It's the Little Things

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

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

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

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

Also...

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

On Community

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And so it is

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

In other news, a post from June 7th:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why do we give?

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

 

Am I a cynic?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Or am I an idealist?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Back in Action

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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