

 

I help because it makes me feel good to help. I go to volunteer at an orphanage at least in part because I love the fact that these babies adore me. I gave my neighbor kids a soccer ball, at least half knowing how good it would make me feel to walk by every evening and to see them playing with it. I went into Public Health because I love the intellectual challenge as well as the idea that I could be changing things for the better.

 

Does the fact that my giving is colored by self-service dilute the fact that I am giving in the first place? I'm not sure. I feel awfully selfish at times, guilty for knowing that I'm here for less-than-purely altruistic reasons, knowing that I will probably benefit far more than anyone in Ethiopia—much less the world as a whole—will from my being here for two years. It's not that I think that it's wrong, per se, for me to profit from this experience. It's just different from the way that people usually perceive Peace Corps service (as being something wholly selfless and giving). My being here doesn't necessarily make me a good person. Just a person who feels she should be doing good work.

 

Or am I an idealist?

 

I saw a woman in pain today. Not just a small ache, but actually suffering. She was emaciated, really barely more than skin and bones, wearing old tattered clothing, and had clearly walked a long way to get to the hospital from the rural areas. She was grasping at her waist, leaning heavily on her family members, grimacing, and stumbling across the gravel walkway that the hospital seems to think is a good idea for rainy season, barefoot. She was no more than thirty years old, but could have been dying.

 

That really brought me back to reality. I'm not sure that I've ever actually seen that kind of pain. You get kind of inured to the everyday sufferings of people here—kids living on the street, people without money for a blanket, women carrying 50-pound bags of charcoal miles and miles to market, babies born with HIV. I thought that maybe I had grown insensitive to it.  I'm glad to know that I'm not. I felt horrible for this woman: a true ache in the pit of my belly. And it made me realize something. That for all of my complaining, my discontent, all of my feeling homesick, or unproductive, or lonely, or lost, maybe there's some small thing I can do to help someone who is suffering.

 

I certainly hope so. If not, what am I here for? And not just in Ethiopia; why be alive if you can't try to ease some of the world's awful pain?

 

I'm not sure how that translates into actual work. Sometimes Public Health work, particularly the more academic, hands-off kind of work that I'm used to, feels really distant from helping anyone. But I hope that it does. Or that it can. I need for it to, need to make sure that what I do can in fact make some small positive change. I've been searching for some meaning, and I think that she might have helped me to find it. I'll be thinking of her tonight.

 

I don't have an answer about why we give. Or about why I feel driven (at least sometimes) to help. But I'm certainly wrestling with it these days.

Back in Action

Today is the third holiday (of four) in a ten-day period. Sunday was Ethiopian Easter (fasika), and most people are taking the bulk of the week off to be with their families. I, meanwhile, am working on getting my life in Bahir Dar sorted out after nearly four weeks away. All the chores have built up, and I'm fighting the urge to just sit and read in the cool shade of my front porch all day.

 

It's been a busy few weeks. In-Service "Training" complete; I think that it left most of us feeling that there was something to be desired. I'm beginning to realize how much of this experience is going to be dictated by the effort that I myself choose to put into it, rather than by anything Peace Corps or ITECH can do for me. I'm going to have to make this work on my own. Which is okay (good, even), but certainly presents a bit of a challenge. It's awfully easy to be complacent and to just enjoy hanging out and having few responsibilities. Motivation is going to have to come from myself, and that's not always the easiest. I'm working on finding a balance of structure imposed on myself and also just letting things unfold as they will. And continuously reminding myself that it's still early, and that I have lots of time to figure out what exactly my place here should look like.

 

After training, a group of seven of us went up to the Simien Mountains, three or four hours North of Gondar. We spent 4 days up in the mountains, hiking and camping and seeing all sorts of fabulous animals. Gelada Baboons are a new favorite. The males look like little lions, and the females carry their babies piggyback, clinging onto the mommas' backs. They're pretty adapted to humans (several thousand people actually live in the national park), but by no means tame. You can get pretty close up to them, though—I'd say that I got within about 6 feet of a family. We also saw Klipspringer (antelope) and Walia Ibex, as well as jackals and all sorts of interesting birds and tons of cool plants. This park is a pretty special place. I'm not sure that "mountains" really describes it best. The landscape is completely alien. Almost like the rocky spires in the Grand Canyon combined with the shrubby high altitude tundra of the Northern New Mexico/Southern Colorado mountains, with a little bit of Mongolian or Russian steppes thrown in for good measure. Seeing the sun rise over a huge abyss on the last morning was one of the most beautiful things I've experienced, the layers of mountains in the distance turning from deep grey to dark blue to brilliant green and yellow and ochre-red. I took about a hundred landscape photos (between the seven of us, we must have taken 1,000!), but not one can capture that beauty and magnificence. We tossed a stone down one of the canyons and estimated 6 seconds for it to land. That means it was almost 600 feet deep (thanks, Dad, for the math reminder on that one…). And six seconds was a conservative estimate. These are some big mountains.

