tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78385297412123228482024-03-13T08:14:10.906+03:00Anna in EthiopiaAnna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-71293328794734253672009-10-26T09:19:00.001+03:002009-10-26T09:19:08.760+03:00Odds and EndsAfter two years here, my time in Ethiopia is coming to an end. It's<br>hard to believe; you never picture the end of these things when you<br>begin them, or even during the experience. It has just snuck up on me,<br>and now I have less than a month left in Ethiopia. There are a lot of<br>difficult goodbyes looming, and certainly a tough transition back into<br>life in the States, but I'm also really looking forward to catching up<br>with friends and family, and to being back home. (I'm also terrified<br>that I'm going to freeze to death in Denver and Seattle in<br>December/January!)<p>Meanwhile life goes on here. Thesis work is coming along apace, and<br>I'm wrapping up my other work. And I've had a few small adventures<br>recently.<p>Last weekend, my friend Jennifer and I decided to walk from her town<br>(which is 80 km south of Bahir Dar) as far north toward B/Dar as<br>possible. It was one of the better days in Ethiopia. Some of the<br>highlights:<p>We had a child named after us. I asked mom if her two-month old baby<br>girl had a name. Not yet, she said, then thought about it for a bit.<br>"Ayinaddis," she said (the name means new eyes), "because I'm so<br>surprised to see you here." Mom was 19, and this was her second baby<br>(#1 is three years old). She and two friends were walking back from<br>market in the small town of Durbete. They said that they had about a<br>two hour walk back to their village. I asked how many people lived in<br>the village. "Oh, it's big," says the man. "Four hundred people." It's<br>hard to imagine how life in this small town of 400, with no<br>electricity, a two-hour walk from the nearest market or health center,<br>would differ from my own Ethiopian life in Bahir Dar, less than an<br>hour's drive away. None of this group of three had ever been to Bahir<br>Dar; mom said it was her dream for the baby to make it to the city.<p>We met a group of three guys walking to market, and started chatting<br>with them in Amharic. During the 90 minute walk into the next town,<br>our group gradually grew to two Americans, 20 Ethiopians, and a sheep<br>on a leash. We were quite the spectacle, walking into town.<p>Were told "tenkara gulbet allachew" (literally "you guys have a strong knee").<p>We rested under a wild fig tree in the middle of a teff field, exactly<br>in the middle of nowhere. It was the only time during the whole day<br>that we didn't see other people walking. It was incredibly beautiful<br>and peaceful, and felt, really for the first time, like I was seeing<br>what most of Ethiopia is like. Eighty percent of Ethiopians live in<br>rural areas.<p>We made up stories to tell people who asked what we were doing. Best<br>story: we are a Swedish walking team, having come from the Sudan. I<br>was told by an illiterate farmer that I was a lier when I told her<br>this.<p>After eight hours of walking (we figure probably close to 20 miles),<br>we took a bus back to Bahir Dar, and hobbled back to my house. I will<br>tell you that walking for eight hours and then sitting quietly in a<br>bus for an hour before stretching is probably not the best idea. We<br>were proud of ourselves, though, for making it as far as we did, and<br>for generally avoiding the ills that we had most feared: sunburn,<br>blisters, and roving packs of Ethiopian children throwing rocks (this<br>is an odd, but common, peril faced especially by walkers and bikers in<br>this country).<p><br>Other bits and pieces of recent life:<p>* I'm coming more and more to appreciate small things about Ethiopian<br>culture. I helped my friend Christen move some stuff from her house to<br>another friend's place last week. We were both loaded down, walking<br>down the steep hill to her house, and two Ethiopian girls just grabbed<br>the extra bags and insisted on walking them all the way down the hill<br>with us. Then they invited us to coffee at their house. We sat around<br>for probably 40 minutes, drinking coffee and eating homemade bread.<br>What hospitality! I think that when I first arrived here, I didn't<br>realize that this kind of invitation was real, because it seems so<br>different from the way that things work in America, but now, as I'm<br>gaining more and more awareness of the language and the culture, I'm<br>really coming to appreciate it.<p>* I was sitting at the internet cafe the other day when some kids<br>walked by with a "pet" vervet monkey on a leash. I petted him and<br>greeted the kids when they came into the cafe to say hi to me. When<br>the kids were ready to leave, the monkey jumped up onto my lap, ready<br>to stay with me. Seems somehow like the perfect contrast of the modern<br>and the wild: email and a monkey.<p>* Went to a party this weekend which felt very much like an American<br>barbecue. Except of course that the sheep had to be slaughtered, and<br>then the whole thing was roasted (wrapped in tinfoil) over an open<br>fire.<p>* When I lay down in bed the other night, something smelled funny,<br>kind of like the dead rat I had found a couple of months ago in my<br>living room. I went on a quest to find it. Turns out that it was a<br>small lizard had crawled between my two mattresses, and that I had<br>probably crushed it in my sleep. Several days earlier, apparently. Not<br>pleasant.<p>* Was punched in the kidney in the bus station by a man who wasn't<br>wearing any pants. Everyone around me just stood still, sort of<br>perplexed about what had just happened, and the man ran away.<p>* Just in time for me to leave, I finished my hand-made hammock. It's<br>hanging precariously between a tree and one of the columns on my front<br>porch. Almost a kilometer of rope went into that sucker.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-41154264251657951182009-08-05T10:56:00.001+03:002009-08-05T10:56:43.262+03:00well hello thereQuick update: news in the past few weeks:<p>* Group three PCVs are receiving their invitations now. They'll arrive<br>in October. Exciting! At least two of us have acquaintances in the new<br>group (including another UW PCMI student!). If any of you Group Threes<br>are reading this, welcome! It's exciting, crazy, etc., but definitely<br>worth it.<p>* I finally, at long last, got my IRB approval from the Ethiopian<br>Public Health Association. Maybe I'll be able to finish my Master's<br>research, after all.<p>* Allergies in Ethiopia are bad news. I've been coughing and sniffling<br>like crazy. Ethiopians are worried about me. "This is beyond the<br>common cold," one of my coworkers told me. "It is rape." Confused, I<br>asked him what he meant. He told me the word in Amharic for _ripe_,<br>and then said that the cold had matured. Priceless.<p>* COS Conference in a little over three weeks. It's hard to believe<br>we're getting that close to the end. About four months from now, I'll<br>be on my way home. Scheming up some lovely travel for after finishing<br>here.<p>* Five-year-old birthday party on my compound last weekend. Dancing<br>five year-old Ethiopians are really cute.<p>* Rainy season has worked its magic. The countryside is gorgeous and<br>green, the cows are slightly less skeletal, mangos are abundant, and<br>every puddle is filled with frogs. Except for the mud, it would be<br>perfect. I do miss the summer in the NW, though. I'm getting excited<br>about moving back.<p>I'll be in Addis next week for a long meeting. Need to set up some<br>much-needed g-mail chat dates while I'm there. Will write again from<br>there.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-49273471718701254842009-07-14T14:16:00.001+03:002009-07-14T14:16:42.723+03:00The World's a Small PlaceTwo coincidences this week. It makes the world seem like a pretty tiny<br>place (funny to be saying that when I'm so many thousands of miles<br>away from home...). Oddly, they both involve University of Washington.<p>It turns out that there's a former Fellow from the UW who's now [back]<br>living and working in Bahir Dar. It was odd to talk about the Ave,<br>about professors from the Department of Global Health, to reminisce<br>about classes. It was lovely to chat with this guy. I wish I had met<br>him earlier. For one, he mentioned how generous and kind people in<br>Seattle had been to him when he first arrived, and how he wanted to<br>repay the favor. I feel like I need to do the same when I get back to<br>Seattle--people have been so lovely to me here, as well.