I know—seems too soon to be hearing from me, now your expectations are low—just where I like them. It seems i have found my voice again, so be prepared, this is long.
I am currently in Nepal, after a seriously treacherous journey. Eek. I hurt my back while in grad school, and so when I take long flights (and a 15 hour flight from NY to Delhi, India is long in my book) I like to take something to make sure I don’t go into total spasm. This time, I took this muscle relaxer. I generally have the amazing ability to sleep anywhere for any amount of time. My main talent in life, it serves me well on long flights. So, I was out, as usual, drugged on this pill. While I was sleeping, I was not drinking the requisite water (for those of you who don’t know, flying is very dehydrating to your body. This is why they offer free liquids) and for the first time ever I was NOT snuggled under a blanket and huge sweater I usually bring on planes, I was actually warm/hot. Well I woke up in the weirdest state. I was dizzy, a bit nauseated, and total disoriented. I knew something was wrong. I grabbed an ‘air sick’ bag and got up to go stand in the back of plane. As soon as I stood I knew I was NOT well. I decided I needed to find a flight staff member. I started walking toward the back of the plane, which from my point of view looked to be miles away. The plane was swerving back and forth, back and forth (or maybe I was). At some point during the journey backward, I lost consciousness, if only for a moment, but long enough to land me on some guys lap. He was none too pleased; as I am sure he had been sleeping. I apologized, I think—and continued my journey down the aisle. I remember people staring at me—and trying to hold onto the seats as I walked. Looking back, they were probably all nervous I was going to vomit on them, as I was carrying the air sick bag, but by then I was no longer nauseated, just dizzy. I had total tunnel vision, and could just see the crack of light between the curtains of the galley in the back. I remember falling to the floor in the galley and hearing the flight staff, “ Oooh” “Catch her” “Watch out.” Next thing, I am sitting on the floor surrounded by Continental uniforms. They put a cold rag on my neck and forehead and gave me Coke to sip. Wooo Weee. In about 20 minutes I was fine. They told me that some muscles relaxers actually raise your body temperature, and further dehydrate you. Thus my issue—I sat back there for a while, drinking water and trying to get my land legs back. Finally I was okay enough to walk back. I was SOOOOOOOOO embarrassed to walk by the guy I totally landed on, but luckily he was fast asleep. J The rest of the flight the staff were very very nice and checked on me regularly and brought a lot of water.
Oh do I wish that is where the bad part of the journey ended, but alas—I am not that lucky. So, do to some mix ups with visas (long story) I was unable to leave the New Delhi airport, rather got the distinct pleasure of hanging out in the “transit lounge” for 15 hours (keep in mind “transit lounge” is the official title of the room, I feel it is used more comedically or to trick you into thinking they are taking you somewhere comfortable and nice). I was not alone in the ‘lounge’. Many other travelers were waiting it out, and some with small children—so I felt I had it okay. Normally, this wouldn’t’ have been a problem for me (remember the sleeping talent), save two issues. 1. The first plane ride had left me still very dehydrated and exhausted as I didn’t sleep as much after the incident. And 2. It was FREEZING in the ‘lounge.’ They had the AC cranked and we were all shivering. My plan had been to just sleep the hours away, especially with how tired I was, but my talent of sleeping is no match for shivering and the overwhelming desire of water. So—I dozed in and out, read, people watched, stared at the food and more importantly water for sale (I didn’t have any Indian money, so no go for me) and chatted with people. It was a LONG 15 hours. Finally, they came and got me. The very short flight (I think 2 1/2 hours) from New Delhi to Kathmandu was painful. I fell asleep within seconds of sitting down. I curled up with a blanket and was gone, but the short transit time and the fact that they woke me for both a snack and meal—really proved the flight to be less help and more pain. I was picked up at the airport by my new colleague, Macha. He is the country director for Micronutrient Initiative in Nepal. We had to fight off the viral taxi drivers vying for our business, and make our way to the car. All I wanted was a hot shower and a bed. Actually, I didn’t even need a bed, just a space that wasn’t freezing. But, no such luck; I was taken to a meeting right away at WFP (World Food Program). I tried my darndest to stay awake and be productive, but I wasn’t fooling anyone and with in 15 minutes of the meeting starting, they dismissed on account I was useless. Thank heaven!! I got to the hotel (Aloha Inn). Showered (I had prayed all the way up 3 flights of stairs they had hot water), hit my bed and slept for 12 hours without moving. Lovely. About the Inn, I asked one of the staff members why it was called the Aloha Inn. He said it was an old Hotel that was named with a word from some “European Language.” I giggled a bit, and told him that was wrong. Aloha is from a Pacific Island language, and that island is a state in the USA, Hawaii. He looked at me like I was crazy, told me I was mistaken and laughed. Okay. We’ll just let that one slide.
So, Nepal. I have absolutely no idea where to start. It is an amazing place that my writing will never do justice. I’ll get some demographic facts out of the way before I delve into my experience. Nepal is in South Asia sandwiched between India and China. Though Nepal make look small on maps next two the two 1 billion plus countries, it is slightly larger then Arkansas. It is 100 miles (160 Km) wide and 553 miles (885 Km) long! 29.5 million people call it home. The highest point, and the reason I am guessing most of you know of Nepal, is Mt Everest at 29, 035 feet (8,850 meters) and, what will surprise many of you, is a lowest point of 230 feet ( 70 meters)!! Yes—a VERY diverse topography which leads to VERY VERY difficult transportation issues. Kathmandu, the capital, sits at 4,445.5 feet (1355 meters), which is lower then where I grew up in Utah Valley. You will be VERY surprised to know it is quite warm here. Today I walked around in a skirt, sandals, and a t-shirt and got hot. Because the Himalayas, which are on the border with China in the north and home to Mt Everest, are so high—they block the cold cold winds from the north, making Nepal very pleasant. Now, Tibet on the other hand, is very cold and windy. Tibet is the region just on the other side of the Himalayas, another spiritual hotspot. I could talk a lot about Tibet, as I am passionate about their plight for freedom. But, once I start I won’t stop—so I will simply say that I support the Free Tibet movement and if you want more info go to: www.freetibet.org.
Nepal is among the poorest and least developed countries in the world with almost one-third of its population living below the poverty line. Here are some quick facts at a glance
1. One way to look at a country is with the GNI, Gross National Income. It’s like the average income for citizens. In the US in 2006, the GNI was $44,970; in Nepal in 2006 it was $290.00.
2. Average walk to a market, 11.5 hours ONE WAY!!!
3. In some areas, 79% of the children are stunted; meaning they have been malnourished consistently month after month for so long they stopped gaining height and are short for their age.
4. Religiously they are: Hindu 80.6%, Buddhist 10.7%, Muslim 4.2%, Kirant 3.6%, and the only official Hindu state in the world.
5. They have one of the most unique flags in the world (see attached).
6. They have five seasons Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer, Monsoon. You may have heard they are having flooding problems as well as the state of Bihar which borders Nepal and is where a large chunk of the water from Himalayas ends up. Bihar is the state in India where I lived in 2005.
7. Nepal has only been open to tourists/foreigners since 1949.
8. Is home to many refugees from Tibet and Bhutan.
9. The Himalayas are visible from certain points in Kathmandu, when the sky is clear. Pollution is horrible here, and the sky is often grey. Those of you living along the Wasatch front can imagine--they have the same problem Utah does with trapping bad air in the valleys.
Hopefully, I’ve peaked your interst. There is a lot more I could tell you, but it’s all available on line or in your local library. I arrived here just in time for one of the biggest Hindu festivals. Tihar, the festival of lights is one of the most dazzling of all Hindu festivals. The festival is for worshiping the Goddess Laxmi, the Goddess of wealth. During the festival all the houses in the city and villages are cleaned spotlessly, decorated with flowers, and finally adorned with lit oil lamps. Thus during the night the entire village or city looks like a sparkling diamond. You do this to attract the Goddess, and thus wealth and prosperity for your family. I was able to walk around and see many gorgeous homes. The people create a flower or pattern in front of their homes from different colored powders and flowers. Then foot steps and a path are created to lead the Goddess to the home. It’s beautiful.
Lucky for me, I was here when a good friend was also passing through, Louise Cochran (Jim’s wife for those who know him). We were able to spend all day Saturday together and I learned so much from her. She has been to Nepal many times, the first time 30 years ago. She was on her way to the city of Pokhara for a meditation retreat, slightly jealous. She took me to the largest “Stupa” in Nepal, Bodhnath. Stupa’s are built to house Buddhist relics and are holy sights people visit to worship and meditate. It is a large dome, with the “all seeing eyes of Buddha” on top (see picture). Around the dome are 108 images of Buddha (108 is a holy number in Buddhism), and 147 insets containing 4 prayer wheels each. You walk around the dome turning the prayer wheels. It’s one of the most powerful places I have ever been. The energy takes your breath away when you walk through the gate, it’s overwhelming. I hope to return before I take off.
Upon arrival to Nepal, I was given a security briefing (no worries mom, they are standard. I am sure when foreign staff move to NYC they get one too). I met other UN staff there and we each shared what brought us to Nepal. I was the only ‘short term’ employee in the room, as the rest of the crowd had all moved to Nepal for work. They asked if I had made time to sight see in my short time, and I told them I had no time for trekking just a few Saturdays to see close by sites. Almost in unison they groaned apologies for my ‘horrible situation’ of not being able to sight see. I was quite shocked at their reaction, and wondered, why wasn’t I as upset as they obviously would be in my shoes. Then I realized, I will be sight seeing—not their version of sight seeing, rather, my version. When I visit a country, I don’t want to just tour the sites and trek where others have, I want to really see the culture and people. For me, this is what my field trips are. Lucky me, seriously, LUCKY ME I get to go to Western Nepal for 7 days. I will be traveling to the three ecological zones, low lands, hills, and mountains, to see the area. I will speak with local leaders in villages about crops they grow, problems they face, and undoubtedly get to play with some kids. I get to see real homes with real people. That is sight seeing to me. I will of course tell you all about it later and post pictures on my blog.
Lastly I want to comment on my love of Tea. My first tea experience came from my Gram (my mom’s mom). Gram was an extraordinary person, one of the top 3 people to ever live, and an amateur herbologist. I have had stomach issues my whole life, and when I was young Gram recommended raspberry leaf tea, I was hooked. Yum. When I served in the Peace Corps my host mom would make home made mint tea (from mint leaves grown in our garden) and home made hibiscus tea (the berries grow wild in Moldova). NOTHING was better then coming home to a hot pot of tea and fresh home made bread. Then, I got the amazing opportunity to live in India and the world of Chai was opened to me. In the UNICEF office in Patna, Bihar, India we had a Chai Walla. The man whose job it is to make tea. He was a sweet old man, so cute—and would come around several times a day with a tray full of cups. He made the tea fresh each batch, with fresh herbs/spices and milk. Yummy. Back in the states I cultivated my love of green tea and the various herbal concoctions you find in the US. While living in Ethiopia, all my housemates were from England, Ireland, or Northern Ireland. Serious Tea drinkers. I learned how important the process of making the tea can be. One housemate was particularly picky and wouldn’t drink any tea I made until he had shown me how to make it properly. I myself have become VERY picky in my tea drinking, and certain brands are a NO GO. I feel their flavor is insulting. However, I have discovered the oddest phenomenon. I had meditated on this fact before this trip, but my voyage to Nepal confirms it. Tea is about the experience. I rarely if ever have good tea in the US. I thought we just had poor brands, poor style of producing it, I was doing something wrong, or something—but I have come to the conclusion tea tastes better in Nepal, India, Ethiopia, and Moldova because you are there. It’s part of the experience. I am excited for new countries, so I can try their style of tea. Nepal was no let down, with their version of Chai. Though, it is depressing to realize I will never have good tea back in the US, it makes my trips abroad so much more exciting b/c I can look forward to good tea.
One last comment, really. After writing the above on tea I had a wonderful conversation with Louise. She pointed out America has never been a Tea drinking society, so perhaps we really don’t know how to make tea! Who knows? Tea is becoming more popular in the states, and I can’t say that EVERY cup I have had has been awful, but the percentage is very high. I am assuming with time my tea experiences will be consistently good in the US, as they are abroad.
Okay—I am exhausted and need to pack for my big adventure. Hope you are all well!!
02 November 2008
21 October 2008
I am alive
No, I am not dead. I know many of you think so, and with good reason. But now you all know I can never be a professional writer. The fact is I don’t really enjoy writing; I know shocking to hear after the lengthy emails you’ve gotten in the past. However, I write not because I like writing, but because I have this primal need to get something out of me. That sounds a bit crazy, but I mean when I have seen something, experienced something, or learned something that I just can’t process without sharing it. My husband gets real sick of my talking (and to be honest for those of you who have met my husband, you probably wonder if he ever talks—but trust me when it’s just us, I BARELY get two words in a night!!). So, I write when I need to get things out. That said, the reason you haven’t heard from me is there has been NOTHING going on. I have one story—then there were months of nothing but boring life. I’ll tell the one story, that unfortunately is from back in March, then a few random tidbits that will bring you up to October.
Many of you will be surprised to learn Henok and I are now living in the USA. We made the “migration” at the end of March this year. Henok and I decided we wanted to move to the US, and we applied for his visa. We were told it takes an average of 1 year—we put in his application in December (07). We assumed, best possible scenario we would get his visa in September 2008 (9 mos later). However, much to our surprise—it came in January!!!!!!!!! That’s right, one month!! I was working for Micronutrient Initiative and World Bank, so we needed to stay a bit. I called my sisters in shock and while Henok and I tried to figure out when to come over. On the phone with my sisters, we quickly came to the conclusion it had been too long since we had attempted to give our mom a coronary, and the scheming began. My mother should be happy her children are so close we talk so much. Long story short, we decided to not tell my parents we got the visa and have Henok and I just show up to dinner!!
March in my family is a big deal—there are 1001 birthdays. To simplify things we started having just one birthday party. This year, it was decided (with the influence of my sisters) to have the bday dinner on the last Sunday of the month. Then, unbeknownst to my mother we arrived in Utah and stayed with my sister Kristi in Logan for a few days then rode down to Orem. We spent Saturday night at Lisa’s house, and then came over with them to my mom’s house for the ‘birthday dinner.’ Henok and I waited in the car, while we waited for dinner to get on the table and everyone to be sitting. This is VERY hard as my mother never really sits during dinner, but we really wanted her to be sitting down. My brother-in-law called me and left his phone on speaker so Henok and I could listen in and try and time it right. We snuck around the back of the house and up the back steps, to the patio doors. We opened the doors and yelled “Surprise!!” Unfortunately, my mom was of course not in her seat, but she quickly appeared and we got a photo of her face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ha Ha Ha. She hates us girls—but surprising her is what keeps us going!!
Well—I can sum up April to October in just a few sentences. We hung out in Utah while processing Henok’s paperwork. Getting him his first American Driver’s License, Social Security Card, and introducing him to places other then McDonalds!! We decided to come to the DC area, as it would be easier for me to find a job, there are schools for Henok, and we have a support system around as I have family in Maryland as does Henok. We found an apartment in Alexandria, and to be honest absolutely love it. We came here at the beginning of June. Things haven’t been all smooth –I haven’t’ been able to find a ‘real’ job (translation something with benefits) and we picked the worst time in history to move to the US as unemployment is at an all time high!!!!!! I have continued consulting for the World Bank and random other things. Henok has a job, not in his field of IT, but something to keep him busy while we look for work in IT for him.
Life in the US has been crazy. Henok is fascinated by the elections. He has watched all the debates, something I refuse to do. They just annoy me. I’d rather read them later. Two blowhards blowing hot steam at each other; like two bullies in the school yard seconds from a fist fight but dressed in suits. Annoying. The only positive in all of it is SNL. This is the season SNL shines (Saturday Night live for you early to bed folks). It has been quality.
Most moments, to be honest, I want to bolt from the US and never look back (sorry mom). You’ll be surprised to know I find America to be a very very depressing place. Sometimes it’s overwhelming the amount of sadness here. Truly, some days I will see such sadness in the streets I have to hibernate in my home to get away from it. I know I have a different perspective, but things here are hard. I, along with my husband (after a few months of life in the US) agree that life in Ethiopia is much happier. Not just Ethiopia, many countries around the world have far easier and happier lifestyles then the US. Most Americans, especially those who have not been able to travel abroad, probably can’t imagine it. But, life in Cuba, Brazil, Ethiopia, Kenya, Romania etc can be better, easier, and less stressful. You can very joyful wonderful lives. Don’t be confused, I am not delusional, and would never claim the US is the saddest place—if you recall I worked in South Sudan a bit, you don’t know loss until you’ve worked there. But, that said, America is a hard and sad place to try and survive. I don’t mean because of the current economic woes, that is just worsening an already depressing situation for so many.
I will try and explain why I see this, but probably won’t do too good a job. There are many any reasons for this, but I’ll point out a few today. I am in a rush to get this email out—so I’ll do my best. America is the golden ticket. Getting a visa to move to the US is like winning the golden ticket, someone gets that once in a lifetime opportunity to save their entire family. When someone gets that golden visa, this means the lives of their brothers and sisters, mom and dad, nieces and nephews, aunt and uncles, grandma and grandpa, and cousins far and wide will change forever (not to mention friends). It is assumed that this person will arrive in the US, get a great job, start making money, and send it back home. Now—everyone will get better roofs, indoor plumbing, new clothes/shoes, school fees and supplies, medical care and medicine, television, etc etc. However, reality is, this person no matter how educated or qualified they were in their home country, arrives to the US and must take a minimum wage paying crap job and have to pay for living in the US, which we all know is not cheap, and STILL manage to send money home. Regardless, he/she will be making more money here then they could back home. This is how you find teachers, doctors, even nurses in our incredible nursing shortage working at Taco Bell or Target. Now the issue of professionals having to work WAY beneath their potential is one thing, and a topic for another day; I want to focus the money and their homes. So, they send money home. I can not express to you the overwhelming pressure to send money home. It is your duty, if you don’t you are abandoning your family. Your family is shamed in their community, because one of their own has abandoned them. IF the family of a “golden ticket” holder doesn’t start having a higher standard of living, it is assumed the ticket holder has 1-been a failure, 2-become selfish and forgotten about their ‘home,’ or 3-Become American: meaning getting into drugs, alcohol, etc and wasting their money on these things. There are other assumptions of course, I don’t pretend to know all the cultures and beliefs—but these are reasons I have experienced or heard from others. So, with all this pressure, the person must work at least 2 crappy jobs or even three. Sleeping just a few hours a day—trying to send as much money home as possible. For some countries, the entire economy is highly dependent on this money coming from the US (and other ‘developed’ nations) called remittances.
The down part, what I see—are exhausted disappointed “children.” It’s like waiting your whole life to go to Disneyland, FINALLY getting there and finding out it’s a work camp. These people come here with such high expectations—they grow up ‘learning’ that Americans are always happy; we have few problems, no stress and money to burn. They get here and discover a cruel reality. Where, like my husband, they are treated like second or third class citizens. People assume they are uneducated and illegal and say outrageously prejudice, racists and down right malicious things. Their families assume they are happy as they are in the land of Gold and Honey, but they suffer away here with only each other to confide in. They cling to each other for support and to figure out our crazy system. They need to learn how to use the buses and subways, how to use a debit card, and, as my husband is learning, for many it’s their first time dealing with winter. If you suddenly had to move to a foreign country, by your self, would you seek out the locals whose language you haven’t totally learned or others like you? Then, people blame you for not ‘integrating’ into your new country—I dare any of you to move to a new land with a new language and to ‘integrate.’ I LOVE challenges, new languages and cultures, I love getting to know only the locals and not the other ‘foreigners,’ and even I have to hang with Americans once in a while. It’s just natural, birds of a feather.
I could say so much more on this topic. Way too much, and possibly I will in the future—but for now you get the idea. Life is hard here, harder then you can imagine. But, you need to realize that even despite all the hardships these people face, it’s better for many then going home, especially the illegal immigrants. Think how bad your life must be to force you to cross a desert and swim a river, with a huge chance of dying—just to come and work for like 3 dollars an hour. I know the drain illegal immigrants have on our system, especially in certain areas. But, I am just asking you to 1—Please do not assume b/c someone has an accent they are illegal, 2—Do not assume all immigrants are uneducated. ON top of all that—those who got the golden tickets, can’t return home if they want. To turn down the opportunity for advancement of their families, the happiness of everyone back home—they must stay here and trudge on.
It’s a crazy world—and getting crazier. Treating people poorly does not help anyone.
I need to close, b/c I have a ton to do---believe it or not, but tomorrow morning I will be flying to Nepal!!! YEA!! Nepal is on my top 10 places I want to visit, and tomorrow I get to go. I am doing a consulting job with Micronutrient Initiative and World Food Program. I’ll actually be there for an entire month!! It’s a bit long, but I am very excited. I am sad to leave Henok. This is his first fall, and I will miss it. His first Halloween, and I will miss it. However, Nepal will be great and I will have much to say when I get back.
Okay—glad to be in contact with you all. Hope you are all well---
jess
Many of you will be surprised to learn Henok and I are now living in the USA. We made the “migration” at the end of March this year. Henok and I decided we wanted to move to the US, and we applied for his visa. We were told it takes an average of 1 year—we put in his application in December (07). We assumed, best possible scenario we would get his visa in September 2008 (9 mos later). However, much to our surprise—it came in January!!!!!!!!! That’s right, one month!! I was working for Micronutrient Initiative and World Bank, so we needed to stay a bit. I called my sisters in shock and while Henok and I tried to figure out when to come over. On the phone with my sisters, we quickly came to the conclusion it had been too long since we had attempted to give our mom a coronary, and the scheming began. My mother should be happy her children are so close we talk so much. Long story short, we decided to not tell my parents we got the visa and have Henok and I just show up to dinner!!
March in my family is a big deal—there are 1001 birthdays. To simplify things we started having just one birthday party. This year, it was decided (with the influence of my sisters) to have the bday dinner on the last Sunday of the month. Then, unbeknownst to my mother we arrived in Utah and stayed with my sister Kristi in Logan for a few days then rode down to Orem. We spent Saturday night at Lisa’s house, and then came over with them to my mom’s house for the ‘birthday dinner.’ Henok and I waited in the car, while we waited for dinner to get on the table and everyone to be sitting. This is VERY hard as my mother never really sits during dinner, but we really wanted her to be sitting down. My brother-in-law called me and left his phone on speaker so Henok and I could listen in and try and time it right. We snuck around the back of the house and up the back steps, to the patio doors. We opened the doors and yelled “Surprise!!” Unfortunately, my mom was of course not in her seat, but she quickly appeared and we got a photo of her face!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ha Ha Ha. She hates us girls—but surprising her is what keeps us going!!
Well—I can sum up April to October in just a few sentences. We hung out in Utah while processing Henok’s paperwork. Getting him his first American Driver’s License, Social Security Card, and introducing him to places other then McDonalds!! We decided to come to the DC area, as it would be easier for me to find a job, there are schools for Henok, and we have a support system around as I have family in Maryland as does Henok. We found an apartment in Alexandria, and to be honest absolutely love it. We came here at the beginning of June. Things haven’t been all smooth –I haven’t’ been able to find a ‘real’ job (translation something with benefits) and we picked the worst time in history to move to the US as unemployment is at an all time high!!!!!! I have continued consulting for the World Bank and random other things. Henok has a job, not in his field of IT, but something to keep him busy while we look for work in IT for him.
Life in the US has been crazy. Henok is fascinated by the elections. He has watched all the debates, something I refuse to do. They just annoy me. I’d rather read them later. Two blowhards blowing hot steam at each other; like two bullies in the school yard seconds from a fist fight but dressed in suits. Annoying. The only positive in all of it is SNL. This is the season SNL shines (Saturday Night live for you early to bed folks). It has been quality.
Most moments, to be honest, I want to bolt from the US and never look back (sorry mom). You’ll be surprised to know I find America to be a very very depressing place. Sometimes it’s overwhelming the amount of sadness here. Truly, some days I will see such sadness in the streets I have to hibernate in my home to get away from it. I know I have a different perspective, but things here are hard. I, along with my husband (after a few months of life in the US) agree that life in Ethiopia is much happier. Not just Ethiopia, many countries around the world have far easier and happier lifestyles then the US. Most Americans, especially those who have not been able to travel abroad, probably can’t imagine it. But, life in Cuba, Brazil, Ethiopia, Kenya, Romania etc can be better, easier, and less stressful. You can very joyful wonderful lives. Don’t be confused, I am not delusional, and would never claim the US is the saddest place—if you recall I worked in South Sudan a bit, you don’t know loss until you’ve worked there. But, that said, America is a hard and sad place to try and survive. I don’t mean because of the current economic woes, that is just worsening an already depressing situation for so many.
I will try and explain why I see this, but probably won’t do too good a job. There are many any reasons for this, but I’ll point out a few today. I am in a rush to get this email out—so I’ll do my best. America is the golden ticket. Getting a visa to move to the US is like winning the golden ticket, someone gets that once in a lifetime opportunity to save their entire family. When someone gets that golden visa, this means the lives of their brothers and sisters, mom and dad, nieces and nephews, aunt and uncles, grandma and grandpa, and cousins far and wide will change forever (not to mention friends). It is assumed that this person will arrive in the US, get a great job, start making money, and send it back home. Now—everyone will get better roofs, indoor plumbing, new clothes/shoes, school fees and supplies, medical care and medicine, television, etc etc. However, reality is, this person no matter how educated or qualified they were in their home country, arrives to the US and must take a minimum wage paying crap job and have to pay for living in the US, which we all know is not cheap, and STILL manage to send money home. Regardless, he/she will be making more money here then they could back home. This is how you find teachers, doctors, even nurses in our incredible nursing shortage working at Taco Bell or Target. Now the issue of professionals having to work WAY beneath their potential is one thing, and a topic for another day; I want to focus the money and their homes. So, they send money home. I can not express to you the overwhelming pressure to send money home. It is your duty, if you don’t you are abandoning your family. Your family is shamed in their community, because one of their own has abandoned them. IF the family of a “golden ticket” holder doesn’t start having a higher standard of living, it is assumed the ticket holder has 1-been a failure, 2-become selfish and forgotten about their ‘home,’ or 3-Become American: meaning getting into drugs, alcohol, etc and wasting their money on these things. There are other assumptions of course, I don’t pretend to know all the cultures and beliefs—but these are reasons I have experienced or heard from others. So, with all this pressure, the person must work at least 2 crappy jobs or even three. Sleeping just a few hours a day—trying to send as much money home as possible. For some countries, the entire economy is highly dependent on this money coming from the US (and other ‘developed’ nations) called remittances.
The down part, what I see—are exhausted disappointed “children.” It’s like waiting your whole life to go to Disneyland, FINALLY getting there and finding out it’s a work camp. These people come here with such high expectations—they grow up ‘learning’ that Americans are always happy; we have few problems, no stress and money to burn. They get here and discover a cruel reality. Where, like my husband, they are treated like second or third class citizens. People assume they are uneducated and illegal and say outrageously prejudice, racists and down right malicious things. Their families assume they are happy as they are in the land of Gold and Honey, but they suffer away here with only each other to confide in. They cling to each other for support and to figure out our crazy system. They need to learn how to use the buses and subways, how to use a debit card, and, as my husband is learning, for many it’s their first time dealing with winter. If you suddenly had to move to a foreign country, by your self, would you seek out the locals whose language you haven’t totally learned or others like you? Then, people blame you for not ‘integrating’ into your new country—I dare any of you to move to a new land with a new language and to ‘integrate.’ I LOVE challenges, new languages and cultures, I love getting to know only the locals and not the other ‘foreigners,’ and even I have to hang with Americans once in a while. It’s just natural, birds of a feather.
I could say so much more on this topic. Way too much, and possibly I will in the future—but for now you get the idea. Life is hard here, harder then you can imagine. But, you need to realize that even despite all the hardships these people face, it’s better for many then going home, especially the illegal immigrants. Think how bad your life must be to force you to cross a desert and swim a river, with a huge chance of dying—just to come and work for like 3 dollars an hour. I know the drain illegal immigrants have on our system, especially in certain areas. But, I am just asking you to 1—Please do not assume b/c someone has an accent they are illegal, 2—Do not assume all immigrants are uneducated. ON top of all that—those who got the golden tickets, can’t return home if they want. To turn down the opportunity for advancement of their families, the happiness of everyone back home—they must stay here and trudge on.
It’s a crazy world—and getting crazier. Treating people poorly does not help anyone.
I need to close, b/c I have a ton to do---believe it or not, but tomorrow morning I will be flying to Nepal!!! YEA!! Nepal is on my top 10 places I want to visit, and tomorrow I get to go. I am doing a consulting job with Micronutrient Initiative and World Food Program. I’ll actually be there for an entire month!! It’s a bit long, but I am very excited. I am sad to leave Henok. This is his first fall, and I will miss it. His first Halloween, and I will miss it. However, Nepal will be great and I will have much to say when I get back.
Okay—glad to be in contact with you all. Hope you are all well---
jess
28 February 2008
Lalibela and Donkeys
Greetings all—I hope you are all well. Most of you are still in winter right now, so I imagine you are chilly. Here in Ethiopia, it got cold last night—I had to use all the blankets on the bed. Ha Ha. Actually, I miss winter. I know, only someone living in a climate with no snow or cold could say this, but it’s true. Winter and spring are my favorite seasons. It started out as a child there were less spiders (they all die in winter, thankfully and in spring haven’t quite replenished to their full glory like in summer). But, living in ‘warm year round’ climates I have realized I really like winter. I like a season of bundling up, hot cider, yummy soups, shoveling snow (really I like it, though I hear I wouldn’t have liked it this year—too much), playing in the snow, the gorgeous white covered trees and mountains, etc etc. I miss it. I think I also love winter, b/c it reminds you how good spring and summer are. It’s the same reason why I live abroad, I like the daily reminder of how blessed I am to keep me in check. Winter, keeps you in check—lets you really enjoy spring and summer. When it’s summer and/or spring all the time, you take it for granted. Thus, in short—I am jealous of your suffering. J
So, somehow, my new husband tricked me into going to a wedding with his sister, mother, and a neighbor. The sister speaks broken English and the other two, nothing. Suddenly, I am sitting at a table, the tallest (some how I ended up with the tall chair, which adding to my height as I am tall here was a bit conspicuous), the only white person, the only non-Amharic speaker, and the only one not knowing what is going on. The priest comes in to the sit down dinner, sees the odd looking white giraffe at one table, and makes a beeline for me. I was hoping the man spoke some English, as several priests I have met do. They travel and meet with other Orthodox priests, and the common language is of course English. However, this was not the case. He joined our table of mainly retirees, my sister-in-law, and the neighbor. Everyone stared at me, I smiled back. Awkward!
I have gained this talent (I think while in the Peace Corps) of TOTALLY entertaining myself no matter the situation. I can just drift away in my mind and I don’t know, just entertain myself in the big dark space up there. I can do this for hours—meditating and thinking (often of what to tell you). It has come in handy on cold days in Moldova when I was stuck in my house, long train rides in India, long bus trips in Romania, boring seminars, etc. So—here I am in an ideal situation to drift away, with one exception—a stubborn priest. When I am spoken to, I of course come out of my little daze, back to reality and try to rejoin society. The priest, despite knowing I spoke no Amharic and he spoke no English, wanted to talk with me. He repeatedly made statements at me (I put it that way, b/c they were just a blur of sounds. I didn’t know if they were questions or observations). Everyone would turn and look at me, waiting to see if I could/would respond. I would either just smile, or randomly say, yes or no, to which the retirees would erupt into laughter. Possibly, I had agreed to marry his son, or even him (he was a young priest). Who knows? Randomly, my sister-in-law would translate bits of what he had sad, but was unable to translate back my response. This fun time lasted 2 hours, as my husband lay home watching TV (to be fair, he had gotten a wisdom tooth pulled out that morning, but why did I have to go to the wedding?!?!?!?)
Speaking of the wedding, I learned of a tradition I find interesting. The Ethiopian Orthodox church (EOC), due to Ethiopia’s role in the Old Testament, focuses heavily on the OT compared to other Christian Faiths. Members of the EOC know their Old Testament forward and backward. So, it makes sense that at weddings to celebrate they sing a song about Abraham and Sarah. It was a beautiful song with a lively chorus of shouting and clapping. Not that I understood the words, but wonderful nonetheless.
One thing I have noticed in my travels, and Ethiopia is no exception, that those in ‘developing countries’ tend to cherish life more. I mean they are more cautious and even in the teen years when most of us throw caution to the wind, they make wiser safer choices. I think when there is no real tragedy (losing life or limb) in your life, you don’t understand the finiteness of life. When you grow up with poor health care, no immunizations, lots of dangers in the road, etc you lose family, friends, and neighbors more often. People die from simple accidents and diseases we would consider of no consequence. You cherish each day God lets you have. Being raised in the environment where we are practically encouraged to throw caution to the wind, I find myself less cautious then my husband. For him, you never ever make a decision that’s puts your life or health in possible jeopardy. Sounds reasonable enough, yes-but I guarantee many of your daily decisions would not pass his (or that of his friends and family) criteria for being safe. In the US when you see a ‘hole in the all’ restaurant, if you are like me you are eager to try it as it could be really good. But Henok, if he sees any sign of uncleanliness will refuse to step foot in the place. Another great example is salads. I know, you are thinking—what is so dangerous about lettuce? First, we don’t have lettuce here, but that isn’t important to the story. Second, if you are going to pick up some bug or get any form of food poisoning it’s far more likely to come from something raw then something cooked, thus the danger of salad. Truly, many of my Ethiopian friends will NOT eat salad outside of their home. In Lalibela (more explanation on that later), I got my fork remotely close to the cabbage and Henok would panic. Another great example is water. My mom, lovely woman that she is, bought me this fancy schmancy water bottle. It has a filter inside it so you can drink whatever, and it kills bacteria, viruses, amoebas, and filters out toxins. It’s a great thing. My first trip into the field with it I was excited to try it out. I didn’t jump into the first river and start drinking, but after 8 hours of walking around to different villages in a VERY mountainous area on a very hot day, I was out of bottled water (I had had two 2 liter bottles with me). I grabbed my fancy schmancy bottle and headed to the nearest stream. My team, Henok was one them, FLIPPED OUT!! Why in the world would I consider putting myself so close to death!!!??? I explained the nature of the fancy schmancy water bottle, thinking with the explanation they might want to try it too. It is fancy! The explanation didn’t change their minds, and the fact that I tried to rationalize my ‘unreasonable’ choice, made things worse. . Henok removed the bottle from my hands and handed me some of his water. I was stunned (and to be honest a bit sad, I wanted to use the bottle). To this day, Henok is still upset that I even considered drinking that water. Truly, he brings it up whenever he feels I am about to make a stupid decision, he reminds me of the ‘stupidest thought I ever had.’ Another example is just kids playing in the streets here. I know my nieces and nephews (and me when I was younger) would go CRAZY with all the adventure they see here. There are discarded cars, deep holes dug for who knows why by who knows who, random chunks of pipes, construction sites with no fences, etc etc. But, the kids here stay clear of anything that is remotely dangerous. It’s fascinating to watch them ‘parent’ themselves, as I know American kids (the adventurous ones) would bound right up to danger.
I got off on a tangent—my point is I see kids and parents far more cautious here. There literally are hundreds of dangerous points within 1 minute of my house. Large holes (really random large deep hidden holes that even I want to crawl into just see what’s there), random things poking out of the ground (pipes, barbed wire, metal chunks), exposed electrical wires, crazy cars with no brakes, and if none of those things get you-the Hyenas will. Okay, not so much where I live, but on the outskirts of Addis and in much of the country, Hyenas are a real danger for small children. Many children do not survive the dangers and random disease outbreaks. With this, there is a better respect for life and it’s fragility here (and many other places). As Henok always, and I mean ALWAYS says, “Why would you mess with your health?”