 

It was coooold up in the mountains, and we all wore most of our clothing most of the time. I'm fairly certain that no article of clothing has ever been as dirty as my favorite purple sweatshirt was when I washed it on Tuesday after coming back down. I take that back. I haven't yet washed my socks from the trip…

 

An article was published about Peace Corps recently than focused in part on the Ethiopia program. It's at http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080425/ts_csm/opeacecorps;_ylt=AjH.oCVEqOGhNjRa3lG9HNys0NUE. I'd love to hear what you think of it. Some of us were a bit dismayed. While I'm sure that older volunteers with a lifetime of experience do have a lot to offer Peace Corps (as they do in any field), I'm not so sure that experience is as closely correlated with success in the Peace Corps as this article makes it out to be. That is, I think that there are a lot of young "inexperienced" volunteers here in this program who have a lot (a LOT) to offer. And I think it's important to keep in mind that Peace Corps isn't exactly a development organization—two of its three goals are about cultural exchange. Let's keep in mind what we're trying to achieve. Granted, I'm not totally convinced that the Peace Corps is always a useful way to spend taxpayers' dollars, but I do think that volunteers can and do accomplish something around the world. Measuring those accomplishments is clearly a tough task, though, especially as the Peace Corps moves from teaching English and helping with agriculture to tackling immensely complicated, politicized issues like HIV/AIDS. As an aside, I thought that the statement that PC hasn't been politicized was one of the more laughable assertions in this article. I'd love to hear opinions on the article, especially from RPCVs.

 

Hope that you're all well. It's been too long since I've posted anything. I'll try to be in better touch in the next weeks and months.

How things change.

I'm at the Peace Corps Resource Center in Addis, where they recently installed satellite internet. And guess what? I can actually see my own blog, for the first time in months (bad formatting and all...).

How amazing is it that the way we see the world can change, and just in a few months? I remember the first morning here, after having arrived into Addis late at night, getting up and looking out the window of the hotel onto Mexico Square (really a large traffic circle) and being just overwhelmed by all the traffic (both vehichle and pedestrian). Venturing out onto the street for the first time that afternoon was downright terrifying. I knew not a single word of Amharic, knew no places except for the name of the hotel we were staying in, and was absolutely paralyzed at the thought of navigating the city on my own. This morning, on my way to the Peace Corps office, I had to transfer mini-bus taxis at Mexico, and I felt so calm about the whole thing. Addis is still huge and intimidating, but here I am, figuring it out. Neat.

Had a couple of really good meetings this week, and am actually enjoying Addis Ababa for the first time. Nice to have a little break from the everyday grind, as well.

Slight Acheivements

Things I've accomplished in the last week:

1) A woman from the Ethiopian Telecommunications Communications
Corporation called me this morning to tell me that my bill was due.
And I understood. I even heard her say "she speaks Amharic!" to a
colleague as she hung up the phone. And I managed to pay the bill in
only 4 steps (a security guard and 3 different desks).

2) I bought an umbrella for the sun. Everyone has been telling me that
I need one because I'll turn black (tan, I'm guessing). They think
it's funny when I say I'll actually just turn into a beet. The
surprising thing about this purchase? I love it! I carry it
everywhere. Bright green and floral. I think I love it mostly because
I blend in ever so slightly better.

3) I found a good tutor and am finally learning to read. Huzzah!

I'm leaving for Addis, then our In-Service Training, then a short
hiking trip, on Thursday. No idea what the Internet situation will be
like. I'll update sometime in the near(ish) future.

Released from Lock-Down!

Our three months of being confined to our sites is finally over.
Christie, Straw, and I took the opportunity to head to Gondar for the
weekend, with my friend from the Clinton Foundation and his wife (it's
about 3 hours North of me). I'm trying hard not to be insanely jealous
of the volunteers living in Gondar. It's a great little city, tucked
into the foothills, cool and breezy, and full of medieval castles,
pine trees, and much-friendlier-than-in-Bahir-Dar street kids. We
spent the weekend relaxing (being away from work!), cooking delicious
food, meeting fabulous travelers from all over the world, and
exploring the city.