<p>And then on Friday, Kyle and I had dinner with some visiting PCVs from<br>Cameroon. We were sitting around chatting, and I asked where in the US<br>the five of them were from. And of course, one was from Seattle. And<br>was, like me, a Master's student. And, get this, we had been in a<br>class together in the winter of 2007. Who would ever have dreamed, in<br>a classroom in Seattle on a rainy winter evening, that two and a half<br>years later, this forestry Master's student would be living in<br>Cameroon, would be coming to Ethiopia on vacation, and would come to<br>visit my very site. Crazy.<p>I'm beginning to think that these UW connections may be pretty<br>important. Maybe for finding a job?Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-34610980179704423962009-07-06T10:01:00.001+03:002009-07-06T10:01:49.257+03:00What's New?I've been a bit MIA. Sorry for the long delay in posting. There hasn't<br>been much to tell, these past few weeks. Life goes on as usual in<br>Ethiopia. It was reassuring, somehow, to visit the US and to realize<br>that not that much had changed at home. It's equally reassuring (and<br>yet at the same time depressing) to see the sameness of the day-to-day<br>routine here. Not much has changed since before I left for the States.<br>In fact, not all that much has changed since I arrived here in 2007.<p>So what is new?<p>There has been a large military presence in town this week, apparently<br>because of the coincidental overlap of a huge convoy of UN trucks,<br>equipment, tanks, etc., making their way between Addis Ababa and<br>Darfur, and a country-wide meeting of generals to discuss the<br>Ethiopian Army's successes in the past year.<p>What this means for us is that there are lots of people in camouflage<br>meandering around town, that two of the main streets are blocked off,<br>and that there are a lot of scary tanks lurking around. I've been<br>assured that no one is going to war (at least not in the immediate<br>future), but it is a bit intimidating.<p>There is one charming side effect of all this military presence,<br>however. Ethiopian men are very physical with each other about showing<br>their affection for one another. Friends drape their arms over each<br>other's shoulders, even sit on each other's laps, and it means nothing<br>whatsoever about sexuality (homosexuality is, in fact, still illegal<br>here, but that's another post...). So the fact that there are a lot of<br>soldiers in town, and a lot of soldiers who are friends with each<br>other, means that there are a lot of pairs of camouflaged men walking<br>down the street holding hands. I'd love to get a picture. If I wasn't<br>scared of what the consequences of taking pictures of soldiers were...<p>Otherwise, the rainy season has (thankfully) finally arrived, only<br>about 6 weeks late. When I got back to Bahir Dar in early June, the<br>lack of rain was already the focus of almost every conversation.<br>Really only in the last week have we gotten proper soaking rainstorms.<br>The sound of rainfall on a tin roof is seriously one of my favorites.<br>It makes for great sleeping. Lake Tana is slowly beginning to refill<br>(it had been so low that the ferry hadn't been running), and I'm<br>hoping that the reservoirs are all being to fill back up. We're still<br>on an electricity-rationing program of one day on, one day off. This<br>routine is tiresome (especially for businesses!), but it's at least<br>predictable--I've been planning meetings around when there will be<br>power.<p>I just started teaching a "Life Skills" and health education class for<br>seventh, eighth, and ninth grade girls. I think that it's going to be<br>great, and really useful for them, but I'm also paralyzed with fear of<br>teenagers. They just have the potential to be so mean. The one saving<br>grace is that these girls are pretty shy, and aren't likely to be<br>overtly obnoxious. I've decided that my strategy is going to be to<br>make an absolute fool of myself at every opportunity and to just allow<br>them to laugh at me. This is the first attempt I've made at direct<br>service-provision--everything else I've done here has really been<br>about systems, so it'll be fun (and terrifying!) to actually get to do<br>something with "beneficiaries." It's also an opportunity to practice<br>some Amharic (I'm teaching mostly in English, with an Ethiopian<br>co-teacher, but the girls howl with surprised laughter every time I<br>say anything in Amharic, so I think I'll keep pushing myself to try<br>more).<p>I pass the 21-month mark in country this week. It's hard to believe<br>that I've been here that long, and that time is moving this fast. I<br>got my official date for "close of service" (checking out of the Peace<br>Corps); I think that it will be November 25th. I'm planning a few<br>weeks of travel (more on that soon...), and then on being back in the<br>States before Christmas. It's crazy that I'll be home in less than<br>five months.<p>That does mean that I have to start cracking down a bit on some of my<br>projects. If projects are as slow to wind-down as they were to<br>start-up in the first place, it means that I need to start shutting<br>things down, soon. I also still have all of my Master's thesis<br>research to complete in the next months (a minor hold-up with the<br>Public Health Association here aside, I'm just about ready to go on<br>data collection). I have a feeling that these last few months are<br>going to fly. Another crop of dear friends are finishing their<br>contracts in the next few weeks and are heading back to wherever home<br>is, and it reminds me of how transient this life here is (at least for<br>most farenjis), and also about my own departure. I'm beginning to<br>imagine what the process of saying goodbye will be like. It's<br>certainly not going to be easy.<p>One more thing: I'm searching for easy reading material for the 7th,<br>8th, and 9th graders at the after-school center where I'm teaching<br>life skills. The kids are at the level of reading easy chapter books<br>in English, but the issue is that it's difficult to find material with<br>subject matter that's complex or exciting enough to engage 13-16 year<br>olds, written in English that's simple enough that they don't get<br>overwhelmed. Those of you with kids or with experience teaching--I'd<br>love ideas!Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-47128544661008424432009-05-13T21:50:00.002+03:002009-05-13T21:52:57.705+03:00Oh, AmericaI'm in the US for a wedding and a quick visit home. Quote of the day, or perhaps even of the week:<br /><br />Me: I live in Africa.<br />Lady shampooing my hair at the hair-cutting place: Oh really, where in Africa do you live?<br />Me: Ethiopia<br />LSMHATHCP: Oh, cool. Do you speak, um, African?<br />Me: I speak Amharic, which is the language where I live.<br />LSMHATCHP: Oooh. Okay. So how many dialects of African are there?<br />Me: A lot.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-15675336034705758412009-04-07T12:30:00.001+03:002009-04-07T12:30:08.849+03:00Reading ListI'm passing off a lot of books to Peace Corps staff to take back to<br>the office this week. My house has become sort of a de facto library<br>for volunteers passing through, which is lovely, but I was beginning<br>to realize that I have far more books floating around my house than I<br>would ever be able to carry back to Addis.<p>The purge got me thinking about what I've read since coming to Africa.<br>Thanks to many of you who have sent me books, and to an incredibly<br>varied collection among the PCVs and other ex-pats, I've really read<br>quite a lot. I've kept a list, and it's now at 90 (including,<br>shamefully, two textbooks and at least 8 books written for young<br>adults…). Here are the highlights, in no particular order.<p>Best books I've read in Africa (Fiction):<br>• Middlesex<br>• Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits<br>• Love in the Time of Cholera<br>• Interpreter of Maladies<br>• One Thousand Splendid Suns<br>• Unaccustomed Earth<br>• Say You're One of Them<br>• The God of Small Things<br>• The Sex Lives of Cannibals<br>• The Hours<br>• The Book Thief<p>Best books I've read in Africa (Nonfiction):<br>• Eat, Pray, Love<br>• Do They Hear You When You Cry?