Next I would like to reflect on my absolute all consuming ignorance. It’s true the more you learn, the more you understand how much you don’t know. I was reading over some of my old emails from Moldova and India. I am stunned at how naïve I was, and what idiotic things I wrote. I mean, its one thing to be ignorant, its another to essentially advertise it in a mass email and on a blog! Many of my ignorant comments (generally random observations) come from the fact that I am “country” and didn’t know it. I mean, I generally tell people I am country because relative to other Americans my upbringing was. We raised most of our own food, we had cows, trees, garden, etc and my town had like 2-3 thousand people in it when I was growing up (people from developing countries find this FASCINATING as they kind of assume all Americans live in NYC or something). So, most people call my upbringing country. BUT, and this is an important distinction, I never EVER thought I was country. I mean, I lived 15 minutes from Provo, Utah, a thriving metropolis in my view and just an hour from the capitol, Salt Lake City. To me, to be country there are two requirements: 1 you are people from towns smaller then mine AND 2 your town is in an isolated areas. So, 1 hour drive to the nearest grocery store type stuff. Towns more similar to where my sister Kristi lives in Trenton, Utah (not to be confused with the metropolis of Tremonton which is large). Even as I write this, I know you real city dwellers are laughing that I called Provo and SLC cities.
Many of you may remember my friend Mark from the Peace Corps. We used to fight over this point, as he had been to Salt Lake City, and said it was a town not a city. He was from Minneapolis. At the time, I thought he was just teasing me to annoy me—but now I realize he was serious. I am from the country. I am a country girl. I am sure my sisters and brothers don’t feel they are country, like I did, but I am here to tell you we are. Now, being married to a CITY kid, born and raised in a city of 4 million, I am seeing more and more that I am country. AND, referring back to me going through my old emails, I am starting to see that many of my observations were not ‘different country’ observations, but rather a country bumpkin living in big cities for the first time observations!! It’s crazy and down right embarrassing. Why didn’t any of you city folk tell me I was so hick (that’s an adjective for people from the rural areas for you non-American readers)? It’s like when someone has food on their face, and everyone at the table can see it but says nothing and lets the person figure it out later and feel very embarrassed. I hope you’re satisfied!! (a random note, as I do those best, is one leftover trait from my ‘country’ dwelling I have yet to get rid of is my estimates on travel times. When I think about going from point A to point B, I think about the actual distance. If it is 2 miles, in a car that should take 2 minutes [if you have stop signs or the road isn’t paved!]. But, in the city, 2 miles can be 2 hours with traffic and lights. Its crazy and gets me EVERY time. I get so upset when Henok tells me he’s at “Meskel,” which is like a mile and a half from where I work, and it takes him 30 minutes to get there. What is he doing?!?!?!?)
I want to point out the fact that I don’t like city dwelling, but it is a necessary evil. I think some cities are worse then others (um, no offense, but New Delhi comes to mind—Ack!), but in general the country is more livable for me. Perfect examples are found in Ethiopia. I would LOVE to live in a rural Ethiopian town, teach at the school, work at the health clinic, work with youth, tons of stuff—but Henok, no way. He could barely handle being in Lalibela for 3 days (again, more info on this later). I’ve married a city kid, who when he visited my town of Mapleton (now a whopping 6 thousand people) was bored! We have 3 gas stations now and 2 restaurants, that’s hopping!! In fact, he felt all of Utah was boring, even Provo was too small (his first introduction to the US was Maryland and DC area, I’ll give him they are more populous). It was a serious shock to my system. I told you how when we went up to our cabin near Kamas (Park City) Utah, he about died of boredome and we left early. I could stay there for days with NO problem, he could handle about 2 hours as long as he knew he would be leaving in 2 hours. On top of that, the career I have chosen doesn’t lend itself well to living in ‘rural areas,’ unless I want to earn like 10 thousand dollars a year. The organizations I want to work for, the projects I want to work with, the action is all in big cities. DC (the worst, after Delhi), NYC, Atlanta, San Diego, Seattle, London, Rome, Paris, Addis, Nairobi, etc etc etc. I’ve cursed myself.
Back to my ignorance, I got off onto one part of my ignorance, but want to come back to the fact that I am ignorant. I know so little about, well most things. It fascinates (and depresses) me. I won’t go on on this topic for now, I’ll move on or this could be 20 pages of embarrassing revelations of my lack of knowledge!
Okay, enough whining—on to exciting topics, the anticipated Lalibela. I am going to venture a guess that most of you have never heard of Lalibela. That is a shame and you are in luck as today you will learn. Lalibela is in Northern Ethiopia. It is a small town, just 9000 residents (yea that’s a town!). It is known as “Africa’s Petra,” and is Ethiopia’s number one tourist destination. In fact, ‘tourists’ have been visiting Lalibela since the 16th century! Lalibela ranks as one of the greatest religio-historical sites not only in Africa, but the Christian World. (previous few sentences, and some more to follow compliments of Lonely Planet Guide, Ethiopia and Eritrea).What I, and many others who have visited, find fascinating is that the people of Lalibela live largely the same life today they did 900 years ago. So you as a tourist stop to see the incredible sights, but that can include the houses made the same way as 900 years ago, food processed the same way as 900 years ago, etc (key difference, coke bottles).
So, what is so special about Lalibela? 11 churches to be exact. 11 churches commissioned by King Lalibela who had spent time in Jerusalem. After he returned to Ethiopia, he wanted to build a new Jerusalem. Lalibela is HIGH in rugged rocky mountains (2630 meters or 8630 feet). So, with few trees available—they carved these churches directly out of the mountain. It is stunning. Absolutely, 100% amazing. The churches have been declared a UNESCO heritage site and currently the European Union is in process to build protective coverings for them as some are cracking and showing their age (fun fact for you, Ethiopia is the African country with the MOST UNESCO sites). The churches are named for 11 saints who are important for EOC and vary in size and design. They are in 2 main groups of 5 with an 11th one, the most famous of them, slightly south of them. The churches are amazing for three reasons (Lonely Planet): 1-the churches are mostly not carved INTO the rock, but carved FROM it. Meaning, they are free standing with rock cliffs around them. It’s hard to explain, I’ll post some pictures on my blog. 2-B/c the buildings are so detailed and refined, considering they were carved 900 years ago, and Lastly because there are so many in such a small (ten minute walk) space. The churches in the different groups actually connect to one another with corridors. Outside the town lie even more churches, though not as glorious or famous most still have monks or nuns living in them Two of the churches, are connected by what the Ethiopians believe to be an example of hell. It is a 25 meter (85 feet) tunnel with no windows. It is PITCH black. It is of course not smooth ground and drops down sometimes, and you must feel your way through. It is a harrowing experience to say the least.
It was so interesting—and beautiful. The majority of the doors are the original doors from 900 years ago. Large old wooden doors with the original nails. The churches all have the original crosses which were created for each of them (unique for each one). These crosses are very famous, and you’ll often see them depicted on Ethiopian memorabilia. The most famous church, is that of St George. It is said he showed up when Lalibela had finished the other churches and was bitter there was not one for him. King Lalibela, built him the one that is a bit south of the others. You can still see the hoof prints ‘left’ by St. Georges horse. Scholars say it must have taken like 40,000 men to build the churches, but locals believe the locals worked in the day time and angels took over at night, completing the bulk of the work. In many of the churches you can still find original murals depicting bible stories, and in one an original book of history from 900 years ago. It is fascinating. I actually can’t put into words what an amazing experience it is to walk through these caves and come out into these intricately carved rooms with pillars (the largest church as 82 pillars), statues, murals, etc. The churches are all still used, meaning they have services for locals and are a major site of pilgrimage for Ethiopians. I can’t really explain, so I’ll just put up pictures.
Lastly, on Lalibela—there were of course many foreigners there. It is common, when foreigners are done with magazines or books they will give them to locals who have helped them. These are often youth, who know English from school. The books and magazines serve as a great teaching tool for these youth (in Moldova I knew a woman who had some gossip magazine from the UK that was a decade old someone had given her. Her kids read it). At the airport, there were some ‘Texans’ saying good bye to their guides. One man reached into his bag and pulled out a “Fortune” magazine to give the boy, funny enough as this boys fortune I am sure is less then 10 dollars. But, when I got a closer look the headline was “What to do with 100,000 dollars.” I am sure the boys could figure something out.
In closing, two short stories. First, just to make me pay, fate dealt me a hand in favor of Henok. Translation: I did eat some salad in Lalibela, and when we got home found out I had brought some Amoebas with me. Henok was more then overjoyed to say “I told you so.” And, for you uninitiated, Amoebas aren’t so bad themselves, but the medicine to kill them just about kills you. The guaranteed side effects are severe nausea, exhaustion, dizziness, and a metallic taste in your mouth. It is awful—you truly consider keeping the little guys around just to be rid of the medicine.
And lastly, a small laugh for you. I had to take a taxi home today. I HATE doing that, b/c I have to negotiate with taxi drivers. They see white girl and dollar signs light up in their eyes. It just annoys me they feel they can rip me off. I once considered the fact that I am haggling over just a dollar difference sometimes, and maybe I should give it to them-but, since I already pay double what locals pay, I refuse to pay triple. Anyway—so I go up to the taxi driver and tell him I need to go to Gofa (my neighborhood). He says 50 birr. The day before, I had paid 30 birr from a spot just further up the road. I said no. We argued for a brief moment, where I stated over and over, I would just pay 30 and he slowly dropped by 5 birr the amount he would charge. Finally, he came to 30 (still double what a local would pay for the same trip) and I went to get in the car, then it happened. I had spoken no Amharic during our short debate, and he assumed I knew none. I do know very little, but I knew right away when he said the following in Amharic, “This girls a donkey.” It’s a major insult. He was expressing his bitterness he couldn’t get me to pay more.
I turned to him, and in English said, “Did you just call me a donkey?” Stunned, he and the other taxi drivers looked at me in silence. I then said in Amharic, “I have an Ethiopian husband.” At which point they all busted up laughing realizing they had been caught. Jerk. I SOOOO wish I knew more—so I could say what is on my mind, for example, “Does it say stupid on my forehead?!?! Just because I’m white and a girl doesn’t mean I’m an idiot or should pay more!” After which I would storm off. I can say that in Romanian, but unfortunately it doesn’t help here. I’ve tried out of mere frustration.
Cheers,
jess (see pictures below)
So, somehow, my new husband tricked me into going to a wedding with his sister, mother, and a neighbor. The sister speaks broken English and the other two, nothing. Suddenly, I am sitting at a table, the tallest (some how I ended up with the tall chair, which adding to my height as I am tall here was a bit conspicuous), the only white person, the only non-Amharic speaker, and the only one not knowing what is going on. The priest comes in to the sit down dinner, sees the odd looking white giraffe at one table, and makes a beeline for me. I was hoping the man spoke some English, as several priests I have met do. They travel and meet with other Orthodox priests, and the common language is of course English. However, this was not the case. He joined our table of mainly retirees, my sister-in-law, and the neighbor. Everyone stared at me, I smiled back. Awkward!
I have gained this talent (I think while in the Peace Corps) of TOTALLY entertaining myself no matter the situation. I can just drift away in my mind and I don’t know, just entertain myself in the big dark space up there. I can do this for hours—meditating and thinking (often of what to tell you). It has come in handy on cold days in Moldova when I was stuck in my house, long train rides in India, long bus trips in Romania, boring seminars, etc. So—here I am in an ideal situation to drift away, with one exception—a stubborn priest. When I am spoken to, I of course come out of my little daze, back to reality and try to rejoin society. The priest, despite knowing I spoke no Amharic and he spoke no English, wanted to talk with me. He repeatedly made statements at me (I put it that way, b/c they were just a blur of sounds. I didn’t know if they were questions or observations). Everyone would turn and look at me, waiting to see if I could/would respond. I would either just smile, or randomly say, yes or no, to which the retirees would erupt into laughter. Possibly, I had agreed to marry his son, or even him (he was a young priest). Who knows? Randomly, my sister-in-law would translate bits of what he had sad, but was unable to translate back my response. This fun time lasted 2 hours, as my husband lay home watching TV (to be fair, he had gotten a wisdom tooth pulled out that morning, but why did I have to go to the wedding?!?!?!?)
Speaking of the wedding, I learned of a tradition I find interesting. The Ethiopian Orthodox church (EOC), due to Ethiopia’s role in the Old Testament, focuses heavily on the OT compared to other Christian Faiths. Members of the EOC know their Old Testament forward and backward. So, it makes sense that at weddings to celebrate they sing a song about Abraham and Sarah. It was a beautiful song with a lively chorus of shouting and clapping. Not that I understood the words, but wonderful nonetheless.
One thing I have noticed in my travels, and Ethiopia is no exception, that those in ‘developing countries’ tend to cherish life more. I mean they are more cautious and even in the teen years when most of us throw caution to the wind, they make wiser safer choices. I think when there is no real tragedy (losing life or limb) in your life, you don’t understand the finiteness of life. When you grow up with poor health care, no immunizations, lots of dangers in the road, etc you lose family, friends, and neighbors more often. People die from simple accidents and diseases we would consider of no consequence. You cherish each day God lets you have. Being raised in the environment where we are practically encouraged to throw caution to the wind, I find myself less cautious then my husband. For him, you never ever make a decision that’s puts your life or health in possible jeopardy. Sounds reasonable enough, yes-but I guarantee many of your daily decisions would not pass his (or that of his friends and family) criteria for being safe. In the US when you see a ‘hole in the all’ restaurant, if you are like me you are eager to try it as it could be really good. But Henok, if he sees any sign of uncleanliness will refuse to step foot in the place. Another great example is salads. I know, you are thinking—what is so dangerous about lettuce? First, we don’t have lettuce here, but that isn’t important to the story. Second, if you are going to pick up some bug or get any form of food poisoning it’s far more likely to come from something raw then something cooked, thus the danger of salad. Truly, many of my Ethiopian friends will NOT eat salad outside of their home. In Lalibela (more explanation on that later), I got my fork remotely close to the cabbage and Henok would panic. Another great example is water. My mom, lovely woman that she is, bought me this fancy schmancy water bottle. It has a filter inside it so you can drink whatever, and it kills bacteria, viruses, amoebas, and filters out toxins. It’s a great thing. My first trip into the field with it I was excited to try it out. I didn’t jump into the first river and start drinking, but after 8 hours of walking around to different villages in a VERY mountainous area on a very hot day, I was out of bottled water (I had had two 2 liter bottles with me). I grabbed my fancy schmancy bottle and headed to the nearest stream. My team, Henok was one them, FLIPPED OUT!! Why in the world would I consider putting myself so close to death!!!??? I explained the nature of the fancy schmancy water bottle, thinking with the explanation they might want to try it too. It is fancy! The explanation didn’t change their minds, and the fact that I tried to rationalize my ‘unreasonable’ choice, made things worse. . Henok removed the bottle from my hands and handed me some of his water. I was stunned (and to be honest a bit sad, I wanted to use the bottle). To this day, Henok is still upset that I even considered drinking that water. Truly, he brings it up whenever he feels I am about to make a stupid decision, he reminds me of the ‘stupidest thought I ever had.’ Another example is just kids playing in the streets here. I know my nieces and nephews (and me when I was younger) would go CRAZY with all the adventure they see here. There are discarded cars, deep holes dug for who knows why by who knows who, random chunks of pipes, construction sites with no fences, etc etc. But, the kids here stay clear of anything that is remotely dangerous. It’s fascinating to watch them ‘parent’ themselves, as I know American kids (the adventurous ones) would bound right up to danger.
I got off on a tangent—my point is I see kids and parents far more cautious here. There literally are hundreds of dangerous points within 1 minute of my house. Large holes (really random large deep hidden holes that even I want to crawl into just see what’s there), random things poking out of the ground (pipes, barbed wire, metal chunks), exposed electrical wires, crazy cars with no brakes, and if none of those things get you-the Hyenas will. Okay, not so much where I live, but on the outskirts of Addis and in much of the country, Hyenas are a real danger for small children. Many children do not survive the dangers and random disease outbreaks. With this, there is a better respect for life and it’s fragility here (and many other places). As Henok always, and I mean ALWAYS says, “Why would you mess with your health?”
Next I would like to reflect on my absolute all consuming ignorance. It’s true the more you learn, the more you understand how much you don’t know. I was reading over some of my old emails from Moldova and India. I am stunned at how naïve I was, and what idiotic things I wrote. I mean, its one thing to be ignorant, its another to essentially advertise it in a mass email and on a blog! Many of my ignorant comments (generally random observations) come from the fact that I am “country” and didn’t know it. I mean, I generally tell people I am country because relative to other Americans my upbringing was. We raised most of our own food, we had cows, trees, garden, etc and my town had like 2-3 thousand people in it when I was growing up (people from developing countries find this FASCINATING as they kind of assume all Americans live in NYC or something). So, most people call my upbringing country. BUT, and this is an important distinction, I never EVER thought I was country. I mean, I lived 15 minutes from Provo, Utah, a thriving metropolis in my view and just an hour from the capitol, Salt Lake City. To me, to be country there are two requirements: 1 you are people from towns smaller then mine AND 2 your town is in an isolated areas. So, 1 hour drive to the nearest grocery store type stuff. Towns more similar to where my sister Kristi lives in Trenton, Utah (not to be confused with the metropolis of Tremonton which is large). Even as I write this, I know you real city dwellers are laughing that I called Provo and SLC cities.
Many of you may remember my friend Mark from the Peace Corps. We used to fight over this point, as he had been to Salt Lake City, and said it was a town not a city. He was from Minneapolis. At the time, I thought he was just teasing me to annoy me—but now I realize he was serious. I am from the country. I am a country girl. I am sure my sisters and brothers don’t feel they are country, like I did, but I am here to tell you we are. Now, being married to a CITY kid, born and raised in a city of 4 million, I am seeing more and more that I am country. AND, referring back to me going through my old emails, I am starting to see that many of my observations were not ‘different country’ observations, but rather a country bumpkin living in big cities for the first time observations!! It’s crazy and down right embarrassing. Why didn’t any of you city folk tell me I was so hick (that’s an adjective for people from the rural areas for you non-American readers)? It’s like when someone has food on their face, and everyone at the table can see it but says nothing and lets the person figure it out later and feel very embarrassed. I hope you’re satisfied!! (a random note, as I do those best, is one leftover trait from my ‘country’ dwelling I have yet to get rid of is my estimates on travel times. When I think about going from point A to point B, I think about the actual distance. If it is 2 miles, in a car that should take 2 minutes [if you have stop signs or the road isn’t paved!]. But, in the city, 2 miles can be 2 hours with traffic and lights. Its crazy and gets me EVERY time. I get so upset when Henok tells me he’s at “Meskel,” which is like a mile and a half from where I work, and it takes him 30 minutes to get there. What is he doing?!?!?!?)
I want to point out the fact that I don’t like city dwelling, but it is a necessary evil. I think some cities are worse then others (um, no offense, but New Delhi comes to mind—Ack!), but in general the country is more livable for me. Perfect examples are found in Ethiopia. I would LOVE to live in a rural Ethiopian town, teach at the school, work at the health clinic, work with youth, tons of stuff—but Henok, no way. He could barely handle being in Lalibela for 3 days (again, more info on this later). I’ve married a city kid, who when he visited my town of Mapleton (now a whopping 6 thousand people) was bored! We have 3 gas stations now and 2 restaurants, that’s hopping!! In fact, he felt all of Utah was boring, even Provo was too small (his first introduction to the US was Maryland and DC area, I’ll give him they are more populous). It was a serious shock to my system. I told you how when we went up to our cabin near Kamas (Park City) Utah, he about died of boredome and we left early. I could stay there for days with NO problem, he could handle about 2 hours as long as he knew he would be leaving in 2 hours. On top of that, the career I have chosen doesn’t lend itself well to living in ‘rural areas,’ unless I want to earn like 10 thousand dollars a year. The organizations I want to work for, the projects I want to work with, the action is all in big cities. DC (the worst, after Delhi), NYC, Atlanta, San Diego, Seattle, London, Rome, Paris, Addis, Nairobi, etc etc etc. I’ve cursed myself.
Back to my ignorance, I got off onto one part of my ignorance, but want to come back to the fact that I am ignorant. I know so little about, well most things. It fascinates (and depresses) me. I won’t go on on this topic for now, I’ll move on or this could be 20 pages of embarrassing revelations of my lack of knowledge!
Okay, enough whining—on to exciting topics, the anticipated Lalibela. I am going to venture a guess that most of you have never heard of Lalibela. That is a shame and you are in luck as today you will learn. Lalibela is in Northern Ethiopia. It is a small town, just 9000 residents (yea that’s a town!). It is known as “Africa’s Petra,” and is Ethiopia’s number one tourist destination. In fact, ‘tourists’ have been visiting Lalibela since the 16th century! Lalibela ranks as one of the greatest religio-historical sites not only in Africa, but the Christian World. (previous few sentences, and some more to follow compliments of Lonely Planet Guide, Ethiopia and Eritrea).What I, and many others who have visited, find fascinating is that the people of Lalibela live largely the same life today they did 900 years ago. So you as a tourist stop to see the incredible sights, but that can include the houses made the same way as 900 years ago, food processed the same way as 900 years ago, etc (key difference, coke bottles).
So, what is so special about Lalibela? 11 churches to be exact. 11 churches commissioned by King Lalibela who had spent time in Jerusalem. After he returned to Ethiopia, he wanted to build a new Jerusalem. Lalibela is HIGH in rugged rocky mountains (2630 meters or 8630 feet). So, with few trees available—they carved these churches directly out of the mountain. It is stunning. Absolutely, 100% amazing. The churches have been declared a UNESCO heritage site and currently the European Union is in process to build protective coverings for them as some are cracking and showing their age (fun fact for you, Ethiopia is the African country with the MOST UNESCO sites). The churches are named for 11 saints who are important for EOC and vary in size and design. They are in 2 main groups of 5 with an 11th one, the most famous of them, slightly south of them. The churches are amazing for three reasons (Lonely Planet): 1-the churches are mostly not carved INTO the rock, but carved FROM it. Meaning, they are free standing with rock cliffs around them. It’s hard to explain, I’ll post some pictures on my blog. 2-B/c the buildings are so detailed and refined, considering they were carved 900 years ago, and Lastly because there are so many in such a small (ten minute walk) space. The churches in the different groups actually connect to one another with corridors. Outside the town lie even more churches, though not as glorious or famous most still have monks or nuns living in them Two of the churches, are connected by what the Ethiopians believe to be an example of hell. It is a 25 meter (85 feet) tunnel with no windows. It is PITCH black. It is of course not smooth ground and drops down sometimes, and you must feel your way through. It is a harrowing experience to say the least.
It was so interesting—and beautiful. The majority of the doors are the original doors from 900 years ago. Large old wooden doors with the original nails. The churches all have the original crosses which were created for each of them (unique for each one). These crosses are very famous, and you’ll often see them depicted on Ethiopian memorabilia. The most famous church, is that of St George. It is said he showed up when Lalibela had finished the other churches and was bitter there was not one for him. King Lalibela, built him the one that is a bit south of the others. You can still see the hoof prints ‘left’ by St. Georges horse. Scholars say it must have taken like 40,000 men to build the churches, but locals believe the locals worked in the day time and angels took over at night, completing the bulk of the work. In many of the churches you can still find original murals depicting bible stories, and in one an original book of history from 900 years ago. It is fascinating. I actually can’t put into words what an amazing experience it is to walk through these caves and come out into these intricately carved rooms with pillars (the largest church as 82 pillars), statues, murals, etc. The churches are all still used, meaning they have services for locals and are a major site of pilgrimage for Ethiopians. I can’t really explain, so I’ll just put up pictures.
Lastly, on Lalibela—there were of course many foreigners there. It is common, when foreigners are done with magazines or books they will give them to locals who have helped them. These are often youth, who know English from school. The books and magazines serve as a great teaching tool for these youth (in Moldova I knew a woman who had some gossip magazine from the UK that was a decade old someone had given her. Her kids read it). At the airport, there were some ‘Texans’ saying good bye to their guides. One man reached into his bag and pulled out a “Fortune” magazine to give the boy, funny enough as this boys fortune I am sure is less then 10 dollars. But, when I got a closer look the headline was “What to do with 100,000 dollars.” I am sure the boys could figure something out.
In closing, two short stories. First, just to make me pay, fate dealt me a hand in favor of Henok. Translation: I did eat some salad in Lalibela, and when we got home found out I had brought some Amoebas with me. Henok was more then overjoyed to say “I told you so.” And, for you uninitiated, Amoebas aren’t so bad themselves, but the medicine to kill them just about kills you. The guaranteed side effects are severe nausea, exhaustion, dizziness, and a metallic taste in your mouth. It is awful—you truly consider keeping the little guys around just to be rid of the medicine.
And lastly, a small laugh for you. I had to take a taxi home today. I HATE doing that, b/c I have to negotiate with taxi drivers. They see white girl and dollar signs light up in their eyes. It just annoys me they feel they can rip me off. I once considered the fact that I am haggling over just a dollar difference sometimes, and maybe I should give it to them-but, since I already pay double what locals pay, I refuse to pay triple. Anyway—so I go up to the taxi driver and tell him I need to go to Gofa (my neighborhood). He says 50 birr. The day before, I had paid 30 birr from a spot just further up the road. I said no. We argued for a brief moment, where I stated over and over, I would just pay 30 and he slowly dropped by 5 birr the amount he would charge. Finally, he came to 30 (still double what a local would pay for the same trip) and I went to get in the car, then it happened. I had spoken no Amharic during our short debate, and he assumed I knew none. I do know very little, but I knew right away when he said the following in Amharic, “This girls a donkey.” It’s a major insult. He was expressing his bitterness he couldn’t get me to pay more.
I turned to him, and in English said, “Did you just call me a donkey?” Stunned, he and the other taxi drivers looked at me in silence. I then said in Amharic, “I have an Ethiopian husband.” At which point they all busted up laughing realizing they had been caught. Jerk. I SOOOO wish I knew more—so I could say what is on my mind, for example, “Does it say stupid on my forehead?!?! Just because I’m white and a girl doesn’t mean I’m an idiot or should pay more!” After which I would storm off. I can say that in Romanian, but unfortunately it doesn’t help here. I’ve tried out of mere frustration.
Cheers,
jess (see pictures below)
Lalibela Pictures
I have a hard time figuring out how to load these photos onto this page and keep with the text i write when i publish the page--possibly internet challenged, but in my defense i have lived abroad where computers don't abound for a LONG time. Anyway--a montage of Lalibela pictures! Enjoy!!
This is a typical home. I am fascinated how they get it two stories! It's rocks, sticks and mud. 
This is my husband Henok in front of the most famous church, St. George. You can see they just carved down into the mountain to create this church.
14 February 2008
Happy Valentines Day
I am trying my best to write more often so they are shorter—so here goes. I am starting this on Feb 11th, we’ll see when it is finished and sent!!
First, an apology on the last email. It was not really quality. Sorry, generally I sit down and write these things in one sitting. Then, I sit on it for a day go back and make sure it actually makes sense out side of my head; however for that one there was no time so I just sent it. Having skimmed it, I am not too impressed with my stream of consciousness writing. Hopefully some of it made sense.
I have commented before on how quickly things become normal to me. I realized the other day nothing seems out of the ordinary in Ethiopia. I wondered, what would you, the virgin eye, see and find odd or exciting if you came here. I have been concentrating on that for a few days and have come up with a list. It is short—I am sure there are 1000 other things, but I just can’t see them.
1. Construction workers in flip flops, standing on scaffolding made of branches, laced together with homemade rope, 6 stories above the ground. No safety belts, no helmets, and rocks as hammers.
2. (This cracks me up) Men riding motor cycles with construction helmets as their ‘helmet.’ These are not modified, so no chin strap, just a bright orange helmet perched on their head—I am not sure the purpose. Possibly, it has nothing to do with saving your head, rather with being more easily spotted as construction helmets are generally bright. But, I just wonder—they obviously exist, so why don’t we give them to the construction workers? But, really how important is a helmet when you have no shoes?
3. (This is common in many many countries) Buses SO FULL, there are literally body parts hanging out the windows and doors. Legs, arms, even upper bodies that just don’t fit into the bus and the doors shut—but just hang on, its better then walking. Can you imagine buses being used to extensively in the US? I know in the East they are (not to that degree, but more so), but out west if there is someone on the bus, it’s a good day! Sad.
4. EVERY time someone important comes to town (anyone from government positions from almost all countries, plus UN people, and rich people) the roads are shut down as they zoom buy in their limo’s to the hotel. The roads are laced with armed military, including ‘sharp shooters’ on top of major buildings or really big gravel piles. It’s as annoying as things come here. You can be stuck for 30 to 45 minutes for one loser to zoom buy. Annoying.
5. Donkeys. I love donkeys. I don’t like working with them, that’s maddening, but watching them just cracks me up for some reason. Here donkeys are used everywhere everyday for moving just about everything: mail, furniture, food, water, people, etc etc There has not been one day (aside from those spent sick in bed or in generally inside all day) that I haven’t seen a donkey. And, for that matter sheep—but the sheep aren’t generally ‘working’ so much as being hauled away to be dinner. Yum.
6. Lastly, this comment goes out to all the women. Here, in Ethiopia, if you see a size 2 or 4 woman, she will most likely be in baggy clothes, and walk with shame at her ugliness. However, if you see a woman size 12 to 18—she will be in tight fitted clothes, and be strutting her stuff proud as can be to be gorgeous. Women are supposed to ‘jiggle’ and have bellys, it’s natural. They are not supposed to have visible muscles, or bones (scandal!!). It’s so ironic and well ludicrous how much time and money is spent on ‘beauty’ for women, and yet cross the border and it’s a whole new definition. The same companies that produce and sell self tanning creams in the states or Europe, sell skin bleaching creams in Africa and Asia. It’s all so creepy. But, my point is—here women who are skinny are made fun of, and laughed it (my poor sister-in-law is teased endlessly by her brothers for being skinny). Whereas, large women, are revered and generally considered to have a higher status in life, be better educated, and probably richer. So, when you are having a bad day in the US—just come on over here, we will boost you I promise!
My last topic is the eternal debate in my head: should I give to beggars or not. IF you haven’t been abroad, then you don’t understand how many there can be. It’s not just one guy sitting on a corner with a cup. If you give to one, there are AT LEAST 10 more in the area and they come running up to see if they can benefit. Do you just keep dolling out money until you are out? What about ‘not giving’ on principle?
I want to share a story with you, not my story, but I have permission to share. However, I must let you know to hear it from the primary source will always be far better then anything I write. I KNOW I have mentioned my friend Jim Levinson. This is an experience he and his wife, Louise had in Calcutta. Calcutta is a profound experience. It is permanently imprints on your soul. There is such overpowering sadness, but moments of pure charity and hope. I won’t go into it too much, but I promise you if you get the chance to go, it will change your life forever. This was Jim and Louise’s first ‘long’ trip to Calcutta. The time had left them down and feeling overwhelmed. To quote Jim, “Going through the shattering experience of seeing the very worst of human degradation in Calcutta, and then, going to that church service and hearing that sermon...” It was a Sunday, and they decided to attend church services. When they arrived they learned a Bishop was visiting from England. The Bishop got up to speak and told the following story: He and a local Priest had gone out into the country for a visit. They were both sitting in the back of a taxi. The taxi driver stopped at a railroad crossing and inevitably, a beggar came to the window. “Out of principle” neither the Bishop nor the Priest gave the beggar any money, but the tax driver handed him some coins. The beggar then said something to the driver, and walked away. The Bishop, curious what he had said, asked the driver. The driver told him the beggar had said, “I will remember you when I am in the kingdom.”
OUCH!!—I mean to say that to the taxi driver with a Bishop and Priest in back, this man truly believes the meek, poor, and lowly will inherit the kingdom. And, he will not remember the Priest or the Bishop when he gets there. During his speech, the Bishop commented that even though neither he nor the Priest had given ‘out of principle,’ neither could define that principle either. Can you?
A colleague of mine in Ministry of Health is a nice, caring, giving man. However, he refuses to give to any beggars b/c he doesn’t want to encourage people to beg. He tells me the government has asked people to stop giving to beggars. He says it is encouraging people from rural areas to leave their families and come to the city and beg. My question, if the government doesn’t want us to give to beggars anymore, what are they doing instead? I can guarantee you the government of Ethiopia is not in a position to start a welfare program, WIC program, or anything like that—so what is their option? You say, or some of you may say, work—their option is too work. It’s true; some of them may be able to get a job—but just a few. Remember my husband with his diploma in Computer Programming took a job as a driver, it was his only chance for a job. Imagine if you are illiterate, crippled, single female with kids, etc—the options are extremely limited. If someone is crippled, in any form mild to severe, more then likely they never attended school. This greatly limits their capabilities, as they might not even be numerate. Women are less likely to be educated, especially if from rural areas, so again might not have skills outside of their physical labor. This is a step above a cripple who can not, for example, work construction. You see many many women working construction jobs. They do the hard work, literally. I see this as greatly ironic as they are considered ‘weaker’ here, yet at ANY construction site you will see women hauling the gravel with home made buckets. Or hauling the cement in a bucket on their head, walking up a home made ladder three or four stories to bring it to the men whose job is to simply dump it into the mold out and hand it back to them. But there aren’t enough of those jobs to go around, and what about child care? What about those who have children? What about homeless children, for that matter? They should be in school, but they don’t have the fees. Plus, without a home to go to, and food you can count on, you must be out seeking your existence daily. But, I must admit, I am far more likely to give to a child then a teenager, for example. Somehow their vulnerability seems higher. And to a degree it is, but that doesn’t mean the teen is any less hungry. He or she technically has higher caloric needs, thus needs more—so should I only give to them? (Yes, I am the kind of nerd that considers caloric needs of beggars. I often wonder which vitamins they are most likely to be deficient in and what I can buy them to make up for it) But, most teenagers are relatively strong and could start doing hard labor, so should I discourage teens from begging by not giving and encourage them to get a job? What if they can’t find a job?? I could go on and on. I have this dialogue in my head daily as I walk the streets. Assessing each person I see, should I give or not? Give or not? It’s enough to give you an ulcer.
So, my point in bringing all this up is to tell you about today. I warn you, the following story does not show me in a good light—it shows how quite selfish I can be. Today, I had a bad day. One of those days where you sit at your stupid computer all day, you have a HUGE to do list, and suddenly its 6pm and you have crossed nothing off the list. You feel completely impotent and wasted. Somehow you are tired, but you didn’t do anything. Plus, you had to sit in a gray walled cement room with no windows at a stupid computer desk ALL DAY (well I do). So, I left work and started my walk home. I walk about ½ a mile or so to catch a mini-bus to my street. On the way I cross a REALLY polluted river, and pass many beggars. I have talked before about some particular beggars, the kids. There are 4 kids I see almost daily on my walk. I often buy them bananas, milk, bread, oranges, whatever. I bought them candy once, and they were not happy—so back to healthy stuff. Silly me. Well, I had seen them yesterday and had told them on my way back, I’d get them something. But I ended up going home another way, and didn’t pass by. So, as I approach the corner where they will inevitably be, I started having fairly negative thoughts. I wasn’t in the mood to give—I was afraid they would be mad b/c I didn’t return the day before as promised and they would demand something from me. Then, I became indignant—they have no right to demand from me. I am pretty sure 3 of them are siblings and have a mom, I am sure they are fine. Giving to them is most definitely encouraging bad behavior, I need to stop. Today I will stop. I don’t care how sad they look, I am not giving today. Not. I mean, I don’t have to—there is no law that says I have to, and there might even be a law that says I shouldn’t. They can’t demand things from me, I can give when I choose and today I do not choose. So, with these thoughts and many similar ones running through my depressed mind, I came around the corner. I braced myself for them to come up with their practiced sad faces and ask me to buy tissues. But, they didn’t. In fact, they did something that made my day—rather made my week. The moment they saw me, theyh starting cheering!! Their faces literally lit up when they saw me. First the boy saw me, then as he started cheering the others turned to notice what he was so happy about and joined in (they are 10, 10, 6, and 2 years old) Loud boisterous cheering, and they started chanting “watet, watet watet watet” (Milk). It was like Santa Claus had shown up—they were doing a little dance going around me in a circlecheering and laughing. Everyone at the bus stop (where they beg) was staring, and I couldn’t help but start laughing! My mood immediately changed and we set off for the corner market just down the street. The girl said, “Yesterday you say “come back” and today you come. Thank you.” I mean, made these kids day and all I did was buy them each a ½ liter of milk for 2.50 birr or 25 cents. That’s it. But it made their day. Milk. I don’t care if my whole day was a waste, I got to buy those kids milk. Yes, had the privilege of buying for those darlings. Is it wrong? I don’t know. Is it right? I don’t know; I do know, selfishly, it makes me happy—so I will keep doing it, regardless of principles.