On the way up to Gondar in my friend's car—got to avoid the bus!—we
stopped to see a castle built in 1537. It was already about a million
degrees out and the sun was pretty intense, but the mile or so walk up
to the site was absolutely lovely. A group of four little boys, about
10 or 11 years old, followed us all the way up. They were sweet, until
we got to the wall surrounding the castle, at which point, the four of
them ran in front of us, made a line blocking the path, and told us
that we had to stop, that they were the guards, and that we had to pay
them 10 birr (about a dollar). Um, no, we're not going to pay you, we
say, and we go back and forth for a few minutes, arguing about whether
or not they could actually charge us to get in there. They finally
relented when we just decided to push through the brambles to get in.
A slightly older guy showed up a little later, and reiterated that we
needed to pay 10 birr, apiece. The castle was beautiful, and worth it,
so we just ponied up. This "guard" was probably no more legitimate
than the kids, and we realized that the kids didn't get anything out
of the deal (and 50 birr is the equivalent of a couple of days worth
of work), but what can you do? None of us spoke Amharic with enough
authority to get out of being cheated. Hindsight is 20/20. And I
suppose he needed it more than we did.

In Gondar, we stopped by the Tara Center, where the three PCVs living
there volunteer some of their time. It's a
child-sponsorship/environmental/animal rescue/artisan
support/generally amazing NGO run by an Englishwoman who's married to
an Ethiopian man. The most exciting moment of the visit? Having a baby
Gelada baboon (named Mary, no less) sit on my shoulder and groom my
hair. Yes, this is Africa.

Got back to Bahir Dar on Sunday afternoon, and met up with Levi and
Megan, who was visiting town. Meg is one of the only volunteers who
can cut hair, and we opened up an impromptu salon on my lawn. In the
dark. She cut hair by the light of a headlamp. It was a very Peace
Corps moment. I'm planning to have my hair braided into elaborate
cornrows in a couple of weeks by the hair cutters who live down the
block from me; they've been eyeing my hair since I moved in.

Less than two weeks now until our In-Service Training. Time is
simultaneously both flying and crawling along. Each day feels long,
but suddenly it's the end of the week, or indeed of the month. Been in
country nearly 6 months now, which is hard to believe.

P.S. Exciting news: mangos are in season as of a week or two ago. Four
birr for a kilo, which I will be buying approximately, oh, all the
time. Sad news: tomatoes are no longer in season. The ones that are
left are yellow and scrawny. Funny how much my life revolves around
produce…

A Little Red Tape

March 10

On Friday morning, I handed our Safety & Security officer a manila
envelope stamped with four official looking purple Bureau of
Immigration stamps across its flap and the Amhara Regional insignia on
its face. In it were two letters (each itself generously and variously
stamped), a photocopy, and some forms that I had fought for most of
Wednesday afternoon to procure. This whole process, of course, is to
get a replacement card for my stolen Ethiopian Resident ID Card.

The odyssey started at the police station. I arrived around 12:30pm,
thinking that some officers were bound to be on duty during lunch, and
that in fact the station might be less busy. That was true, I suppose,
but didn't really serve me. I chatted for a long time with the lone
guy on duty. He spoke no English, so we had a halting conversation in
Amharic, trying to find my police report, and, more importantly,
trying to figure out what exactly I was doing here in Ethiopia (this,
if you hadn't gotten the idea, is a very common topic of conversation
here). Next, my buddy offers me some coffee. It was probably 90F
degrees out at this time of day. I politely declined, citing the heat.

"But that's exactly why you should drink it!" he exclaims, "for making
an internal-external balance." I laugh…and somehow the next think I
know, there's a cup in my hand and I'm being asked if it's delicious
(to its credit, yes, it is).

Still no report located. Hmmm. What date was the theft? That depends
on what day it is today. It's March 7th by my reckoning, but we can't
seem to come to an agreement over whether it's the 25th or the 26th of
February in the Ethiopian calendar. We decide it's probably the 26th,
counting exaggeratedly on our fingers. Knowing the date doesn't help
to find my report though. I begin to suspect we're just stalling for
time.