<br>• And the Band Played On<br>• Pathologies of Power<br>• A Short History of Nearly Everything<br>• The Devil in the White City<br>• When You Are Engulfed in Flames<br>• Dark Star Safari<br>• How to be Alone<br>• Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words<br>• Persepolis<br>• There is No Me Without You<br>• Aid and Other Dirty Business<p>I still have 8 months left here, including three months of rainy<br>season…I'm taking recommendations :)Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-47042691250629151172009-04-07T12:29:00.001+03:002009-04-07T12:29:32.434+03:00You've Disappeared"Hanni, tafash." This is perhaps the most frequent sentence I hear in<br>Amharic. You've disappeared. It's akin to "long time, no see," but<br>stronger. Similar to "I've missed you," but more accusatory. And<br>Ethiopians use it all the time. My favorite shop owner told me I had<br>disappeared one afternoon, when I'd been at his shop that same<br>morning. A friend in Addis told me I had disappeared, despite my<br>having talked to her on the phone once a week over the past three<br>months. At the hospital, if I'm out doing something else for a half<br>day, every member of the staff feels the need to remind me that I have<br>"tafash"-ed when I come back.<p>I'm beginning to see the meaning of this phrase as it works in<br>Ethiopian culture. As I spend more time here, I'm realizing how much<br>of every activity in Ethiopia is directed toward preserving and<br>strengthening social relationships. We talked about this a little bit<br>in training—about Ethiopia being a collectivist society in<br>counterpoint to America's individualism—but it has taken more than a<br>year of actually living here to realize how deeply held these values<br>are. My Ethiopian friends actually feel like I've disappeared when<br>they haven't seen me in days or hours—relationships are that central<br>to the way of life here. Nearly everything about this culture hinges<br>on other people. You have to maintain relationships with people here,<br>because you rely on them. Particularly in smaller communities (though,<br>still, I think, even in a city like Bahir Dar or even Addis), you<br>can't get by without other people, and so relationships are sacrosanct<br>and conflict between individuals is rare and very quickly smoothed<br>over.<p>I've seen time and again (despite my lingering awkwardness at showing<br>up uninvited at someone's doorstep) that hosting makes people happy,<br>and that they're pleased that I value their friendship enough to stop<br>by their homes. I'm beginning to understand the many (at first<br>perplexing) phone calls when people have nothing to say; they just<br>need to check in and make sure that I'm still here. Other things too:<br>hierarchies at work are about preserving social relationships, about<br>not rocking the boat. So too is the focus (obsession?) with respect<br>(or as it's occasionally called here, "respection"). Conflict is<br>avoided as best as possible. Communication is indirect…but is subtle<br>and constant and of paramount importance. Ethiopians have<br>communicatory finesse, to be sure. I still certainly miss lots of the<br>subtext and undercurrents of what people say.<p>It's enlightening and at the same time disorienting to start figuring<br>these things out about the society I'm living in. It's certainly<br>helpful to start reflecting on the way things work here, and is<br>incredibly interesting in the academic sense. But it's also tricky,<br>acknowledging how different my own culture is from the Ethiopian, and<br>trying to navigate how I fit in here. I'm beginning to think that I<br>would enjoy being an anthropologist, though it would also, obviously,<br>be hard work.<p>The more I live here, the more I realize how little I understand about<br>this place. It's incredible to finally get how complicated a culture<br>really is. Lots to think about…<p>By the way, I have indeed disappeared from this blog, for which I<br>heartily apologize, and will try to remedy in the future.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-3296402576082897562009-02-27T13:42:00.001+03:002009-02-27T13:42:56.017+03:00Small Town LifeI've been checking out the rural life this week.<p>My good friend Tom is an anthropologist. He's living on Zege<br>peninsula, which is about 30 km by land (or 15 km by boat) from Bahir<br>Dar, studying religion and culture there. Tom's been encouraging me<br>for ages that I need to get out to Zege to meet his friends and to see<br>what his life is like there. Monday was a religious holiday (a saint's<br>day for the local church/monastery), so I took the opportunity to go<br>for a visit.<p>The whole thing worked out perfectly, and left me (a) impressed with<br>Tom and his work, (b) loving rural Ethiopian, and (c) simultaneously<br>pretty glad that I live in a city.<p>I took the ferry over to the peninsula on Monday morning. At the port,<br>the nurse from the Zege Health Center took me under his wing. He<br>bought my ticket, found us a place to stand on the very crowded boat,<br>and we listened to Teddy Afro (the immensely popular and currently<br>imprisoned Ethiopian pop star) on his mobile phone. He had worked with<br>Doctors without Borders when they were in Ethiopia and had a lot to<br>say about the state of health in this country. It was also really<br>interesting to hear what it's like to practice medicine in an<br>under-stocked, over-burdened, but also really enthusiastic, committed<br>health center.<p>We arrived at Zege, and the crowd was herded up the dock toward the<br>monastery where the holiday celebrations were happening. The nurse,<br>having bought it, of course had my ticket, so there was a bit of a<br>hold up at the gate until I could sweet talk my way past the guards<br>(sometimes speaking a little Amharic goes a long way). I found Tom<br>amid the melee, and we headed out for a walk along the lakeshore to<br>let the crowd die down a bit. The peninsula is mostly covered in<br>coffee forest, and is incredibly beautiful. We walked out to where<br>Tom's friend has a coffee plantation, but Menelik wasn't around.<br>Asking some kids where he had gone, we were shuttled through the<br>coffee up a big hill on narrow rocky paths through the forest to<br>another friend's house, which was tucked away in the hills above the<br>lakefront. It's incredible to think what life must be like there. No<br>electricity, water only that you've hauled from the lake (see my<br>previous post about hauling water: it's no fun).<p>Menelik took Tom and me back to his own house, where a bunch of<br>friends had gathered. The whole day seemed to revolve around T'ella<br>(moonshine beer), food, and relaxing with friends. This is my kind of<br>holiday. We chatted with friends at Menelik's place for most of the<br>morning, then went up to the church to check out what was happening.<br>Came back to Menilik's during mass (we couldn't go in because it's a<br>fasting period and we'd eaten that morning, and anyway, 3 hours of<br>mass in ge'ez might have been a little much), then went back to the<br>church again. Got temporarily lost on the winding paths around the<br>church, but picked up an entourage on the half hour walk back to town.<p>Afaf town (it means hilltop or clifftop) is on a little cove<br>overlooking the lake back toward Bahir Dar. Perhaps about 3000 people<br>live in town (no one seems quite sure). It's a small place, but is<br>also the market hub for all of the surrounding countryside, so it's<br>pretty lively. It has its own post office, a couple of pharmacies<br>(including a couple of veterinary pharmacies), and a smattering of<br>barbers, tailors, and all-purpose souks. It also has perhaps the<br>nicest collection of people I've ever met (or perhaps it's just a<br>credit to Tom that he's on such good terms with everyone that they<br>treated me so wonderfully). We had coffee (and more T'ella and of<br>course more food) with his close friends Tomas and Haregua at their<br>grandmother's house. I got to hold a three-month-old baby. Most of<br>Zege life, at least on a holiday, seems to consist of socializing, and<br>it was fantastic. It becomes easy to see why social relationships are<br>so important, and why it's so important in Ethiopian society to<br>preserve those relationships above anything else. And I think that I'm<br>finally at the point in my Amharic learning that I can enjoy just<br>chewing the fat with people. It also didn't hurt that Tom was there,<br>and is fluent. It would be fun (and hard, of course) to go live in a<br>rural village for a few months to give my Amharic a kick-start.<p>Tuesday morning we went back to grandma's house for a doughnut and<br>more T'ella (and more time holding the baby of course), and then<br>stopped by the health center. Seid, my new friend from the ferry, took<br>me around and introduced me to everyone. I'd love to go spend a week<br>working there to see how different the health center is from the<br>referral hospital. I found out that their lab can run a malaria slide<br>and an HIV rapid test. That's it. They're about to get TB microscopy,<br>but not until they receive the supplies from the Ministry of Health.