Okay—have a beautiful day.
Jessica
First, an apology on the last email. It was not really quality. Sorry, generally I sit down and write these things in one sitting. Then, I sit on it for a day go back and make sure it actually makes sense out side of my head; however for that one there was no time so I just sent it. Having skimmed it, I am not too impressed with my stream of consciousness writing. Hopefully some of it made sense.
I have commented before on how quickly things become normal to me. I realized the other day nothing seems out of the ordinary in Ethiopia. I wondered, what would you, the virgin eye, see and find odd or exciting if you came here. I have been concentrating on that for a few days and have come up with a list. It is short—I am sure there are 1000 other things, but I just can’t see them.
1. Construction workers in flip flops, standing on scaffolding made of branches, laced together with homemade rope, 6 stories above the ground. No safety belts, no helmets, and rocks as hammers.
2. (This cracks me up) Men riding motor cycles with construction helmets as their ‘helmet.’ These are not modified, so no chin strap, just a bright orange helmet perched on their head—I am not sure the purpose. Possibly, it has nothing to do with saving your head, rather with being more easily spotted as construction helmets are generally bright. But, I just wonder—they obviously exist, so why don’t we give them to the construction workers? But, really how important is a helmet when you have no shoes?
3. (This is common in many many countries) Buses SO FULL, there are literally body parts hanging out the windows and doors. Legs, arms, even upper bodies that just don’t fit into the bus and the doors shut—but just hang on, its better then walking. Can you imagine buses being used to extensively in the US? I know in the East they are (not to that degree, but more so), but out west if there is someone on the bus, it’s a good day! Sad.
4. EVERY time someone important comes to town (anyone from government positions from almost all countries, plus UN people, and rich people) the roads are shut down as they zoom buy in their limo’s to the hotel. The roads are laced with armed military, including ‘sharp shooters’ on top of major buildings or really big gravel piles. It’s as annoying as things come here. You can be stuck for 30 to 45 minutes for one loser to zoom buy. Annoying.
5. Donkeys. I love donkeys. I don’t like working with them, that’s maddening, but watching them just cracks me up for some reason. Here donkeys are used everywhere everyday for moving just about everything: mail, furniture, food, water, people, etc etc There has not been one day (aside from those spent sick in bed or in generally inside all day) that I haven’t seen a donkey. And, for that matter sheep—but the sheep aren’t generally ‘working’ so much as being hauled away to be dinner. Yum.
6. Lastly, this comment goes out to all the women. Here, in Ethiopia, if you see a size 2 or 4 woman, she will most likely be in baggy clothes, and walk with shame at her ugliness. However, if you see a woman size 12 to 18—she will be in tight fitted clothes, and be strutting her stuff proud as can be to be gorgeous. Women are supposed to ‘jiggle’ and have bellys, it’s natural. They are not supposed to have visible muscles, or bones (scandal!!). It’s so ironic and well ludicrous how much time and money is spent on ‘beauty’ for women, and yet cross the border and it’s a whole new definition. The same companies that produce and sell self tanning creams in the states or Europe, sell skin bleaching creams in Africa and Asia. It’s all so creepy. But, my point is—here women who are skinny are made fun of, and laughed it (my poor sister-in-law is teased endlessly by her brothers for being skinny). Whereas, large women, are revered and generally considered to have a higher status in life, be better educated, and probably richer. So, when you are having a bad day in the US—just come on over here, we will boost you I promise!
My last topic is the eternal debate in my head: should I give to beggars or not. IF you haven’t been abroad, then you don’t understand how many there can be. It’s not just one guy sitting on a corner with a cup. If you give to one, there are AT LEAST 10 more in the area and they come running up to see if they can benefit. Do you just keep dolling out money until you are out? What about ‘not giving’ on principle?
I want to share a story with you, not my story, but I have permission to share. However, I must let you know to hear it from the primary source will always be far better then anything I write. I KNOW I have mentioned my friend Jim Levinson. This is an experience he and his wife, Louise had in Calcutta. Calcutta is a profound experience. It is permanently imprints on your soul. There is such overpowering sadness, but moments of pure charity and hope. I won’t go into it too much, but I promise you if you get the chance to go, it will change your life forever. This was Jim and Louise’s first ‘long’ trip to Calcutta. The time had left them down and feeling overwhelmed. To quote Jim, “Going through the shattering experience of seeing the very worst of human degradation in Calcutta, and then, going to that church service and hearing that sermon...” It was a Sunday, and they decided to attend church services. When they arrived they learned a Bishop was visiting from England. The Bishop got up to speak and told the following story: He and a local Priest had gone out into the country for a visit. They were both sitting in the back of a taxi. The taxi driver stopped at a railroad crossing and inevitably, a beggar came to the window. “Out of principle” neither the Bishop nor the Priest gave the beggar any money, but the tax driver handed him some coins. The beggar then said something to the driver, and walked away. The Bishop, curious what he had said, asked the driver. The driver told him the beggar had said, “I will remember you when I am in the kingdom.”
OUCH!!—I mean to say that to the taxi driver with a Bishop and Priest in back, this man truly believes the meek, poor, and lowly will inherit the kingdom. And, he will not remember the Priest or the Bishop when he gets there. During his speech, the Bishop commented that even though neither he nor the Priest had given ‘out of principle,’ neither could define that principle either. Can you?
A colleague of mine in Ministry of Health is a nice, caring, giving man. However, he refuses to give to any beggars b/c he doesn’t want to encourage people to beg. He tells me the government has asked people to stop giving to beggars. He says it is encouraging people from rural areas to leave their families and come to the city and beg. My question, if the government doesn’t want us to give to beggars anymore, what are they doing instead? I can guarantee you the government of Ethiopia is not in a position to start a welfare program, WIC program, or anything like that—so what is their option? You say, or some of you may say, work—their option is too work. It’s true; some of them may be able to get a job—but just a few. Remember my husband with his diploma in Computer Programming took a job as a driver, it was his only chance for a job. Imagine if you are illiterate, crippled, single female with kids, etc—the options are extremely limited. If someone is crippled, in any form mild to severe, more then likely they never attended school. This greatly limits their capabilities, as they might not even be numerate. Women are less likely to be educated, especially if from rural areas, so again might not have skills outside of their physical labor. This is a step above a cripple who can not, for example, work construction. You see many many women working construction jobs. They do the hard work, literally. I see this as greatly ironic as they are considered ‘weaker’ here, yet at ANY construction site you will see women hauling the gravel with home made buckets. Or hauling the cement in a bucket on their head, walking up a home made ladder three or four stories to bring it to the men whose job is to simply dump it into the mold out and hand it back to them. But there aren’t enough of those jobs to go around, and what about child care? What about those who have children? What about homeless children, for that matter? They should be in school, but they don’t have the fees. Plus, without a home to go to, and food you can count on, you must be out seeking your existence daily. But, I must admit, I am far more likely to give to a child then a teenager, for example. Somehow their vulnerability seems higher. And to a degree it is, but that doesn’t mean the teen is any less hungry. He or she technically has higher caloric needs, thus needs more—so should I only give to them? (Yes, I am the kind of nerd that considers caloric needs of beggars. I often wonder which vitamins they are most likely to be deficient in and what I can buy them to make up for it) But, most teenagers are relatively strong and could start doing hard labor, so should I discourage teens from begging by not giving and encourage them to get a job? What if they can’t find a job?? I could go on and on. I have this dialogue in my head daily as I walk the streets. Assessing each person I see, should I give or not? Give or not? It’s enough to give you an ulcer.
So, my point in bringing all this up is to tell you about today. I warn you, the following story does not show me in a good light—it shows how quite selfish I can be. Today, I had a bad day. One of those days where you sit at your stupid computer all day, you have a HUGE to do list, and suddenly its 6pm and you have crossed nothing off the list. You feel completely impotent and wasted. Somehow you are tired, but you didn’t do anything. Plus, you had to sit in a gray walled cement room with no windows at a stupid computer desk ALL DAY (well I do). So, I left work and started my walk home. I walk about ½ a mile or so to catch a mini-bus to my street. On the way I cross a REALLY polluted river, and pass many beggars. I have talked before about some particular beggars, the kids. There are 4 kids I see almost daily on my walk. I often buy them bananas, milk, bread, oranges, whatever. I bought them candy once, and they were not happy—so back to healthy stuff. Silly me. Well, I had seen them yesterday and had told them on my way back, I’d get them something. But I ended up going home another way, and didn’t pass by. So, as I approach the corner where they will inevitably be, I started having fairly negative thoughts. I wasn’t in the mood to give—I was afraid they would be mad b/c I didn’t return the day before as promised and they would demand something from me. Then, I became indignant—they have no right to demand from me. I am pretty sure 3 of them are siblings and have a mom, I am sure they are fine. Giving to them is most definitely encouraging bad behavior, I need to stop. Today I will stop. I don’t care how sad they look, I am not giving today. Not. I mean, I don’t have to—there is no law that says I have to, and there might even be a law that says I shouldn’t. They can’t demand things from me, I can give when I choose and today I do not choose. So, with these thoughts and many similar ones running through my depressed mind, I came around the corner. I braced myself for them to come up with their practiced sad faces and ask me to buy tissues. But, they didn’t. In fact, they did something that made my day—rather made my week. The moment they saw me, theyh starting cheering!! Their faces literally lit up when they saw me. First the boy saw me, then as he started cheering the others turned to notice what he was so happy about and joined in (they are 10, 10, 6, and 2 years old) Loud boisterous cheering, and they started chanting “watet, watet watet watet” (Milk). It was like Santa Claus had shown up—they were doing a little dance going around me in a circlecheering and laughing. Everyone at the bus stop (where they beg) was staring, and I couldn’t help but start laughing! My mood immediately changed and we set off for the corner market just down the street. The girl said, “Yesterday you say “come back” and today you come. Thank you.” I mean, made these kids day and all I did was buy them each a ½ liter of milk for 2.50 birr or 25 cents. That’s it. But it made their day. Milk. I don’t care if my whole day was a waste, I got to buy those kids milk. Yes, had the privilege of buying for those darlings. Is it wrong? I don’t know. Is it right? I don’t know; I do know, selfishly, it makes me happy—so I will keep doing it, regardless of principles.
Okay—have a beautiful day.
Jessica
01 February 2008
Feb--2008--who knew?
My mom has been begging me for a description of what I do. I have been putting it off because it’s kind of hard to explain. But, after my 100th email request I decided to give it a go. For starters, it’s like I have 3 jobs; which explains the lack of sleep and lack of seeing my husband. This means I have many bosses, but in reality I only have one—the one in control of my pay check! Currently I am being paid by the Micronutrient Initiative (MI). They are a Canadian based NGO that works to end ‘hidden hunger’ aka micronutrient deficiencies like Vitamin A, Iodine, Zinc, Iron, etc. They are paying me to do three jobs:
Work with Jim Levinson and in country staff to create a Long Term plan for them in Ethiopia.
Serve on the Project Preparation Team for the National Nutrition Program of Ethiopia—ensure micronutrients are well served and taken care of in the program. This is a HUGE HUGE amount of my time. I work with the Ministry of Health, and spend most my hours doing something related to this program. We are essentially designing a country wide answer to the problems of malnutrition. It includes programming for the Ministry of Health, Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, Ministry of Water Resources, and Ministry of Education. So, I go to a lot of meetings. How to get the whole thing harmonized and functioning, this is my daily task. I also meet with donors—hoping people will pay for it. For the first 5 years, it will cost 250 million dollars. The Government of Ethiopia is putting in 90 million—a substantial chunk. Many developing nations put little in, when donors are going to be paying for things. Either way, we have to raise the rest of the money. CIDA, USAID, WB, SIDA, Italian Coop, DFID—these are the acronyms of the meetings I go to. Plus, meeting with the minister of health. I have become good friends with the State Minister of Health, Dr. Shiferaw. He is a very funny guy, and has an EXTREME amount of patience with my American ways. I often talk too much in meetings, give lots of opinions, ask very blunt questions, etc etc—He generally just laughs. To be honest, I was unaware I need to act different around him—I blame being American. However, other Americans in his presence treat him differently—a level of respect. It’s not that I don’t respect him, in fact I have the utmost respect for him, but I just don’t feel calling him ‘your Excellency’ gives respect; it just makes me giggle. It doesn’t help that the topic we discuss day in and day out is one I am VERY passionate about, nutrition. So, if someone is saying something or proposing something I think could damage this precious beautiful national nutrition program I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into, I get bitter and speak up. It’s that simple.
The third job they are paying me for is to be part of the Lancet’s Series on Maternal and Child Undernutrition. This is REALLY exciting. The Lancet is a world famous medical journal. It’s been around over a 100 years. Once in a while, they do a special series, outside the regular publications. Before they did one on child survival, for example. A week ago they launched the latest series, from DC and London. They are now going to launch the series from 5 countries, Vietnam (done), Ethiopia, Peru, Senegal, and India. The launch happens to coincide with the launching of Ethiopia’s National Nutrition Strategy. It has b/cm a HUGE thing for Ethiopia—a time to shine. We have 4 days of events planned, including a launching ceremony. I actually will be speaking at the ceremony. It’s not the crowd of 500 that will make me nervous; rather it’s the fact that (as alluded to earlier) I, by nature, am not a ‘professional’ person. I am very casual, in my writing, my mannerisms, my speech, etc. I don’t care about the crowd, actually the bigger the better—you don’t have to focus on eyes. But, me rambling or inserting some personal insight, or . . . The list goes on with my ‘unprofessional’ acts. I’ll let you know how it goes. The MOST exciting part is on day 3 and 4. The BBC filmed a documentary here entitled, “Biblical Famine in the 20th Century.” If you have seen video of Ethiopian kids with large swollen bellies, little stick legs, in a desert setting—it’s from their. This documentary cemented Ethiopia’s reputation as the land of famine, hunger, and desert. Though Ethiopia has had its share of tragedies, this reputation is not deserved and ESPECIALLY not deserved today. So, we are returning to the site of the original documentary, in the North, and filming again with the media. This time we’ll start out in a cemetery, mass grave, featured prominently in the documentary and show where we were (we being Ethiopia) and then show where Ethiopia has come. Ethiopia has come a LONG LONG way. They have some revolutionary programs achieving astounding affects in event he most remote and rural areas. It will be so exciting!
Well—that in short is my story for now. The presentation and whole launching thing happens on Feb 7-10th. After that, with just 2 projects to work on – I’ll be free as a bird!!
Well—onto the regular dose of random observations, complaints, and stories—
I like to keep up with the rest of the world. I am by no means some political guru, nor a great source for all news—but I feel I do my best to keep up. I read the BBC and CNN daily. Many of you ask, why CNN if I read BBC. BBC has a better reputation, and likely has the same stories if not better ones—well, the truth be told—I like random American stories. The random little stories in the US section of the CNN web site entertain me, scare me, and intrigue me. I follow missing persons, robberies, cars that fell in frozen lakes (surprising many this winter), etc etc. I like knowing what’s going on, not just ‘national headlines’ but state by state headlines. However—2007 was a strange year, and 2008 isn’t shaping up to be better. All websites have a place somewhere where it indicates which stories on the website are being viewed most. They generally rank the top 10. Can anyone guess the number story of the year? I am sure you can—as you all (most of you on this list are in the US) are living it daily. It starts with a B and ends in Spears (Britney Spears for those of you living under rocks). It was SOOOOOOOOO disturbing to me to log on and see over and over, stories about Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, etc etc being ranked as viewed more then say, the crisis in Darfur, the crisis in Kenya, the WAR in Iraq, etc etc. What happened to America? When did we stop caring about ‘real’ people and start preferring ‘fake’ people? By fake, I mean it’s not like any of these stories really represent the real person—it’s all hype, and often lies. But, the truth is, the top stories repeatedly are about ‘famous’ people. Do you want to know what you missed? The stories, some that didn’t even make the top ten viewed lists, have a tremendous impact on your lives and lives of millions of people. Well, I will list a few for you (FYI—the following stories are sad, gut wrenching—you were warned)
1--There were NUMEROUS stories of families attending the funerals of loved ones who died in bomb attacks, and then bombs were set off at the funeral. For example, there was an interview with a man who had been attending his father’s funeral. The father had died in the market, where he worked, when a bomb went off. At the funeral, another bomb was set off killing his sister and best friend. This story was told over and over, different characters places, but the same. Can you imagine? I can not. I think the losses people are facing these days are beyond human capacity to handle. However, you would be driven to tears by the absolute humanity of the people who survive. Many of them building again, moving on—holding onto hope. It’s beautiful.
2—Darfur. I can’t even begin to explain the atrocities that have happened in Darfur over the past year—and that continue daily. The people are being killed by their own government, who of course denies this, and the UN does nothing about. They are being funded by China (don’t get me started on China), and the killing, raping, and maiming goes on. Homes looted and burned, people literally fleeing on foot for their safety. Arriving in over crowded refugee camps. Given a tent, enough food for 4 of 7 days. They sit in these camps—they can’t go out, they could be attacked. They sit and sit and sit. Can you imagine? Sitting in 90 to 100 degree weather in a tent. You have nothing to do, not enough food, your kids are bored out of their mind and starving—what would you do? Well, for these people, there is little they can do until the international world puts a stop to the chaos there. Puts pressure on China on Sudan—etc.
3—I got started on China, so I’ll let ‘er rip!! HOW DID THEY GET THE OLYMPICS?!?!?!? I have written on this topic before—and will again. How can the world stand by and let China, who blatantly violates the international human rights laws, host the Olympic Games? Doesn’t that undermine all they supposedly stand for? Even in the construction of the Olympic buildings—seizing land from the poor, making promises of new homes and lives for them and NEVER coming through. Then, what they are doing in Africa! Eeeek. I mentioned Sudan—they essentially will send their people anywhere other oil companies won’t go due to insecurity. The countries are desperate to sell their oil, to fund their wars (e.g. Somali, Ethiopia, Sudan, Nigeria, Burma, etc etc ) So China funds their genocides. And, we are all going to celebrate ‘humanity and good sportsmanship’ with them this year?!? Are you freaking kidding me?!? It’s insane. INSANE. I truly can not figure out how it happened? Did China give the Olympic committee lots of money? What?!? And, how can people actually be supporting this. Do they think it’s bringing good things to China? It is not. Not even close.
4—Kenya. If you don’t know that there is a story in Kenya right now, and only know that Britney Spears is back in the hospital—I am worried for you. Post election violence has turned into what some are calling ethnic cleansing; with different tribes fighting each other; maiming each other, raping each other, and killing each other. Are you surprised? I was (possibly b/c I knew little of Kenyan politics pre this election, but I think I would have been surprised by the outcome regardless) When is the last time Kenya was in the news—something about increase in Americans going on Safari? Kenya was a shining jewel of democracy in Eastern Africa, in all of Africa. Their economic growth, and steps forward in development were astounding. If you visited Nairobi, the capital, you would be hard pressed to know you were in an African nation (most consider this a sign of development. My self, I LOVE that in Addis you still see sheep, donkeys, pastoralists in traditional dress, etc). But now, so much of their progress is lost. A major part of their income, tourism, has essentially dried up. This leaves thousands without jobs—and no where to turn. What would you do if 80% of the people in your town all lost their jobs, in one day; the government is in chaos so no food stamps or welfare; and now your neighbours have started fighting with each other for food and supplies? What would you do? Really—stop reading for a moment and think, what would you do? It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it?
I DO NOT want to paint a picture of Africa in Chaos or anything. And please, to my Kenyan friends—know I love your country (I like Ethiopia more, mind you, but it’s for personal reasons) And, it is NOT like things aren’t going crazy in the US. How many public massacres happened in 2007? People, who for known and unknown reasons going crazy and shooting and killing innocent victims, is that so different from suicide bombings? I don’t think so. These people start out their rampages knowing they will be dead in the end. What about the fuel crisis? Can you afford gas? How do you think very low income families feel? What about Bush’s cutting the budget to WIC? What about all the HORRIBLE racial, religious, and other slurs being thrown around in this election?!? It’s insane. What about the weather? What about the STILL homeless people in New Orleans? What about the Farm Bill? What about the bridge collapse in Minnesota? Stories like that used to come ONLY from developing countries. Now, the US, ‘the strongest nation in the world’ has bridges collapsing? What about the collapsing housing market (I’ll be honest, as I know VERY little about financing, house buying, banking etc—I understand little of it)? How many families have been made homeless? Where do you think they are going?
I’m not trying to depress you—its just, I can’t believe that Britney Spears is more important to read about then peaceful demonstrating Monks in Burma being beaten by police and arrested. I can’t.
Okay—I will change topics. Forgive me for ranting—it’s what I do best, I suppose. I wonder if someone can make a living off of it. I think you have to be extremely intelligent in your ranting, not just very passionate like myself.
A good friend and colleague of mine is here in Ethiopia, Jim Levinson. He was my advisor in grad school, and I greatly admire his work and well, most everything about him. Whenever we are together, we get into fairly random conversations. For me it is nothing new, it’s like family meal time. My family, unbeknownst to me, is weird. We often discuss very random, historical, political, agricultural topics over dinner. Later in life, I learned that is ‘weird.’ But, back to Jim—we got into an interesting conversation about the ‘kinds of people who live abroad.’ I don’t mean Americans in France or Germans in Austria, I mean when people moved from what are described as ‘developed’ nations to ‘under-developed’ nations; like myself. We were creating different categories to put these people in, yes stereotyping and being overly simple—but nonetheless it was interesting. The first category was military and business people vs NGO/UN people. So, in theory those abroad to make money and those abroad to help. However, as beautiful as this might sound—I know this not to be true in MANY MANY circumstances. Often, business men are who can accomplish the most for a country with their savvy business skills and different approaches to unique problems. AND-the one I know more first hand, and the one that disgusts me the most, are many NGO/UN people did NOT take their job to ‘help.’ Rather, they took it for power and money. If you are willing to live in rural places, you can be given a disturbing amount of power and money to do it by NGOs/UN, and you don’t necessarily need any credentials to do it. I know high school dropouts with 30 employees under them. Its b/c they are foreign. I have met people who worked for NGOs, in charge of people’s lives, health care reform, agricultural projects etc—who merely took the job to get out of debt. See, when you live abroad—your living expenses are covered, your pay check just goes to the bank. So, if you get yourself into too much credit card debt—just sign up for 2 years abroad, make 50,000 dollars EASY (profit) and get out of debt and buy a new car!! It’s very hard for those of us not here for money to work with said people. To do this work to really do it right, you need passion and commitment. These people often don’t have it. We came up with other categories—Those interested in money and those interested in power (as described above). Also, something I doubt you would expect is those interested in integrating and those interested in shielding themselves. I think you would be surprised, but I know American, British, French, etc who live and work—possibly have for years and have NO Ethiopian friends. They know minimal amounts about the culture, religion, and politics—and they don’t care to learn anymore. IT fascinates me. How can you move to a new country and NOT want to delve into their culture, language, religion, history—etc? How? These people go to specific restaurants that are too expensive for 99% of Ethiopians, shop at expensive stores, spend the weekends at each others embassies or private schools with their kids—it is truly possible to live in a country and not be of it. Ironically, some of these same people will complain about immigrants in the US not learning English or not ‘joining the melting pot,’ per se. Yet-they live in a bubble. Somehow, they feel their culture, habits, methods are superior to this country—so why bother integrating. And, to be fair—Jim and I talked about those in that category who don’t integrate out of fear; afraid to feel. Yes, you see hard things here—you see cripples, homeless children, and death daily. If you put yourself in a bubble, possibly it won’t hurt as bad. If you just ignore it—it doesn’t exist. Then, there are those of us who could probably use a bit more of a shield—but fling are selves full force 100% into our newly adopted homes feeling the pain and joy of all of it. I prefer being this second one, and really can’t understand the others. Why they would choose that—it seems it would be more depressing. I mean, can you imagine leaving a country you lived in for a year or so and knowing nothing about it? Wouldn’t you feel bad? I mean, I feel bad I didn’t enjoy Boston more while I was there (I was in my bed, class, or the library generally). I feel I need to live there again so I can really experience life there. However, possibly I’m crazy—in the end, it was a great discussion between Jim and I and his wisdom still astounds me.
Along this same line, the concept of integration. In my limited travels, I have found the US to be the only country where one can become a citizen. What I mean is, in many countries—around the world, Europe, Asia, Africa, S.America---you can’t ever really be accepted as a citizen. You are granted rights by the government, but you are always viewed as an outsider. I know, there are people in America who treat other Americans like this-but mostly, b/c America began as a diverse country, diversity still defines us. When you have neighbours who look Asian or African, you don’t assume they are immigrants—you assume they are American. Possibly they immigrated, possibly their parents, possibly their great great great great great grandparents. It doesn’t matter. For me, I love Ethiopia. I loved India and I loved Moldova. But, no matter how long I lived in any of these countries, I will always be considered an outsider and treated differently. I could become fluent in Amharic (unlikely, but miracles happen), know the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and Islam backwards and forwards, and know all my Haille Selassie history—and STILL be an outsider. It really bothers me, and I think on it a lot. I will never understand what it’s like to be Ethiopian, but Henok will be able to experience life as an American. It’s something I can’t really change—but I have always tried to ‘walk in others shoes’ as it were, as my method of understanding. But, it has its limits. I can’t understand – here I am treated very differently b/c I am white. I get priority over Ethiopians, often when I didn’t even know they were ahead of me inline or that there was a line. People just see white skin, ask the inevitable (Are you American?), and then boom—special treatment. To be honest, and very embarrassed, it’s hard to turn down. Sometimes I don’t realize it’s happening until after its’ over. For example, I went to the bank to withdraw money from my account. It was my first time withdrawing. I filled in the form, and was given a gold coin to hold. VERY confused by the coin, I went up to another window and asked a woman about the procedure. She asked me to wait a moment. Then I realized there was a number on the coin, and there were about 25 people sitting or standing around holding coins. A red sign beeped, and I saw the number change on the sign and someone come forward. Okay, I get it—it’s my place in line. I realize I have a long haul, and start reading some of the posted material. However, shortly after the woman motioned me over and gave me my cash and sent me on my way. I was done—ahead of all those other people. Why? Probably b/c I was a lost looking foreigner. Another time, I had to get a report from the police that I have no record here. It’s a LONG process. I finally get all the paperwork done and paid, and they tell me to come on X day to pick it up. I show up to the designated area and see a line of about 100 people (it’s 8 am). STUNNED—I ask around to find someone who speaks English and learn they are all there for the same thing, making me number 101. Problem—I had a meeting one hour. As I stared dumbfounded at the crowd, a woman came from the office and took my hand. She led me to a chair and I sat down. She then processed my paperwork and let me go. So—should I have taken the moral high road and said, “NO! I am number 101. I will wait!” Or taken the kindness of this woman to a confused foreigner? Well—I took the kindness and made it to my meeting—but I think about it a lot. If Henok had been doing the same process, he would have been number 101. Is that fair? Most definitely not—but what do I do to change it? And, embarrassingly enough to admit, do I want to change it?
Okay—I know this is very long—just two more items of business and I’m done. It’s been a long time, and I saved up a lot of words for you. So—life is dirty. I mean REALLY dirty. You can’t imagine how dirty my life is. You can’t imagine the amount of dust that exists in my daily life. You can’t imagine the air I attempt to breathe daily, filthy. Think how bad the air gets in the US and THEN realize there are laws regulating that air. I know, companies break the rules etc, but it’s nothing compared to developing nations struggling to enforce environmental laws. Add on top of that fairly constant wind (not strong, but constant) and the bulk of the cities roads are not paved, rather dirt roads (or dust when it’s dry) and you have yourself a dirty dirty existence. I am FASCINATED when I wash my hands how black the water will run, when I have done nothing but walk home. The film on my face when I get home it disturbing and trust me my face is not happy about it. And, when you are standing on the side of the road, or even in your car—the literal black, thick, tangible smoke coming out of the truck in front of you is enough to induce vomiting. You see it travel, like a thick black rain cloud straight for you—waving your hands madly (as I have tried) will not dissipate it—just suck it up and breath it in!! No pun intended. This is the reason I try to NEVER be without a scarf—in these instances, I pull it to my face and breathe through until the blackness has subsided. Many people wear their scarves over their noses and mouths whenever in the street. And, this is what has driven me to conclude I need a burkha. A burkha is a type of clothing worn by some Muslim women. It is generally all black, though this is not the case in Ethiopia (I don’t know if that makes it not a burkha to be honest). It covers the women head to toe. The hijab covers their head/face and the niqab covers their eyes. Often you will see just the yes of women through slights in the hijab, but some will wear a thin niqab that covers their eyes as well. I want one. I have decided these must be the ONLY women in Addis with somewhat healthy lungs (lets not get into Vitamin D, I’m focusing on lung health). They also have healthier skin then the rest of us. I am assured by my brother Jonathan, the genius of the family and one who has studied Islam and Arabic that for me to wear one would not be offensive, just weird. As I am already considered weird, this would be no loss for me!! You think I am joking, but I am not. I would LOVE it. Aside from the health benefits, no one would know I was ferenji—thus no one would annoy me. I LOVE to walk, but walking here is not as relaxing as in the states. People see me and want to talk to me—practice their English or harass me, depending. Sometimes I just want to walk alone and be left that way—with the full burkha I could do that. Plus, I SERIOUSLY want to walk down Main Street in Salt Lake City (capital of Utah) in one. Ha Ha Ha. There, I would NOT be left alone—So, FYI you might see me in a burkha one day! Its in the name of health and sanity!!
Lastly, yes the final topic. Food. I am a nutritionist, thus food is always on my mind. I am fascinated by the culture of food; the history of it, and development of regional diets over time. How different plants came into use—how different herbs are region specific, meaning even though the herb existed in another area, it was the staple of ones diet and not the other. Why? Fascinating stuff. The nerd in me comes out when I think about it. Specifically today I want to talk about corn, coffee, and cake.
First corn: corn is the staple (corn flour) in most sub-Saharan African countries. Many countries eat the same thing, what the Italians call polenta –corn flour in hot water made thick, each country or region has its own name for this food. However, there is one big exception—Ethiopia. NO WHERE is corn in the diet (with one exception to be talked about momentarily). You go to Kenya, Sudan, etc and you see corn as a staple. Zimbabwe is the same—so why did Ethiopia NOT use it? Where did enjera come from? They grow corn here—they eat roasted corn on the cob when it’s in season, but corn flour—not happening. Why? Does anyone else find that odd? I mean, the surrounding nations rely on corn, why did Ethiopia deviate? The exception with corn is popcorn. Ethiopians LOVE LOVE LOVE popcorn. If you go to an Ethiopian restaurant, fancy or plain, big or small, they will have a large bowl of popcorn by where they make their coffee. Coffee, originating from Ethiopia is a sacred drink—don’t get between an Ethiopian and his/her coffee. Coffee beans are roasted freshly over a little charcoal stove, right there in front of you. Often, the woman in charge of this-will carry the hot pan around the restaurant to let the fragrance of the fresh roasted beans fill the air. It’s delicious. You can’t beat the smell of fresh roasted beans. No, it does NOT smell like Starbucks. Not even close. The beans are then ground, either by hand or with a little machine, and made into coffee. It is thick and strong. Most foreigners can NOT drink it straight, and must have it with milk. I have had coffee in my life, early college years I gave it a go a few times. It often tasted bitter to me. I tried coffee here—the straight black stuff. My employees had performed the coffee ceremony for me when we found out I was being deported (which was almost a year ago now!!). AS the ceremony was for me, I decided to take a sip. Amazing. Not bitter in any sense of the word—but smooth. Nice. I was very shocked, as I had prepared my tongue for what my memory had from my college days. Anyway—when you have a coffee ceremony, you make popcorn. I have asked around, and no one can tell me why—but it’s standard. So, every restaurant you go to has (free) popcorn to snack on! It’s nice.
Lastly cake: Again, another piece of Ethiopian food culture that fascinates me is their complete lack of desserts. In my VERY VERY limited knowledge (so anyone correct me if I’m wrong), Ethiopia is the only culture not to invent some dessert. They have NOTHING. NOTHING. Historically and still today, the number one dessert is fruit. You can get cakes, cookies, etc in the country now—but they are all European imports (the idea, not the actual product). It’s completely intriguing they didn’t come up with something outside of fresh mangos or pineapples for their sweet tooth. Isn’t it? I don’t know why I am so absorbed in this particular trait of the culture, but I am. Possibly b/c I have a MAJOR sweet tooth and just can’t believe a culture lived without sweets until the Europeans, Arabs, Asians, etc came and brought theirs!! The most commonly liked cake here is Black Forrest and they also love Baklava.
Well—I need to go. I have bored you enough with my randomness today. I am pretty sure this letter is choppy at best, sorry—just no time to smooth it over.
Wish you all a great February!!
Jessica
Work with Jim Levinson and in country staff to create a Long Term plan for them in Ethiopia.
Serve on the Project Preparation Team for the National Nutrition Program of Ethiopia—ensure micronutrients are well served and taken care of in the program. This is a HUGE HUGE amount of my time. I work with the Ministry of Health, and spend most my hours doing something related to this program. We are essentially designing a country wide answer to the problems of malnutrition. It includes programming for the Ministry of Health, Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development, Ministry of Water Resources, and Ministry of Education. So, I go to a lot of meetings. How to get the whole thing harmonized and functioning, this is my daily task. I also meet with donors—hoping people will pay for it. For the first 5 years, it will cost 250 million dollars. The Government of Ethiopia is putting in 90 million—a substantial chunk. Many developing nations put little in, when donors are going to be paying for things. Either way, we have to raise the rest of the money. CIDA, USAID, WB, SIDA, Italian Coop, DFID—these are the acronyms of the meetings I go to. Plus, meeting with the minister of health. I have become good friends with the State Minister of Health, Dr. Shiferaw. He is a very funny guy, and has an EXTREME amount of patience with my American ways. I often talk too much in meetings, give lots of opinions, ask very blunt questions, etc etc—He generally just laughs. To be honest, I was unaware I need to act different around him—I blame being American. However, other Americans in his presence treat him differently—a level of respect. It’s not that I don’t respect him, in fact I have the utmost respect for him, but I just don’t feel calling him ‘your Excellency’ gives respect; it just makes me giggle. It doesn’t help that the topic we discuss day in and day out is one I am VERY passionate about, nutrition. So, if someone is saying something or proposing something I think could damage this precious beautiful national nutrition program I have put my blood, sweat, and tears into, I get bitter and speak up. It’s that simple.
The third job they are paying me for is to be part of the Lancet’s Series on Maternal and Child Undernutrition. This is REALLY exciting. The Lancet is a world famous medical journal. It’s been around over a 100 years. Once in a while, they do a special series, outside the regular publications. Before they did one on child survival, for example. A week ago they launched the latest series, from DC and London. They are now going to launch the series from 5 countries, Vietnam (done), Ethiopia, Peru, Senegal, and India. The launch happens to coincide with the launching of Ethiopia’s National Nutrition Strategy. It has b/cm a HUGE thing for Ethiopia—a time to shine. We have 4 days of events planned, including a launching ceremony. I actually will be speaking at the ceremony. It’s not the crowd of 500 that will make me nervous; rather it’s the fact that (as alluded to earlier) I, by nature, am not a ‘professional’ person. I am very casual, in my writing, my mannerisms, my speech, etc. I don’t care about the crowd, actually the bigger the better—you don’t have to focus on eyes. But, me rambling or inserting some personal insight, or . . . The list goes on with my ‘unprofessional’ acts. I’ll let you know how it goes. The MOST exciting part is on day 3 and 4. The BBC filmed a documentary here entitled, “Biblical Famine in the 20th Century.” If you have seen video of Ethiopian kids with large swollen bellies, little stick legs, in a desert setting—it’s from their. This documentary cemented Ethiopia’s reputation as the land of famine, hunger, and desert. Though Ethiopia has had its share of tragedies, this reputation is not deserved and ESPECIALLY not deserved today. So, we are returning to the site of the original documentary, in the North, and filming again with the media. This time we’ll start out in a cemetery, mass grave, featured prominently in the documentary and show where we were (we being Ethiopia) and then show where Ethiopia has come. Ethiopia has come a LONG LONG way. They have some revolutionary programs achieving astounding affects in event he most remote and rural areas. It will be so exciting!