Indeed, finally, the Chief Inspector (lots of stars on his shoulders)
arrives, and, because he speaks good English, is able to help me
figure out what I need: A piece of paper to request the forms
requesting the letter from the police to the Immigration Bureau. I
discover that I can purchase it from the tiny office next to the
police station. I do, and the Inspector helps me to write the letter
(that is, he dictates it to an underling while I sit back and get
confused).

But, alas, the man who does the stamps and the filling-out-of-forms is
still out on lunch break. Wait here, I am told. No, on second thought,
come with me, the Inspector beckons. And that is how I end up having
my second tea/coffee break with the Ethiopian police force, a cup of
tea being forced upon me, quite generously. Another conversation about
what, precisely, it is that I am doing here.

Back to the station, and, unfortunately, still no form/stamp man. I
wait in the office with a few of the cops. We attempt to make small
talk in Amharic; I have long since run out of anything to say, my
vocabulary really being sufficient for about a 15-minute conversation
(we're now on hour 2). They keep asking for my name for various
registers. I tell one of them, and then tell him that my surname means
"tall man." This is just about the funniest thing he has ever heard,
and he brings in three of his buddies and makes me tell it again.

Around 2, the stamp/form man finally arrives, stamps my letter and
tells me to go purchase the forms from the same tiny office. I do, and
some belabored carbon-copy and record-book action (and another 30
minutes or so) later, I am finally able to walk out of the station
with an official letter from the Bahir Dar police requesting a letter
from the Bahir Dar Immigration Bureau.

It doesn't quite end there, though. The hour sitting in the
Immigration office waiting for my letter to be typed was uneventful.
By that time I was numb to the process.

I've never been prouder of acquiring anything in my life, as I was
when I was handed over that majestic letter. And I will never complain
about the DMV again.

A Sad Goodbye, Peaches, Theives, and the Baby Room (Every Day an Adventure...)

Saturday, March 1

I was in the middle of a good sulk, hating just about everything about my life here (more about that in a minute) when I tried my first "kok," a tiny, rock hard, green peach. It was truly the most delightful thing I've encountered in months. Juicy, sweet, and totally not how you would imagine it would taste, looking at the little fuzzy green thing. Thirty cents for a half-kilo—this is decidedly a find.

 

I found the "kok" at the market, which is already one of my least favorite places in Bahir Dar, and became even more so today. It's crowded, overwhelming, hot, smelly in some parts, and populated by far too many aggressive teenage boys who will gladly carry your bags or help you find what you're looking for, for a price. There are also a lot of grabby, pushy kids; the market is definitely the number one site for unprovoked pinches and slaps (and, to be fair, hand-holding and patting).

 

Today, I was almost done with my shopping. I was ninety-nine percent done, in fact, and ready to get on a motorcycle taxi back home. When someone stole my wallet. I didn't even see it happen. One minute it was sitting there at the top of my market bag, and the next, when I turned back around, eggs and lemons purchased (yes, they come from the same vendor; don't ask), it was gone. F… I looked around, asked my egg-and-lemon-lady (who is great and totally trustworthy) if she had seen it. Nothing. Argh. Had to beg a bajaj driver to take me home for free. We established that I was a volunteer here, and he said that, for today, he too would be a volunteer. He brought me all the way to my house, rather than just to the stop on the main road, which was incredibly nice. Got home and had a good cry, then called Peace Corps, who insisted that I should report this to the police.

 

So Levi and I traipsed all over town looking for the right police precinct (they call them "Police Centers") to report the incident, then, in a sloppy mixture of Amharic, English, and charades, filed a report. The demographic data they wanted about me included both the usual--age, citizenship, etc—but also religion, which I found odd. I said I was Christian (it's certainly not trying to explain agnosticism to the Bahir Dar police…). I'm fairly confident that nothing will come of all this. I walked a couple of officers back up to the place where it had disappeared, and they said they'd "ask some questions." I'm supposed to go back to the Police Center on Monday to check whether they've found anything. Unlikely, I think. Thankfully, all I had was the equivalent of about 20 bucks (a lot of money here, but not that much money in the grand scheme) and my Peace Corps ID, Ethiopian residency permit, Washington State driver's license, CPR certification, and REI membership card (ha, enjoy that, thief) in there. No passport, no credit cards. Could have been a lot worse. The driver's license picture was an exceptionally good one, though.

 

This is the kind of petty crime that is nothing but infuriating. Not scary, not really even invasive enough to make me feel vulnerable, not even important in the long-term, but just makes me feel like an idiot. I'm sure that it was just some kid who had seen me stash the wallet at the top of the bag. It's flipping frustrating to have this happen. Just such a hassle.