<br>They can give injections, deliver babies, and treat malaria. That's<br>really about all. And this isn't even the most basic health care<br>delivery unit—there are five health posts attached to the health<br>center with even more rudimentary services. It makes you think.<p>And then yesterday I went with my friend Saul to Dagi. To get to Dagi,<br>as Saul said, you "go to Merawi [a medium-ish town about 35 km from<br>Bahir Dar on the main road]. Then you go past it a little bit, through<br>a tiny town called Wetet Abay. Then you go, um, left." Which is pretty<br>much exactly what we did. An hour later, having traveled along<br>impossible "roads," forded a river in the Land Cruiser, and passed<br>about a hundred donkey carts hauling firewood the 18 km to town, we<br>arrived in Dagi. This is the kind of place where folks haven't seen a<br>white person before. It's small enough not to have a post office or<br>electricity. It does, however, have a single (miserable looking)<br>hotel, called, hilariously, "Sheraton." Saul and his team from the<br>Carter Center are doing trachoma (bacterial eye infection) surgery and<br>research, and they did their exams by the sunlight coming in through<br>the open window and door in the (mud) health post room. It was<br>ridiculous watching patients getting weighed—the scale was totally<br>foreign and mysterious (and a bit scary) for them. Saul told me that<br>the first time they came to Dagi, patients didn't know how to open the<br>door if it was closed; they'd never seen a door handle. He also said<br>that the chairs confused some of the patients; they'd only ever sat on<br>mats or stools. Incredible.<p>I amused myself for about a half hour in Dagi by making faces at and<br>teasingly scaring a group of 15 or so kids who were staring at me.<p>What's impossible to get my mind around is this: but by an accident of<br>birth, I could be living in Zege or in Dagi. But for coincidence, I<br>could have been one of those kids, and she me.<p>The world's a pretty crazy place.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-10049951835741658472009-02-25T11:45:00.001+03:002009-02-25T11:45:28.761+03:00WaterI feel like an old-time polar explorer reporting on the state of my<br>supplies. Sixth day without water. Can't cook, wash dishes, or flush<br>the toilet. Morale is low.<p>The irony is that we had a flood on my compound just a week ago. The<br>spigot had been leaking slowly for a few days, and we finally had a<br>plumber come take a look at it. The shut-off valve from the main<br>municipal pipe was broken, so this plumber guy says that he'll just<br>take off the broken spigot then force a new one on against the flow of<br>water out of the pipe. If only it had been that easy. Turns out that<br>the old faucet was leaking because its screw threads were totally<br>rusted out. Rusted, it turns out, onto the inside of the pipe. So the<br>plumber dude gets the old spigot off, but the new one can't go in<br>because of these little rusty bits of old spigot stuck in there. He<br>surveys the situation, and says "I need to go home for a part."<br>Meanwhile, there's a mini-fire hydrant's worth of water spewing out<br>into the compound. Tsehay and I tried to stem the flow with our hands,<br>with a stick, with a stick wrapped up in a plastic bad. Nothing worked<br>particularly well. The 9-year-old and I start bailing water into every<br>bucket on the compound (which, incidentally, is no small number), and<br>pouring water onto the trees and flowers when the buckets fill up.<br>Meanwhile two four-year-olds are reveling in the mud, splashing and<br>hooting about. Plumber guy eventually returns and smacks the rusty<br>bits ineffectually with a hammer. Water continues to pour. I'm<br>imagining at this point that it will NEVER stop running. But,<br>miraculously, he eventually gets the gunk out of the pipe and is able<br>to jam the new spigot on (with lots of splashing), and blissfully, the<br>tide stops. We were charged 30 birr (just under three dollars) for the<br>part, and 10 birr for labor, and thought that our water troubles were<br>over.<p>And no we've been without water for six days. One day is really no<br>trouble. You don't need to wash your dishes after a day. And there's<br>usually enough water stored up in various buckets or solar shower or<br>Nalgenes that you can get by for about a day. Day two is rougher. And<br>by a week, the situation is pretty miserable. We've been begging<br>jerry-cans of water from neighbors (who mysteriously get water back at<br>night, though we do not), and I hauled 12 liters of water in plastic<br>bottles from Kyle's house, but I can report that hauled water does not<br>go far when there are 5 people living on your compound. Rainy season<br>and guaranteed good water supply are three months away. Yikes.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-76666268491746860322009-01-23T12:03:00.001+03:002009-01-23T12:03:57.651+03:00Cheap Food AvailabilityAn idea stolen from Charlene (a fellow UW Peace Corps-er who's in Mongolia).<p>From an article from the NY Times about cost-saving grocery items…not<br>necessarily so cheap (and/or available) here...<br>(<a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/12/29/healthy-foods-for-under-1/?hp">http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/12/29/healthy-foods-for-under-1/?hp</a>)<p>1. Oats: cheap by American standards (about 20 cents for a<br>medium-sized tin), but far more expensive than other grains here.<br>Still, I buy them virtually every time I shop.<p>2. Eggs: Cost about 12 cents apiece, up from 7 cents each when I moved here.<p>3. Kale: Everywhere. 10 cents for a head.<p>4. Potatoes: Again, everywhere. Maybe 30 cents a kilo.<p>5. Apples: Ha, only in Addis, and about 50 cents each.<p>6. Nuts: Uh, peanuts are cheap-ish, as is peanut butter. Otherwise,<br>forget it, unless you're a rich farengi and can afford the<br>extortionate prices in Addis.<p>7. Bananas: Yep. About 70 cents a kilo. And sweeter than any banana<br>I've ever had in the States.<p>8. Garbanzo Beans: Yes, though usually ground up into a fine powder.<br>Definitely my major source of protein.<p>9. Broccoli: Ha. I tried to grow it once but it never flowered…<p>10. Watermelon: I saw this (and was delighted) when we had a training<br>in the South. Never up North, though.<p>11. Wild Rice: Cracked wheat almost approximates this.<p>12. Beets: Thankfully, yes! I love them! About 50 cents per kilo,<br>though somewhat seasonal.<p>13. Butternut Squash: Nope. Pumpkin, sometimes (in the Fall), is as<br>close as it gets.<p>14. Whole Grain Pasta: At the farengi grocery stores sometimes, but<br>about 10 times more expensive than the white flour stuff.<p>15. Sardines: Not sure about this one. Never looked for them. Canned<br>tuna is disgusting enough, tinned in oil and flake-form as it is…<p>16. Spinach: Hard to say, really…we have lots of different kinds of<br>green leafy veggies, but I'm not sure I've ever seen spinach itself.<p>17. Tofu: Maybe in Addis. I looked up a recipe to make it, but it seemed hard.<p>18. Milk: Great in coffee, less great for anything else. I mostly use<br>the powered kind, which is ridiculously expensive (about $6 for the<br>equivalent of 3 liters), to avoid having to pasteurize the farm kind.<p>19. Pumpkin Seeds: I guess so, when pumpkins are in season, but<br>really? What am I going to do with a whole pumpkin?<p>20. Coffee: Need I really say more that that Ethiopia is its<br>birthplace? A cup in a café is about 5-10 cents. A kilo of raw beans<br>is maybe $2.50. Not sure I've gone a day since coming here without<br>drinking coffee. Really.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-5984380467231680732009-01-12T12:19:00.002+03:002009-01-12T12:39:49.740+03:00home again (almost)I've been away from Bahir Dar now for exactly one month (with a three day stop over back home in between). It's been lovely and refreshing, but I'd be lying to say that I wasn't excited to get back home.<br /><br />I spent a week in Ambo with the new trainees, who arrived at the beginning of December. It was fun to recount my experience over the past year. They certainly had lots of questions. They seem like a great group (so excited to be here! so idealistic and un-jaded!), and it will be great to have some new neighbors and new energy. Five weeks into training, all 40 of them are still here, which is nice. Ambo was a great town, and it was fun to watch the trainees navigate it with their still-shaky Amharic and to realize how far we've all come in the past year or so. It was also great to get to spend time with the training staff (many of them back from last year). During our training, I think that both volunteers and staff were a little scared of each other, and it was hard to actually make friends with the Ethiopians. Not so this year--our staff is really incredible, and it was wonderful to get to joke around with them (in Amharic, no less!).