Well—that in short is my story for now. The presentation and whole launching thing happens on Feb 7-10th. After that, with just 2 projects to work on – I’ll be free as a bird!!
Well—onto the regular dose of random observations, complaints, and stories—
I like to keep up with the rest of the world. I am by no means some political guru, nor a great source for all news—but I feel I do my best to keep up. I read the BBC and CNN daily. Many of you ask, why CNN if I read BBC. BBC has a better reputation, and likely has the same stories if not better ones—well, the truth be told—I like random American stories. The random little stories in the US section of the CNN web site entertain me, scare me, and intrigue me. I follow missing persons, robberies, cars that fell in frozen lakes (surprising many this winter), etc etc. I like knowing what’s going on, not just ‘national headlines’ but state by state headlines. However—2007 was a strange year, and 2008 isn’t shaping up to be better. All websites have a place somewhere where it indicates which stories on the website are being viewed most. They generally rank the top 10. Can anyone guess the number story of the year? I am sure you can—as you all (most of you on this list are in the US) are living it daily. It starts with a B and ends in Spears (Britney Spears for those of you living under rocks). It was SOOOOOOOOO disturbing to me to log on and see over and over, stories about Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, etc etc being ranked as viewed more then say, the crisis in Darfur, the crisis in Kenya, the WAR in Iraq, etc etc. What happened to America? When did we stop caring about ‘real’ people and start preferring ‘fake’ people? By fake, I mean it’s not like any of these stories really represent the real person—it’s all hype, and often lies. But, the truth is, the top stories repeatedly are about ‘famous’ people. Do you want to know what you missed? The stories, some that didn’t even make the top ten viewed lists, have a tremendous impact on your lives and lives of millions of people. Well, I will list a few for you (FYI—the following stories are sad, gut wrenching—you were warned)
1--There were NUMEROUS stories of families attending the funerals of loved ones who died in bomb attacks, and then bombs were set off at the funeral. For example, there was an interview with a man who had been attending his father’s funeral. The father had died in the market, where he worked, when a bomb went off. At the funeral, another bomb was set off killing his sister and best friend. This story was told over and over, different characters places, but the same. Can you imagine? I can not. I think the losses people are facing these days are beyond human capacity to handle. However, you would be driven to tears by the absolute humanity of the people who survive. Many of them building again, moving on—holding onto hope. It’s beautiful.
2—Darfur. I can’t even begin to explain the atrocities that have happened in Darfur over the past year—and that continue daily. The people are being killed by their own government, who of course denies this, and the UN does nothing about. They are being funded by China (don’t get me started on China), and the killing, raping, and maiming goes on. Homes looted and burned, people literally fleeing on foot for their safety. Arriving in over crowded refugee camps. Given a tent, enough food for 4 of 7 days. They sit in these camps—they can’t go out, they could be attacked. They sit and sit and sit. Can you imagine? Sitting in 90 to 100 degree weather in a tent. You have nothing to do, not enough food, your kids are bored out of their mind and starving—what would you do? Well, for these people, there is little they can do until the international world puts a stop to the chaos there. Puts pressure on China on Sudan—etc.
3—I got started on China, so I’ll let ‘er rip!! HOW DID THEY GET THE OLYMPICS?!?!?!? I have written on this topic before—and will again. How can the world stand by and let China, who blatantly violates the international human rights laws, host the Olympic Games? Doesn’t that undermine all they supposedly stand for? Even in the construction of the Olympic buildings—seizing land from the poor, making promises of new homes and lives for them and NEVER coming through. Then, what they are doing in Africa! Eeeek. I mentioned Sudan—they essentially will send their people anywhere other oil companies won’t go due to insecurity. The countries are desperate to sell their oil, to fund their wars (e.g. Somali, Ethiopia, Sudan, Nigeria, Burma, etc etc ) So China funds their genocides. And, we are all going to celebrate ‘humanity and good sportsmanship’ with them this year?!? Are you freaking kidding me?!? It’s insane. INSANE. I truly can not figure out how it happened? Did China give the Olympic committee lots of money? What?!? And, how can people actually be supporting this. Do they think it’s bringing good things to China? It is not. Not even close.
4—Kenya. If you don’t know that there is a story in Kenya right now, and only know that Britney Spears is back in the hospital—I am worried for you. Post election violence has turned into what some are calling ethnic cleansing; with different tribes fighting each other; maiming each other, raping each other, and killing each other. Are you surprised? I was (possibly b/c I knew little of Kenyan politics pre this election, but I think I would have been surprised by the outcome regardless) When is the last time Kenya was in the news—something about increase in Americans going on Safari? Kenya was a shining jewel of democracy in Eastern Africa, in all of Africa. Their economic growth, and steps forward in development were astounding. If you visited Nairobi, the capital, you would be hard pressed to know you were in an African nation (most consider this a sign of development. My self, I LOVE that in Addis you still see sheep, donkeys, pastoralists in traditional dress, etc). But now, so much of their progress is lost. A major part of their income, tourism, has essentially dried up. This leaves thousands without jobs—and no where to turn. What would you do if 80% of the people in your town all lost their jobs, in one day; the government is in chaos so no food stamps or welfare; and now your neighbours have started fighting with each other for food and supplies? What would you do? Really—stop reading for a moment and think, what would you do? It’s a terrifying thought, isn’t it?
I DO NOT want to paint a picture of Africa in Chaos or anything. And please, to my Kenyan friends—know I love your country (I like Ethiopia more, mind you, but it’s for personal reasons) And, it is NOT like things aren’t going crazy in the US. How many public massacres happened in 2007? People, who for known and unknown reasons going crazy and shooting and killing innocent victims, is that so different from suicide bombings? I don’t think so. These people start out their rampages knowing they will be dead in the end. What about the fuel crisis? Can you afford gas? How do you think very low income families feel? What about Bush’s cutting the budget to WIC? What about all the HORRIBLE racial, religious, and other slurs being thrown around in this election?!? It’s insane. What about the weather? What about the STILL homeless people in New Orleans? What about the Farm Bill? What about the bridge collapse in Minnesota? Stories like that used to come ONLY from developing countries. Now, the US, ‘the strongest nation in the world’ has bridges collapsing? What about the collapsing housing market (I’ll be honest, as I know VERY little about financing, house buying, banking etc—I understand little of it)? How many families have been made homeless? Where do you think they are going?
I’m not trying to depress you—its just, I can’t believe that Britney Spears is more important to read about then peaceful demonstrating Monks in Burma being beaten by police and arrested. I can’t.
Okay—I will change topics. Forgive me for ranting—it’s what I do best, I suppose. I wonder if someone can make a living off of it. I think you have to be extremely intelligent in your ranting, not just very passionate like myself.
A good friend and colleague of mine is here in Ethiopia, Jim Levinson. He was my advisor in grad school, and I greatly admire his work and well, most everything about him. Whenever we are together, we get into fairly random conversations. For me it is nothing new, it’s like family meal time. My family, unbeknownst to me, is weird. We often discuss very random, historical, political, agricultural topics over dinner. Later in life, I learned that is ‘weird.’ But, back to Jim—we got into an interesting conversation about the ‘kinds of people who live abroad.’ I don’t mean Americans in France or Germans in Austria, I mean when people moved from what are described as ‘developed’ nations to ‘under-developed’ nations; like myself. We were creating different categories to put these people in, yes stereotyping and being overly simple—but nonetheless it was interesting. The first category was military and business people vs NGO/UN people. So, in theory those abroad to make money and those abroad to help. However, as beautiful as this might sound—I know this not to be true in MANY MANY circumstances. Often, business men are who can accomplish the most for a country with their savvy business skills and different approaches to unique problems. AND-the one I know more first hand, and the one that disgusts me the most, are many NGO/UN people did NOT take their job to ‘help.’ Rather, they took it for power and money. If you are willing to live in rural places, you can be given a disturbing amount of power and money to do it by NGOs/UN, and you don’t necessarily need any credentials to do it. I know high school dropouts with 30 employees under them. Its b/c they are foreign. I have met people who worked for NGOs, in charge of people’s lives, health care reform, agricultural projects etc—who merely took the job to get out of debt. See, when you live abroad—your living expenses are covered, your pay check just goes to the bank. So, if you get yourself into too much credit card debt—just sign up for 2 years abroad, make 50,000 dollars EASY (profit) and get out of debt and buy a new car!! It’s very hard for those of us not here for money to work with said people. To do this work to really do it right, you need passion and commitment. These people often don’t have it. We came up with other categories—Those interested in money and those interested in power (as described above). Also, something I doubt you would expect is those interested in integrating and those interested in shielding themselves. I think you would be surprised, but I know American, British, French, etc who live and work—possibly have for years and have NO Ethiopian friends. They know minimal amounts about the culture, religion, and politics—and they don’t care to learn anymore. IT fascinates me. How can you move to a new country and NOT want to delve into their culture, language, religion, history—etc? How? These people go to specific restaurants that are too expensive for 99% of Ethiopians, shop at expensive stores, spend the weekends at each others embassies or private schools with their kids—it is truly possible to live in a country and not be of it. Ironically, some of these same people will complain about immigrants in the US not learning English or not ‘joining the melting pot,’ per se. Yet-they live in a bubble. Somehow, they feel their culture, habits, methods are superior to this country—so why bother integrating. And, to be fair—Jim and I talked about those in that category who don’t integrate out of fear; afraid to feel. Yes, you see hard things here—you see cripples, homeless children, and death daily. If you put yourself in a bubble, possibly it won’t hurt as bad. If you just ignore it—it doesn’t exist. Then, there are those of us who could probably use a bit more of a shield—but fling are selves full force 100% into our newly adopted homes feeling the pain and joy of all of it. I prefer being this second one, and really can’t understand the others. Why they would choose that—it seems it would be more depressing. I mean, can you imagine leaving a country you lived in for a year or so and knowing nothing about it? Wouldn’t you feel bad? I mean, I feel bad I didn’t enjoy Boston more while I was there (I was in my bed, class, or the library generally). I feel I need to live there again so I can really experience life there. However, possibly I’m crazy—in the end, it was a great discussion between Jim and I and his wisdom still astounds me.
Along this same line, the concept of integration. In my limited travels, I have found the US to be the only country where one can become a citizen. What I mean is, in many countries—around the world, Europe, Asia, Africa, S.America---you can’t ever really be accepted as a citizen. You are granted rights by the government, but you are always viewed as an outsider. I know, there are people in America who treat other Americans like this-but mostly, b/c America began as a diverse country, diversity still defines us. When you have neighbours who look Asian or African, you don’t assume they are immigrants—you assume they are American. Possibly they immigrated, possibly their parents, possibly their great great great great great grandparents. It doesn’t matter. For me, I love Ethiopia. I loved India and I loved Moldova. But, no matter how long I lived in any of these countries, I will always be considered an outsider and treated differently. I could become fluent in Amharic (unlikely, but miracles happen), know the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and Islam backwards and forwards, and know all my Haille Selassie history—and STILL be an outsider. It really bothers me, and I think on it a lot. I will never understand what it’s like to be Ethiopian, but Henok will be able to experience life as an American. It’s something I can’t really change—but I have always tried to ‘walk in others shoes’ as it were, as my method of understanding. But, it has its limits. I can’t understand – here I am treated very differently b/c I am white. I get priority over Ethiopians, often when I didn’t even know they were ahead of me inline or that there was a line. People just see white skin, ask the inevitable (Are you American?), and then boom—special treatment. To be honest, and very embarrassed, it’s hard to turn down. Sometimes I don’t realize it’s happening until after its’ over. For example, I went to the bank to withdraw money from my account. It was my first time withdrawing. I filled in the form, and was given a gold coin to hold. VERY confused by the coin, I went up to another window and asked a woman about the procedure. She asked me to wait a moment. Then I realized there was a number on the coin, and there were about 25 people sitting or standing around holding coins. A red sign beeped, and I saw the number change on the sign and someone come forward. Okay, I get it—it’s my place in line. I realize I have a long haul, and start reading some of the posted material. However, shortly after the woman motioned me over and gave me my cash and sent me on my way. I was done—ahead of all those other people. Why? Probably b/c I was a lost looking foreigner. Another time, I had to get a report from the police that I have no record here. It’s a LONG process. I finally get all the paperwork done and paid, and they tell me to come on X day to pick it up. I show up to the designated area and see a line of about 100 people (it’s 8 am). STUNNED—I ask around to find someone who speaks English and learn they are all there for the same thing, making me number 101. Problem—I had a meeting one hour. As I stared dumbfounded at the crowd, a woman came from the office and took my hand. She led me to a chair and I sat down. She then processed my paperwork and let me go. So—should I have taken the moral high road and said, “NO! I am number 101. I will wait!” Or taken the kindness of this woman to a confused foreigner? Well—I took the kindness and made it to my meeting—but I think about it a lot. If Henok had been doing the same process, he would have been number 101. Is that fair? Most definitely not—but what do I do to change it? And, embarrassingly enough to admit, do I want to change it?
Okay—I know this is very long—just two more items of business and I’m done. It’s been a long time, and I saved up a lot of words for you. So—life is dirty. I mean REALLY dirty. You can’t imagine how dirty my life is. You can’t imagine the amount of dust that exists in my daily life. You can’t imagine the air I attempt to breathe daily, filthy. Think how bad the air gets in the US and THEN realize there are laws regulating that air. I know, companies break the rules etc, but it’s nothing compared to developing nations struggling to enforce environmental laws. Add on top of that fairly constant wind (not strong, but constant) and the bulk of the cities roads are not paved, rather dirt roads (or dust when it’s dry) and you have yourself a dirty dirty existence. I am FASCINATED when I wash my hands how black the water will run, when I have done nothing but walk home. The film on my face when I get home it disturbing and trust me my face is not happy about it. And, when you are standing on the side of the road, or even in your car—the literal black, thick, tangible smoke coming out of the truck in front of you is enough to induce vomiting. You see it travel, like a thick black rain cloud straight for you—waving your hands madly (as I have tried) will not dissipate it—just suck it up and breath it in!! No pun intended. This is the reason I try to NEVER be without a scarf—in these instances, I pull it to my face and breathe through until the blackness has subsided. Many people wear their scarves over their noses and mouths whenever in the street. And, this is what has driven me to conclude I need a burkha. A burkha is a type of clothing worn by some Muslim women. It is generally all black, though this is not the case in Ethiopia (I don’t know if that makes it not a burkha to be honest). It covers the women head to toe. The hijab covers their head/face and the niqab covers their eyes. Often you will see just the yes of women through slights in the hijab, but some will wear a thin niqab that covers their eyes as well. I want one. I have decided these must be the ONLY women in Addis with somewhat healthy lungs (lets not get into Vitamin D, I’m focusing on lung health). They also have healthier skin then the rest of us. I am assured by my brother Jonathan, the genius of the family and one who has studied Islam and Arabic that for me to wear one would not be offensive, just weird. As I am already considered weird, this would be no loss for me!! You think I am joking, but I am not. I would LOVE it. Aside from the health benefits, no one would know I was ferenji—thus no one would annoy me. I LOVE to walk, but walking here is not as relaxing as in the states. People see me and want to talk to me—practice their English or harass me, depending. Sometimes I just want to walk alone and be left that way—with the full burkha I could do that. Plus, I SERIOUSLY want to walk down Main Street in Salt Lake City (capital of Utah) in one. Ha Ha Ha. There, I would NOT be left alone—So, FYI you might see me in a burkha one day! Its in the name of health and sanity!!
Lastly, yes the final topic. Food. I am a nutritionist, thus food is always on my mind. I am fascinated by the culture of food; the history of it, and development of regional diets over time. How different plants came into use—how different herbs are region specific, meaning even though the herb existed in another area, it was the staple of ones diet and not the other. Why? Fascinating stuff. The nerd in me comes out when I think about it. Specifically today I want to talk about corn, coffee, and cake.
First corn: corn is the staple (corn flour) in most sub-Saharan African countries. Many countries eat the same thing, what the Italians call polenta –corn flour in hot water made thick, each country or region has its own name for this food. However, there is one big exception—Ethiopia. NO WHERE is corn in the diet (with one exception to be talked about momentarily). You go to Kenya, Sudan, etc and you see corn as a staple. Zimbabwe is the same—so why did Ethiopia NOT use it? Where did enjera come from? They grow corn here—they eat roasted corn on the cob when it’s in season, but corn flour—not happening. Why? Does anyone else find that odd? I mean, the surrounding nations rely on corn, why did Ethiopia deviate? The exception with corn is popcorn. Ethiopians LOVE LOVE LOVE popcorn. If you go to an Ethiopian restaurant, fancy or plain, big or small, they will have a large bowl of popcorn by where they make their coffee. Coffee, originating from Ethiopia is a sacred drink—don’t get between an Ethiopian and his/her coffee. Coffee beans are roasted freshly over a little charcoal stove, right there in front of you. Often, the woman in charge of this-will carry the hot pan around the restaurant to let the fragrance of the fresh roasted beans fill the air. It’s delicious. You can’t beat the smell of fresh roasted beans. No, it does NOT smell like Starbucks. Not even close. The beans are then ground, either by hand or with a little machine, and made into coffee. It is thick and strong. Most foreigners can NOT drink it straight, and must have it with milk. I have had coffee in my life, early college years I gave it a go a few times. It often tasted bitter to me. I tried coffee here—the straight black stuff. My employees had performed the coffee ceremony for me when we found out I was being deported (which was almost a year ago now!!). AS the ceremony was for me, I decided to take a sip. Amazing. Not bitter in any sense of the word—but smooth. Nice. I was very shocked, as I had prepared my tongue for what my memory had from my college days. Anyway—when you have a coffee ceremony, you make popcorn. I have asked around, and no one can tell me why—but it’s standard. So, every restaurant you go to has (free) popcorn to snack on! It’s nice.
Lastly cake: Again, another piece of Ethiopian food culture that fascinates me is their complete lack of desserts. In my VERY VERY limited knowledge (so anyone correct me if I’m wrong), Ethiopia is the only culture not to invent some dessert. They have NOTHING. NOTHING. Historically and still today, the number one dessert is fruit. You can get cakes, cookies, etc in the country now—but they are all European imports (the idea, not the actual product). It’s completely intriguing they didn’t come up with something outside of fresh mangos or pineapples for their sweet tooth. Isn’t it? I don’t know why I am so absorbed in this particular trait of the culture, but I am. Possibly b/c I have a MAJOR sweet tooth and just can’t believe a culture lived without sweets until the Europeans, Arabs, Asians, etc came and brought theirs!! The most commonly liked cake here is Black Forrest and they also love Baklava.
Well—I need to go. I have bored you enough with my randomness today. I am pretty sure this letter is choppy at best, sorry—just no time to smooth it over.
Wish you all a great February!!
Jessica
28 December 2007
Not one but two
I knew when I got married, things would change. Some things drastically, others slightly, some things would greatly improve, other things not so much—but its all part of the choice you make when you say ‘yes’ to that question!! However, there were a few things that I had not expected to change—and one of those is my relationship with you—my ‘readers’ if I can say that. I had not realized that from now on, my stories will generally be about 2 people and if number 2 doesn’t want that story told, it doesn’t get told. See, number one (me) is not shy, and will tell anyone just about anything in her life. She doesn’t get embarrassed when she tells stories outlining her inadequacies or plain old stupid actions, and she doesn’t feel much really needs to be private. I started writing these letters b/c I wanted to share with people what my life was like abroad. I have been places and seen things I never dreamed of—and I love sharing that. But, as number 2 (Henok) is now part of the story; I may have to start editing what I tell you. These stories may involve him, and so it is only with his permission I share—but don’t worry, I do tend to embarrass myself often while alone and venture out quite a bit alone—so all is not lost.
First, some random observations and annoyances in my life:
You all know I have started swimming. I am still doing it, and still hating it. And, I must say my hair is hating it too!! I am doing all these little tricks to save my hair, but it is in all out rebellion and I am in a panic. If I have to choose between my hair and swimming, you better believe I choose my hair. I have a hair fetish if you didn’t know—I blame my mother and this boy I had a crush on in HS who essentially said I only looked good with long hair (I know, time to get over it). But I like my long hair, Henok likes my long hair, and my long hair DOES NOT like Chlorine. Stupid and pointless—so not worthy of news time, it’s still an issue I am very annoyed with. You see, I’m not stupid---if I had to choose between my hair and my health, of course I choose my health. Swimming has done wonders for my back. Who knew all them MD’s were right?!?! But, I am not quite ready to chop off the hair—I am stubborn and will continue to fight, whoever it is I’m fighting that is. I’ll let you know.
Speaking of swimming, I have learned Ethiopians do not know pool etiquette. I mean, not like I know that much either—but I do know you don’t jump in the pool and start swimming in someone’s lane, thus pushing them out. I do know, if you are resting, you don’t hang out (in groups of like 6 or 8) at the end of the pool blocking access to the edge to those who are still swimming laps. I also know, that you do not spit or ‘blow your nose’ in the pool (so do most of people I swim with, there are just a few jerks). So—each day as I battle to keep my lane and I wonder how am I going to approach this problem? Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.
Lanes. I am not exactly sure how the white dashed lines on the roads are painted in Ethiopia. I am assuming they don’t have a fancy machine like we have in the US, and it is possibly man made or a really old machine that needs much human input and has no automation. Well, you would think, knowing all the work that goes into those lines people would have at least an inkling of respect for them. However, the opposite is true. I can not even begin to explain how little attention is given to lanes. Drivers swerve (slowly or quickly) over the road covering many lanes incessantly. This is all done under the watchful eye of the traffic police, which just drives me bonkers. The worst is when they straddle a lane. Here I am trying to follow the law (lanes) and some loser will straddle the lanes. When I honk to note my displeasure, they yell at me and tell me I’m some stupid ‘ferenji’ (foreigner) who doesn’t know what she is doing. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! It drives me crazy—CRAZY!!
Packages—here in Ethiopia mail is not delivered to your home. Everyone, every business has a PO Box. If you receive a package, a small paper is placed in your PO Box informing you to pick up your package. For each day the package sits in the Post Office, you pay ‘rent’ for it’s storage space. I jut think that’s funny. The annoying part is the procedure for picking up the packages. They have yet to really figure out what that procedure is—as each time I get a package, the procedure is drastically different. The most recent package was quite possibly the greatest moment in my life—comedically speaking. Though when I got peed on by all those goats in Moldova, that was good. So, Henok and I arrive at the post office. It is a large building with hundreds of PO Boxes and against one wall a long row of windows, about 10. Each of the windows has a sign over it telling you the service provided there. I can’t read the signs, as they are in Amharic (except one poorly handwritten sign that says “By Stamps,” I think they meant, buy). I just follow Henok. First we have to let them know we are here to pick up a package so you give them the slip of paper you found in your box. This man (they happen to all be men this day, but I have seen women) who looks very ornery reads it 10 or so times and looks you over 20 or so times, hands you back the paper and tells you to go to window X. So, Henok and I look up and down to see window X (they are numbered, not necessarily in order). We see the number we need and walk to the window. Guess who is there?!?! THE SAME MAN. I kind of giggle, because I feel like I am in some 1950’s comedy, Henok gives me a look to act appropriate (aka not America), so I quiet down. We hand him BACK the paper and he looks through a pile of papers to find one that matches ours. It tells him what day the package arrived, he then tells us the amount of ‘rent’ we’ll need to pay and tells us to go pay at window Y. Okay, look up and down, see window Y and walk to it; it says cashier above it. Handy. Guess who is there!!!?? THE SAME MAN!! I swear, I thought there were twins, or something, I looked around for cameras—am I on some British comedy hidden camera show?!?!? I couldn’t help but crack up laughing, another strange look from Henok. The best part is each time he acts like he doesn’t know us. We hand him our paper and he reads it, again just like right before he gave it to us!! He tells us we owe 6 birr (like 65 cents). We pay the man, he fills out a form, then fills out a second one (their copy), stamps them both, takes our cash, and gives us one of the papers he just filled out—a receipt of sorts. He tells us to go to window W. At this point I CAN NOT wait to see who is there. I rush over, and am disappointed to see a new guy. We hand him our paper and he asks for ID’s. We have to prove we are who we say we are. We produce said ID’s and he informs us he needs a photo copy of them. Henok is essentially growling at this point he is so annoyed, and I am still giggling looking for hidden cameras. Henok takes our ID’s and goes OUT of the post office, down the street, to a little stationary store where they have a copy machine. I stand and wait. Then he shows his face, our famous 3 window man walks up behind our new guy and just stares at me—still pretty ornery. I smile and walk away trying to hide my laughter. Henok comes back, copy in hand and gives it to guy number 2. He then takes our receipt and gives it AND the photo copy to our number one guy!!! This dude, then actually reads over the receipt, the one he just filled out, looks over our ID’s and disappears into a back room. FINALLY, after 3 or 4 minutes he arrives with the familiar padded envelope of the US postal service—sent with loving care by my mommy. Of course, at this point it has lots of marks on it, possible it’s been run over, and there are holes in it, but it arrived. J I grab the package and we hit the road. Can’t wait for the next one!!
Some of you may wonder about Ethiopian Christmas traditions. December 25th, well nothing happens. Actually, they celebrate Christmas on January 7th and remember their New Year was on September 11th so no crazy New Years at the end of December. Quite different—Christmas is a religious holiday here still, vs the US where it is spiritual for some but just a big party with presents and décor for others. The only ‘traditional’ decorations here are to put candy on a type of evergreen bushy tree that grows in most of Ethiopia. A feast is made on Christmas, animal and more animal marking the end of a fast, you go to church, and a traditional game of ‘Kile’ is played. It’s similar to field hockey. No presents, no Santa, no lights (they used those for New Years in September), no carols, no chaos like America. However, it is slipping in—the western influence. A few businesses, those that cater to foreigners, have Christmas Trees up, and I saw a picture of Santa in a window.
Warning—drastic topic change:
So, I live in a mud house. No, it’s true—my house is made out of mud, straw, and animal manure. Really. You wouldn’t know it if you saw it. It seems like it is made out of cement—it’s FASCINATING what they can do with mud. They paint over it and you never know. Only where our paint has peeled can I see the mud (and don’t worry Lisa and others with this concern, you can’t smell the manure anymore. It just gives the mud sticking power). On my floor they have laid wood boards in one room and cement tiles in the others. Mud houses have great benefits like CHEAP materials and they stay cool inside. It can be 150 degrees outside, but your house will be cool. Granted there are some down sides, when it’s cold out side your house is COLD!! Eeek. Also, as your walls are made of mud, well bugs, spiders, creatures abound. There aren’t as many spiders as I had thought there would be, and they mainly look like ‘daddy long-legs,’ which I am not as frightened of. But, so you know, in general I am TERRIFIED of spiders. And, to make matters worse I’ve gone and married one of them religious hippy types that doesn’t think you should kill ANY creature of God (except the ones you eat of course). So, I have learned if I want something dead, it’s up to me. I’m getting pretty good at it. The bulk of what I deal with is actually cockroaches. I am not frightened of them (unless they are crawling across my bed that sicks me out). But they are FAST and if you miss them on the first go, it’s over. So, I’ve gotten good—my first few weeks here I didn’t kill one, I missed and missed. Now, I never miss. J However, this leaves unpleasant squished cockroach carcass on my walls and floor—I am working on Henok being okay with cleaning up what I have already killed. J
Living abroad has lots of benefits—I am sure I have written about many, but today I want to lament what I miss in the US. I miss healthy food. I know what you are thinking, “Um, Jessica, Americans are fat and UNHEALTHY—Ethiopians probably have better food then us.” You are right, in a way. The traditional Ethiopian diet is very healthy. Whole grain enjera as the base, veggies and beans everyday. However, I have this issue that I was raised in a country where we eat the foods of everyone. And, though I love Ethiopian (vegetarian) food, I can not eat it three meals a day 7 days a week AND, most importantly, I don’t like their version of breakfast. So—I must diversify or die. My version of breakfast, a hot bowl of WHOLE oatmeal with banana’s or apple—well it can’t happen. Whole oat meal (or labeled Old-fashioned in the US grocery stores and found on the bottom shelf) is not available. And, the ‘instant’ or ‘quick cooking’ oats, which I abhor, are EXPENSIVE!! There in lies my dilemma. I am a milk drinker, love it—but prefer it in it’s skim form. However, skim milk is 5 to 7 TIMES the cost of 2% or whole milk. Not 5 to 7 more birr, 5 to 7 times the cost!! And cereal, if I want to buy cold cereal made of pure sugar and flavored with ‘honey’ or ‘chocolate’ aka sugar, then I can pay 25 birr for a box (almost 3 dollars). However, if I want a ‘healthy’ whole grain cold cereal, I pay 75 birr a box (over 8 dollars a box and they are smaller boxes). Whole wheat bread?? Yummy, but only sold in 2 stores I know of in this city and usually 8 or 9 TIMES the cost of white bread. I know, you are thinking I am lazy and should just buy whole wheat flower and make my own bread, pancakes, etc. Great idea! Brillian! However, whole wheat flower is not sold in Addis, at all. Diet soda? (I know not healthy, but this is a good example of what they can do to ferenji) A can of regular Coke is 3 birr, a can of Diet Coke 18 birr. Only ferenji are interested in ‘diet’ or those who are rich, so they can jack up the prices. What about fruits and veggies?? There I am blessed and cursed. In general, bananas, tomatoes, kale, carrots, hot hot red peppers, onions, potatoes, mangoes (in season), and avocados (in season) are cheap, especially when compared to American prices. However, if you want something outside of that—forget it!! One kilogram of bananas (2.2 pounds) is 3 to 4 birr (about 40 cents). FIVE apples cost 25 to 30 birr!!!!! I know, what am I complaining about—I can get mangoes. But, you just miss what you grew up with; a nice crunchy apple—yum. Or a pear or kiwi, grapes, sweet peppers, broccoli, spinach, etc etc. You just miss variety. I know some day if we leave here, I’ll miss cheap avocados and mangoes, but for today I just want to complain about what I miss from America.
Speaking of America, this next story is GREAT. Just brilliant—made my day (please note intended sarcasm). Each day on my way to work I get asked for money/food at least 20 times; some days 40 times, other days 10, but usually around 20 times. I see at least 5 lepers on my way to work, 10 cripples, and at minimum 10 street kids (children living on the streets ranging in ages of 5 and up. If they are under 5, they are usually with an older sibling. However, I have seen two 5 years olds trying to make it on their own. They tend to band together for survival). You choose who you give to, if you give, and how much or what you give; each day. I personally have a soft spot for street kids and women with children. Henok on the other hand has a weak spot for cripples. I can’t say I give every time, sometimes I don’t have change and sometimes I think they aren’t ‘for real.’ I know that sounds cruel, but there are ‘opportunist’ beggars. Those who have a home, possibly not the best home, possibly they are poor, I don’t know, but they generally don’t beg for their existence. However, when they see a white girl walking down the street—their faces suddenly become sullen and sad, and the spit out the only words in English they know, “bread, so hungry, so hungry. No mother, no father, so hungry.” Granted, they might be wearing a school uniform and carrying a backpack as they say this—so you take it with a grain of salt. The street kids in my area I have become friends with, specifically a cute girl, about 12 her little brother who is about 7 and a toddler. I don’t know their story, but I see them everyday. They are great—they come running up to me each day—they know I won’t give them cash (I prefer to give something) and they’ll come up and beg for bananas. One time I bought them cookies, and they WERE NOT PLEASED. They wanted oranges, bananas, or some other tasty treat. Those cookies, ick!! So, I’ll buy them a liter of milk and some bread, or bananas—and they walk with me a ways as I go to work. Darlings. Anyway—the story I was planning on telling you was about a unique approach to begging. Often people come up with unique lines which catch you off guard. This latest one takes the cake!! I was walking down the road to meet Henok. Henok loves croissants, so I had bought him one at a baker near my office. It was a chilly day. A man, maybe early 30’s, approached me. He said hello and asked how I was. At first I thought it was just somebody who wanted to practice English, so I engaged in conversation. However, he then said bluntly, “You are American.” I was caught off guard, they don’t always guess but then realized I was wearing my cousins FDNY (Fire Department New York) sweatshirt—so I laughed pointed to the patch on the sleeve and said, “Yes.” He looked at it weird, and I realized that was not the tip he had gotten.
He continued, “You are an American woman. American’s eat too much and their women are fat. You are fat.”
STUNNED, I stopped walking and looked at him, “Are you calling me fat?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
Still stunned, and I’m pretty sure open mouthed I just stood there—I wasn’t sure what to say!! I turned and started walking away—confused and hurt.
He followed me, and continued, “You are too fat! So give me your bread.”
OH, I get it—“Sorry this is for my husband, my Ethiopian husband, so scat!” Jerk. He probably doesn’t realize calling an American woman fat is quite the insult, as calling an Ethiopian woman fat is a HUGE compliment. But, still—it did NOT make my day!!
In closing, I know finally I’m almost done, I have some political/social commentary. First an American decision I find disgusting and second, a truly beautiful American story.
First—The Devils name is Putin. I CAN NOT believe TIME magazine named Putin (of Russia, for those of you behind the times) man of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s disgusting to give the former KGB head, and man responsible for taking Russia back to communism and removing civil liberties, MAN OF THE FREAKING YEAR!! It’s beyond words, just nauseating. I was happy to see on line I was not the only disgusted person, but what’s done is done. How can they give this tyrant, this man responsible for so many innocent deaths, for outright human rights violations, such an honor? Such attention to his plight—it will only make him stronger among his people and his foes in turn will become weaker. It is a sad sad day.
On the reverse, is an American story I can hold onto for the rest of my life—a story that gives me hope America still exists and has a chance. What is it you ask? I am SURE you heard it, or hope you did—it must have been national news. The story of a gang of Christians attacking a Jew, only to be stopped by a Muslim. Ring any bells?? For those of you who have been under a rock, I’ll remind you. Late on a NYC evening, a group of Christians were getting on the subway. They were coming from a Christmas party, and as they entered the train car, shouted out “Merry Christmas.”
In response, a Jewish man shouted out, “Happy Hanuakah.” This greatly upset the Christians, of whom I feel had NO Christmas spirit—and long story short, they attacked this Jewish guy!! It’s true, look it up on line!! So, here on a moving train is a group of Christians beating on a Jew (and apparently yelling Anti-Semitic things) with the rest of the train (filled with Jews and Christians) watching!!!!! Until, a small (he’s a little guy, I saw his picture) Sunni Muslim jumped to his aid. The attackers then turned to this Muslim man and the Christian guy rang the alarm. At the next station, police officers came on and arrested the group. Initially, the Muslim man was also taken into custody, but Jewish victim quickly fixed this grave error and the Christians were hauled off to jail. Astounding. Again, another story that leaves me speechless—something of historical precedence. I wonder what I would have done—what would you have done? I hope I would have jumped to their aid, but you never know. I do know that there are NOT many countries on this planet where Christians attack Jews and get saved by Muslims. Love America.
Alright, it is time for me to sign off—Merry Christmas on the 25th who celebrate, Happy Hanukah, Happy New Year, and Merry Christmas on the 7th—for those of you on the Orthodox calendar.
First, some random observations and annoyances in my life:
You all know I have started swimming. I am still doing it, and still hating it. And, I must say my hair is hating it too!! I am doing all these little tricks to save my hair, but it is in all out rebellion and I am in a panic. If I have to choose between my hair and swimming, you better believe I choose my hair. I have a hair fetish if you didn’t know—I blame my mother and this boy I had a crush on in HS who essentially said I only looked good with long hair (I know, time to get over it). But I like my long hair, Henok likes my long hair, and my long hair DOES NOT like Chlorine. Stupid and pointless—so not worthy of news time, it’s still an issue I am very annoyed with. You see, I’m not stupid---if I had to choose between my hair and my health, of course I choose my health. Swimming has done wonders for my back. Who knew all them MD’s were right?!?! But, I am not quite ready to chop off the hair—I am stubborn and will continue to fight, whoever it is I’m fighting that is. I’ll let you know.
Speaking of swimming, I have learned Ethiopians do not know pool etiquette. I mean, not like I know that much either—but I do know you don’t jump in the pool and start swimming in someone’s lane, thus pushing them out. I do know, if you are resting, you don’t hang out (in groups of like 6 or 8) at the end of the pool blocking access to the edge to those who are still swimming laps. I also know, that you do not spit or ‘blow your nose’ in the pool (so do most of people I swim with, there are just a few jerks). So—each day as I battle to keep my lane and I wonder how am I going to approach this problem? Any ideas would be greatly appreciated.