 

The theft is on top of some of the saddest news I've gotten since coming here: that Beth will be leaving town. She has to go for health reasons, and isn't happy about it. I'm incredibly upset about it; things certainly won't be the same here without her. Peace Corps is really losing a jewel in losing her. I hope that they realize it. The news of her departure has had me wondering the past couple of days if I'm really strong enough to do this on my own. I've relied on her so incredibly much, and will miss her terribly. Oh, adjustment.

 

Meanwhile, it's hot and dusty out, I'm recovering from another bout of the stomach flu, and am incredibly complain-y. I just washed my bed sheets, which is perhaps the worst chore here. There was no cheese at the one farenji grocery store. Whine. Maybe it's time for another peach.

 

 

Monday, March 3

I went today to an orphanage/daycare center that takes care of about 40 kids. It's run by an Australian family, with the goal of national or international adoptions for those kids whose families can't take care of them anymore. About 10 kids live on site, plus several full-time staff, the family (which has four kids of its own, including 18 month old adopted Ethiopian twins), and a volunteer or two at any time.

 

The place was entirely overwhelming, in all of the best ways. There is a room called the "baby room" (those of you who have seen my reaction when I get anywhere near a baby can imagine what I thought of that). In it, there were about 8 babies, ranging from about three months up to 16 months old, in various stages of crawling-ness, and all extraordinarily cute. One had just started smiling, and couldn't stop grinning goofily. One was absolutely terrified of me and scowled reproachingly at me. Cristina, an American volunteer (originally from outside of Denver, no less!), who was showing me around, said "feel free to touch them if you wash your hands." No need to tell me twice! I think I'll be going back approximately all the time to see and cuddle these little things. There was also a nap room, full of little cribs with mosquito nets draped over the top so that they looked like little cages. The "big kid" rooms (ages 2 – 4) were similarly fantastic, though I've never seen so many runny noses in my whole life. It must be absolutely overwhelming to work there—there're always at least a few of them who are sick (most live with their families or relatives and bring back germs to share with the others…), and there are always at least a few of them who are howling over something or another. But, man, are they precious. I might have to designate one set of clothes "kid-clothes" (my white shirt was pretty grimy when I left today) and go hang out with them more often.

Add It To My Resume

ELECTRICAL REWIRING
I repaired—or attempted to—an outlet (220 Volt AC), which had fallen out of my bedroom wall. Suffered only minor electrical shock, including charred black fingertip and a serious scare, when a current passed from one thumb up my arm, around my shoulders, and down the other arm. Christie, who was helping me, and I both sprang back from the spark, physically fine, but slightly terrified. Note: remember to turn off fuse before attempting further electrics maintenance. The bad news is that the outlet is no longer functioning, reducing me to a single outlet and an extension cord.

EMERGENCY MEDICAL TREATMENT COORDINATION
Another volunteer who was visiting town came down with some serious gastrointestinal nastiness last weekend. She was unable even to keep down the anti-nausea medication our medical director had prescribed, and was having trouble making it from the bed in her hotel to the toilet without feeling lightheaded. A stool sample was described as "raspberry lemonade" (gross, I know…).  Needless to say, she was not feeling good. And needed an IV and some antibiotics, pretty badly. This, of course, would have to have happened during the worst week in cell phone reception in recent history, at 10pm on a Saturday night (which is as good as 2am in a place where public transit shuts down at 8pm), on a night when the two doctors I know were both out of town, and when all of the roads in Bahir Dar had been torn up for construction. I got to test my emergency network here in town, rustling up an all-night clinic, a car to come pick her and another volunteer up at the hotel, and another to pick me and a third visitor up at my house to accompany them to the clinic. The good news is that, 4 liters of IV fluid, some heavy-duty antibiotics, and an unpleasant night spent at the clinic later, she's feeling much better. Unofficial diagnosis: shigellosis. Not something I'd like to get. Ever. In some ways, though, it was good to be able to test out what to do in an emergency with something that was serious—real—but not immediately life-threatening.