<br /><br />My parents arrived in Ethiopia on Christmas Eve morning, and we were together for nearly three lovely weeks. We spent time in Addis, Bahir Dar, and Lalibela in Ethiopia, and in Ruaha National Park in the Southwest and Zanzibar, in Tanzania.<br /><br />Brief highlights:<br /><br />* Christmas Dinner with Liz, Chris, and Chris's parents at the fanciest restaurant in Addis<br />* Visiting the monasteries on Zege Penninsula in Lake Tana with Tom, my friend the anthropologist, who lives there and consequently knows everything about them<br />* Seeing the rock-hewn churches at Lalibela (again). They were just as spectacular the second time<br />* Getting stuck in Lalibela (the plane apparently needed a "particle," which had to be shipped from Addis the following morning), and having a taxi driver from town appear at the airport shouting "Hana! Hana!," looking specifically for me to take me & parents back to town (ah, the benefits of speaking Amharic!)<br />* The van from the airport back to Lalibela breaking down on the road, and the Ethiopian Airlines car driving right past us without so much as a wave to make sure that we were okay<br />* Spotting two leopards resting in a Rainy Tree after killing an impala. Mom missed out on that one because she wanted to take a nap<br />* Drinking a gin & tonic by a campfire under the stars in Ruaha National Park<br />* Holding a baby bushbaby (less spectacular was having the baby bushbaby pee on me)<br />* Watching lions eat giraffe guts from about 3 meters away<br />* Snorkeling in Zanzibar--so many fish! I have decided that scuba diving is decidedly in my future<br />* Consistent access to cheese, non-Ethiopian food (though I did miss my injera fix somewhat), and hot showers for nearly three weeks<br /><br />I'm back to Bahir Dar on Wednesday, after a much-needed, but potentially somewhat stressful, meeting with my UW advisor tomorrow here in Addis Ababa. It will probably be quite a challenge to get up and running again after having been away for so long, and I'm sure that I have dozens of exclamations of "tafash!" ("you've disappeared!", kind of akin to "long time no see") waiting for me in Bahir Dar. But my oh my will it be good to be home again.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-7519533778860023402008-12-05T12:05:00.001+03:002008-12-05T12:05:35.739+03:00LandmarksThe second group of PCVs arrived in Ethiopia last night. It has me<br>thinking about how far I've come in the past 14 months…and about how<br>far I still have to go in the next year. I remember stepping off of<br>that plane exhausted, disoriented, and terrified. Lugging my 80+<br>pounds of luggage to the bus they had rented for us and staring,<br>stunned, at the city, which was empty as we drove through it around 10<br>pm, on our way to the hotel. I remember thinking, more than once,<br>"what have I gotten myself into?"<p>With this new group arriving, and with the departures from Bahir Dar<br>of two dear friends (one a short term intern from Germany, the other<br>Teddy, my first friend at I-TECH), I've been imagining my own<br>departure. It's hard to fathom. I can't picture what it would be like<br>to say goodbye to these people, to this place, that has become my<br>home. I suppose that's a good sign—that I am indeed settled here. I<br>have a feeling that, for better or for worse, that this next year is<br>going to fly by.<p>It's been a while since I've posted an update. I moved into a new<br>house about a month ago. My old landlord, not unsurprisingly, given<br>ridiculous inflation, tried to increase my rent when my contract ran<br>out in October. The surprise was that he wanted to raise it by almost<br>50%. So, with the help of just about everybody I know in Bahir Dar, I<br>found a new place, not far from the old, and moved in. I love this new<br>place, and kind of can't quite remember how I survived a year in the<br>old one. I have a kitchen, an indoor bathroom, and quite a bit more<br>room than in the old house. And particularly nice is the fact that I'm<br>not alone on my compound any more. There's a wonderful family sharing<br>the yard with me. Mom, Tsehay (which means "sun") is a jewel: kind and<br>helpful and with such a warm smile. She often brings me an injera and<br>a little pot of wot if there's extra. Dad works for the Ministry of<br>Capacity Building and is often out in the field, but also seems quite<br>nice. Two kids, Tsion (age 9), and Beniam (age 4), are super sweet,<br>though still a little bit shy and not quite sure of what to make of a<br>ferenji living on their compound. They both go to a good private<br>school in town, and are learning English. Yesterday Tsion came to my<br>door after school, her first exams of the year in hand. She wanted to<br>show me how well she was doing (20/20 in English!). I gave her a<br>high-five. She also drew a rabbit for me to put up on my wall, having<br>seen drawings from other kids hanging there. Beniam won't really talk<br>to me yet, but I can see by his shy smile that he wants to like me. We<br>have a full year—I'm sure he'll be my buddy by the time I leave here.<p>Holiday time again now, and much better than last year. I remember<br>being lonely and unsure of myself last year. At Christmastime, we'd<br>only been in Bahir Dar a little over a week. It's so nice to have<br>friends and a home and to know how things work here. We orchestrated,<br>along with 6 volunteers, a huge Thanksgiving celebration at Charlie &<br>Dee's (my adopted parents here) house, complete with a turkey special<br>ordered from the US Embassy. What a treat! Their house is lovely and<br>warm, and they're incredibly generous. A friend from the States had<br>come for a visit, and acted as a Thanksgiving-food-mule, delivering<br>cranberries, huge golden onions, celery, and sweet potatoes. Charlie<br>and Dee's guard didn't even recognize the onions—they look nothing<br>like our little tiny red onions here. We shared an incredible dinner<br>(how good to have such friends!), and then spent the afternoon<br>painting a mural on the inside of Charlie and Dee's gate.<p>My parents are arriving in Ethiopia in less than three weeks. I know<br>that they're excited about seeing my life here, and I'm excited to<br>show them around. It will be interesting to see how they react to life<br>here. Sometimes it's easy to forget, in the routine of it all, how<br>different my life here is. I know that all of my friends here are<br>eager to meet them, as well.<p>What else? I'm struggling again with finding productive work, but am,<br>at least, making progress on my thesis. The goal is to have my<br>proposal done and submitted to the ethical review boards in the US and<br>Ethiopia by the first of the year. I'm planning to look at the<br>factors—demographic, clinical, and social—that are associated with<br>poor outcomes in the first six months of HIV treatment. We're seeing a<br>lot of clients coming in to the hospital acutely sick, getting tested<br>for HIV and started on treatment, and then never showing up again.<br>Will be interesting to see if we can sort out just who the patients<br>are who are most likely to drop out of care. I'm also hoping to<br>conduct (through a translator) a few interviews, to try to tease out<br>some of the problems people encounter with HIV treatment. My best<br>guess is that transport costs, fear of stigma (and therefore not<br>telling others about the treatment and not having any social support),<br>and perhaps drug and alcohol use, will show up as issues. But I<br>suppose I'll have to wait for the data to tell me…<p>So life is fine here. It's starting to feel like I've been away for a<br>very long time, and I'm sure that it will be nice to have a short<br>break with my parents (and who wouldn't be excited about spending a<br>few days on the beach in Zanzibar?!). I miss all of my friends and<br>family back in the States (and around the world…). Know that I'm<br>thinking of you often, and particularly during the holidays. Hope that<br>you're all well.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-54327558365311508162008-11-05T14:44:00.001+03:002008-11-05T14:44:26.903+03:00OBAMA!Jubilant.<p>And very, very tired.<p><br>Stayed up all night to watch the election returns (first ones came<br>back just after 3am). Watching the concession and acceptance speeches<br>this morning around 8am (having been there since midnight) at the<br>Obama Cafe (with fellow Americans, Ethiopians, a Brit, some Dutchmen,<br>a few Canadians, and a German) was one of the better things I've ever<br>done. I actually cried with relief.