Lanes. I am not exactly sure how the white dashed lines on the roads are painted in Ethiopia. I am assuming they don’t have a fancy machine like we have in the US, and it is possibly man made or a really old machine that needs much human input and has no automation. Well, you would think, knowing all the work that goes into those lines people would have at least an inkling of respect for them. However, the opposite is true. I can not even begin to explain how little attention is given to lanes. Drivers swerve (slowly or quickly) over the road covering many lanes incessantly. This is all done under the watchful eye of the traffic police, which just drives me bonkers. The worst is when they straddle a lane. Here I am trying to follow the law (lanes) and some loser will straddle the lanes. When I honk to note my displeasure, they yell at me and tell me I’m some stupid ‘ferenji’ (foreigner) who doesn’t know what she is doing. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! It drives me crazy—CRAZY!!
Packages—here in Ethiopia mail is not delivered to your home. Everyone, every business has a PO Box. If you receive a package, a small paper is placed in your PO Box informing you to pick up your package. For each day the package sits in the Post Office, you pay ‘rent’ for it’s storage space. I jut think that’s funny. The annoying part is the procedure for picking up the packages. They have yet to really figure out what that procedure is—as each time I get a package, the procedure is drastically different. The most recent package was quite possibly the greatest moment in my life—comedically speaking. Though when I got peed on by all those goats in Moldova, that was good. So, Henok and I arrive at the post office. It is a large building with hundreds of PO Boxes and against one wall a long row of windows, about 10. Each of the windows has a sign over it telling you the service provided there. I can’t read the signs, as they are in Amharic (except one poorly handwritten sign that says “By Stamps,” I think they meant, buy). I just follow Henok. First we have to let them know we are here to pick up a package so you give them the slip of paper you found in your box. This man (they happen to all be men this day, but I have seen women) who looks very ornery reads it 10 or so times and looks you over 20 or so times, hands you back the paper and tells you to go to window X. So, Henok and I look up and down to see window X (they are numbered, not necessarily in order). We see the number we need and walk to the window. Guess who is there?!?! THE SAME MAN. I kind of giggle, because I feel like I am in some 1950’s comedy, Henok gives me a look to act appropriate (aka not America), so I quiet down. We hand him BACK the paper and he looks through a pile of papers to find one that matches ours. It tells him what day the package arrived, he then tells us the amount of ‘rent’ we’ll need to pay and tells us to go pay at window Y. Okay, look up and down, see window Y and walk to it; it says cashier above it. Handy. Guess who is there!!!?? THE SAME MAN!! I swear, I thought there were twins, or something, I looked around for cameras—am I on some British comedy hidden camera show?!?!? I couldn’t help but crack up laughing, another strange look from Henok. The best part is each time he acts like he doesn’t know us. We hand him our paper and he reads it, again just like right before he gave it to us!! He tells us we owe 6 birr (like 65 cents). We pay the man, he fills out a form, then fills out a second one (their copy), stamps them both, takes our cash, and gives us one of the papers he just filled out—a receipt of sorts. He tells us to go to window W. At this point I CAN NOT wait to see who is there. I rush over, and am disappointed to see a new guy. We hand him our paper and he asks for ID’s. We have to prove we are who we say we are. We produce said ID’s and he informs us he needs a photo copy of them. Henok is essentially growling at this point he is so annoyed, and I am still giggling looking for hidden cameras. Henok takes our ID’s and goes OUT of the post office, down the street, to a little stationary store where they have a copy machine. I stand and wait. Then he shows his face, our famous 3 window man walks up behind our new guy and just stares at me—still pretty ornery. I smile and walk away trying to hide my laughter. Henok comes back, copy in hand and gives it to guy number 2. He then takes our receipt and gives it AND the photo copy to our number one guy!!! This dude, then actually reads over the receipt, the one he just filled out, looks over our ID’s and disappears into a back room. FINALLY, after 3 or 4 minutes he arrives with the familiar padded envelope of the US postal service—sent with loving care by my mommy. Of course, at this point it has lots of marks on it, possible it’s been run over, and there are holes in it, but it arrived. J I grab the package and we hit the road. Can’t wait for the next one!!
Some of you may wonder about Ethiopian Christmas traditions. December 25th, well nothing happens. Actually, they celebrate Christmas on January 7th and remember their New Year was on September 11th so no crazy New Years at the end of December. Quite different—Christmas is a religious holiday here still, vs the US where it is spiritual for some but just a big party with presents and décor for others. The only ‘traditional’ decorations here are to put candy on a type of evergreen bushy tree that grows in most of Ethiopia. A feast is made on Christmas, animal and more animal marking the end of a fast, you go to church, and a traditional game of ‘Kile’ is played. It’s similar to field hockey. No presents, no Santa, no lights (they used those for New Years in September), no carols, no chaos like America. However, it is slipping in—the western influence. A few businesses, those that cater to foreigners, have Christmas Trees up, and I saw a picture of Santa in a window.
Warning—drastic topic change:
So, I live in a mud house. No, it’s true—my house is made out of mud, straw, and animal manure. Really. You wouldn’t know it if you saw it. It seems like it is made out of cement—it’s FASCINATING what they can do with mud. They paint over it and you never know. Only where our paint has peeled can I see the mud (and don’t worry Lisa and others with this concern, you can’t smell the manure anymore. It just gives the mud sticking power). On my floor they have laid wood boards in one room and cement tiles in the others. Mud houses have great benefits like CHEAP materials and they stay cool inside. It can be 150 degrees outside, but your house will be cool. Granted there are some down sides, when it’s cold out side your house is COLD!! Eeek. Also, as your walls are made of mud, well bugs, spiders, creatures abound. There aren’t as many spiders as I had thought there would be, and they mainly look like ‘daddy long-legs,’ which I am not as frightened of. But, so you know, in general I am TERRIFIED of spiders. And, to make matters worse I’ve gone and married one of them religious hippy types that doesn’t think you should kill ANY creature of God (except the ones you eat of course). So, I have learned if I want something dead, it’s up to me. I’m getting pretty good at it. The bulk of what I deal with is actually cockroaches. I am not frightened of them (unless they are crawling across my bed that sicks me out). But they are FAST and if you miss them on the first go, it’s over. So, I’ve gotten good—my first few weeks here I didn’t kill one, I missed and missed. Now, I never miss. J However, this leaves unpleasant squished cockroach carcass on my walls and floor—I am working on Henok being okay with cleaning up what I have already killed. J
Living abroad has lots of benefits—I am sure I have written about many, but today I want to lament what I miss in the US. I miss healthy food. I know what you are thinking, “Um, Jessica, Americans are fat and UNHEALTHY—Ethiopians probably have better food then us.” You are right, in a way. The traditional Ethiopian diet is very healthy. Whole grain enjera as the base, veggies and beans everyday. However, I have this issue that I was raised in a country where we eat the foods of everyone. And, though I love Ethiopian (vegetarian) food, I can not eat it three meals a day 7 days a week AND, most importantly, I don’t like their version of breakfast. So—I must diversify or die. My version of breakfast, a hot bowl of WHOLE oatmeal with banana’s or apple—well it can’t happen. Whole oat meal (or labeled Old-fashioned in the US grocery stores and found on the bottom shelf) is not available. And, the ‘instant’ or ‘quick cooking’ oats, which I abhor, are EXPENSIVE!! There in lies my dilemma. I am a milk drinker, love it—but prefer it in it’s skim form. However, skim milk is 5 to 7 TIMES the cost of 2% or whole milk. Not 5 to 7 more birr, 5 to 7 times the cost!! And cereal, if I want to buy cold cereal made of pure sugar and flavored with ‘honey’ or ‘chocolate’ aka sugar, then I can pay 25 birr for a box (almost 3 dollars). However, if I want a ‘healthy’ whole grain cold cereal, I pay 75 birr a box (over 8 dollars a box and they are smaller boxes). Whole wheat bread?? Yummy, but only sold in 2 stores I know of in this city and usually 8 or 9 TIMES the cost of white bread. I know, you are thinking I am lazy and should just buy whole wheat flower and make my own bread, pancakes, etc. Great idea! Brillian! However, whole wheat flower is not sold in Addis, at all. Diet soda? (I know not healthy, but this is a good example of what they can do to ferenji) A can of regular Coke is 3 birr, a can of Diet Coke 18 birr. Only ferenji are interested in ‘diet’ or those who are rich, so they can jack up the prices. What about fruits and veggies?? There I am blessed and cursed. In general, bananas, tomatoes, kale, carrots, hot hot red peppers, onions, potatoes, mangoes (in season), and avocados (in season) are cheap, especially when compared to American prices. However, if you want something outside of that—forget it!! One kilogram of bananas (2.2 pounds) is 3 to 4 birr (about 40 cents). FIVE apples cost 25 to 30 birr!!!!! I know, what am I complaining about—I can get mangoes. But, you just miss what you grew up with; a nice crunchy apple—yum. Or a pear or kiwi, grapes, sweet peppers, broccoli, spinach, etc etc. You just miss variety. I know some day if we leave here, I’ll miss cheap avocados and mangoes, but for today I just want to complain about what I miss from America.
Speaking of America, this next story is GREAT. Just brilliant—made my day (please note intended sarcasm). Each day on my way to work I get asked for money/food at least 20 times; some days 40 times, other days 10, but usually around 20 times. I see at least 5 lepers on my way to work, 10 cripples, and at minimum 10 street kids (children living on the streets ranging in ages of 5 and up. If they are under 5, they are usually with an older sibling. However, I have seen two 5 years olds trying to make it on their own. They tend to band together for survival). You choose who you give to, if you give, and how much or what you give; each day. I personally have a soft spot for street kids and women with children. Henok on the other hand has a weak spot for cripples. I can’t say I give every time, sometimes I don’t have change and sometimes I think they aren’t ‘for real.’ I know that sounds cruel, but there are ‘opportunist’ beggars. Those who have a home, possibly not the best home, possibly they are poor, I don’t know, but they generally don’t beg for their existence. However, when they see a white girl walking down the street—their faces suddenly become sullen and sad, and the spit out the only words in English they know, “bread, so hungry, so hungry. No mother, no father, so hungry.” Granted, they might be wearing a school uniform and carrying a backpack as they say this—so you take it with a grain of salt. The street kids in my area I have become friends with, specifically a cute girl, about 12 her little brother who is about 7 and a toddler. I don’t know their story, but I see them everyday. They are great—they come running up to me each day—they know I won’t give them cash (I prefer to give something) and they’ll come up and beg for bananas. One time I bought them cookies, and they WERE NOT PLEASED. They wanted oranges, bananas, or some other tasty treat. Those cookies, ick!! So, I’ll buy them a liter of milk and some bread, or bananas—and they walk with me a ways as I go to work. Darlings. Anyway—the story I was planning on telling you was about a unique approach to begging. Often people come up with unique lines which catch you off guard. This latest one takes the cake!! I was walking down the road to meet Henok. Henok loves croissants, so I had bought him one at a baker near my office. It was a chilly day. A man, maybe early 30’s, approached me. He said hello and asked how I was. At first I thought it was just somebody who wanted to practice English, so I engaged in conversation. However, he then said bluntly, “You are American.” I was caught off guard, they don’t always guess but then realized I was wearing my cousins FDNY (Fire Department New York) sweatshirt—so I laughed pointed to the patch on the sleeve and said, “Yes.” He looked at it weird, and I realized that was not the tip he had gotten.
He continued, “You are an American woman. American’s eat too much and their women are fat. You are fat.”
STUNNED, I stopped walking and looked at him, “Are you calling me fat?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
Still stunned, and I’m pretty sure open mouthed I just stood there—I wasn’t sure what to say!! I turned and started walking away—confused and hurt.
He followed me, and continued, “You are too fat! So give me your bread.”
OH, I get it—“Sorry this is for my husband, my Ethiopian husband, so scat!” Jerk. He probably doesn’t realize calling an American woman fat is quite the insult, as calling an Ethiopian woman fat is a HUGE compliment. But, still—it did NOT make my day!!
In closing, I know finally I’m almost done, I have some political/social commentary. First an American decision I find disgusting and second, a truly beautiful American story.
First—The Devils name is Putin. I CAN NOT believe TIME magazine named Putin (of Russia, for those of you behind the times) man of the year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It’s disgusting to give the former KGB head, and man responsible for taking Russia back to communism and removing civil liberties, MAN OF THE FREAKING YEAR!! It’s beyond words, just nauseating. I was happy to see on line I was not the only disgusted person, but what’s done is done. How can they give this tyrant, this man responsible for so many innocent deaths, for outright human rights violations, such an honor? Such attention to his plight—it will only make him stronger among his people and his foes in turn will become weaker. It is a sad sad day.
On the reverse, is an American story I can hold onto for the rest of my life—a story that gives me hope America still exists and has a chance. What is it you ask? I am SURE you heard it, or hope you did—it must have been national news. The story of a gang of Christians attacking a Jew, only to be stopped by a Muslim. Ring any bells?? For those of you who have been under a rock, I’ll remind you. Late on a NYC evening, a group of Christians were getting on the subway. They were coming from a Christmas party, and as they entered the train car, shouted out “Merry Christmas.”
In response, a Jewish man shouted out, “Happy Hanuakah.” This greatly upset the Christians, of whom I feel had NO Christmas spirit—and long story short, they attacked this Jewish guy!! It’s true, look it up on line!! So, here on a moving train is a group of Christians beating on a Jew (and apparently yelling Anti-Semitic things) with the rest of the train (filled with Jews and Christians) watching!!!!! Until, a small (he’s a little guy, I saw his picture) Sunni Muslim jumped to his aid. The attackers then turned to this Muslim man and the Christian guy rang the alarm. At the next station, police officers came on and arrested the group. Initially, the Muslim man was also taken into custody, but Jewish victim quickly fixed this grave error and the Christians were hauled off to jail. Astounding. Again, another story that leaves me speechless—something of historical precedence. I wonder what I would have done—what would you have done? I hope I would have jumped to their aid, but you never know. I do know that there are NOT many countries on this planet where Christians attack Jews and get saved by Muslims. Love America.
Alright, it is time for me to sign off—Merry Christmas on the 25th who celebrate, Happy Hanukah, Happy New Year, and Merry Christmas on the 7th—for those of you on the Orthodox calendar.
23 November 2007
Teddy Afro
I know what you are thinking. If I’m writing so soon after a letter something must be wrong. Oh ye of little faith, I write these letters for more reasons then to just complain, though I can see how you would get that impression. However, I mainly have interesting, funny, and down right exciting things to share this time around.
First, a bit more about the US wedding. It was great fun to see so many people I haven’t seen in a long time. In particular, I want to thank two of my personal heroes for making the trek to Utah to be there. Have you ever met people that you realize that is what you want to be when ‘you grow-up?’ For this, my grams comes to mind first—and I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of being her granddaughter. However, outside of family—that’s Judy and Paul Sochat. I first met Judy and Paul in the Peace Corps. They were volunteers and living in my same village. What’s so amazing you ask? Just that Judy and Paul joined the Peace Corps at the age of 72!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How many of you will have the energy, desire, health, and courage to leave your home at 72 to live in a RURAL place for 2 years working for nothing (money I mean)?!?!? Even as a former volunteer I can’t guarantee I’ll be too chipper about signing up at 72! Paul and Judy, I just want to thank you for coming out to Utah, helping with the wedding, and being great examples in my life, (My mom put them to work the day of the wedding!! Such good sports)
Life here is going well. I don’t know if I told you before, but I have become a swimmer. I hurt my back in the Peace Corps, and then it really got bad in grad school – I was told by many many people to take up swimming. I absolutely HATE swimming. I have ever since I was kid. I even worked at a water park for 7 years, and got in the water less then 7 times in those 7 years. Plus, and this may make some of you uneasy, I don’t wash my hair that much. I have long hair and it is very dry. I don’t use ANY hair products outside of shampoo and conditioner, so I only wash my hair every 7 to 10 days. That’s all it needs. Well—my back started bothering me, again. I have tried yoga and weight lifting, my favorite forms of exercise, but I always re-injure my self b/c I push too hard. I LOVE yoga and weight lifting and I go at it full force. It’s hard to keep my self back. Finally, I have decided to try swimming. There are no YMCA’s or public pools here outside of hotels. So, if you want to swim you have to pay an exorbitant amount of money to a hotel. On top of that, laws regulating hygiene in pools are lax—so you can’t go with the cheaper ones or you will, not maybe, you will get a skin disease. Ick. So, I go to the Hilton. That’s right, I swim laps at the Hilton. It’s crazy—and I hate it and my hair really hates it, but I’ve been going for 2 months now and unfortunately have to report my back is a ton better. I think the trick is I hate it so I don’t push myself as hard as I would with other forms of exercise. I only increase my weekly laps by 10% (as I read on a ‘beginning swimming for adults” website. So, my hair—being washed at least 5 times a week is NOT making it happy. I don’t know what to do!?!? Eek. I know, it’s just hair—I need to chill out—but, well I’m weird about my hair. All of you who know me well know that. It’s a long story as to why, just trust me. I brought back special swimmers shampoo and do all sorts of other little tricks, but my hair is not happy.
Okay- I need to get off the stupid pointless topic and fill you in on life in Addis Ababa. My husband and I while still living with his family, bought a 2,000 birr (over 200 dollars) water filter. It looks like a water cooler with the big plastic container on top except that the container has a water filter and you just dump water in the top as opposed to getting refill bottles. It’s nice. I personally, am and ALWAYS HAVE BEEN, against bottled water. The ONLY time I would use it is when I was abroad in places without a filtration system. Other then that, I must say I am 100% against it—but that’s a rant for another day. My point was my husbands family thought we were NUTS!! There is perfectly good water flowing out of the tap. They think a lot of what I do is nuts, so nothing new. So, we have now moved away and I came home the other day to two jerry cans in my kitchen.
“Wow sweety, are these for emergency water supply?” I ask my husband thinking he’s such a planner! Water is often shut off in the city sometimes for a day sometimes for 3 weeks. So storing water is not just a good idea, but necessary.
“No, my family.”
“Is there water out again?” It had been off for 2 weeks when we left!!
“No, its’ drinking water, from our filter.”
“What?”
So—turns out there is an outbreak of giardia in the city water system and now they don’t think I am so crazy!! Vindication, on one point anyway. J For the uninitiated, giardia is common in the US too and is NOT fun. I had it in S. Sudan. Ick.
Garbage—the main reason I am against bottled water is the MASSIVE amount of garbage it produces, plastic bottles. It’s so disturbing—but the amount of garbage we Americans produce is disturbing no matter what. Even here, the amount we (Henok and I) produce is a jillion times more then his whole family. And, our new landlords produce nothing either—but we have serious garbage output. And, compared to you all it is still nothing b/c there just isn’t as much to buy and use here. But, I buy boxed milk (UHT for you food people) from Italy. It’s the only way to get skim milk. It’s one liter, which I burn through in 2 or 3 days, thus in the garbage. Plus, I buy tins of oatmeal, about one a week—in the garbage. Plus Plus Plus. I don’t understand and to be honest I’m embarrassed. I’d do the re-use thing if that was available (kind short on the fancy organic supermarkets here). But instead, we toss a ton. If we ever by soda (I actually get a local sparkling water I LOVE called Ambo) it’s glass bottles we have to exchange. Fruits and veggies come not in plastic bags, but in net bags you take back with you to get more veggies. I do all this, but somehow still produce an inordinate amount of garbage and I think my neighbors think I’m crazy. Not a new thing.
So my job. I am still working as a consultant for the Micronutrient Initiative. I am working closely with Ministry of Health and Ministry of Agriculture in Ethiopia, along with World Bank, UNICEF, and World Food Program. I sit at a computer or in meetings most days and it gets really annoying. I miss being in the field with my GOAL job, but you gotta do what you gotta do. We are creating a national nutrition plan for Ethiopia. It’s really exciting, overwhelming, and challenging. I am very passionate about nutrition and health—and I am NOT good with politics. I hate side stepping issues, renaming things just because the one word will upset someone, just sitting there when people are making bad decisions for their benefit (e.g. not in the best interested of Ethiopia’s children). I am bad at it all. I just say too much and am too blunt. Luckily, the Minister of Health and his State Ministers can handle it a little, but the other Ministers, not so much. I am waiting for the day I get kicked out of a meeting. I just can’t handle decisions made b/c of money or sheer laziness I can’t. It drives me crazy. Grrrr. But, overall this project is going great and has INCREDIBLE potential to do GREAT things for Ethiopia. I really hope that war doesn’t break out here and just ruin all the development they have experienced over the last 10 years.
War you ask? Well—to the north we have Eritrea. Once part of Ethiopia, now its own country there is a border dispute; where exactly the border should be. The UN has drawn what it feels is a good compromise, but we shall see if both parties take to it. I wouldn’t worry about war, as I don’t think Ethiopia can afford it and they know the possible damage to their fast growing economy, but, and this is a HUGE BUT the US might be pro-war. Why you ask? Well, currently to the East is Somalia. I am assuming you know all hell has broken loose there and it’s in a state of chaos. Not that it was stable anytime in the last decade, but things have escalated. This is also happening in the Somali region of Ethiopia and Afar region (where those British tourists were kidnapped). It is assumed/understood/speculated whatever you want to call it, that Eritrea is supporting the wars in both regions as well as in Somalia. This matters for the US b/c Somalia is seen as part of the ‘axis of evil’ (e.g. harboring terrorists and Al Quaeda). SOOOOOOO—taking out the rebels and ‘evil people’ in these areas would be in the best interest of the US government. SOOOOO—this is why Ethiopian troops invaded the Somali capitol a few months ago overthrowing the Islamic regime and putting back in power an interim government supported by the US. SOOOOOO—the question is, on November 27th (the deadline for the border dispute to end) what will happen? I really hope sanity prevails, the border is agreed upon, and no war starts—but I feel the world is short on sanity these days. For those of you following this story, I realize this was a simplified version—but I was trying to be succinct.
In closing, I must tell you about a GREAT experience I just had!! For those of you close to me in high school and college you know I am OBSESSED with concerts. I love to see my favorite bands (or any bad for that matter) play live music. There is nothing better then seeing live music. My parents know all too well of my love for concerts secondary to a few (plus) ambulance rides from said concerts when I passed out or broke something. But, taking up my new lifestyle of living abroad and traveling I had to walk away from that life. It was actually really hard. It truly was my favorite thing in the world to do—go to a concert. I can’t explain, just understand it is one of a few things that I actually miss on a regular day to day basis living abroad. It’s not that there isn’t live music abroad, there is—sort of. I have been to small clubs to see local bands and what not play. But this isn’t the case in every country I’ve lived in. Here in Ethiopia I quickly fell in love with several Ethiopian artists. Many of them do not play shows here as there lyrics are political in nature and the government won’t let them. They actually play regular shows in DC, Atlanta, Chicago, and Houston where there are a lot of Ethiopian immigrants. Well, FINALLY my favorite Ethiopian artist played a show here. I am so impressed—with everyone involved I can’t tell you. This artist, Teddy Afro, is quite political. The government here is NOT a fan of his, but despite all that they let him play a live show, at a government venue, and he got to play even the songs that are banned from the radio!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have NO IDEA what a huge step that is—just huge. I am still in shock about the whole thing. Anyway, I of course went. And, if you know me at all, you know I was front and center. It was open-air no seating show—just some barricades at the front. I of course was in the center of that barricade less then one meter from stage, being squished, and LOVING it. It was a great show and he played my favorite song, Jah Yastesereal. It means ‘god will forgive you’ and refers to some of the government practices here. It is of course banned from the radio. I walked away with just one injury, are you impressed mom? It’s just a bruise on my leg from banging into the barrier. That is NOTHING for a concert.
Well, I’ve rambled long enough. Thanks for listening/reading—Hope you who are in the US (or consider yourself American) had a great Thanksgiving.
Cheers,
jess
First, a bit more about the US wedding. It was great fun to see so many people I haven’t seen in a long time. In particular, I want to thank two of my personal heroes for making the trek to Utah to be there. Have you ever met people that you realize that is what you want to be when ‘you grow-up?’ For this, my grams comes to mind first—and I will spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of being her granddaughter. However, outside of family—that’s Judy and Paul Sochat. I first met Judy and Paul in the Peace Corps. They were volunteers and living in my same village. What’s so amazing you ask? Just that Judy and Paul joined the Peace Corps at the age of 72!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How many of you will have the energy, desire, health, and courage to leave your home at 72 to live in a RURAL place for 2 years working for nothing (money I mean)?!?!? Even as a former volunteer I can’t guarantee I’ll be too chipper about signing up at 72! Paul and Judy, I just want to thank you for coming out to Utah, helping with the wedding, and being great examples in my life, (My mom put them to work the day of the wedding!! Such good sports)
Life here is going well. I don’t know if I told you before, but I have become a swimmer. I hurt my back in the Peace Corps, and then it really got bad in grad school – I was told by many many people to take up swimming. I absolutely HATE swimming. I have ever since I was kid. I even worked at a water park for 7 years, and got in the water less then 7 times in those 7 years. Plus, and this may make some of you uneasy, I don’t wash my hair that much. I have long hair and it is very dry. I don’t use ANY hair products outside of shampoo and conditioner, so I only wash my hair every 7 to 10 days. That’s all it needs. Well—my back started bothering me, again. I have tried yoga and weight lifting, my favorite forms of exercise, but I always re-injure my self b/c I push too hard. I LOVE yoga and weight lifting and I go at it full force. It’s hard to keep my self back. Finally, I have decided to try swimming. There are no YMCA’s or public pools here outside of hotels. So, if you want to swim you have to pay an exorbitant amount of money to a hotel. On top of that, laws regulating hygiene in pools are lax—so you can’t go with the cheaper ones or you will, not maybe, you will get a skin disease. Ick. So, I go to the Hilton. That’s right, I swim laps at the Hilton. It’s crazy—and I hate it and my hair really hates it, but I’ve been going for 2 months now and unfortunately have to report my back is a ton better. I think the trick is I hate it so I don’t push myself as hard as I would with other forms of exercise. I only increase my weekly laps by 10% (as I read on a ‘beginning swimming for adults” website. So, my hair—being washed at least 5 times a week is NOT making it happy. I don’t know what to do!?!? Eek. I know, it’s just hair—I need to chill out—but, well I’m weird about my hair. All of you who know me well know that. It’s a long story as to why, just trust me. I brought back special swimmers shampoo and do all sorts of other little tricks, but my hair is not happy.
Okay- I need to get off the stupid pointless topic and fill you in on life in Addis Ababa. My husband and I while still living with his family, bought a 2,000 birr (over 200 dollars) water filter. It looks like a water cooler with the big plastic container on top except that the container has a water filter and you just dump water in the top as opposed to getting refill bottles. It’s nice. I personally, am and ALWAYS HAVE BEEN, against bottled water. The ONLY time I would use it is when I was abroad in places without a filtration system. Other then that, I must say I am 100% against it—but that’s a rant for another day. My point was my husbands family thought we were NUTS!! There is perfectly good water flowing out of the tap. They think a lot of what I do is nuts, so nothing new. So, we have now moved away and I came home the other day to two jerry cans in my kitchen.
“Wow sweety, are these for emergency water supply?” I ask my husband thinking he’s such a planner! Water is often shut off in the city sometimes for a day sometimes for 3 weeks. So storing water is not just a good idea, but necessary.
“No, my family.”
“Is there water out again?” It had been off for 2 weeks when we left!!
“No, its’ drinking water, from our filter.”
“What?”
So—turns out there is an outbreak of giardia in the city water system and now they don’t think I am so crazy!! Vindication, on one point anyway. J For the uninitiated, giardia is common in the US too and is NOT fun. I had it in S. Sudan. Ick.
Garbage—the main reason I am against bottled water is the MASSIVE amount of garbage it produces, plastic bottles. It’s so disturbing—but the amount of garbage we Americans produce is disturbing no matter what. Even here, the amount we (Henok and I) produce is a jillion times more then his whole family. And, our new landlords produce nothing either—but we have serious garbage output. And, compared to you all it is still nothing b/c there just isn’t as much to buy and use here. But, I buy boxed milk (UHT for you food people) from Italy. It’s the only way to get skim milk. It’s one liter, which I burn through in 2 or 3 days, thus in the garbage. Plus, I buy tins of oatmeal, about one a week—in the garbage. Plus Plus Plus. I don’t understand and to be honest I’m embarrassed. I’d do the re-use thing if that was available (kind short on the fancy organic supermarkets here). But instead, we toss a ton. If we ever by soda (I actually get a local sparkling water I LOVE called Ambo) it’s glass bottles we have to exchange. Fruits and veggies come not in plastic bags, but in net bags you take back with you to get more veggies. I do all this, but somehow still produce an inordinate amount of garbage and I think my neighbors think I’m crazy. Not a new thing.
So my job. I am still working as a consultant for the Micronutrient Initiative. I am working closely with Ministry of Health and Ministry of Agriculture in Ethiopia, along with World Bank, UNICEF, and World Food Program. I sit at a computer or in meetings most days and it gets really annoying. I miss being in the field with my GOAL job, but you gotta do what you gotta do. We are creating a national nutrition plan for Ethiopia. It’s really exciting, overwhelming, and challenging. I am very passionate about nutrition and health—and I am NOT good with politics. I hate side stepping issues, renaming things just because the one word will upset someone, just sitting there when people are making bad decisions for their benefit (e.g. not in the best interested of Ethiopia’s children). I am bad at it all. I just say too much and am too blunt. Luckily, the Minister of Health and his State Ministers can handle it a little, but the other Ministers, not so much. I am waiting for the day I get kicked out of a meeting. I just can’t handle decisions made b/c of money or sheer laziness I can’t. It drives me crazy. Grrrr. But, overall this project is going great and has INCREDIBLE potential to do GREAT things for Ethiopia. I really hope that war doesn’t break out here and just ruin all the development they have experienced over the last 10 years.
War you ask? Well—to the north we have Eritrea. Once part of Ethiopia, now its own country there is a border dispute; where exactly the border should be. The UN has drawn what it feels is a good compromise, but we shall see if both parties take to it. I wouldn’t worry about war, as I don’t think Ethiopia can afford it and they know the possible damage to their fast growing economy, but, and this is a HUGE BUT the US might be pro-war. Why you ask? Well, currently to the East is Somalia. I am assuming you know all hell has broken loose there and it’s in a state of chaos. Not that it was stable anytime in the last decade, but things have escalated. This is also happening in the Somali region of Ethiopia and Afar region (where those British tourists were kidnapped). It is assumed/understood/speculated whatever you want to call it, that Eritrea is supporting the wars in both regions as well as in Somalia. This matters for the US b/c Somalia is seen as part of the ‘axis of evil’ (e.g. harboring terrorists and Al Quaeda). SOOOOOOO—taking out the rebels and ‘evil people’ in these areas would be in the best interest of the US government. SOOOOO—this is why Ethiopian troops invaded the Somali capitol a few months ago overthrowing the Islamic regime and putting back in power an interim government supported by the US. SOOOOOO—the question is, on November 27th (the deadline for the border dispute to end) what will happen? I really hope sanity prevails, the border is agreed upon, and no war starts—but I feel the world is short on sanity these days. For those of you following this story, I realize this was a simplified version—but I was trying to be succinct.
In closing, I must tell you about a GREAT experience I just had!! For those of you close to me in high school and college you know I am OBSESSED with concerts. I love to see my favorite bands (or any bad for that matter) play live music. There is nothing better then seeing live music. My parents know all too well of my love for concerts secondary to a few (plus) ambulance rides from said concerts when I passed out or broke something. But, taking up my new lifestyle of living abroad and traveling I had to walk away from that life. It was actually really hard. It truly was my favorite thing in the world to do—go to a concert. I can’t explain, just understand it is one of a few things that I actually miss on a regular day to day basis living abroad. It’s not that there isn’t live music abroad, there is—sort of. I have been to small clubs to see local bands and what not play. But this isn’t the case in every country I’ve lived in. Here in Ethiopia I quickly fell in love with several Ethiopian artists. Many of them do not play shows here as there lyrics are political in nature and the government won’t let them. They actually play regular shows in DC, Atlanta, Chicago, and Houston where there are a lot of Ethiopian immigrants. Well, FINALLY my favorite Ethiopian artist played a show here. I am so impressed—with everyone involved I can’t tell you. This artist, Teddy Afro, is quite political. The government here is NOT a fan of his, but despite all that they let him play a live show, at a government venue, and he got to play even the songs that are banned from the radio!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You have NO IDEA what a huge step that is—just huge. I am still in shock about the whole thing. Anyway, I of course went. And, if you know me at all, you know I was front and center. It was open-air no seating show—just some barricades at the front. I of course was in the center of that barricade less then one meter from stage, being squished, and LOVING it. It was a great show and he played my favorite song, Jah Yastesereal. It means ‘god will forgive you’ and refers to some of the government practices here. It is of course banned from the radio. I walked away with just one injury, are you impressed mom? It’s just a bruise on my leg from banging into the barrier. That is NOTHING for a concert.
Well, I’ve rambled long enough. Thanks for listening/reading—Hope you who are in the US (or consider yourself American) had a great Thanksgiving.
Cheers,
jess
US Trip :)
I know I know—I feel like I begin all my posts with an apology—I’ve become a horrible writer. I am sorry. The thing is I still have so much to say, so my notes come less often and are longer—not a nice thing to do to you. But, alas, here we are again—me with a million stories and an endless blank page in front of me. Good luck.
First and foremost, the most often asked question I get is, Did Henok like the US? Well, the answer without a doubt is yes. AND, he experienced NO culture shock whatsoever. I had a harder time then him, with my reverse-culture shock. More proof the return is harder. He loved the US—hard not too with so much family there. There was one bit of ‘shock’ with the ‘country feel’ of my home town. Henok was not impressed with small town life. Remember, he is a city boy—born and raised in a city of about 4million!! Me, town of 3,000 (now 6,000 but I don’t want to talk about it). I ended up dragging poor Henok all over Mapleton saying things I swore only my father said like, “These houses weren’t here when I was a kid, this was all orchards.” He wasn’t too impressed. And, the clencher—we went to our cabin. My sister Lisa has a cabin up by Kamas. For our family it’s a GREAT vacation. We go summer, fall, winter, and spring. Love it. So of course Henok and I plan to go up there—he must see this BEAUTIFUL location and enjoy the quietness—and possibly see deer and a moose. Henok isn’t sure what I mean by Cabin, but is all for it. We pack up in a borrowed car and head up to the cabin. Quick stop in Heber of course at Granny’s for ice cream (FAMOUS hamburger joint in Heber City Utah with DELICIOUS ice cream shakes). Henok was not impressed and was put off by the size of the shakes (we got mini’s). Okay, still off to the cabin we go! We arrive, unlock everything, and I give him a tour. I plop down on a bench outside to look around—about 5 minutes goes by peacefully, then—“I’m bored. What do you do here?”
“We’re doing it. You just sit and relax. It’s so peaceful and beautiful,” I reply confused.
“It’s pretty, but it’s not beautiful. Is this all we are going to do for three days?!?” he asks with alarm in his voice.
“No, we can watch some videos, we can go on hikes, we can ride the four-wheeler, . . .” I’m cut-off by my husband who immediately wants his first ride on a four-wheeler (quad bike or ATV for some of you). Okay—we ride around for about 30 minutes. Then, he’s bored. We watch a movie, then he’s bored.
“Isn’t there a town we can go see? A restaurant to hang out in?” he implores.
“Um, no. We are the restaurant, that’s why I brought all those groceries. We cook our own food and eat here.”
“There is no where to go?!?!” he sounds desperate.
Well, Henok survived the weekend -- but in general did not find the cabin as fun as we ‘country’ folk do. I had no idea how country I was until I married an Ethiopian. Ironic. Most people in the world would not think it would go that way, but trust me the longer we live together the more I realize he is 100% city and I’m a country girl who has adjusted to city life, but still longs for country (and it’s not like I grew up in the sticks either. I mean, Mapleton, UT is hardly rural, but in comparison—it is). Henok found Utah in general ‘rural’ compared to Maryland and DC (the first places he saw in the US). It’s true, we aren’t as big, but I think SLC is a big city. But when his brother and mother came out from Maryland for the wedding – they were also shocked at how ‘small’ Utah was. I’m thinking—do you have any idea how much this place has grown in the past 20 years?!?! They are thinking, man this is a SMALL town (referring to SLC)!! wow. They of course all loved Utah b/c it is stunning (for those who have not been, truly you are missing out). The mountains reminded Henok’s mother of Ethiopia (it’s very mountainous, but more green then Utah). I’ve traveled on four continents and I must say, Utah is still one of the most beautiful places I have ever been.