HOSTEL MANAGEMENT
Bahir Dar has become the hub for other volunteers needing a break from their smaller towns. Of the 12 weekends since we've been at site, there has been at least one visitor in town during 7 of those weekends. Which is lovely. And I'm more than happy to be a host. But it's also exhausting. It does mean that I've gotten to know the town quite well. If you come to visit, I can point you to the quietest place to sit beside the lake, to the cheapest little shop for buying a propane tank, to the streets with the fewest harassing shoe-shine boys (and the ones with the shoe-shine boys who are most likely to be able to fix your broken sandal), or to the 3 places where you can get pizza and the 2 places with ice cream here. You know, the basics. I also have some fantastically comfortable floor space you're more than welcome to.

ZOOKEEPING
There are two new families living on my compound. One is a nest of small red sparrow-like birds living in a hole in my outside wall, directly above the fuse box (I discovered this family after the mini-electrocution). I've only seen mom, but can hear a bunch of babies chirping in there. The other is a momma-cat, who had been hanging around my yard for some time, and her three incredibly cute four- or five-week-old kittens. They're white, orange, and gray, very shy, and incredibly cute. She must have had them in a little den in the huge rock pile out in my backyard. I spent approximately 5 hours this week stalking them—luring them out of hiding and then cooing uncontrollably. Got a good sunburn out of the endeavor, too.

COFFEE FARMING
There's a bunna (coffee) bush on my compound, and I finally got around to peeling the beans I had picked several weeks ago. A coffee bush (tree?) is about 6 feet tall, scraggly, and bears bright red coffee berries the size of small grapes and tough-skinned. You should apparently pick them and dry them in the sun (though the 5 or 6 weeks I left them to dry might have been slightly excessive. Ah, laziness…). You then peel off the berry skin (not easy—there must be some trick I'm unaware of), and inside each one are two green coffee beans. Roast 'em, grind 'em, brew 'em, and you have coffee. A lot of work. I'll never under-appreciate a latte again.

Getting Adjusted

Yesterday afternoon, I rode past a security guard at a state-run petroleum depot, in full military uniform (camouflage) holding a long rifle (not an uncommon sight here). What was odd—and amusing—was that there was a goat scratching its head against the barrel of the rifle while the man sat there impassively. I still haven't gotten accustomed to seeing goats, cows, horses and sheep in my street when I come out of my front gate. There's a baby lamb now (born on Monday) which one of my neighbor kids handed to me (he'd had it riding on his shoulders) when I walked past. "Konjo, aydelem?" (it's pretty, isn't it?) he asked me. Indeed, it was—soft and clean and sweet, baa-ing softly to its mom from my arms. It scampered back to mom's side, kicking its little feet indignantly when I put it back down. Maybe I would like living in the countryside after all. It's nice being in a place like Bahir Dar, where with a twenty minute walk in one direction I can be in the city-center (such as it is), with restaurants and nightclubs and internet, and with a twenty minute walk in the other direction, I can be in a totally rural area, with mud huts and shepherds wearing short green canvas shorts and blankets thrown around their shoulders for warmth. I walked out to a huge field near my house the other day, and saw kids, dogs, and livestock all running around happily, and women hanging out at the edge of the field, gossiping and supervising.

 

I've had a good couple of weeks. Peace Corps folks from Addis Ababa came for a site visit this week—checking up on our work and making sure that we're doing okay with the transition. I was amazed to hear myself saying mostly positive things about my life and work here. I guess that I'm beginning to settle into a routine. There are several interesting projects on the horizon for work. I'm working on systems for tracing patients who have dropped out of HIV-care at the hospital, on a survey to find out why they're dropping out, on linking the hospital's services to other community organizations, and on a project run by the Clinton Foundation to have orphans in town tested for HIV. I'll write more sometime soon about what my work is actually like—it occurs to me that I haven't really yet.

 

 Next week, I'll be at a regional review meeting for all of the organizations working on HIV in Amhara province. It's in Debre Markos, where a couple of other volunteers live, and a number of others are coming from other towns in the region as well. I'm hoping that it will be a nice mini-reunion (as well as potentially being a useful meeting!). We had a few other volunteers in town last week for the PC site visit, and it was interesting to hear what people have been doing. My frustrations were totally normalized—I think that we're all feeling a lot of the same aggravations at adjusting to life here.

 

Adjustment. I'm beginning to see what that means. Adjusting expectations of getting a million things done all at once. Adjusting ideas of what it means to live abroad. Adjusting to living alone. To not having a TV. Adjusting to being stared at, shouted at, and sometimes followed on the street (and just as much, adjusting to not having those things happen when you expect that they will). Adjusting to new communication patterns with colleagues. To being partially informed (at best) about what's going on around me. To plans changing or falling through. Adjusting to being so far from home. To the idea that this is home for the next while. And, most significantly, realizing how long it takes to adjust. It occurred to me that I've been here two full months, and I'm still just getting my life figured out. I just keep repeating to myself again and again, "it takes time."