<p>Congra, Obama, as they say here.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-60424339368878788152008-10-31T16:45:00.001+03:002008-10-31T16:45:44.771+03:00VOTE!We're getting down to the wire on the US election. It's big news here<br>(and has been for several months). Many of my friends, both Ethiopians<br>and ex-pats, are asking about it and thinking about it. A great new<br>café in Bahir Dar opened up a couple of months ago—Obama Café and<br>Restaurant. It's quickly becoming one of my favorite haunts. I even<br>(thanks to friends and family back in Denver) brought them some<br>additional Barack paraphernalia from the convention last August (which<br>the proprietors were exceptionally excited about). I got my absentee<br>ballot in the mail a week or so ago, sent it back, thanks to the Peace<br>Corps, priority. While my vote isn't going to change the situation in<br>Washington State, it still feels like such a privilege to be able to<br>make a choice (at least symbolically) from so very far away. It's<br>really overwhelming to see how many people here care, and how deeply,<br>about the results of this election. I'm inspired to see people without<br>a lot of access to international news media who know more about the<br>repercussions of this election than many Americans do. A great new<br>café in Bahir Dar opened up a couple of months ago—Obama Café and<br>Restaurant. It's quickly becoming one of my favorite haunts. I even<br>(thanks to friends and family back in Denver) brought them some<br>additional Barack paraphernalia from the convention last August (which<br>the proprietors were exceptionally excited about).<p>If you haven't already, PLEASE make sure to vote in this election. Do<br>it for yourselves, for me, and especially for those millions of people<br>in Ethiopia and elsewhere who care deeply about what happens in<br>America and don't have that privilege.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-87792502920570699732008-10-31T16:41:00.001+03:002008-10-31T16:41:58.133+03:00A year?!Happy Halloween! My pen-pals (elementary school students from North<br>Carolina) had lots of questions for me about what Halloween is like in<br>Ethiopia. They may be sad to learn the truth that there are no<br>costumes or trick or treating here. Though I can imagine that my<br>neighbor boys would be absolutely nutso for Halloween if they heard<br>about it.<p>We just passed the one year anniversary of being in Peace Corps.<br>Amazing. We finished our Mid-Service Conference (complete with lots of<br>interesting--and a few less interesting--presentations, a bowling<br>outing--human pinsetters!, physicals, a slightly-too-aggressive dental<br>cleaning, and an eye exam at an Ethiopian clinic that turned into a<br>join appointment--Kristen and I had our eyes looked at<br>simultaneously), and I've been hanging out in Addis for the week<br>taking advantage of some time to get stuff done in the capital. It's<br>been a nice break, but actually, for the first time in a while, I did<br>in fact feel sad about leaving Bahir Dar. I've been feeling *good*<br>there these days. Incredible! I'm making real friends, enjoying my<br>work, and trying to get started on the thesis project. I've finally<br>been able to cobble together about 10 different projects at I-TECH and<br>elsewhere, and have been (can you believe it?) _busy_ these days. So<br>it felt like bad timing to be away from home this week. It has been<br>lovely, though, to get to spend time with the other volunteers in a<br>big group. I haven't seen some of these guys since April. We're down<br>to 29 of us now (lost another one just last week), and so the group<br>feels particularly close knit (that's code for small...). Our Country<br>Director resigned last week, meaning that nearly every single member<br>of our original senior staff has turned over since we arrived. Ah, new<br>programs. We've been an experiment from the very start.<p>So things are looking and feeling up. I'm moving out of my house next<br>week into a beautiful new place, complete with indoor toilet and<br>(gasp!) kitchen counters. I'm hoping that my new landlord will have<br>arranged to turn on the water, fix the windows so that they actually<br>shut, and get the kitchen door to unlock in the week that I've been<br>gone. Too much to ask? Potentially. Anyhow, the place is great, and<br>I'm excited about the move. It's a bit farther from work and town, but<br>I'll no longer be living on a compound by myself, which I think will<br>be great news for my (currently struggling) Amharic. The family also<br>has two adorable little kids, Tsion, who is in second grade, and<br>Biniam, who's in first. So given how much I love kids, this is going<br>to be a perfect situation.<p>My parents will be coming to visit in just 8 weeks. I'm already<br>counting down. Excited to get to share Ethiopia with them, and also to<br>get to see a little corner of Tanzania. Many of the volunteers have<br>visitors over Christmas and New Years or are going home. It feels like<br>a really big milestone in our time here. I'm sure that the next year<br>is just going to fly. The new volunteers--Group Two--arrive on<br>December 4th. We're all excited to get to meet them. There's lots of<br>speculation about what this group will be like. If it's anything like<br>ours, then *unique* might be the best descriptor.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-30525454926963560742008-09-23T15:29:00.001+03:002008-09-23T15:29:21.554+03:00To an English Friend in AfricaA poem by Ben Okri, a Nigerian poet. Yes, it's a little cheesy, but<br>sometimes these things just speak to me, and I thought I'd share it<br>with you all. I particularly liked these lines: "Remember that all<br>things which happen/ To you are raw materials." I think that it's a<br>good mantra for when things don't go exactly the way that I would have<br>liked them to go, here and elsewhere...<p>_To an English Friend in Africa_<p><br>Be grateful for the freedom<br>To see other dreams.<br>Bless your loneliness as much as you drank<br>Of your former companionships,<br>All that you are experiencing now<br>Will become moods of future joys<br>So bless it all,<br>Do not think your way superior<br>To another's<br>Do not venture to judge<br>But see things with fresh and open eyes<br>But praise when you can<br>And when you can't, be silent.<p>Time is now a gift for you<br>A gift of freedom<br>To think and remember and understand<br>The ever perplexing past<br>And to recreate yourself anew<br>In order to transform time.<p>Live while you are alive.<br>Learn the ways of silence and wisdom<br>Learn to act, learn new speech<br>Learn to be what you are in the seed of your spirit and<br>Learn to free yourself from all the things<br>That have molded you<br>And which limit your secret and undiscovered road.<p>Remember that all things which happen<br>To you are raw materials<br>Endlessly fertile<br>Endlessly yielding of thoughts that could change your life<br>And go on doing so forever.<p>Never forget to pray and be thankful<br>For all things good or bad on the rich road:<br>For everything is changeable<br>So long as you live while you are alive.<p>Fear not, but be full of light and love;<br>Fear not, but be alert and receptive;<br>Fear not, but act decisively when you should;<br>Fear not, but know when to stop;<br>Fear not, for you are loved by me;<br>Fear not, for death is not the real terror,<br>But life—magically—is.<p>Be joyful in your silence<br>Be strong in your patience<br>Do not try to wrestle with the universe<br>But be sometimes like water or air<br>Sometimes like fire<br>And constant like the earth.<p>Live slowly, think slowly, for time is a mystery.<br>Never forget that love<br>Requires always that you be<br>The greatest person you are capable of being,<br>Self-regenerating and strong and gentle—<br>Your own star and hero.<p>Love demands the best in all of us<br>To always and in time overcome the worst<br>And lowest in our souls.<br>Love the world wisely.<p>It is love alone that is the greatest weapon<br>And the deepest and darkest secret.<p>So fear not, my friend.<br>The darkness is gentler than you think.<br>Be grateful for the manifold<br>Dreams of creation<br>And the many ways of the unnumbered peoples.<p>Be grateful for life as you live it.<br>And may a wonderful light<br>Always guide you on the unfolding road.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-11179448459383846442008-09-17T14:41:00.001+03:002008-09-17T14:41:42.234+03:00A bit of promotionJust found the URL for the orphanage that I've been working with.