Anyway—in case you still think I am making up this whole ‘I’m country he’s city,’ I have more proof. Henok announced he wanted to go to Vegas. At first I thought he was kidding. I personally LOATHE Vegas and avoid it like the plague. I don’t like drinking, drugs, prostitution, gambling, or shopping—which is about all Vegas has to offer. Finally I conceded and we looked around for Hotel deals. It’s been a good decade since I was in Vegas, so maybe things have changed—maybe. We found a good deal in the Stratosphere hotel, borrowed my sis’s car again and we were off. I wanted to stop at a few places on the way down, but Henok was keen to get to Vegas so we drove straight (we being me, as he can’t drive in the US and well, he slept). (FYI-abroad there are few places in America people have heard of. NYC, DC, California [not necessarily a particular city], and Las Vegas. These are the sites they want to see—they’ve heard about on movies, TV, etc. So we went. CSI Las Vegas plays in Ethiopia, so most people have heard of it). We arrived at lunch time and Henok was in love. He is still convinced Las Vegas is the most beautiful city he’s ever scene. I wanted to vomit. I said, it’s neon, fake gold, and well icky—he thought it was golden. He was so excited to walk the strip (I had explained the concept on the way down). We checked into our hotel and hit the road. Henok road his first roller coaster, which he wasn’t too fond of, and we went into almost every casino on the strip. Myself, I was shocked at the colossally large new Casinos since I was there. And, how much the city has been ‘sexed up.’ Not that Vegas wasn’t always obsessed with sex, but even things that used to be neutral are now rated R. Wow. We waited around for the pirate show and found out the pirates are gone, it’s now “sirens.” The longer we were on the street the more Henok realized Vegas wasn’t as cool as it is from first glance. In the end we had a good time—and for my sanity took in Cirque du Soleil, but other then that saw the sites. Henok still loves Vegas, but has decided he doesn’t like the people in it. As they come as a package, hopefully he won’t make me go back!!!
I was so shocked and annoyed at his love for the ‘beauty of Vegas’ I had to prove to him again, Utah is most beautiful. He was convinced Vegas was the most beautiful part of the US (I know disturbing). So, on our way back I decided we needed a trip through Zion National Park. And, just as I had planned—Henok was once again convinced Utah is most beautiful. Zion is just the closest park—I actually think Bryce is more beautiful, Canyon Lands, Arches, and Goblin valley too. So—with that in mind I knew I had converted him to the fact that Utah is the most beautiful state in the union. J
Some of you are wondering about the American Wedding. It went well—just a small ring ceremony for family and a few friends then a reception. There were a few crazy moments, but it went well. If you know how to use YouTube—search for Jessica Tilahun. You will see two videos compliments of my cousin Brian. They show you some of the ceremony and a surprise we had involving the cake. Trust me it’s worth your time.
I do have one regret from the US trip, McDonalds. I let my husband try Mcdonalds and to my surprise he became addicted. I mean ADDICTED. He absolutely LOVED it. Not just a little, but A LOT. It became a very disturbing point for me. I mean, I’m an RD, a nutritionist!! I don’t even want to know how many quarter pounders with cheese he ate. It was awful. Luckily, he isn’t quite American and many times couldn’t finish his sandwich and for sure never finished the fries. He did discover ‘super size’ but only b/c he wanted more Coke not more fries. Overall, it was bad—very very bad. He knows it annoys me so he brings up how much he misses McDonalds pretty much daily. I am truly concerned for his welfare (health). If we ever move to the US what will I do?!?!? Really—how did I marry a meat loving, veggie hating, McDonalds loving man!?!? Eeek. (on a slightly better note. My sister-in-law Keiko is an incredible cook. She made some tofu for a family party and Henok liked it. There is hope).
The return. Well—I ended up cutting my trip short to come back for a work opportunity. It is good in the long run, but just about killed Henok and I. I mean, we were apart while I was deported for 2 months!! But the almost 3 weeks we spent apart (me here him in DC with his family) about did us in. Who knew I would be such a newly-wed?!?! It’s been quite embarrassing for me. Embarrassing is the wrong word, I just don’t know what word to use. I’m going to say something bad or plain stupid if I continue on this topic, so I’ll leave it at.
I love Ethiopia—I’m back and loving it. There were a few bumps in the road on the return, but they have been smoothed out and I’m back in the swing of things in Addis. I do love it here. It is beautiful, not like Utah, but still gorgeous. I have to get out of the city once in a while—Entoto is my favorite place. It’s a monestary on top of the highest peak surrounding Addis. I love it up there.
The Millenium celebration came and went. September 11th is New Years Day for them and their calendar is 7 years behind ours, so they just celebrated the coming of the year 2000. I hear it was quite a party—and they definitely spruced up the city for it. The colors of the Ethiopian flag or green, yellow, red (the colors often associated with Africa and Bob Marley). The whole city is decorated with colored lights, flags, banners, etc etc. Ethiopians have very strong national pride, and this was a HUGE deal for them. In fact, the celebration is just beginning, as they have parties scheduled all year long! Beyonce just played a concert here, but I boycotted on principle. She charged 2000 birr for one ticket!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That’s over 200 dollars and WELL over the average monthly income of a family of 5. Disturbing—like she needs the money. Grrr.
One thing that still amazes me about Addis is the construction. I know I have commented on it before, but I am still so shocked. From the World Bank office I can see 10 new buildings (at least 10 stories) being built. From UNICEF’s window, I can count 22!!!!!! I figured out you can pick ANY spot in the city, throw a pen in the air, walk the direction it points and you won’t make it 50 meters without hitting construction. It’s crazy. Cost of living is skyrocketing here in Addis—which annoys foreigners who liked the VERY low cost and essentially pushes more locals into poverty. It’s insane. The building is mostly good for Ethiopia, shows a good economy and international investment—which is good. This place will look so different in 5 years.
Just a few more thoughts and I’ll leave you. First—Henok and I have our first home!!! YEA! We found a place we can afford. B/c I am a foreigner, people think they can double the price. It’s so annoying. Not all foreigners have money!! Grrr. In fact, post the US trip Henok and I are on a major budget!!! But, b/c of me (his foreign wife) a lot is expected of Henok. People assume he has money and can help them, give them gifts, help their family, etc. Of course, if we could we would help everyone—but we can’t. It’s frustrating and hard. Back on topic, our home. It’s a small house. One bedroom, bath, kitchen, and living room we squished a table into. We have hot running water, in the bathroom and I learned just the other day if I pour hot water (like from just boiled pasta) down my sink in the kitchen the pipe explodes ALL OVER. It can’t handle lots of hot water at one time. Just need to pour slowly.
It’s a good home, probably not by any of your standards, but by mine it’s brilliant and it’s my OWN space. I had no idea how much I loved having my own space. Not just a room, but a house. I have been so happy.
Well, I have much more to say, but feel it will kill you—so I’ll hold off. Don’t forget to look up the YouTube videos!
Cheers,
jessica
First and foremost, the most often asked question I get is, Did Henok like the US? Well, the answer without a doubt is yes. AND, he experienced NO culture shock whatsoever. I had a harder time then him, with my reverse-culture shock. More proof the return is harder. He loved the US—hard not too with so much family there. There was one bit of ‘shock’ with the ‘country feel’ of my home town. Henok was not impressed with small town life. Remember, he is a city boy—born and raised in a city of about 4million!! Me, town of 3,000 (now 6,000 but I don’t want to talk about it). I ended up dragging poor Henok all over Mapleton saying things I swore only my father said like, “These houses weren’t here when I was a kid, this was all orchards.” He wasn’t too impressed. And, the clencher—we went to our cabin. My sister Lisa has a cabin up by Kamas. For our family it’s a GREAT vacation. We go summer, fall, winter, and spring. Love it. So of course Henok and I plan to go up there—he must see this BEAUTIFUL location and enjoy the quietness—and possibly see deer and a moose. Henok isn’t sure what I mean by Cabin, but is all for it. We pack up in a borrowed car and head up to the cabin. Quick stop in Heber of course at Granny’s for ice cream (FAMOUS hamburger joint in Heber City Utah with DELICIOUS ice cream shakes). Henok was not impressed and was put off by the size of the shakes (we got mini’s). Okay, still off to the cabin we go! We arrive, unlock everything, and I give him a tour. I plop down on a bench outside to look around—about 5 minutes goes by peacefully, then—“I’m bored. What do you do here?”
“We’re doing it. You just sit and relax. It’s so peaceful and beautiful,” I reply confused.
“It’s pretty, but it’s not beautiful. Is this all we are going to do for three days?!?” he asks with alarm in his voice.
“No, we can watch some videos, we can go on hikes, we can ride the four-wheeler, . . .” I’m cut-off by my husband who immediately wants his first ride on a four-wheeler (quad bike or ATV for some of you). Okay—we ride around for about 30 minutes. Then, he’s bored. We watch a movie, then he’s bored.
“Isn’t there a town we can go see? A restaurant to hang out in?” he implores.
“Um, no. We are the restaurant, that’s why I brought all those groceries. We cook our own food and eat here.”
“There is no where to go?!?!” he sounds desperate.
Well, Henok survived the weekend -- but in general did not find the cabin as fun as we ‘country’ folk do. I had no idea how country I was until I married an Ethiopian. Ironic. Most people in the world would not think it would go that way, but trust me the longer we live together the more I realize he is 100% city and I’m a country girl who has adjusted to city life, but still longs for country (and it’s not like I grew up in the sticks either. I mean, Mapleton, UT is hardly rural, but in comparison—it is). Henok found Utah in general ‘rural’ compared to Maryland and DC (the first places he saw in the US). It’s true, we aren’t as big, but I think SLC is a big city. But when his brother and mother came out from Maryland for the wedding – they were also shocked at how ‘small’ Utah was. I’m thinking—do you have any idea how much this place has grown in the past 20 years?!?! They are thinking, man this is a SMALL town (referring to SLC)!! wow. They of course all loved Utah b/c it is stunning (for those who have not been, truly you are missing out). The mountains reminded Henok’s mother of Ethiopia (it’s very mountainous, but more green then Utah). I’ve traveled on four continents and I must say, Utah is still one of the most beautiful places I have ever been.
Anyway—in case you still think I am making up this whole ‘I’m country he’s city,’ I have more proof. Henok announced he wanted to go to Vegas. At first I thought he was kidding. I personally LOATHE Vegas and avoid it like the plague. I don’t like drinking, drugs, prostitution, gambling, or shopping—which is about all Vegas has to offer. Finally I conceded and we looked around for Hotel deals. It’s been a good decade since I was in Vegas, so maybe things have changed—maybe. We found a good deal in the Stratosphere hotel, borrowed my sis’s car again and we were off. I wanted to stop at a few places on the way down, but Henok was keen to get to Vegas so we drove straight (we being me, as he can’t drive in the US and well, he slept). (FYI-abroad there are few places in America people have heard of. NYC, DC, California [not necessarily a particular city], and Las Vegas. These are the sites they want to see—they’ve heard about on movies, TV, etc. So we went. CSI Las Vegas plays in Ethiopia, so most people have heard of it). We arrived at lunch time and Henok was in love. He is still convinced Las Vegas is the most beautiful city he’s ever scene. I wanted to vomit. I said, it’s neon, fake gold, and well icky—he thought it was golden. He was so excited to walk the strip (I had explained the concept on the way down). We checked into our hotel and hit the road. Henok road his first roller coaster, which he wasn’t too fond of, and we went into almost every casino on the strip. Myself, I was shocked at the colossally large new Casinos since I was there. And, how much the city has been ‘sexed up.’ Not that Vegas wasn’t always obsessed with sex, but even things that used to be neutral are now rated R. Wow. We waited around for the pirate show and found out the pirates are gone, it’s now “sirens.” The longer we were on the street the more Henok realized Vegas wasn’t as cool as it is from first glance. In the end we had a good time—and for my sanity took in Cirque du Soleil, but other then that saw the sites. Henok still loves Vegas, but has decided he doesn’t like the people in it. As they come as a package, hopefully he won’t make me go back!!!
I was so shocked and annoyed at his love for the ‘beauty of Vegas’ I had to prove to him again, Utah is most beautiful. He was convinced Vegas was the most beautiful part of the US (I know disturbing). So, on our way back I decided we needed a trip through Zion National Park. And, just as I had planned—Henok was once again convinced Utah is most beautiful. Zion is just the closest park—I actually think Bryce is more beautiful, Canyon Lands, Arches, and Goblin valley too. So—with that in mind I knew I had converted him to the fact that Utah is the most beautiful state in the union. J
Some of you are wondering about the American Wedding. It went well—just a small ring ceremony for family and a few friends then a reception. There were a few crazy moments, but it went well. If you know how to use YouTube—search for Jessica Tilahun. You will see two videos compliments of my cousin Brian. They show you some of the ceremony and a surprise we had involving the cake. Trust me it’s worth your time.
I do have one regret from the US trip, McDonalds. I let my husband try Mcdonalds and to my surprise he became addicted. I mean ADDICTED. He absolutely LOVED it. Not just a little, but A LOT. It became a very disturbing point for me. I mean, I’m an RD, a nutritionist!! I don’t even want to know how many quarter pounders with cheese he ate. It was awful. Luckily, he isn’t quite American and many times couldn’t finish his sandwich and for sure never finished the fries. He did discover ‘super size’ but only b/c he wanted more Coke not more fries. Overall, it was bad—very very bad. He knows it annoys me so he brings up how much he misses McDonalds pretty much daily. I am truly concerned for his welfare (health). If we ever move to the US what will I do?!?!? Really—how did I marry a meat loving, veggie hating, McDonalds loving man!?!? Eeek. (on a slightly better note. My sister-in-law Keiko is an incredible cook. She made some tofu for a family party and Henok liked it. There is hope).
The return. Well—I ended up cutting my trip short to come back for a work opportunity. It is good in the long run, but just about killed Henok and I. I mean, we were apart while I was deported for 2 months!! But the almost 3 weeks we spent apart (me here him in DC with his family) about did us in. Who knew I would be such a newly-wed?!?! It’s been quite embarrassing for me. Embarrassing is the wrong word, I just don’t know what word to use. I’m going to say something bad or plain stupid if I continue on this topic, so I’ll leave it at.
I love Ethiopia—I’m back and loving it. There were a few bumps in the road on the return, but they have been smoothed out and I’m back in the swing of things in Addis. I do love it here. It is beautiful, not like Utah, but still gorgeous. I have to get out of the city once in a while—Entoto is my favorite place. It’s a monestary on top of the highest peak surrounding Addis. I love it up there.
The Millenium celebration came and went. September 11th is New Years Day for them and their calendar is 7 years behind ours, so they just celebrated the coming of the year 2000. I hear it was quite a party—and they definitely spruced up the city for it. The colors of the Ethiopian flag or green, yellow, red (the colors often associated with Africa and Bob Marley). The whole city is decorated with colored lights, flags, banners, etc etc. Ethiopians have very strong national pride, and this was a HUGE deal for them. In fact, the celebration is just beginning, as they have parties scheduled all year long! Beyonce just played a concert here, but I boycotted on principle. She charged 2000 birr for one ticket!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That’s over 200 dollars and WELL over the average monthly income of a family of 5. Disturbing—like she needs the money. Grrr.
One thing that still amazes me about Addis is the construction. I know I have commented on it before, but I am still so shocked. From the World Bank office I can see 10 new buildings (at least 10 stories) being built. From UNICEF’s window, I can count 22!!!!!! I figured out you can pick ANY spot in the city, throw a pen in the air, walk the direction it points and you won’t make it 50 meters without hitting construction. It’s crazy. Cost of living is skyrocketing here in Addis—which annoys foreigners who liked the VERY low cost and essentially pushes more locals into poverty. It’s insane. The building is mostly good for Ethiopia, shows a good economy and international investment—which is good. This place will look so different in 5 years.
Just a few more thoughts and I’ll leave you. First—Henok and I have our first home!!! YEA! We found a place we can afford. B/c I am a foreigner, people think they can double the price. It’s so annoying. Not all foreigners have money!! Grrr. In fact, post the US trip Henok and I are on a major budget!!! But, b/c of me (his foreign wife) a lot is expected of Henok. People assume he has money and can help them, give them gifts, help their family, etc. Of course, if we could we would help everyone—but we can’t. It’s frustrating and hard. Back on topic, our home. It’s a small house. One bedroom, bath, kitchen, and living room we squished a table into. We have hot running water, in the bathroom and I learned just the other day if I pour hot water (like from just boiled pasta) down my sink in the kitchen the pipe explodes ALL OVER. It can’t handle lots of hot water at one time. Just need to pour slowly.
It’s a good home, probably not by any of your standards, but by mine it’s brilliant and it’s my OWN space. I had no idea how much I loved having my own space. Not just a room, but a house. I have been so happy.
Well, I have much more to say, but feel it will kill you—so I’ll hold off. Don’t forget to look up the YouTube videos!
Cheers,
jessica
07 August 2007
Unbeleivable!!
I am livid. I am so angry, I can barely breathe. The type of anger where all your jaw and neck muscles are clenched, restricting your trachea. They type of anger you only feel when you have been 100% wronged and there is nothing you can do about it and there will be no peace. The type of anger an American, who is used to laws and regulations that work and protect her rights, feels when a complete injustice has been done and she must shrug her shoulders and walkaway. I first noticed situations of complete injustice, followed by silence and no action while in Moldova. It was one of the key things that turned me from anti-American to a patriotic Citizen. Seeing people be wronged, day in and day out, by neighbors or even the government and then NO ONE complaining a word or protesting. I realized at that time, I am an American through and through. If I see injustice, my tongue can not be silenced, and I am proud of the fact. There aren't many cultures that promote this type of speaking out. Most encourage silence or patience with issues, where in the US we are raised, taught, and shown by example, if you feel wronged let someone know about it. I realize it has gone a little over the top, people suing over useless matters, and I realize the US government also wrongs people, but at minimum there is someone to voice your concerns to. Here that is not the case, neither was it the case in Moldova.
So, what could make me so angry? So enraged? Extortion. I am being extorted (is that proper use of the word?). I know, it sounds devastating doesn't it. Whole movies are made around the plot of extortion and here I am facing it. Unfortunately, I have learned, this particular extortion is considered a business in Ethiopia. I will tell you the story, but want you to have some context, price context that is. So, one liter of milk is three birr, loaf of bread is two birr, dinner at the FANCIEST restaurant in town 300 birr (maybe 400 if you get the lobster flown in from the Red Sea), dinner at a local café 25 birr, dinner at the places my husband goes 8 birr, pizza at the only restaurant in town to serve pizza worthy of my palate 25 birr, ice cream cone from the ice cream truck 5 birr. So these numbers in mind—note I'm a nutritionist so they are all food based, the story goes as follows:
I needed my driver's license. My poor husband has to shuttle me everywhere, and when he drops me off at home we joke he is putting me in my cage. I can't use the public transport as I don't know Amharic. In the central locations of the city, some of the drivers might speak some English, but where I live, not a chance. Taxi's are TOO expensive, so I sit home. Tired of being dependent (and he tired of having a dependent), I have been in the process to get my drivers license. It's long and expensive—30 dollars to the US embassy to authenticate my US driver's license, then 300 birr to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to authenticate my authenticated license (I think they just want more money), then 70 birr to the Ministry of Transport and two very long days being sent from window to window getting stamps, signatures, etc. Our first day at the Ministry of Transport, we were told we could not park inside the compound (huge compound by the way, LOTS OF SPACE) we had to park on the road. We found a spot and went in. We emerged tired and cranky 5 hours later, half finished with this process. When we got to our car, there was something wrong. Nothing tragic—just the handle on our hatch back Toyota Corolla had been ripped off the car. It doesn't serve too important of a purpose, but the car now had a dirty rusty spot where it had once been. I am angry and stamp off to talk the police officer standing less then a block away from our car. Henok goes across the street to talk to the shoe shine boys to see what they say. The cop essentially laughs at me and sends me packing. This irritates me, but that is JUST the beginning. Henok returns and says we have to wait for a bit, if the boys find information they'll come over and we'll pay them for it.
"Excuse me? We'll pay who for what?" I question.
"The boys, they know who did it or did it themselves and they'll give us information on where to get it back if we pay them," he explains as if it's rational. Further irritated I sit in the car. The boys don't come to our rescue, and 30 minutes later we finally leave. Henok tells me he'll go to a car parts place, junkyard of sorts, and look for another one. I tell him no bother, it doesn't really have a function, but whatever makes him happy.
Fast forward two days, and Henok has visited the junkyard. They don't have the piece we need, but will see if they can locate one. Nice enough I think. Then, it happened. Today, as I worked away at my borrowed desk at UNICEF Henok got a call from the junkyard, they had located the part. He drove over there to see if it was the right part, and what do you know it was the EXACT right part (meaning, it was ours that had been stolen). At this point in the story (as he is telling me) I interrupt and tell him we need to call the police. He gives me an odd look and says, why—they can't help. He then asks me to guess the price they wanted for the part. Remember this is a piece of plastic (now damaged b/c when the ripped it off the car they left a chunk behind).
"um, 30 birr," I venture knowing it is probably a low estimate, but just hoping.
"Hmm, that's a nice price. But just a bit higher," my cute husband replies.
"Did they ask you 50 birr for that piece of plastic? I hope you didn't pay it? Why can't we call the freaking police?" I respond. Henok laughs and tells me the REAL price they asked. ONE THOUSAND BIRR!! That's right, 1,000 Birr. Can you BELIEVE IT?!? I bust up laughing—idiots. Henok of course refused to pay the price and said a few choice words to the man, which I can translate for you as insults here are animal names like monkey, donkey, and camel. I love it when someone tries to insult me, it's just so funny. So we are laughing about these losers, I am still pushing Henok to report it. He says nothing will happen, the keen American in me explains if no one complains, nothing will ever change. We should report the losers. He says he'll think about it. You are wondering, if I am laughing, how can I be so angry now? Because that isn't the end of the story.
So, we drive to Henok's school and he jumps out and I am about to drive off (with new license in hand). He opens the back door to grab his papers and freezes. He gets this look of confusion and anger on this face, I assume he forgot something important at home and ask what's up. He shuts the door and goes to the other side of the car and opens all the car doors looking into the car.
"Honey, what are you looking for? Did you lose something? Can I help you?"
"They screwed me again," he states in an eerily calm voice.
"Who screwed you? What happened?" then I see it, pieces of plastic missing from our back doors. The pieces of plastic that clip on around the frame to secure the carpet and other random bits. I am sure they have names, but I don't know. While Henok was arguing with the loser trying to charge us a kajillion birr for a stupid piece of plastic, his little minions had stolen MORE!! At this point I DEMAND we go to the police. Henok is too angry to bother responding to my stupid American request. Then, what do you know—his phone rings.
"Abet (what you say when you answer here). Cajfdoaj ksld;fjaj;lfkjajf…." That means a conversation in Amharic took place. He hangs up the phone, "That was them. They'll give us back the pieces (the second ones they stole) for 200 birr."
This is where I LOSE it, "WE ARE NOT PAYING THOSE LITTLE DEMONS ONE FREAKING CENT FOR OUR OWN PROPERTY!!!!!!!!!!! We are calling the police. They aren't even important pieces, I can't believe this is happening!!" The anger is rising in me. I am imagining a sting operation we could set up to catch the little devils. I could help the police, I'd lend them our video camera if they wanted.
"Jessica, you're right, they are small pieces. The police won't care and won't do anything, besides they can't," he says deflating my dreams of justice in just one moment.
"Fine. Do they want us to come now?"
"Yes, they are over at Mercato."
"I'm coming with you. At minimum I want to see their little faces, yell at someone, and maybe even kick someone. Can you slap people in this country?" I am getting a little bit of hope for resolution, b/c at minimum I can yell at the cronies.
"You can't come. I have to go alone, and it's not safe if you come," that's his polite way of saying, the American attitude won't help us here sister! I don't need you yelling at anyone or we'll get nothing back. After a few more minutes of arguing, he wins and I concede to return to work while he goes for the 'exchange.'
So, here I am sitting at my desk waiting for him to call me and tell me we got back the STUPID pieces and he didn't get beat up or anything. Not that there is a risk for that, just in my imagination I picture thugs with pipes or something. It's probably a guy in a suit. Waiting waiting, while my husband goes and pays our extortionists and I have to sit here and work on my nutrition report. Grrrrr.
He called—the deal is done, we have the pieces back (the second ones stolen, not the original) and he only paid 100 birr. Losers. I need to kick someone. Whoever crosses my path next will face the wrath, just a warning.
Okay—writing to you all actually makes me feel better—sharing your pain or some psychological theory of that sort. I am still irritated, and hope to cross paths with these losers some day when I have the upper hand, but chances are slim. However, one thing came up while writing this story I want to comment on—insults. As a rule, strangers can't insult me. There is nothing they can say that will hurt me. The only people with the opportunity to 'hurt' me are those who know me best and can state something specific. So, in public in the US, India, Moldova, or Ethiopia—whatever is yelled at me generally just entertains me. This is good for me, as you get things yelled at you all day every day when you live in foreign places. Henok gets more irritated then me, BY FAR—I'm usually just laughing. So, as I stated earlier insults here are animal names. When Henok exchanges 'words' with someone (usually a driver who cut us off), I ask him to translate.
"Well, I called him a monkey and he called me a donkey. So I called him a monkey again." I usually crack up laughing much to his annoyance, b/c he is feeling insulted for being called a donkey. After learning these things, I have taken to calling him a camel or donkey when he annoys me—it makes us both laugh.
Another form of 'insulting' is through body signals. In the US it's the middle finger, in other places it's the thumb, or other parts; here it is showing the bottom of your foot. Again, someone lifting there foot at me just makes me chuckle, but recently we had the BEST experience ever. We were driving along when some losers in a Toyota truck cut us off. Henok honked and called them Hyena's. They slowed down—not a smart thing to do with my husband at the wheel. Henok pulls along side and calls them Hyena's again and then it happened. Sitting in the passenger seat is a large (over weight) and in his mid-fifties. He wants to insult us in a non-verbal manner. If this were the states, we'd see his middle finger, but here in Ethiopia this man ACTUALLY attempts to lift his foot up to window level to show us the bottom. His face is red and strained, he is obviously in pain as he pulls on his leg forcing it to stretch where it's never been before, and I lose it laughing.
"Jess, that's an insult," Henok responds to my laughter stunned I'm not ready to take up arms.
"That guy is about to have a coronary b/c he is trying a yoga position only advanced people can do, and you want me to be insulted—I'm sorry, that's funny." He sees my point of view, is calmer now, but still feels offended. I am still laughing at that man's face a week later. So funny. I bet he pulled a muscle. He paid a higher price for the insult then us!! he He HE!
Okay—I really do have a lot of work to do. We (Henok and I) leave on Saturday and for the US trip and I have a TON to finish before I go as well as much to do on the trip. Unforutnely, I'm an adult now (really not a fan of this some days) and this will be a working trip for me. Luckily I love my work or we'd be in big trouble.
Cheers,
jessica
So, what could make me so angry? So enraged? Extortion. I am being extorted (is that proper use of the word?). I know, it sounds devastating doesn't it. Whole movies are made around the plot of extortion and here I am facing it. Unfortunately, I have learned, this particular extortion is considered a business in Ethiopia. I will tell you the story, but want you to have some context, price context that is. So, one liter of milk is three birr, loaf of bread is two birr, dinner at the FANCIEST restaurant in town 300 birr (maybe 400 if you get the lobster flown in from the Red Sea), dinner at a local café 25 birr, dinner at the places my husband goes 8 birr, pizza at the only restaurant in town to serve pizza worthy of my palate 25 birr, ice cream cone from the ice cream truck 5 birr. So these numbers in mind—note I'm a nutritionist so they are all food based, the story goes as follows:
I needed my driver's license. My poor husband has to shuttle me everywhere, and when he drops me off at home we joke he is putting me in my cage. I can't use the public transport as I don't know Amharic. In the central locations of the city, some of the drivers might speak some English, but where I live, not a chance. Taxi's are TOO expensive, so I sit home. Tired of being dependent (and he tired of having a dependent), I have been in the process to get my drivers license. It's long and expensive—30 dollars to the US embassy to authenticate my US driver's license, then 300 birr to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to authenticate my authenticated license (I think they just want more money), then 70 birr to the Ministry of Transport and two very long days being sent from window to window getting stamps, signatures, etc. Our first day at the Ministry of Transport, we were told we could not park inside the compound (huge compound by the way, LOTS OF SPACE) we had to park on the road. We found a spot and went in. We emerged tired and cranky 5 hours later, half finished with this process. When we got to our car, there was something wrong. Nothing tragic—just the handle on our hatch back Toyota Corolla had been ripped off the car. It doesn't serve too important of a purpose, but the car now had a dirty rusty spot where it had once been. I am angry and stamp off to talk the police officer standing less then a block away from our car. Henok goes across the street to talk to the shoe shine boys to see what they say. The cop essentially laughs at me and sends me packing. This irritates me, but that is JUST the beginning. Henok returns and says we have to wait for a bit, if the boys find information they'll come over and we'll pay them for it.
"Excuse me? We'll pay who for what?" I question.
"The boys, they know who did it or did it themselves and they'll give us information on where to get it back if we pay them," he explains as if it's rational. Further irritated I sit in the car. The boys don't come to our rescue, and 30 minutes later we finally leave. Henok tells me he'll go to a car parts place, junkyard of sorts, and look for another one. I tell him no bother, it doesn't really have a function, but whatever makes him happy.
Fast forward two days, and Henok has visited the junkyard. They don't have the piece we need, but will see if they can locate one. Nice enough I think. Then, it happened. Today, as I worked away at my borrowed desk at UNICEF Henok got a call from the junkyard, they had located the part. He drove over there to see if it was the right part, and what do you know it was the EXACT right part (meaning, it was ours that had been stolen). At this point in the story (as he is telling me) I interrupt and tell him we need to call the police. He gives me an odd look and says, why—they can't help. He then asks me to guess the price they wanted for the part. Remember this is a piece of plastic (now damaged b/c when the ripped it off the car they left a chunk behind).
"um, 30 birr," I venture knowing it is probably a low estimate, but just hoping.
"Hmm, that's a nice price. But just a bit higher," my cute husband replies.
"Did they ask you 50 birr for that piece of plastic? I hope you didn't pay it? Why can't we call the freaking police?" I respond. Henok laughs and tells me the REAL price they asked. ONE THOUSAND BIRR!! That's right, 1,000 Birr. Can you BELIEVE IT?!? I bust up laughing—idiots. Henok of course refused to pay the price and said a few choice words to the man, which I can translate for you as insults here are animal names like monkey, donkey, and camel. I love it when someone tries to insult me, it's just so funny. So we are laughing about these losers, I am still pushing Henok to report it. He says nothing will happen, the keen American in me explains if no one complains, nothing will ever change. We should report the losers. He says he'll think about it. You are wondering, if I am laughing, how can I be so angry now? Because that isn't the end of the story.
So, we drive to Henok's school and he jumps out and I am about to drive off (with new license in hand). He opens the back door to grab his papers and freezes. He gets this look of confusion and anger on this face, I assume he forgot something important at home and ask what's up. He shuts the door and goes to the other side of the car and opens all the car doors looking into the car.
"Honey, what are you looking for? Did you lose something? Can I help you?"
"They screwed me again," he states in an eerily calm voice.
"Who screwed you? What happened?" then I see it, pieces of plastic missing from our back doors. The pieces of plastic that clip on around the frame to secure the carpet and other random bits. I am sure they have names, but I don't know. While Henok was arguing with the loser trying to charge us a kajillion birr for a stupid piece of plastic, his little minions had stolen MORE!! At this point I DEMAND we go to the police. Henok is too angry to bother responding to my stupid American request. Then, what do you know—his phone rings.
"Abet (what you say when you answer here). Cajfdoaj ksld;fjaj;lfkjajf…." That means a conversation in Amharic took place. He hangs up the phone, "That was them. They'll give us back the pieces (the second ones they stole) for 200 birr."
This is where I LOSE it, "WE ARE NOT PAYING THOSE LITTLE DEMONS ONE FREAKING CENT FOR OUR OWN PROPERTY!!!!!!!!!!! We are calling the police. They aren't even important pieces, I can't believe this is happening!!" The anger is rising in me. I am imagining a sting operation we could set up to catch the little devils. I could help the police, I'd lend them our video camera if they wanted.
"Jessica, you're right, they are small pieces. The police won't care and won't do anything, besides they can't," he says deflating my dreams of justice in just one moment.
"Fine. Do they want us to come now?"
"Yes, they are over at Mercato."
"I'm coming with you. At minimum I want to see their little faces, yell at someone, and maybe even kick someone. Can you slap people in this country?" I am getting a little bit of hope for resolution, b/c at minimum I can yell at the cronies.
"You can't come. I have to go alone, and it's not safe if you come," that's his polite way of saying, the American attitude won't help us here sister! I don't need you yelling at anyone or we'll get nothing back. After a few more minutes of arguing, he wins and I concede to return to work while he goes for the 'exchange.'
So, here I am sitting at my desk waiting for him to call me and tell me we got back the STUPID pieces and he didn't get beat up or anything. Not that there is a risk for that, just in my imagination I picture thugs with pipes or something. It's probably a guy in a suit. Waiting waiting, while my husband goes and pays our extortionists and I have to sit here and work on my nutrition report. Grrrrr.
He called—the deal is done, we have the pieces back (the second ones stolen, not the original) and he only paid 100 birr. Losers. I need to kick someone. Whoever crosses my path next will face the wrath, just a warning.
Okay—writing to you all actually makes me feel better—sharing your pain or some psychological theory of that sort. I am still irritated, and hope to cross paths with these losers some day when I have the upper hand, but chances are slim. However, one thing came up while writing this story I want to comment on—insults. As a rule, strangers can't insult me. There is nothing they can say that will hurt me. The only people with the opportunity to 'hurt' me are those who know me best and can state something specific. So, in public in the US, India, Moldova, or Ethiopia—whatever is yelled at me generally just entertains me. This is good for me, as you get things yelled at you all day every day when you live in foreign places. Henok gets more irritated then me, BY FAR—I'm usually just laughing. So, as I stated earlier insults here are animal names. When Henok exchanges 'words' with someone (usually a driver who cut us off), I ask him to translate.
"Well, I called him a monkey and he called me a donkey. So I called him a monkey again." I usually crack up laughing much to his annoyance, b/c he is feeling insulted for being called a donkey. After learning these things, I have taken to calling him a camel or donkey when he annoys me—it makes us both laugh.
Another form of 'insulting' is through body signals. In the US it's the middle finger, in other places it's the thumb, or other parts; here it is showing the bottom of your foot. Again, someone lifting there foot at me just makes me chuckle, but recently we had the BEST experience ever. We were driving along when some losers in a Toyota truck cut us off. Henok honked and called them Hyena's. They slowed down—not a smart thing to do with my husband at the wheel. Henok pulls along side and calls them Hyena's again and then it happened. Sitting in the passenger seat is a large (over weight) and in his mid-fifties. He wants to insult us in a non-verbal manner. If this were the states, we'd see his middle finger, but here in Ethiopia this man ACTUALLY attempts to lift his foot up to window level to show us the bottom. His face is red and strained, he is obviously in pain as he pulls on his leg forcing it to stretch where it's never been before, and I lose it laughing.
"Jess, that's an insult," Henok responds to my laughter stunned I'm not ready to take up arms.
"That guy is about to have a coronary b/c he is trying a yoga position only advanced people can do, and you want me to be insulted—I'm sorry, that's funny." He sees my point of view, is calmer now, but still feels offended. I am still laughing at that man's face a week later. So funny. I bet he pulled a muscle. He paid a higher price for the insult then us!! he He HE!
Okay—I really do have a lot of work to do. We (Henok and I) leave on Saturday and for the US trip and I have a TON to finish before I go as well as much to do on the trip. Unforutnely, I'm an adult now (really not a fan of this some days) and this will be a working trip for me. Luckily I love my work or we'd be in big trouble.