 

I've found myself incredibly frustrated with language learning recently. I have the basics down, solidly. I can greet people, ask directions, order food in a restaurant, bargain, take public transit, and make general small talk fairly competently. But then there's sitting in a department meeting at work and knowing vaguely what the topic being discussed might be, but not being able to follow along for the life of me (let alone imagine contributing anything to the discussion…). There's having a little, sick, old man approach me on the hospital compound and ask me for something and not catching a word of it. There's trying to ask my neighbors if they have baby kittens (a very pregnant mom-cat has been in my yard a lot in the past few weeks) and having them hold up every cat in their place saying, "is this your cat? Is your cat lost?" There's getting a plate of bread ("dabbo") and a macchiato, rather than a double macchiato. The learning feels far less rewarding than at the beginning; progress is so much slower and so much subtler. It's also easy to just be complacent and rely on my colleagues' excellent English for work. (They are, however, so proud when I can come up with something unexpected in Amharic). What probably needs to happen is to really devote myself to learning this language (actually study, maybe?), but this odd sense of entitlement, that the ability should just come on its own, is plaguing me. Maybe I can make a mini-resolution to work hard at it for a few weeks and to see if I notice any difference. Any advice from those of you have learned a language from scratch by living in it?

 

I'm getting excited about the idea of travel—only bit longer in forced captivity here in Bahir Dar (Peace Corps requires us to stay in our sites, with a few exceptions, like the meeting next week, for the first three months, so that we can "integrate" better into the community). Rough plans in store for seeing Axum and Lalibela—holy sites here in the North—for going hiking in the Simein Mountains, and for the distant future, for seeing Tanzania and Egypt. Also looking forward to seeing all of the other volunteers at our In-Service Training in April (and checking out some of their towns). It's amazing how strong some of the friendships formed in those first 10 weeks together have continued to be.

 

It's getting warmer and warmer here. I took one of my two wool blankets off my bed, and last night, I even kicked the remaining one off. Despite being in the Northern hemisphere, weather here seems to be virtually unrelated to the seasons as I'm familiar with them. We're nearing the end of dry season here, but before the rains start, we're in for some hot weather. A colleague informed me that it was 29 degrees centigrade (about 85 Fahrenheit) on Friday, and that it will get up to 34—or even to 39 (102 F!)—for the next couple of months. April is supposedly the hottest month. I'll let you know. I thought that I had escaped that kind of heat in coming to Ethiopia. I'm going to try my best not to be whiny about it. (At the very least, I'm telling myself to be thankful that I'm not in Mongolia, where it's -30F).

 

The good thing about the warm weather, bright sun (and plenty of water during rainy season) is that a garden is a very real possibility. I met one of my neighbors (she's from South Carolina originally, and is teaching at the University here), who has cucumbers and watermelons, among other delights growing in her garden, knows where to get seeds, and even said she'd help me set up a garden of my own. So I have a new grand plan to feed myself from my yard. Okay, not really, but I would like to get some veggies and maybe some flowers growing. I've told myself for years that I was never going to garden, that I didn't like it, plus, there's too much to live up to, with a pretty darn good gardener for a mother, and an expert gardener for a grandfather. But perhaps I've been deluding myself—I'm actually really excited about the idea. Sunflowers and strawberries will both apparently even grow here. That would be lovely. Putting a shovel on the list of things to buy when I get back from the conference next week.

 

Epiphany and Stardom

Today was Epiphany (Timket in Amharic), which is a big religious holiday here. Ethiopians claim that the original Arc of the Covenant is here, and each Orthodox Church has its own smaller arc as well (they're not unlike the arcs that hold the torah at synagogues). For Timket, each church takes its arc out and parades it to a park or a field in town, where it meets with the arcs from all of the other churches in the area. There's a blessing of the arcs (and everyone there) with holy water, a huge celebration, and then the arcs are each paraded back to their homes.