<br>They're are really great organization, currently struggling to find<br>room for more and more children who are being given up for adoption.<br>When I arrived in Bahir Dar, they had about 12 live-in children and<br>maybe an additional 20 attending day care. They're up to 23 live-ins<br>and probably 60 total in day care. They're building an additional<br>center, hiring qualified staff (including a social worker, hurray!),<br>and trying really hard to do what's best for these kids. Grace Center<br>(or Centre, if you were to ask them) is one of the best stops on the<br>tour that I give to every visitor to Bahir Dar. It's a pretty special<br>place. Clean, bright, filled with happy, healthy babies. My visits<br>there (and the relationship I'm forming with the family that runs it)<br>have definitely helped me to keep my sanity, and it's doing SO much<br>more for the kids and the families it serves.<p>Here's the link: <a href="http://www.gracecentres.org/index.html">http://www.gracecentres.org/index.html</a>. Take the<br>religious affiliation as you will--they're a pretty fabulous group<br>(and the religious element here in Bahir Dar is actually rather<br>minimal). I'm sure that they would appreciate your support.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-83032049284306111212008-09-17T14:15:00.001+03:002008-09-17T14:15:52.450+03:00It's the Little ThingsIt was Ethiopian New Year last week. I've never seen so many sheep and<br>goats being dragged, pushed, carted, or carried home for the<br>slaughter. People must be so sick of sheep leftovers after New Year's<br>Day. It was a festive week; very little work got done. Everyone was<br>out and about, dressed to the nines in their traditional clothing,<br>visiting friends and family. Little boys also carry around flowers or<br>drawings of flowers and exchange them for coins (kind of like trick or<br>treating).<p>My major accomplishment over the holiday was baking a pumpkin pie with<br>Marcy. Here is what we used: one pumpkin (7 birr, or about 80 US<br>cents), a graham cracker (actually Digestive Biscuit) crust,<br>disposable aluminum baking pans, and a Dutch oven. It took the greater<br>part of an afternoon, but with what results! How rewarding to have<br>started with nothing and to end up with something so great. We also<br>managed to play about three games of Scrabble while it was baking,<br>which was an added bonus.<p>Other recent achievements: forming a committee for my thesis, making a<br>toilet paper holder for my latrine (out of dental floss, duct tape,<br>and a stick, no less), finally getting all of my utility bills up to<br>date, and making hotel reservations for when my parents come to visit.<br>It's the little things.<p>I'm trying hard to reframe my attitude. It's easy to complain: about<br>lack of work, about cultural difficulties, about the rain or the sun<br>or the mud or the dust, about not being able to find cheese, about how<br>gosh-darn hard this language is. But I'm trying to start thinking a<br>little more positively, about what I do have, and what I have<br>accomplished. I think that this is especially important as I'm coming<br>up on the year mark of being here in Ethiopia. It would be easy to<br>feel like I've done nothing this year and like I've achieved very<br>little. But instead, I'm trying to focus on the fact that I'm<br>comfortable in this town that was completely foreign to me a year ago,<br>that I can have a basic friendly conversation with the little old lady<br>selling me salad greens, that I have friends and neighbors who I love,<br>and that I understand the HIV treatment system and can navigate the<br>hospital, which was once such a scary place. And, of course, the<br>knowledge that I can bake a delicious pumpkin pie without a pie tin or<br>an oven!Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-74975572064103983542008-08-25T12:24:00.004+03:002008-08-28T20:45:50.182+03:00Also...Check out Ruth's photos of her trip to Ethiopia and our trip to Uganda!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYFETfEYhhAhN5gM1MBgxC9qO1A155tkCD8muQunCsIvutE2chQFszAFZoms8OvVhVlzkuEofOjacEG0ONYFuChvMDurb5Vr9ywzYMigU9jET0ZhNQ1Pm4C1mfd0VGJ26JC94hJwBo7Xw/s1600-h/IMG_0080.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYFETfEYhhAhN5gM1MBgxC9qO1A155tkCD8muQunCsIvutE2chQFszAFZoms8OvVhVlzkuEofOjacEG0ONYFuChvMDurb5Vr9ywzYMigU9jET0ZhNQ1Pm4C1mfd0VGJ26JC94hJwBo7Xw/s320/IMG_0080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239619760119798930" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq-ID5OWGQLgGGOfZ2lE3B-dAzxuND8Ws0vboY0Jd5yFE4i_ZYH3-QHQka6cNNtCK4Xq9h6ZuM-irgRqfLPilYAIPvnyk4ybwWyjP1DsxdLJDzQiVtwxRpgKXqIYZ3jO5pGUSrvVO3RNj8/s1600-h/IMG_0081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; 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display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8-pz_KQM6jVQ7dYMZNLfsL8r6GLMp-rP1PITjUeqyCTZLk9oUe0mtQ2uxacsFzMRusWnJJHcY3Wl3YsMBjlw9Pc9rZWhgWloINceQjIdeYHhChp_jNRwc7ketCz_92oXYgNnd5DXDOjNb/s320/IMG_0773.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5239623445713877010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYFETfEYhhAhN5gM1MBgxC9qO1A155tkCD8muQunCsIvutE2chQFszAFZoms8OvVhVlzkuEofOjacEG0ONYFuChvMDurb5Vr9ywzYMigU9jET0ZhNQ1Pm4C1mfd0VGJ26JC94hJwBo7Xw/s1600-h/IMG_0080.JPG"> </a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTYFETfEYhhAhN5gM1MBgxC9qO1A155tkCD8muQunCsIvutE2chQFszAFZoms8OvVhVlzkuEofOjacEG0ONYFuChvMDurb5Vr9ywzYMigU9jET0ZhNQ1Pm4C1mfd0VGJ26JC94hJwBo7Xw/s1600-h/IMG_0080.JPG"> </a>Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-41411678202195207882008-08-25T12:22:00.000+03:002008-08-25T12:23:52.919+03:00On CommunityIt’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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-35750576788893839692008-08-01T13:49:00.002+03:002008-08-01T15:03:51.926+03:00No, 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...<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 (<em>Australopithecus afarensis</em>) 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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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 <em>kilograms</em> 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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 <em>too scared.</em> 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-75941720225414158802008-06-10T09:54:00.001+03:002008-06-10T09:54:32.598+03:00And so it isToday: my big news is that my house is infested. With millipedes and<br>with mice. I hate the rainy season. The millipedes aren't such a big<br>deal. I pretty much ignore them. But the mice are another thing<br>altogether. I want them out. I went on an odyssey yesterday to find<br>rat poison (they steal the food out of the trap I bought without<br>springing it!). I was so proud of myself for finding it (after asking<br>about 50 people at the market where to look...). Followed the<br>instructions: injera covered with poison covered with shiro (a<br>chickpea and berbere paste). These little jerks dragged the scraps of<br>injera *under* my bed to munch on them, leaving most of the shiro, and<br>quite likely all of the poison. I woke up this morning thinking "why<br>does my bed smell like shiro?" Gross. I suppose I'll survive,<br>though...<p>In other news, a post from June 7th:<p>I'm sitting on my front stoop, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine<br>and a cool breeze. There are about 20 or 30 small birds flying into<br>and out of my yard and my trees, pecking around in the dirt for bugs<br>or spilled grain. A whole little crowd of them will swoop down from<br>the trees, hop about and peck at the ground, then, suddenly spooked by<br>something I can't sense, they all take off again and perch high above<br>me. They're extraordinarily beautiful—brilliant yellow-gold and black,<br>with delicate little claws and tiny red eyes. I have no idea what kind<br>they might be. Ethiopia has turned me into a birdwatcher. In my yard<br>alone, I've seen gorgeous long-tailed flycatchers with two-foot long<br>white feathery tails, woodpeckers with hilarious mohawks, tiny little<br>lovebirds that are brilliant teal, red, or neon green, and my<br>favorites, which someone told me are starlings, small elegant dark<br>blue birds that turn iridescent in the sunshine, shimmering like<br>peacock tails. And of course, elsewhere nearby there are fish eagles<br>(the spitting image of the American bald eagle), huge pelicans, a<br>variety of hawks and falcons, and enormous toucan-like birds with<br>monstrous curved beaks. I've never been interested in birds in my<br>life, but here, I find myself reaching for my camera or my binoculars<br>and asking my colleagues about the species we see near the office.