Cheers,
jessica
16 May 2007
A short one!
Life is going well working for the World Bank. It’s quite a switch, but a nice vacation I suppose. It’s not a vacation for my mind, as the work is challenging, rather for my body. They have put me in the Hilton—the only place in this town with high speed internet. As I’m not really a World Bank employee, I can’t have access to their computer system. So, it’s easiest for me to work from the Hilton on my own laptop. It’s not so rough. J However, before you think it’s all fun, you should know I have officially gotten food poisoning twice in Hilton restaurants!!! I’m writing a letter to Paris (daughter of the son of the creator of Hilton, or something like that. A rich brat who lives off Hilton money). Which, she might not care as she is about to go to Jail—in my humble opinion it is a cold slap of reality she desperately needs. Paris Hilton is one of the most disturbing examples of what America can produce. I love America, don’t get me wrong—but it can produce Paris Hiltons. Eek.
The Hilton is interesting. I sit in my room all day staring at a laptop. To keep from going crazy, I’ll leave my room for lunch and dinner and go down to the lobby. I could order in, and have when I’ve been deep in something—but it’s best for me if I leave the room. When the elevator doors open to the lobby I am hit every time by culture shock. It is always loud, it’s a big place and lots of people are here. There are mostly ferenji’s (white folk), but often people from every African country. Last week there was some type of African meeting and there were delegates from ALL African countries in the Hilton. They were all dressed in their national traditional dress—going to the lobby was like visiting the UN. It was crazy. The one phenomenon I was not prepared for were the adoptees. Apparently, for most of the Ethiopian Adoption agencies, the Hilton is where they put their couples. So, EVERYWHERE you see couples (with big smiles generally) walking around with brand new diaper bags, and fancy baby holder things that strap to their backs. I can tell their brand new as there is not one stain on them; that will come with time. The babies are generally 2 to 6 months and GORGEOUS! They travel in crowds. I think they come in a group, go to the orphanages in groups, and fly back in groups—so they become good friends. It’s an interesting thing to watch. Sometimes you’ll see families there are obviously back for a second or third time as they will have their older children, previously adopted, with them. As I’m what my industry calls a ‘baby holder,’ I want to go up to all of them and ask to hold them, but as of yet I haven’t.
Henok and I are getting along. We are working on getting him proper documents so he can prove who he is to the American Embassy. We plan to marry here in Ethiopia and then come to the US in August for a wedding and reception there. As you can assume, its’ not the ideal situation, as my family can’t come here—but it’s the reality of falling for a Habesha (Ethiopian). Hopefully all my paperwork will be worked out by the time my World Bank job ends, so I can just go back to GOAL and not be deported again!!! That would not be good. Fingers crossed everyone!
One last thing to say—then I’ll be off. I know, this is a short one! I can officially certify today I saw my very first African mullet!!!! For those of you unaware, the mullet is a particular hair style. It is generally on men, but can be seen on women. I think it became popular in the 1980’s, but died out quickly. It still has a following however—and some of us enjoy following them. There was a website at one point in time called www.mullet.com, not sure if it still is up. If it is—give it a go! Anyway—so the African spin on the mullet (which I unfortunately DID NOT get a picture of, so sad)—the African mullet is short on top (a key ingredient to mullets) with LONG (like 10-15 inches) dreads on the side. Nice, very nice. It made my day anyway.
I hope you are all well! I need to return to my work—cheers.
Jessica
The Hilton is interesting. I sit in my room all day staring at a laptop. To keep from going crazy, I’ll leave my room for lunch and dinner and go down to the lobby. I could order in, and have when I’ve been deep in something—but it’s best for me if I leave the room. When the elevator doors open to the lobby I am hit every time by culture shock. It is always loud, it’s a big place and lots of people are here. There are mostly ferenji’s (white folk), but often people from every African country. Last week there was some type of African meeting and there were delegates from ALL African countries in the Hilton. They were all dressed in their national traditional dress—going to the lobby was like visiting the UN. It was crazy. The one phenomenon I was not prepared for were the adoptees. Apparently, for most of the Ethiopian Adoption agencies, the Hilton is where they put their couples. So, EVERYWHERE you see couples (with big smiles generally) walking around with brand new diaper bags, and fancy baby holder things that strap to their backs. I can tell their brand new as there is not one stain on them; that will come with time. The babies are generally 2 to 6 months and GORGEOUS! They travel in crowds. I think they come in a group, go to the orphanages in groups, and fly back in groups—so they become good friends. It’s an interesting thing to watch. Sometimes you’ll see families there are obviously back for a second or third time as they will have their older children, previously adopted, with them. As I’m what my industry calls a ‘baby holder,’ I want to go up to all of them and ask to hold them, but as of yet I haven’t.
Henok and I are getting along. We are working on getting him proper documents so he can prove who he is to the American Embassy. We plan to marry here in Ethiopia and then come to the US in August for a wedding and reception there. As you can assume, its’ not the ideal situation, as my family can’t come here—but it’s the reality of falling for a Habesha (Ethiopian). Hopefully all my paperwork will be worked out by the time my World Bank job ends, so I can just go back to GOAL and not be deported again!!! That would not be good. Fingers crossed everyone!
One last thing to say—then I’ll be off. I know, this is a short one! I can officially certify today I saw my very first African mullet!!!! For those of you unaware, the mullet is a particular hair style. It is generally on men, but can be seen on women. I think it became popular in the 1980’s, but died out quickly. It still has a following however—and some of us enjoy following them. There was a website at one point in time called www.mullet.com, not sure if it still is up. If it is—give it a go! Anyway—so the African spin on the mullet (which I unfortunately DID NOT get a picture of, so sad)—the African mullet is short on top (a key ingredient to mullets) with LONG (like 10-15 inches) dreads on the side. Nice, very nice. It made my day anyway.
I hope you are all well! I need to return to my work—cheers.
Jessica
03 May 2007
BIG Update
I know, it’s been a long long time, again. I don’t know where the time goes. Suddenly, it’s May. How did that happen? For you parents out there you are also wondering, how did the school year pass so quickly? Enjoy your last days of freedom. For you students (old and young) just a bit more to hang on and you are finished.
A lot has happened to me since I last wrote. I went to Kurmuk, South Sudan for a few weeks. I was there to help do a nutrition survey. Kurmuk is one of the contested areas of South Sudan. It has an identity problem; both governments (north and south) feel it is theirs. The people are divided, as it is about 50-50 Muslim Christian. During the war years, it was a heavily contested area which equalled a lot
of fighting. There are few structures left in this area just on the Ethiopian border. In fact, from the compound I stayed in it was 2 kilometres to Ethiopia. So close, yet so far away! Samaritans Purse (a Christian NGO as you can guess) had taken over the school in the town (not rural areas). I took many pictures of the school, because it amazed me(you can see one). Entire walls were missing from classrooms still being used and there were holes in the corrugated iron roofs from shrapnel where rain poured in during the storms. But, the kids desperate to learn, showed up everyday. Everyday.
The people were great—the place great—the weather hot. That’s a common theme in Sudan, hot. Granted, I have only been there during dry season. There were a few rainstorms, but nothing like what happens in rainy season. When the rains come, the entire place practically shuts down. There is no pavement, only sticky clay. The roads become impassable for all vehicles except ATVs (4-wheeler or quad bikes) and tractors. Land Rovers and Land Cruisers are parked for the season. We had 2 storms while I was there, and in just those 2 storms life became A LOT more difficult. Just walking from your tukul to the outhouse was a chore. By the time you go there, you were 2 inches taller b/c of the caked mud on the bottom of your shoes. I of course had the great pleasure of getting Giardia while there, and made many many muddy trips to the outhouse. But, I am better now, no more amoebas—just me.
One thing you would not expect in this area is the lack of cooperation of communities in getting land mines removed. The area is HEAVILY mined. There are very few roads that are passable, due to safety concerns. It takes a very long time to de-mine areas, and even longer when the community doesn’t help. Why wouldn’t they help? You ask. Simple, they want the mines there. In South Sudan you don’t talk about ‘if’ the war with the north will start again, you speculate on when. There is no doubt in anyone’s minds the war will start again; it’s just a matter of time. One year, or will they make it all the way to the proposed elections. At that time, they are to vote if they want to become part of Sudan or their own independent country of South Sudan. Long story short, they will vote for independence and the North will not let them go and the fighting will begin again. The land mines were placed in particular areas to protect villages from oncoming armies. The communities know where they are, their children know where they are, they don’t go there. For those of you who know something about land mines you know they shift in the ground over time. So, you can’t be sure where they are as the years go on. The people know this and are willing to take a risk with the possibility someone could come upon a mine that shifted in face of the reality that the war will start again. Can you imagine making that decision?
Most of the people fled during the war years. My translator, who was 33, left Sudan in 1987 and returned in 2007. That’s 20 years of his life he spent in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. TWENTY YEARS. Can you imagine? They, those who fled to Ethiopia, learned Amharic and Oromifa (Ethiopian languages spoken just across the border) and learned to like Ethiopian food. Most of the children you see were born and raised in Ethiopian refugee camps. These kids mostly know Amharic, not Arabic like their parents. It caught me off guard to hear them speaking something I could understand (relatively to Arabic). They were so cute. Kurmuk is FULL of kids. Many of the tribes were practically exterminated during the war, and it’s like the baby boom in the states post WWII. One particular tribe, the Urduks, is making great effort to have as many children as possible back to back to replenish their tribe. They had been heavily targeted during the war. They are Christian and believe in polygamy. We would come upon households with 57 people. Husband, 6 wives, and all their kids! The people are so happy right now. They have nothing, there is nothing left of their home, but they are so happy to be there, to be having babies, to not have to worry about air raids, to just be living. It’s a hard existence, but they are getting assistance from many NGOs and the UN.
Well, we finished up our survey. The levels of malnutrition were low, as most of them have just come from refugee camps where they were fed well (relatively). However, the mortality rate (death rate) among children was very high and mainly due to diarrhoea. Time and again I came upon families who had lost children under the age of 5 to diarrhoea in the previous 3 months. How pathetic is that? How frightening that the bulk of their children were dying from something as simple as dirty water. Other causes of death in the area, malaria and respiratory infections. Those are three of the NUMBER ONE killers in the world of children under five. For those of you living in the states does it strike you as odd? It should—children dying from such EASILY preventable diseases that are not only easy to prevent but to treat. The number one killers in the world are diarrhoea, respiratory infections, measles, and malaria. You are wondering as a nutritionist how do I fit in to all this? Well, 57% of the deaths are exacerbated or originally caused by malnutrition. When you are malnourished your immune system is weaker and you are more likely to get sick; when you get sick you eat less and absorb less of what you do eat, leading to worsening malnutrition. As your nutritional status decreases, your symptoms become worse and you may gain another disease—possibly diarrhoea on top of your malaria. It’s a vicious cycle that kills children every day world wide. This is what I work to combat. It’s far more difficult then you would think. But, that’s a discussion for another day.
Well, up to the present—much to say. Most of you probably know that I am ENGAGED!! I know, big switch in topics. But, I need to finish up here and get to work, so had to move right along. I am engaged to an Ethiopian named Henok. He is GREAT and I hope all of you can meet him some day. He is one of those people whose soul is so beautiful it’s all you can see when you meet them. Their energy is overwhelming and they touch everyone they meet. He is incredible. We are in the middle of the pounds of paperwork required to marry a non-US citizen. It’s annoyingly difficult. And, if you are wondering, I am back in Ethiopia!!! No, GOAL hasn’t gotten back in; rather I took time off from GOAL and took a temporary position at the World Bank. So, I am here for the month of May working with them, then back to GOAL. Hopefully by the end of May my paperwork will be sorted out, so I can just start work again instead of returning to Kenya. But, we shall see. Right now so much of my life is in the hands of other people. Where I live, where I work, when I marry, where I marry, how I marry, how I get around town, what I eat for my meals, etc. All these things are not in my control right now—rather my employer and/or the US or Ethiopian Government. It’s not a good feeling, but its life I suppose. I just have to roll with it for now.
Okay--- I need to run. Here is a picture of Henok and I. It is NOT a good picture of us, really; but it’s all I got for now. I hope you are all well—
jess
A lot has happened to me since I last wrote. I went to Kurmuk, South Sudan for a few weeks. I was there to help do a nutrition survey. Kurmuk is one of the contested areas of South Sudan. It has an identity problem; both governments (north and south) feel it is theirs. The people are divided, as it is about 50-50 Muslim Christian. During the war years, it was a heavily contested area which equalled a lot
of fighting. There are few structures left in this area just on the Ethiopian border. In fact, from the compound I stayed in it was 2 kilometres to Ethiopia. So close, yet so far away! Samaritans Purse (a Christian NGO as you can guess) had taken over the school in the town (not rural areas). I took many pictures of the school, because it amazed me(you can see one). Entire walls were missing from classrooms still being used and there were holes in the corrugated iron roofs from shrapnel where rain poured in during the storms. But, the kids desperate to learn, showed up everyday. Everyday.The people were great—the place great—the weather hot. That’s a common theme in Sudan, hot. Granted, I have only been there during dry season. There were a few rainstorms, but nothing like what happens in rainy season. When the rains come, the entire place practically shuts down. There is no pavement, only sticky clay. The roads become impassable for all vehicles except ATVs (4-wheeler or quad bikes) and tractors. Land Rovers and Land Cruisers are parked for the season. We had 2 storms while I was there, and in just those 2 storms life became A LOT more difficult. Just walking from your tukul to the outhouse was a chore. By the time you go there, you were 2 inches taller b/c of the caked mud on the bottom of your shoes. I of course had the great pleasure of getting Giardia while there, and made many many muddy trips to the outhouse. But, I am better now, no more amoebas—just me.
One thing you would not expect in this area is the lack of cooperation of communities in getting land mines removed. The area is HEAVILY mined. There are very few roads that are passable, due to safety concerns. It takes a very long time to de-mine areas, and even longer when the community doesn’t help. Why wouldn’t they help? You ask. Simple, they want the mines there. In South Sudan you don’t talk about ‘if’ the war with the north will start again, you speculate on when. There is no doubt in anyone’s minds the war will start again; it’s just a matter of time. One year, or will they make it all the way to the proposed elections. At that time, they are to vote if they want to become part of Sudan or their own independent country of South Sudan. Long story short, they will vote for independence and the North will not let them go and the fighting will begin again. The land mines were placed in particular areas to protect villages from oncoming armies. The communities know where they are, their children know where they are, they don’t go there. For those of you who know something about land mines you know they shift in the ground over time. So, you can’t be sure where they are as the years go on. The people know this and are willing to take a risk with the possibility someone could come upon a mine that shifted in face of the reality that the war will start again. Can you imagine making that decision?
Most of the people fled during the war years. My translator, who was 33, left Sudan in 1987 and returned in 2007. That’s 20 years of his life he spent in a refugee camp in Ethiopia. TWENTY YEARS. Can you imagine? They, those who fled to Ethiopia, learned Amharic and Oromifa (Ethiopian languages spoken just across the border) and learned to like Ethiopian food. Most of the children you see were born and raised in Ethiopian refugee camps. These kids mostly know Amharic, not Arabic like their parents. It caught me off guard to hear them speaking something I could understand (relatively to Arabic). They were so cute. Kurmuk is FULL of kids. Many of the tribes were practically exterminated during the war, and it’s like the baby boom in the states post WWII. One particular tribe, the Urduks, is making great effort to have as many children as possible back to back to replenish their tribe. They had been heavily targeted during the war. They are Christian and believe in polygamy. We would come upon households with 57 people. Husband, 6 wives, and all their kids! The people are so happy right now. They have nothing, there is nothing left of their home, but they are so happy to be there, to be having babies, to not have to worry about air raids, to just be living. It’s a hard existence, but they are getting assistance from many NGOs and the UN.
Well, we finished up our survey. The levels of malnutrition were low, as most of them have just come from refugee camps where they were fed well (relatively). However, the mortality rate (death rate) among children was very high and mainly due to diarrhoea. Time and again I came upon families who had lost children under the age of 5 to diarrhoea in the previous 3 months. How pathetic is that? How frightening that the bulk of their children were dying from something as simple as dirty water. Other causes of death in the area, malaria and respiratory infections. Those are three of the NUMBER ONE killers in the world of children under five. For those of you living in the states does it strike you as odd? It should—children dying from such EASILY preventable diseases that are not only easy to prevent but to treat. The number one killers in the world are diarrhoea, respiratory infections, measles, and malaria. You are wondering as a nutritionist how do I fit in to all this? Well, 57% of the deaths are exacerbated or originally caused by malnutrition. When you are malnourished your immune system is weaker and you are more likely to get sick; when you get sick you eat less and absorb less of what you do eat, leading to worsening malnutrition. As your nutritional status decreases, your symptoms become worse and you may gain another disease—possibly diarrhoea on top of your malaria. It’s a vicious cycle that kills children every day world wide. This is what I work to combat. It’s far more difficult then you would think. But, that’s a discussion for another day.
Well, up to the present—much to say. Most of you probably know that I am ENGAGED!! I know, big switch in topics. But, I need to finish up here and get to work, so had to move right along. I am engaged to an Ethiopian named Henok. He is GREAT and I hope all of you can meet him some day. He is one of those people whose soul is so beautiful it’s all you can see when you meet them. Their energy is overwhelming and they touch everyone they meet. He is incredible. We are in the middle of the pounds of paperwork required to marry a non-US citizen. It’s annoyingly difficult. And, if you are wondering, I am back in Ethiopia!!! No, GOAL hasn’t gotten back in; rather I took time off from GOAL and took a temporary position at the World Bank. So, I am here for the month of May working with them, then back to GOAL. Hopefully by the end of May my paperwork will be sorted out, so I can just start work again instead of returning to Kenya. But, we shall see. Right now so much of my life is in the hands of other people. Where I live, where I work, when I marry, where I marry, how I marry, how I get around town, what I eat for my meals, etc. All these things are not in my control right now—rather my employer and/or the US or Ethiopian Government. It’s not a good feeling, but its life I suppose. I just have to roll with it for now.
Okay--- I need to run. Here is a picture of Henok and I. It is NOT a good picture of us, really; but it’s all I got for now. I hope you are all well—
jess
05 April 2007
Quickie!
Jambo!!
How is everyone? I hope well as most of you are experiencing the first signs of Spring. I am jealous, as Spring is my favourite season. It’s gorgeous and to be honest, there are fewer bugs! J
This will be short, really. Not much going on over here, still in Nairobi. I go to work, sit at a desk and read, edit, and write reports, then I go home. Hence, the short email. But, I wanted to let you all know I’m off to South Sudan. I’ll be spending about 2 weeks in Kurmuk (Southern Blue Nile Valley). It’s VERY hot there now, upper 40’s (Celsius). I am sure I’ll let you know exactly how bad it is!!! I will be helping with a ‘MICS.’ In life, and I feel especially in my field, it’s all about the acronyms. You can write entire paragraphs with JUST acronyms. There are acronyms for practically everything. In this case, MICS is a Multi-Indicator Cluster Survey. Just another way to say what I do—surveys of health, nutrition, and food security. It will be a good time as 2 of my former comrades from Ethiopia have moved to new jobs there. It will be a great reunion.
Just one thing before I go, told you this would be short—I am officially addicted to street corn. That sounds bad, but it is OHH so good. There are vendors everywhere with little charcoal stoves. They roast the corn over the charcoals then roll it in a mix of spices. The spices I am unsure of, but I know it includes salt and red pepper. They top it off with some fresh lime!!!!!!!!!!! Oh man, it is heaven. Absolute heaven. When I return to Ethiopia, I will definitely miss that!
Okay—wishing you all a beautiful week!
Jessica
How is everyone? I hope well as most of you are experiencing the first signs of Spring. I am jealous, as Spring is my favourite season. It’s gorgeous and to be honest, there are fewer bugs! J
This will be short, really. Not much going on over here, still in Nairobi. I go to work, sit at a desk and read, edit, and write reports, then I go home. Hence, the short email. But, I wanted to let you all know I’m off to South Sudan. I’ll be spending about 2 weeks in Kurmuk (Southern Blue Nile Valley). It’s VERY hot there now, upper 40’s (Celsius). I am sure I’ll let you know exactly how bad it is!!! I will be helping with a ‘MICS.’ In life, and I feel especially in my field, it’s all about the acronyms. You can write entire paragraphs with JUST acronyms. There are acronyms for practically everything. In this case, MICS is a Multi-Indicator Cluster Survey. Just another way to say what I do—surveys of health, nutrition, and food security. It will be a good time as 2 of my former comrades from Ethiopia have moved to new jobs there. It will be a great reunion.
Just one thing before I go, told you this would be short—I am officially addicted to street corn. That sounds bad, but it is OHH so good. There are vendors everywhere with little charcoal stoves. They roast the corn over the charcoals then roll it in a mix of spices. The spices I am unsure of, but I know it includes salt and red pepper. They top it off with some fresh lime!!!!!!!!!!! Oh man, it is heaven. Absolute heaven. When I return to Ethiopia, I will definitely miss that!
Okay—wishing you all a beautiful week!
Jessica
28 March 2007
Updates on Nairobi
Life has gotten chilly here in Nairobi. Well, chilly for us. This is my very first time on the southern hemisphere (across the equator). And, I am embarrassed to admit I have learned that whole ‘which way the water drains’ thing is true. I had thought it was a myth at one point, but it’s true. That is actually how I realized I had crossed the equator. I know, dense; but it was so rushed the move and all I didn’t really think about it. Then, while watching the bath drain I was confused for a moment because it didn’t seem ‘right.’ Then, it hit me. Crossing the equator not only affects drains, but seasons. So as you warm up heading into Spring, we are heading into Fall, and it’s getting cooler. Granted, it doesn’t get as cool here as where most of you are—but it is getting cooler. Some people actually wore socks today!
I have come to a realization as to why I don’t necessarily like being in Nairobi or the fact that it just doesn’t feel ‘right.’ Aside from the obvious, e.g. I was deported with little notice and loved Ethiopia, something else bothers me about Nairobi. I’ve been trying to figure it out. It’s not like it’s a bad town, and I’ve lived in cities before. Never one quite this big, but it’s not like I see much of it anyway. So what is it that bothers me? The answer, the lack of sacrifice. I know that sounds crazy, and possibly is—but I am used to sacrifice. When I have a job, and am working somewhere, part of that job is the sacrifice of where you live. You have to give up ‘comforts’ and things you are used to. You give up foods you like, choice in diet, drinking water from the tap, flushing toilets, nice showers, sleeping in comfortable beds, understanding conversation around you, a social life, etc etc. It depends on where you are, but you are always sacrificing. However, here in Nairobi there is no sacrifice needed. In fact, I guarantee whatever lifestyle you are leading where you are, you can do it here. There are movie theatres with the latest releases, grocery stores with everything, DVD/Video rental stores, gyms, spas, and most everything is in English. There are people like you (e.g. other Americans, not just other foreigners but other Americans). You could live in Nairobi for 20 years and really never know you were ‘in Africa,’ as we all picture it. Everything you could need or want is here. You would only realize you weren’t in the US when you had to call home for fly home. That’s it. But, everyone uses Skype or other programmes like that so it’s cheap to call.
So, basically, because I don’t have to sacrifice anything right now, I don’t feel like I am really working. They go hand in hand in my world; if you are doing a job you love you are sacrificing other things you love. To be here, in Nairobi, where I don’t have to sacrifice a thing, it’s just weird. Once I realized this is what was tripping me up, I have grown a bit more accustom to my surroundings, but it does still feel ‘wrong’ somehow. I realize this is short term for me, and soon enough I’ll be back in Ethiopia where sacrifices are needed, part and parcel of daily life, so I am trying to enjoy it now, not run from it. It was almost like a form of culture shock to come here, but I was not expecting it. Nairobi is like any major city in the US. You won’t find exactly the same brands, and no baseball games, but as far as daily life, everything is available for you.
Lastly, I want to comment on a comment. On my blog a man named Kraig commented on the article I wrote on Twic. However he wanted to know where Twic was in South Sudan. To be honest, I didn’t know—but after consulting with one of our health staff, I have learned the following. Twic is in Warrap or Bargh-el-Ghazal. I doubt that helps many of you, but this goes out to those who know a bit about South Sudan.
On a side note, I went to Kraigs blog and it’s brilliant. Check it out newseedofsudan.wordpress.com
Okay—hope you can see the pictures of Lempaute. Enjoy your day,
jessica
I have come to a realization as to why I don’t necessarily like being in Nairobi or the fact that it just doesn’t feel ‘right.’ Aside from the obvious, e.g. I was deported with little notice and loved Ethiopia, something else bothers me about Nairobi. I’ve been trying to figure it out. It’s not like it’s a bad town, and I’ve lived in cities before. Never one quite this big, but it’s not like I see much of it anyway. So what is it that bothers me? The answer, the lack of sacrifice. I know that sounds crazy, and possibly is—but I am used to sacrifice. When I have a job, and am working somewhere, part of that job is the sacrifice of where you live. You have to give up ‘comforts’ and things you are used to. You give up foods you like, choice in diet, drinking water from the tap, flushing toilets, nice showers, sleeping in comfortable beds, understanding conversation around you, a social life, etc etc. It depends on where you are, but you are always sacrificing. However, here in Nairobi there is no sacrifice needed. In fact, I guarantee whatever lifestyle you are leading where you are, you can do it here. There are movie theatres with the latest releases, grocery stores with everything, DVD/Video rental stores, gyms, spas, and most everything is in English. There are people like you (e.g. other Americans, not just other foreigners but other Americans). You could live in Nairobi for 20 years and really never know you were ‘in Africa,’ as we all picture it. Everything you could need or want is here. You would only realize you weren’t in the US when you had to call home for fly home. That’s it. But, everyone uses Skype or other programmes like that so it’s cheap to call.
So, basically, because I don’t have to sacrifice anything right now, I don’t feel like I am really working. They go hand in hand in my world; if you are doing a job you love you are sacrificing other things you love. To be here, in Nairobi, where I don’t have to sacrifice a thing, it’s just weird. Once I realized this is what was tripping me up, I have grown a bit more accustom to my surroundings, but it does still feel ‘wrong’ somehow. I realize this is short term for me, and soon enough I’ll be back in Ethiopia where sacrifices are needed, part and parcel of daily life, so I am trying to enjoy it now, not run from it. It was almost like a form of culture shock to come here, but I was not expecting it. Nairobi is like any major city in the US. You won’t find exactly the same brands, and no baseball games, but as far as daily life, everything is available for you.
Lastly, I want to comment on a comment. On my blog a man named Kraig commented on the article I wrote on Twic. However he wanted to know where Twic was in South Sudan. To be honest, I didn’t know—but after consulting with one of our health staff, I have learned the following. Twic is in Warrap or Bargh-el-Ghazal. I doubt that helps many of you, but this goes out to those who know a bit about South Sudan.
On a side note, I went to Kraigs blog and it’s brilliant. Check it out newseedofsudan.wordpress.com
Okay—hope you can see the pictures of Lempaute. Enjoy your day,
jessica
Adopted Elephant!
Shockingly enough, only one person pointed out i neglected to tell you the name of my cute elephant. Possibly the rest of you thought she had no name, but--you are wrong. They are all named. My little girl is Lempaute. She is named after the place where she was found. Below is a link to see some extraordinarily cute pictures of her. It's a link b/c my blog was having major issues loading photos, so i put them in "FaceBook." Anyway--just click on the link and you should see the pictures. Or, if it doesn't work you can copy and paste it into your browser--that should work.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10885&l=c32b9&id=852470550
If this doesn't work, SOMEONE let me know--okay?
Ciao,
jessica
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=10885&l=c32b9&id=852470550
If this doesn't work, SOMEONE let me know--okay?
Ciao,
jessica
27 March 2007
Finally, Some Photos
These first photos are from Twic, South Sudan. This first photo is our compound. The Tukul closest to the tree was mine. Very exciting. You can see the brick paths, during the rainy season everything surrounding those turns to mud, so you can only walk on the paths. This was of course dry season. 
The second photo is of our showers. You can see the guy filling them up. The yellow can caries 20 litres of water. He has five of them he fills up at the water pump, and puts in a wheel barrow. He then wheels them to the shower, about 500 yards, climbs a latter with them to be on top of this showers and fills the tank. Each black tank holds 420 litres, thus 5 trips per tank. He has to fill them more then once per day!!!!! The water is used for showering as well as laundry and random other things. Watching him work you REALLY appreciate your shower.
This last photo is of a woman and child at the airstrip. Notice the scarring on her face, it's absolutely gorgeous. Her child was sick, and she wanted us to treat her. We sent them to the GOAL clinic.
The second photo is of our showers. You can see the guy filling them up. The yellow can caries 20 litres of water. He has five of them he fills up at the water pump, and puts in a wheel barrow. He then wheels them to the shower, about 500 yards, climbs a latter with them to be on top of this showers and fills the tank. Each black tank holds 420 litres, thus 5 trips per tank. He has to fill them more then once per day!!!!! The water is used for showering as well as laundry and random other things. Watching him work you REALLY appreciate your shower. This last photo is of a woman and child at the airstrip. Notice the scarring on her face, it's absolutely gorgeous. Her child was sick, and she wanted us to treat her. We sent them to the GOAL clinic.
23 March 2007
Elephants
I haven’t written, not because of lack of time, as is normal, rather with lack of things to say. My life is VERY boring right now. I get up, get ready, eat some oatmeal J, go to the office, check my emails to see if there is any news on my life, then read reports all day, then go home early (because my eyes hurt), entertain myself for the evening with reading, TV, exercise, or to be honest sometimes just napping, then I go to bed. That is my life. Aaak. I did get some news, positive news that is—seems I will most likely be going back. There was a time they thought it was all over, and I was told to start looking at my other options. So, I did and I didn’t like them. But, now we hear I will probably get back in, it just won’t be for at least 1 ½ months!!!!!!!!!!!!! Can you believe that? Oi! So, in the mean time I’ll just do random projects here to try and pass time. Ick.
But, I do have a story for you—like I would ever be without a story! I found something I absolutely LOVE in Nairobi!! The Elephant and Rhinoceros Orphanage!! It’s true, it exists and has so since the 70’s I think; a long time, regardless. It is part of the Nairobi National Park and sits in the park. To be able to visit you have to adopt an elephant! So, I did. They are expensive little buggers, $50.00. Okay, that may not sound expensive to you, but it does to me. But, once you ‘adopt’ one, you can go visit them everyday for a year. They are SOOOOOOOOOOO cute. I took pictures and hope to send then and/or post them soon. They are orphaned for various reasons, from poachers killed their mom, their mom rejected them, they are found lost separated from the herd, someone has taken it as a pet and is now overwhelmed, etc. The entire goal of the center is rehabilitate them (they are usually sick) and then return them to the wild to live in the park. It’s a very specific practice with a HUGE team working on it. Each elephant is with a handler 24 HOURS A DAY!! They have to eat/drink milk every three hours. The handlers even sleep in their little pens with them. During the day, the handlers take all the elephants out into the park. They act like family. The handlers are taught to mimic certain behaviours and help the elephants feel like they are part of a family. The babies are kept separate from the ‘teenagers.’ They interact, but don’t spend much time together. The babies, all under a year, play together and are VERY close. They do not like to be separated. They even through tantrums! It’s true, I saw a baby elephant through a tantrum when the handlers tried to separate her from her friend to feed them. She stamped her feet and huffed!! It was so cute. She finally relented and went and ate.
During the day the handlers all go with their elephants out into the park to play and forage. They have to carry with them the special formula and bottles to feed them every three hours. They return at noon, when you can come see them to get a bottle back at the base and medicines if need be. They know their routine and what time, and will take off to head back when it is time without assistance. Then back out to the park for play, and back again to the base at 5:00pm (when you can go see them) for bottles and bed time. They each have their own little pen, but it is separated not by a wall from the other pens, rather just slats. They poke their trunks through the slats and play and cuddle with each other. The pens have hay as well as branches hung from a local tree the elephants like to eat for the babies to snack on. The ‘teenagers’ are in pens near the babies, but again separated. They too get bottles, but 3 times the amount as the babies and then a lot of hay and branches. They are absolutely HUGE—but of course not even close to full grown. When it is time for them to come back, you have to stand aside as they come RUNNING into the camp. They all know their pens, and go straight there. In each pen they each have a BLANKET! It is so cute. They have one they put on their back and one that hangs from the ceiling. The one from the ceiling is to mimic the mother. They found the babies eat better if they are standing next to a blanket.
It is also true and easy to see at the orphanage, an elephant never forgets. The handlers move around among a few different elephants, so they get use to interacting with different ‘elephants.’ They graduate from the baby pens, to the teenager pens, then out to the second stage of rehab at another point in the park. At the other camp, they also come in at night, no bottles but they go out to the herd they will live with during the day. Many of the elephants have come through this system, and when the handlers go out to take their ‘graduated’ teenager to the ‘young adult’ camp, their previous elephants will remember them. Even if they were in the center 10 years ago, they will come up and snuggle their handlers!! The handlers are accepted as part of herd, and could wander around all day with the WHOLE crew and no one would bother. They are family. Also, the elephants that were in the center say in the ‘teenager’ pens when a baby came in, will remember him/her when they join them out in the park. They greet each other!
If you are like me you want to know, how does one become a handler? Well, you must LOVE elephants and spending your entire day in the park wondering around playing games with the elephants. You must be willing to sleep in the pen with your elephant (babies and teens only). And, the most important thing, the elephants must accept you. You can come and try, but if no elephant will accept you, you can not be a handler. They don’t know why some are rejected, but it happens.
One last random fact about the elephants, between day one and about 3 months they are highly susceptible to sunburns, especially on their ears! In the wild, the babies stay under their mother and in her shade all day, but the handlers try as they may can not mimic being HUGE. So, part of their job is to apply sunscreen! The little girl I adopted actually had a sunburn on her right ear. It was black and red and looked so sore, but the handler assured me it didn’t hurt her. It has just damaged her ear, so it won’t be soft and malleable like the other ear when she grows up. It would affect her slightly, as they use their ears to cool themselves—but she would be fine. When they found her (next to her mothers dead body), she had a severe burn on her ear. They had treated it, but what I was seeing was essentially scarring.
Some of you, especially my sister Kristine are wondering about the Rhino’s. Well, yes they have them too. At the time I visited, there were no babies, but a ‘teenager.’ The teen was at the camp because he had gone blind with severe cataracts. They had done eye surgery on his first eye, and he was healing and waiting for the other eye. His name was Max. There was also an adult Rhino there, who had no health issues. He lives in the park, but every evening comes to the camp and goes into a pen and waits for the gate to be shut. It is likely he has figured out he can get free food, be safe from lions, and humans will come scratch his ears. He stands next to the gate and waits for you to rub his ears. But, he is NOT tame. They say in the morning when they open the gate, they have to run clear of the area, and let him alone as he wonders back out into the park. If the gate were opened while visitors were around, he would probably chase them! Interesting. There are also a few families of wart hogs that like to hang out in the camp area, as they have figured out it is safe. When they have kids, they’ll have them near the camp, but when they are grown they take them out into the park. It’s crazy.
--Well that is my story. I plan to return several times, get my moneys worth of course, and well, they are cute. Before I go, I want to say a few words about my family. I’ve had a lot of contemplating time, and have been thinking of my family a lot these days. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up in this career, considering how I feel about my family. It’s more American I think to leave when you are 18 and only come back for major holidays and major family events. However, for my family this is not the case. We are very close—surprisingly so considering how spread out we have been at times. People I work with generally aren’t ‘family’ people. There are those who are married with their own families, and those families have come a long for the ride; but there are those of us who are single who left families behind in our respective home countries. A lot of my colleagues are okay with that fact; I’m not. I love my family. I love being with them, so how did I end up out here in the middle of nowhere? I don’t know. I do know the following: I love waking up in my parent’s house to the sound of my mom’s mixer and I know I have hot, made-from-scratch breakfast waiting for me. That sounds so good right now. I’m in awe when I watch my mom go from 6:00 am to midnight daily doing things for other people, baking things, and delivering things, etc, all without a nap. A nap I generally need if I join her on her adventures for a day. I love watching my dad work in the yard/garden. His knowledge of botany, farming, and the environment fascinates me. I really love it when it times to trim the fruit trees. All of us always yell at him, because he seems to butcher them. No other person on the planet trims their trees as much as my dad, but somehow they manage to grow and come back and produce delicious fruit every year.