The whole town has been full of energy this weekend. Even now (I'm writing this at home, around 8pm, and the festivities are mostly over), I can hear horns blowing and people clapping somewhere along my road. I went to the park where the arcs had assembled around 10:30 this morning. When I stepped out of my gate, my whole street was bustling with families dressed in their finest coming from and heading towards the various festivals and to family and friends' houses. Ethiopian traditional dress is almost entirely white. Women wear "habesha kemis" (Ethiopian dresses), which are made from a lightweight white crepe material, with beautiful colored hems or embroidery, and "netela"—scarves or wraps made from the same material—over their heads and shoulders. Men wear white pants and a long white tunic, sometimes with a white sweater vest over it, and some wear white turbans. Because it's starting to get hot out this time of year, almost everyone had an umbrella as well. The church officials didn't just carry umbrellas to shield the arcs and themselves, but elaborately decorated parasols, some of them gleaming with glitter and velvet. Most of them also had tassels and iconography.

The park had a total party atmosphere. I could hear people singing, horns blowing, and drums beating from several blocks away, and the field was just full of people dancing and clapping. We joined in the procession wholeheartedly, and paraded the first arc back to Kidus Georgis church, in the center of town, which took a good two hours, because we stopped to sing and dance every fifty meters or so. Beth has mastered the Ethiopian traditional dance moves, complete with epileptic shoulder movements, and she got a huge amount of attention for her dancing prowess. I meanwhile, befriended the world's cutest old women, and learned to ululate wildly in appreciation for a good dance. We also saw a man in a fabulous bike-turned-wheelchair play a beautiful tune on a small harp, singing his heart out for everyone who could hear. From time to time a gang of young men and boys carrying huge stalks of sugar cane would run by, thrusting the sugar cane up and down in their hands almost like war spears, dancing wildly and pushing people out of the way.

People were in a fantastic mood, and were incredibly welcoming and kind. We each had a couple of kids by the hand at one point, and several people told me never to forget them. An unbelievably wrinkled old woman with a small fez on her head and a cane made from old re-bar (who had exactly 2 teeth) was just absolutely smitten with us, patting our shoulders and cheeks, and encouraging us to dance.

The whole thing was pretty magical although I've almost never been as hot and sunburned as I was at the end of the parade. The closest thing I could compare it to is a street fair—or maybe the May Day protest in San Francisco for immigrants' rights a couple of years ago, which was more of a party than a protest march, at least among the crowd I was walking with. It was overwhelming, exhausting, and just fabulous. I'm really glad we got to experience this. Maybe next year I'll go to Gondar (a city about 3 hours North of here by bus), where 22 churches apparently all gather together to celebrate (here it was 7).

            What else is new around here? Oh! Guess who was on Ethiopian National TV yesterday afternoon?

 

That's right: I was, with Levi. Last weekend, we attended an event thrown by the Regional AIDS Prevention and Control Office. It was the launch of a short documentary about World AIDS Day, and a thank you celebration for all of the local partners who had helped with AIDS Day programming back in December. For some reason, Beth's boss, who was one of the people planning the event, felt that the three of us needed to be sitting at the table of honor, up front, with the director of the office. At some point, Beth's parents called from the States, so she was off talking to them when Levi and I noticed a camera trained on us.

"I bet that's ETV," I told Levi.

"You know, I don't want it to be, but look at how nice that camera is," he said.

Well, it was. We didn't make our debut until today, but debut we did. Lake, our friend and one of the trainers from back in Wolisso (who lives here in Bahir Dar) told us yesterday that he had seen us on the afternoon news. "Levi was wearing shorts," he reported.

Other than the holiday and the new stardom, things are beginning to settle into a routine. Work is beginning to pick up as I start to get to know people and systems at the hospital. I did get to see a really neat use of technology this week. Every month or so, ITECH provides distance education seminars for its providers around the world. I sat in with Dr. Manuel (my supervisor) and a couple of others on a session on HIV dermatology. They use a real time web cam so that the participants can see the presenter, and also broadcast his PowerPoint, complete with a pointer. The participants can then write to him using some sort of instant messaging, so that it's actually a dynamic, live interaction. While HIV dermatology isn't really my thing (a photo of a fungus-covered toenail cemented for me the fact that I don't actually want to be a doctor), I was really impressed with the technology. I didn't catch the name of the software, but will be sure to next time. Neat stuff.

I went to the post office on Tuesday to find my box filled with letters and cards (a lot of the Christmas/New Year's cards didn't make it through until now). THANK YOU to everyone who wrote! I'll start writing back, but it may take me a little while. Meanwhile, keep the letters coming! I love that feeling of reaching up into my PO Box (it's higher than I can even see!) and finding good stuff from people I miss.