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.
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