<br>"What's that one called?" I ask.<br>"Wof," they usually answer. Bird. While there are specific words for<br>each kind, people aren't really familiar with all of the different<br>species. I'm planning a quest to find a bird identification book when<br>I go into Addis next time.<p>It's sometimes easy to forget how amazingly beautiful this place is.<br>I've made friends with a couple from New Mexico who have just moved to<br>town, and had dinner with them by candlelight the other night (the<br>power was out, as it has been three or so days per week for the past<br>couple of months). After dinner, we went out onto the patio and looked<br>up at the stars. With the whole city darkened, and incredibly clear<br>skies, the stars were brilliant. We lay on the driveway flat on our<br>backs and stared up at the sky for quite some time. Saw some shooting<br>stars. Or fireflies. Sometimes it was hard to tell. But regardless, it<br>was lovely, lying there in the total dark, with only a crescent moon<br>and some low clouds on the horizon with occasional flashes of<br>lightning.<p>It's been a busy week, but not in the way that I would have expected.<br>When we were given our site placements, Peace Corps assigned us a<br>supervisor and a counterpart—in my case, they're the people at I-TECH<br>with whom I'm supposed to be working most closely. My supervisor was<br>promoted about eight or ten weeks ago and moved to Addis. I was happy<br>for him, and hadn't noticed his absence much, since he had been really<br>busy with management and administration and wasn't at the hospital<br>much. But a week ago Thursday, first thing in the morning, my<br>counterpart, Hailu, mentioned that might be moving to Afar Region<br>(which is, precisely as it sounds, afar). By the end of the day he had<br>decided that he would indeed be moving away. When? The following<br>Sunday—three days later. It's been a shock to see him go. He was<br>particularly motivated and energetic and was a lot of fun to work<br>with. So my role, once again, is readjusting. I hadn't realized quite<br>how mobile people here are, both in terms of moving from one job to<br>another with little notice, but even from region to region. So I'm<br>trying to figure out my place within the organization and within the<br>hospital itself, once again.<p>I realize every once in a while both that I'm learning a lot about<br>this place, and that there's still a whole lot more to figure out. I'm<br>constantly surprised; there's never a dull moment when it comes to<br>navigating my way through this country and this culture. I'm beginning<br>to understand that my expectations of how any situation will unfold<br>are so thoroughly colored by my own culture and experience that it's<br>no wonder that they're rarely fulfilled as I predicted. Here's a for<br>instance: in collaboration with the Clinton Foundation, I'm<br>coordinating a project tracking all of the pediatric patients who have<br>missed appointments at the hospital. There are about 375 patients, and<br>we've trained seven outreach workers, mainly women living with<br>HIV/AIDS, to go out to nearby communities to find the families, record<br>why they stopped coming in to care, and to encourage them to see a<br>doctor. The Clinton Foundation folks prepared a<br>questionnaire/reporting form for these outreach workers to fill out,<br>and I made a master list of the patients, both of which got translated<br>into Amharic script because the outreach workers don't speak much<br>English. What I didn't anticipate, didn't even consider, however, was<br>the fact that some of the people who would be good candidates for this<br>job might not read or write at all. It's not something I would have<br>even thought about asking about it. I'm not sure that I've ever met<br>adult in the States who didn't read (or at least I wasn't aware of it,<br>if I have). We had a meeting last week with the outreach workers to<br>see how the first round of tracking had gone, and I watched as one of<br>these ladies had a friend read out loud to her the names of the<br>children she had tracked. I was stunned for two reasons. First,<br>although I knew that female literacy in Ethiopia is something like<br>24%, knowing that and actually absorbing the meaning of that statistic<br>are two very different things. Second, I was baffled by this woman's<br>memory. She told the story of how she found five of eight children in<br>the town where she was assigned to search, telling details about where<br>the houses were, what the children's siblings' names were, who at the<br>town administration had been able to help her. I can barely remember<br>what I had for dinner last night without writing it down. I can't<br>imagine what it would be like to not be able to rely on that<br>off-loading of information. I was really impressed with her, and<br>stunned at my own insensitivity.<p>So, all in all, things are fine here these days. The "summer" (rainy<br>season) is starting in earnest; we've had some spectacular thunder and<br>lightning, and a couple of nights of serious rain: even one of hail!<br>I'm enjoying the slightly cooler (though much more humid…) weather; it<br>feels like a personal triumph to be able to wear long sleeves during<br>the day. Meanwhile, I'm feeling myself growing restless, wondering<br>when the next trip will be. Good thing it's only five more weeks until<br>my "bestie" comes to visit from the States. We have an adventure to<br>Uganda (including going to see chimps!) planned for the end of July.<br>The other priority on my list is to come up with something to write my<br>Master's thesis about. I'm open to any and all suggestions. J<p>I watched Hillary's concession speech live the other night on the BBC;<br>that was sort of odd. I've felt pretty disconnected from American<br>politics (though one of the tourist agencies here in town is a clear<br>Obama supporter, with a bumper sticker on their desk at the airport<br>and another on their van!). Honestly, I was stunned to hear that<br>Hillary and Barack have been campaigning for sixteen months already<br>(and the election is still 4 months away!). When did the run-in to the<br>election get so damned long? I'm already keeping my eyes open for my<br>absentee ballot.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-29380758428542703362008-05-26T17:32:00.003+03:002008-05-26T21:07:21.212+03:00Why do we give?<div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Am I a cynic?</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">really</i> 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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">Or am I an idealist?</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;">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.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"></i></span></p> </div>Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-38780168914363677592008-05-01T14:28:00.001+03:002008-05-01T14:28:11.482+03:00Back in Action<p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">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.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">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.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">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.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">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…</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">An article was published about Peace Corps recently than focused in part on the Ethiopia program. It's at <a onclick="return top.js.OpenExtLink(window,event,this)" href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080425/ts_csm/opeacecorps;_ylt=AjH.oCVEqOGhNjRa3lG9HNys0NUE" target="_blank">http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080425/ts_csm/opeacecorps;_ylt=AjH.oCVEqOGhNjRa3lG9HNys0NUE</a>. 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.</font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman"> </font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt"><font face="Times New Roman">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.</font></p> Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7838529741212322848.post-58168277751684326722008-04-05T12:53:00.003+03:002008-04-05T13:33:53.920+03:00How 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...).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Anna Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13249347479589876001noreply@blogger.com1