Don’t forget my amazing siblings. My sisters and I can sit on the couch and talk for hours. We will be laughing so hard tears will stream down our faces, and we can’t get up. We will literally be paralyzed with laughter. Their husbands generally roll their eyes at us, and leave the room to do ‘man’ things. We watch brain draining movies together with no shame, though I will not reveal the titles of some of those movies. And my brothers—if you don’t know them, this won’t make any sense, but with my brothers I like watching them get into long, deep conversations about some obscure something. I watch them in awe as they pull astounding amounts of knowledge from their minds. Notice I said watch, as I pipe in generally but steer clear of them when things get to heavy. In general, they know too much, but it is handy to have around. My in-laws. I am SOOOOOOO lucky when it comes to in-laws. Each one of my siblings has married someone I have completely fallen in love with. Sometimes I like their spouse better then them (only when my sibling is annoying me, other wise it’s equal). There was a close call when one sibling almost ‘chose wrongly,’ but in the end ‘chose wisely;’ thank heaven for all of us! In short, we get along great. And of course, my nieces and nephews. I have 10 now. I am a little short on nieces, just three, but love them all dearly. I love listening about their day, playing chutes and ladders, Pokemon, or the ‘latest’ game on play station or Nintendo; I don’t even know the difference. They always win and laugh at my complete lack of video game skills. Nieces and Nephews are the perfect children. You get to be part of their lives, but you don’t have to deal with EVERYTHING. Love it.
Anyway, I love my work and love my family. I wish I could drag my family around the planet with me, but I have a feeling they would get sick of it really quick. The adventure would carry them for a few weeks, but after that—it would be over. They would probably want their own lives and everything. Plus, those with kids probably don’t want to drag their kids to the middle of the desert where there is a measles outbreak. Picky. And, the number of immunizations needed to travel to places I go, would deter them also. I’m sure as my nieces and nephews become teenagers (and for those who already are) my siblings will want to ship them off to me, but we’ll just see if I’m in a compassionate enough mood to raise their teenagers! I could just put them on water detail, where they push a wheel barrel back and forth from a pump ALL DAY with a 100 litres of water in it—that should cure any obnoxious teen. I’ll start working on my plan.
Okay—that is all for now. I hope you are all well. Enjoy some cold weather for me!
Jessica
But, I do have a story for you—like I would ever be without a story! I found something I absolutely LOVE in Nairobi!! The Elephant and Rhinoceros Orphanage!! It’s true, it exists and has so since the 70’s I think; a long time, regardless. It is part of the Nairobi National Park and sits in the park. To be able to visit you have to adopt an elephant! So, I did. They are expensive little buggers, $50.00. Okay, that may not sound expensive to you, but it does to me. But, once you ‘adopt’ one, you can go visit them everyday for a year. They are SOOOOOOOOOOO cute. I took pictures and hope to send then and/or post them soon. They are orphaned for various reasons, from poachers killed their mom, their mom rejected them, they are found lost separated from the herd, someone has taken it as a pet and is now overwhelmed, etc. The entire goal of the center is rehabilitate them (they are usually sick) and then return them to the wild to live in the park. It’s a very specific practice with a HUGE team working on it. Each elephant is with a handler 24 HOURS A DAY!! They have to eat/drink milk every three hours. The handlers even sleep in their little pens with them. During the day, the handlers take all the elephants out into the park. They act like family. The handlers are taught to mimic certain behaviours and help the elephants feel like they are part of a family. The babies are kept separate from the ‘teenagers.’ They interact, but don’t spend much time together. The babies, all under a year, play together and are VERY close. They do not like to be separated. They even through tantrums! It’s true, I saw a baby elephant through a tantrum when the handlers tried to separate her from her friend to feed them. She stamped her feet and huffed!! It was so cute. She finally relented and went and ate.
During the day the handlers all go with their elephants out into the park to play and forage. They have to carry with them the special formula and bottles to feed them every three hours. They return at noon, when you can come see them to get a bottle back at the base and medicines if need be. They know their routine and what time, and will take off to head back when it is time without assistance. Then back out to the park for play, and back again to the base at 5:00pm (when you can go see them) for bottles and bed time. They each have their own little pen, but it is separated not by a wall from the other pens, rather just slats. They poke their trunks through the slats and play and cuddle with each other. The pens have hay as well as branches hung from a local tree the elephants like to eat for the babies to snack on. The ‘teenagers’ are in pens near the babies, but again separated. They too get bottles, but 3 times the amount as the babies and then a lot of hay and branches. They are absolutely HUGE—but of course not even close to full grown. When it is time for them to come back, you have to stand aside as they come RUNNING into the camp. They all know their pens, and go straight there. In each pen they each have a BLANKET! It is so cute. They have one they put on their back and one that hangs from the ceiling. The one from the ceiling is to mimic the mother. They found the babies eat better if they are standing next to a blanket.
It is also true and easy to see at the orphanage, an elephant never forgets. The handlers move around among a few different elephants, so they get use to interacting with different ‘elephants.’ They graduate from the baby pens, to the teenager pens, then out to the second stage of rehab at another point in the park. At the other camp, they also come in at night, no bottles but they go out to the herd they will live with during the day. Many of the elephants have come through this system, and when the handlers go out to take their ‘graduated’ teenager to the ‘young adult’ camp, their previous elephants will remember them. Even if they were in the center 10 years ago, they will come up and snuggle their handlers!! The handlers are accepted as part of herd, and could wander around all day with the WHOLE crew and no one would bother. They are family. Also, the elephants that were in the center say in the ‘teenager’ pens when a baby came in, will remember him/her when they join them out in the park. They greet each other!
If you are like me you want to know, how does one become a handler? Well, you must LOVE elephants and spending your entire day in the park wondering around playing games with the elephants. You must be willing to sleep in the pen with your elephant (babies and teens only). And, the most important thing, the elephants must accept you. You can come and try, but if no elephant will accept you, you can not be a handler. They don’t know why some are rejected, but it happens.
One last random fact about the elephants, between day one and about 3 months they are highly susceptible to sunburns, especially on their ears! In the wild, the babies stay under their mother and in her shade all day, but the handlers try as they may can not mimic being HUGE. So, part of their job is to apply sunscreen! The little girl I adopted actually had a sunburn on her right ear. It was black and red and looked so sore, but the handler assured me it didn’t hurt her. It has just damaged her ear, so it won’t be soft and malleable like the other ear when she grows up. It would affect her slightly, as they use their ears to cool themselves—but she would be fine. When they found her (next to her mothers dead body), she had a severe burn on her ear. They had treated it, but what I was seeing was essentially scarring.
Some of you, especially my sister Kristine are wondering about the Rhino’s. Well, yes they have them too. At the time I visited, there were no babies, but a ‘teenager.’ The teen was at the camp because he had gone blind with severe cataracts. They had done eye surgery on his first eye, and he was healing and waiting for the other eye. His name was Max. There was also an adult Rhino there, who had no health issues. He lives in the park, but every evening comes to the camp and goes into a pen and waits for the gate to be shut. It is likely he has figured out he can get free food, be safe from lions, and humans will come scratch his ears. He stands next to the gate and waits for you to rub his ears. But, he is NOT tame. They say in the morning when they open the gate, they have to run clear of the area, and let him alone as he wonders back out into the park. If the gate were opened while visitors were around, he would probably chase them! Interesting. There are also a few families of wart hogs that like to hang out in the camp area, as they have figured out it is safe. When they have kids, they’ll have them near the camp, but when they are grown they take them out into the park. It’s crazy.
--Well that is my story. I plan to return several times, get my moneys worth of course, and well, they are cute. Before I go, I want to say a few words about my family. I’ve had a lot of contemplating time, and have been thinking of my family a lot these days. Sometimes I wonder how I ended up in this career, considering how I feel about my family. It’s more American I think to leave when you are 18 and only come back for major holidays and major family events. However, for my family this is not the case. We are very close—surprisingly so considering how spread out we have been at times. People I work with generally aren’t ‘family’ people. There are those who are married with their own families, and those families have come a long for the ride; but there are those of us who are single who left families behind in our respective home countries. A lot of my colleagues are okay with that fact; I’m not. I love my family. I love being with them, so how did I end up out here in the middle of nowhere? I don’t know. I do know the following: I love waking up in my parent’s house to the sound of my mom’s mixer and I know I have hot, made-from-scratch breakfast waiting for me. That sounds so good right now. I’m in awe when I watch my mom go from 6:00 am to midnight daily doing things for other people, baking things, and delivering things, etc, all without a nap. A nap I generally need if I join her on her adventures for a day. I love watching my dad work in the yard/garden. His knowledge of botany, farming, and the environment fascinates me. I really love it when it times to trim the fruit trees. All of us always yell at him, because he seems to butcher them. No other person on the planet trims their trees as much as my dad, but somehow they manage to grow and come back and produce delicious fruit every year.
Don’t forget my amazing siblings. My sisters and I can sit on the couch and talk for hours. We will be laughing so hard tears will stream down our faces, and we can’t get up. We will literally be paralyzed with laughter. Their husbands generally roll their eyes at us, and leave the room to do ‘man’ things. We watch brain draining movies together with no shame, though I will not reveal the titles of some of those movies. And my brothers—if you don’t know them, this won’t make any sense, but with my brothers I like watching them get into long, deep conversations about some obscure something. I watch them in awe as they pull astounding amounts of knowledge from their minds. Notice I said watch, as I pipe in generally but steer clear of them when things get to heavy. In general, they know too much, but it is handy to have around. My in-laws. I am SOOOOOOO lucky when it comes to in-laws. Each one of my siblings has married someone I have completely fallen in love with. Sometimes I like their spouse better then them (only when my sibling is annoying me, other wise it’s equal). There was a close call when one sibling almost ‘chose wrongly,’ but in the end ‘chose wisely;’ thank heaven for all of us! In short, we get along great. And of course, my nieces and nephews. I have 10 now. I am a little short on nieces, just three, but love them all dearly. I love listening about their day, playing chutes and ladders, Pokemon, or the ‘latest’ game on play station or Nintendo; I don’t even know the difference. They always win and laugh at my complete lack of video game skills. Nieces and Nephews are the perfect children. You get to be part of their lives, but you don’t have to deal with EVERYTHING. Love it.
Anyway, I love my work and love my family. I wish I could drag my family around the planet with me, but I have a feeling they would get sick of it really quick. The adventure would carry them for a few weeks, but after that—it would be over. They would probably want their own lives and everything. Plus, those with kids probably don’t want to drag their kids to the middle of the desert where there is a measles outbreak. Picky. And, the number of immunizations needed to travel to places I go, would deter them also. I’m sure as my nieces and nephews become teenagers (and for those who already are) my siblings will want to ship them off to me, but we’ll just see if I’m in a compassionate enough mood to raise their teenagers! I could just put them on water detail, where they push a wheel barrel back and forth from a pump ALL DAY with a 100 litres of water in it—that should cure any obnoxious teen. I’ll start working on my plan.
Okay—that is all for now. I hope you are all well. Enjoy some cold weather for me!
Jessica
15 March 2007
Twic = Hot
Greetings everyone,
I hope you’ve all had a good week in your respective homes. I must say I don’t think any of you were as hot as I was this week, living in South Sudan. I stayed in the county of Twic (pronounced twich). One of the local tribes, a more famously known one, is the Dinka. In their local language Twic means hot; the Dinka are correct, Twic is hot. The Dinka, if you have heard of them are famous for being TALL and THIN. There are many that are refugees in countries all over the world, because of the long war between North and South Sudan. A peace agreement was signed almost 2 years ago now, so many people are returning, but there is doubt as to if it will hold. The North is Muslim and where the capitol is, Khartoum. The South is Christian, and the capitol is Juba. The South wants to be independent from the North, however there is a hitch. The South has the natural resource, oil. Of course, the North does not want to lose the possible money, so the war began. That is a very simplified version of what has happened anyway. According to the peace agreement, in six years there will be a vote to decide if the South wants to stay with the North. It is pretty much assumed, and planned for the fact that the South will vote to be independent, and the North won’t let them go, so the war will start again. But, for now, the area has peace for the first time in about 21 years.
For those of you aware of Darfur, Sudan, these 2 issues are not related aside from both being problems with the North Sudan government in Khartoum. Darfur is a state in the West of Sudan, in the Northern part. The Northern government hired a militia to commit genocide there, and it has been happening now for 4 or so years. The UN is trying its best to stop the violence, but the North Sudan government is NOT cooperating, and states there is no problem and foreign NGOs and the UN have exaggerated the issue. They claim the militia acts alone of course, despite loads of evidence to the contrary. Unfortunately the UN is powerless (they essentially can’t enforce laws, just ask people to follow them—the people choose not to listen), and just have meeting after meeting to talk about the issue with the North Sudan Government, while every day men, women and children are being killed and run out of their homes in Darfur. Sudan is a sad place, but you wouldn’t know it from the people you meet. As is par for the course, the people find joy in living their lives, in the little things, and do not sit around feeling sorry for themselves and their situation. What is hopeful for South Sudan is many of the people who fled the country in time of war, especially young men who were being targeted, were moved by the UN to countries around the world and resettled. These individuals have gained an education and are now coming home to help build up South Sudan.
THE TREK and the famous Loki!
As you can imagine, Juba (South Sudan capitol) is NOT a fancy town with a capitol building etc. As it was the centre for the resistance to North Sudan it was heavily targeted during the war and bombed/burned almost out of existence. If you look at a map of Sudan, you will see Juba is in the far south, closer to the border with Kenya/Uganda then the unofficial North/South border. For those of you following politics and African issues since the 80’s you know that this area, Northern Uganda, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Congo, etc etc has been home to many wars and tragedies over the years. Because of this, an international hub of sorts was needed. WFP, UN, NGOs, USAID, EU, etc have been shipping people, materials, machines, medicines, food, etc into the area for two decades now. A small very obscure town, called Lokichoggio became the centre of many operations. Loki, as it is called, was a small village in Northern Kenya. In the mid-80’s it was designated as a contact point for the many operations occurring the area at the time. An airstrip was built, UN and WFP built large warehouses, and of course hotels started popping up. This town became the hub for getting in and out of Uganda, Rwanda, Congo, Sudan, etc thus many UN and NGO workers needed a place for a layover as they waited for their flights to their various emergencies and destinations. In short, what was once a small sleepy village is now still what you would call a village, but with several nice ‘hotels’ and or camping sights, restaurants, and bars. Most of the stuff was brought in on planes and trucks over the years. There is even a ‘duty free’ shop at the airport. The airport has one PAVED strip and then several trailers and shacks that act as the airport itself. It is staffed by WFP as most planes going in and out are WFP planes. When things were at their height in the area, Loki was ‘the’ place to be if you worked in international aid. Everyone was passing through there, so it was the meeting place. The first stop on your way to R&R for most workers who spent their weeks in tents in rural Congo or Sudan. It was a happening town. Now, as things have calmed down in the area, so has Loki. I am told it is not what it once was, but I must say I was still impressed. You fly from Nairobi to Loki. You see NOTHING as the plane starts to descend. And still, 5 minutes from landing you see nothing. Then, there it is—Loki; the airstrip, about 15 tent/insta warehouses that say UN, UNICEF or WFP on the roof, and the surrounding town. Most NGOs have an office there with one or two staff that live there full time. They basically are logisticians helping the movement of supplies and people run smoothly. The town is not fancy in any way shape or form, but some of the ‘hotels’ are. They are generally compounds with a main building housing the office and then lots of little Tukuls (Pronounced Too-kul; mud huts with thatched roof). The Tukuls are of course an improved upon version of local housing, with our version containing electricity, beds with bed nets, screens in the windows, locking doors, and even flushing toilets and showers. It’s surprisingly nice. After landing in Loki, my colleague Simon and I spent the night at one such compound. The next morning EARLY EARLY we were back at the airport to a catch a WFP/HAS plane. HAS is Humanitarian Air Service and is run and funded by the UN to transport people and stuff in these areas. There is also an “Aviators without Borders” company that helps transport things. (side bar, I must say I love the ‘without borders movement.’ The first was Doctors without Borders in France, technically Medecins Sans Frontiers. I am not sure who was second but I have seen Dentists, veterinarians, nurses, aviators, plumbers, clowns, engineers, construction workers, surgeons, mothers, children, students, etc etc all ‘without borders.’ If your curious, clowns without borders builds playgrounds for children, or that is what I heard). Back on target, after leaving on a 40 passenger plane packed with more supplies then people we were off to Rumbek, South Sudan. Rumbek is another hub over the border where there once was a small town and now there is logistical centre. We changed planes to a smaller plane, now a 9 seater, to head off to our destinations. There were 8 of us on board, Simon and I, and then WFP, UNICEF, and Action Against Hunger workers; all off to our different destinations in South Sudan. Simon and I were lucky and were the first stop, as the plane was making 6 stops that day! Up and down, up and down—like a roller coaster. For Simon and me our final destination was the town of Wunrok. Wunrok is very rural, very dusty, and very hot. There are several NGOs working in Twic who all have their offices here in Wunrok. ACF (Action Against Hunger), Mercy Corps, and GOAL. Wunrok is more or less in the geographical centre of the county; however it is not the administrative centre. That is about an hour drive (in dry season) from Wunrok. Each NGO has its own compound, a fenced in area with Tukuls, structures, and tents storing all their goods. GOAL has been here for almost 9 years now, and did not pull out during the intense fighting in the war years thus is highly accepted by the community. I am not sure how long the other NGOs have been here. GOAL runs the bulk of the health care in the area, completely staffing 11 health care centres and 20 or so health units. There is no local capacity to staff the centres, let alone resources to run them. If it were not for GOAL there would be no health care in this county. GOAL also has water and sanitation projects, immunizations centres, and nutrition projects.
Some of my favourite features of staying here in Wunrok would probably surprise you. In my Tukul I have my favourite bed ever. It is a simple bed, just a wood frame of what looks like scrap wood and a mattress. But, what I love about it is the fact that it is a canopy bed. Don’t be thinking it’s one of those fancy canopy beds you see in an IKEA catalogue, much simpler. The canopy part is a mosquito net. Something about having that mosquito net completely surrounding you and not touching you is very comforting (for those of you who have not slept with a mosquito net, they generally are round and hung centred above your bed then drape down to the sides of your bed. They are full static electricity, and cling to you if you get near them. It’s very annoying and mosquitoes and can bite you through the net if its touching you). No matter what creature flies into my Tukul, and many do, it can’t get me! I’ll hear buzzing around me, but don’t have to worry b/c the little buggers can’t get near me. It’s grand. My second favourite thing is the showers. As I explained earlier it is HOT here. Yesterday the high was 44 Celsius (that’s like 110 Fahrenheit). During the day things just shut down, it is too hot to breathe let alone be out and about. We have outdoor showers here, which for those of you long time members of my list you will know I LOVE outdoor showers. I learned this in the Peace Corps, and my love still continues. Here the showers are nice. It is a cement structure, with three stalls. Above each stall is a large black plastic water tank that can hold 420 litres. Running from the bottom of the tank is a small pipe with a shower head on the end and a simple on/off switch. NO ONE uses the showers during the day as the water is boiling hot from the sun, rather people shower early in the morning or after sunset. Me, I prefer around 9:00pm. The sky is full of stars, there is a slight breeze, and the water is still warm from the sun. I wish it was a cool canyon breeze like in Utah, but not in this flat area—it is a breeze nonetheless. Once you are wet, the breeze actually makes you feel a little bit cold, if just for a moment. It’s the most refreshing experience ever – nothing beats your end of the day shower under a sky full of stars.
My LEAST favourite thing surprisingly enough isn’t the heat or the spiders. I know, strange. Rather I don’t mind the snakes, scorpions, lizards or even spiders (I haven’t seen any huge ones to be honest), but the wasps are out of control! They are 2 inches long and with a wing span of like 10 feet (or so)!! You can hear them coming and the buzz of their wings makes me cringe. There are just so many here, and I swear the swoop and dive at you just to make you nervous. I have yet to be stung, but it’s only a matter of time! I lie in my bed and watch them fly around my Tukul making little nests with baby wasps! Eek. As soon as they leave my Tukul, I get this small metal pipe and knock down the nest, but the stupid things don’t give up and just start another one!
And now for an update on my situation here. As I told you, I came here to help the nutritionist, Mara, with a nutrition survey. They didn’t have enough supervisors, and this survey is very important to this area. It is vital it is of good quality, especially the mortality data. So, Simon and I came out here to help. We got here on the last day of training for the enumerators, and quickly met our teams. The next day we helped start the preparation of materials, gathering scales and testing them, height boards, MUAC tapes, reference weights, etc etc. About half way through this day the news came—there are 9 CONFIRMED cases of measles in Twic County. So you know, one confirmed case can be considered an outbreak, so 9 is a crisis. The survey is post-poned and we are all now helping manage an emergency measles vaccination and vitamin A campaign. This is actually the 3rd time this same survey has been cancelled. I feel bad for the nutritionist, it’s very frustrating when you know you need the data and know you need to do this, but of course you can’t go out and do a survey in the midst of an outbreak. You would just go house to house and see children dying. You can’t be using the limited resources, for example cars and people, to collect data, when they could be used to move vaccines and immunize children. So, we are all immunizers today and for the next week. Such is life – nothing ever goes as planned.
Well—two days later, more updates to the story. I started this email the day the word came out about the outbreak. We are now 2 days into the planning for a MASSIVE campaign targeting all children age 6 months to 15 years (about 200,000 in this county). Today we got word that we now have a total of 38 confirmed cases and 2 deaths. I think you’d be surprised how logistically difficult it is to move vaccines. Measles vaccines are live, and must be kept cool. Once opened they can only be used for 6 hours. Here in Twic electricity is scarce to none, so how do you keep 20,000 vials cold (they each have 10 doses)? How do you get them here cold? How do you transport them into the community keeping them cold? How? It’s a massive operation that is taking time, more time then we would have liked, but logistics is the name of the game in the field. If you can’t move the vaccines and store them, you can’t immunize children. You need generators, fuel for the generators, power cords, freezers, hundreds of ice packs, hundreds of coolers, reliable vehicles, and a very organized and experienced team. It’s crazy hard.
Well, I’m back in Nairobi now—I was shipped out on a HAS transport. The satellite internet (Bgan, for you techies) wasn’t working and I desperately need to be in contact with my team and they had enough manpower for the Measles Campaign, so I came out. It was nice to spend the night last night without hedgehogs fighting in my Tukul!
I’ll let you know how things progress from here.
Ciao to you all, and Happy St. Patricks Day (as you can imagine working for an Irish NGO, we get the Friday off)
Jessica
I hope you’ve all had a good week in your respective homes. I must say I don’t think any of you were as hot as I was this week, living in South Sudan. I stayed in the county of Twic (pronounced twich). One of the local tribes, a more famously known one, is the Dinka. In their local language Twic means hot; the Dinka are correct, Twic is hot. The Dinka, if you have heard of them are famous for being TALL and THIN. There are many that are refugees in countries all over the world, because of the long war between North and South Sudan. A peace agreement was signed almost 2 years ago now, so many people are returning, but there is doubt as to if it will hold. The North is Muslim and where the capitol is, Khartoum. The South is Christian, and the capitol is Juba. The South wants to be independent from the North, however there is a hitch. The South has the natural resource, oil. Of course, the North does not want to lose the possible money, so the war began. That is a very simplified version of what has happened anyway. According to the peace agreement, in six years there will be a vote to decide if the South wants to stay with the North. It is pretty much assumed, and planned for the fact that the South will vote to be independent, and the North won’t let them go, so the war will start again. But, for now, the area has peace for the first time in about 21 years.
For those of you aware of Darfur, Sudan, these 2 issues are not related aside from both being problems with the North Sudan government in Khartoum. Darfur is a state in the West of Sudan, in the Northern part. The Northern government hired a militia to commit genocide there, and it has been happening now for 4 or so years. The UN is trying its best to stop the violence, but the North Sudan government is NOT cooperating, and states there is no problem and foreign NGOs and the UN have exaggerated the issue. They claim the militia acts alone of course, despite loads of evidence to the contrary. Unfortunately the UN is powerless (they essentially can’t enforce laws, just ask people to follow them—the people choose not to listen), and just have meeting after meeting to talk about the issue with the North Sudan Government, while every day men, women and children are being killed and run out of their homes in Darfur. Sudan is a sad place, but you wouldn’t know it from the people you meet. As is par for the course, the people find joy in living their lives, in the little things, and do not sit around feeling sorry for themselves and their situation. What is hopeful for South Sudan is many of the people who fled the country in time of war, especially young men who were being targeted, were moved by the UN to countries around the world and resettled. These individuals have gained an education and are now coming home to help build up South Sudan.
THE TREK and the famous Loki!
As you can imagine, Juba (South Sudan capitol) is NOT a fancy town with a capitol building etc. As it was the centre for the resistance to North Sudan it was heavily targeted during the war and bombed/burned almost out of existence. If you look at a map of Sudan, you will see Juba is in the far south, closer to the border with Kenya/Uganda then the unofficial North/South border. For those of you following politics and African issues since the 80’s you know that this area, Northern Uganda, Ethiopia, Rwanda, Congo, etc etc has been home to many wars and tragedies over the years. Because of this, an international hub of sorts was needed. WFP, UN, NGOs, USAID, EU, etc have been shipping people, materials, machines, medicines, food, etc into the area for two decades now. A small very obscure town, called Lokichoggio became the centre of many operations. Loki, as it is called, was a small village in Northern Kenya. In the mid-80’s it was designated as a contact point for the many operations occurring the area at the time. An airstrip was built, UN and WFP built large warehouses, and of course hotels started popping up. This town became the hub for getting in and out of Uganda, Rwanda, Congo, Sudan, etc thus many UN and NGO workers needed a place for a layover as they waited for their flights to their various emergencies and destinations. In short, what was once a small sleepy village is now still what you would call a village, but with several nice ‘hotels’ and or camping sights, restaurants, and bars. Most of the stuff was brought in on planes and trucks over the years. There is even a ‘duty free’ shop at the airport. The airport has one PAVED strip and then several trailers and shacks that act as the airport itself. It is staffed by WFP as most planes going in and out are WFP planes. When things were at their height in the area, Loki was ‘the’ place to be if you worked in international aid. Everyone was passing through there, so it was the meeting place. The first stop on your way to R&R for most workers who spent their weeks in tents in rural Congo or Sudan. It was a happening town. Now, as things have calmed down in the area, so has Loki. I am told it is not what it once was, but I must say I was still impressed. You fly from Nairobi to Loki. You see NOTHING as the plane starts to descend. And still, 5 minutes from landing you see nothing. Then, there it is—Loki; the airstrip, about 15 tent/insta warehouses that say UN, UNICEF or WFP on the roof, and the surrounding town. Most NGOs have an office there with one or two staff that live there full time. They basically are logisticians helping the movement of supplies and people run smoothly. The town is not fancy in any way shape or form, but some of the ‘hotels’ are. They are generally compounds with a main building housing the office and then lots of little Tukuls (Pronounced Too-kul; mud huts with thatched roof). The Tukuls are of course an improved upon version of local housing, with our version containing electricity, beds with bed nets, screens in the windows, locking doors, and even flushing toilets and showers. It’s surprisingly nice. After landing in Loki, my colleague Simon and I spent the night at one such compound. The next morning EARLY EARLY we were back at the airport to a catch a WFP/HAS plane. HAS is Humanitarian Air Service and is run and funded by the UN to transport people and stuff in these areas. There is also an “Aviators without Borders” company that helps transport things. (side bar, I must say I love the ‘without borders movement.’ The first was Doctors without Borders in France, technically Medecins Sans Frontiers. I am not sure who was second but I have seen Dentists, veterinarians, nurses, aviators, plumbers, clowns, engineers, construction workers, surgeons, mothers, children, students, etc etc all ‘without borders.’ If your curious, clowns without borders builds playgrounds for children, or that is what I heard). Back on target, after leaving on a 40 passenger plane packed with more supplies then people we were off to Rumbek, South Sudan. Rumbek is another hub over the border where there once was a small town and now there is logistical centre. We changed planes to a smaller plane, now a 9 seater, to head off to our destinations. There were 8 of us on board, Simon and I, and then WFP, UNICEF, and Action Against Hunger workers; all off to our different destinations in South Sudan. Simon and I were lucky and were the first stop, as the plane was making 6 stops that day! Up and down, up and down—like a roller coaster. For Simon and me our final destination was the town of Wunrok. Wunrok is very rural, very dusty, and very hot. There are several NGOs working in Twic who all have their offices here in Wunrok. ACF (Action Against Hunger), Mercy Corps, and GOAL. Wunrok is more or less in the geographical centre of the county; however it is not the administrative centre. That is about an hour drive (in dry season) from Wunrok. Each NGO has its own compound, a fenced in area with Tukuls, structures, and tents storing all their goods. GOAL has been here for almost 9 years now, and did not pull out during the intense fighting in the war years thus is highly accepted by the community. I am not sure how long the other NGOs have been here. GOAL runs the bulk of the health care in the area, completely staffing 11 health care centres and 20 or so health units. There is no local capacity to staff the centres, let alone resources to run them. If it were not for GOAL there would be no health care in this county. GOAL also has water and sanitation projects, immunizations centres, and nutrition projects.
Some of my favourite features of staying here in Wunrok would probably surprise you. In my Tukul I have my favourite bed ever. It is a simple bed, just a wood frame of what looks like scrap wood and a mattress. But, what I love about it is the fact that it is a canopy bed. Don’t be thinking it’s one of those fancy canopy beds you see in an IKEA catalogue, much simpler. The canopy part is a mosquito net. Something about having that mosquito net completely surrounding you and not touching you is very comforting (for those of you who have not slept with a mosquito net, they generally are round and hung centred above your bed then drape down to the sides of your bed. They are full static electricity, and cling to you if you get near them. It’s very annoying and mosquitoes and can bite you through the net if its touching you). No matter what creature flies into my Tukul, and many do, it can’t get me! I’ll hear buzzing around me, but don’t have to worry b/c the little buggers can’t get near me. It’s grand. My second favourite thing is the showers. As I explained earlier it is HOT here. Yesterday the high was 44 Celsius (that’s like 110 Fahrenheit). During the day things just shut down, it is too hot to breathe let alone be out and about. We have outdoor showers here, which for those of you long time members of my list you will know I LOVE outdoor showers. I learned this in the Peace Corps, and my love still continues. Here the showers are nice. It is a cement structure, with three stalls. Above each stall is a large black plastic water tank that can hold 420 litres. Running from the bottom of the tank is a small pipe with a shower head on the end and a simple on/off switch. NO ONE uses the showers during the day as the water is boiling hot from the sun, rather people shower early in the morning or after sunset. Me, I prefer around 9:00pm. The sky is full of stars, there is a slight breeze, and the water is still warm from the sun. I wish it was a cool canyon breeze like in Utah, but not in this flat area—it is a breeze nonetheless. Once you are wet, the breeze actually makes you feel a little bit cold, if just for a moment. It’s the most refreshing experience ever – nothing beats your end of the day shower under a sky full of stars.
My LEAST favourite thing surprisingly enough isn’t the heat or the spiders. I know, strange. Rather I don’t mind the snakes, scorpions, lizards or even spiders (I haven’t seen any huge ones to be honest), but the wasps are out of control! They are 2 inches long and with a wing span of like 10 feet (or so)!! You can hear them coming and the buzz of their wings makes me cringe. There are just so many here, and I swear the swoop and dive at you just to make you nervous. I have yet to be stung, but it’s only a matter of time! I lie in my bed and watch them fly around my Tukul making little nests with baby wasps! Eek. As soon as they leave my Tukul, I get this small metal pipe and knock down the nest, but the stupid things don’t give up and just start another one!
And now for an update on my situation here. As I told you, I came here to help the nutritionist, Mara, with a nutrition survey. They didn’t have enough supervisors, and this survey is very important to this area. It is vital it is of good quality, especially the mortality data. So, Simon and I came out here to help. We got here on the last day of training for the enumerators, and quickly met our teams. The next day we helped start the preparation of materials, gathering scales and testing them, height boards, MUAC tapes, reference weights, etc etc. About half way through this day the news came—there are 9 CONFIRMED cases of measles in Twic County. So you know, one confirmed case can be considered an outbreak, so 9 is a crisis. The survey is post-poned and we are all now helping manage an emergency measles vaccination and vitamin A campaign. This is actually the 3rd time this same survey has been cancelled. I feel bad for the nutritionist, it’s very frustrating when you know you need the data and know you need to do this, but of course you can’t go out and do a survey in the midst of an outbreak. You would just go house to house and see children dying. You can’t be using the limited resources, for example cars and people, to collect data, when they could be used to move vaccines and immunize children. So, we are all immunizers today and for the next week. Such is life – nothing ever goes as planned.
Well—two days later, more updates to the story. I started this email the day the word came out about the outbreak. We are now 2 days into the planning for a MASSIVE campaign targeting all children age 6 months to 15 years (about 200,000 in this county). Today we got word that we now have a total of 38 confirmed cases and 2 deaths. I think you’d be surprised how logistically difficult it is to move vaccines. Measles vaccines are live, and must be kept cool. Once opened they can only be used for 6 hours. Here in Twic electricity is scarce to none, so how do you keep 20,000 vials cold (they each have 10 doses)? How do you get them here cold? How do you transport them into the community keeping them cold? How? It’s a massive operation that is taking time, more time then we would have liked, but logistics is the name of the game in the field. If you can’t move the vaccines and store them, you can’t immunize children. You need generators, fuel for the generators, power cords, freezers, hundreds of ice packs, hundreds of coolers, reliable vehicles, and a very organized and experienced team. It’s crazy hard.
Well, I’m back in Nairobi now—I was shipped out on a HAS transport. The satellite internet (Bgan, for you techies) wasn’t working and I desperately need to be in contact with my team and they had enough manpower for the Measles Campaign, so I came out. It was nice to spend the night last night without hedgehogs fighting in my Tukul!
I’ll let you know how things progress from here.
Ciao to you all, and Happy St. Patricks Day (as you can imagine working for an Irish NGO, we get the Friday off)
Jessica
07 March 2007
Nairobi :)
Okay---all this ‘free’ time and I‘ve done very little writing. I am sorry—I can’t even tell you what I’ve been doing with my time. I have this horrible habit of when what I see in front of me is vast wasteland of extra time (like just sitting around in Nairobi), instead of making the most of every moment, I assume there will be plenty of moments and waste my time. I did it after each graduation (USU and Tufts), just lazy or possibly pessimistic in these cases where I assume nothing will happen for a LONG while.
Well, just like post graduations, I was wrong—things happen and they happen fast. No, I’m not getting back into Ethiopia this quick, I can only wish. But, as opposed to paying me to just sit around and do nothing (well, I do do some work just not a good 8 hours worth, there just isn’t any), instead of paying me to waste time GOAL has decided to ship me off to help in other countries. What this means—I get to see South Sudan!!!!! Not technically a country yet, but acting as if—with the capitol of Juba, South Sudan is in a time of GREAT flux. Millions coming home who had fled the conflict that is now over, and hundreds of NGOs and UN organizations beefing up their project to help this little (okay really big) country get on its two feet. I am specifically going to a place called Twic and Blue Nile valley! I’ll be doing 2 surveys, one in each place. Twic is apparently the middle of nowhere, with nothing there. A plane flies in supplies (food, water, fuel for a generator, etc) every two weeks. Talk about isolation!!!! It will be great, granted just for one week. Then the Blue Nile Valley, one of the 2 main tributaries of ‘the Nile’ that originates in Ethiopia; the other tributary being the White Nile. It is apparently swampy, which translates to Mosquito heaven and lots of itching and living in mosquito nets. Yes, I take an anti-malarial, no worries. Blue Nile area is supposed to be GORGEOUS!! I’ll let you know more when I can, but FYI I’ll be out of touch for a bit.
Okay so below, some stories from my time here in Nairobi.
1. I had the BEST breakfast EVER! Okay, not really ever, but for a long time. There is a restaurant here called Java. Rumour has it the people who own the chain lived in the US for a bit, and came back here and opened these restaurants. They serve coffee and tea, as the name gives away, but they also serve AMERICAN style breakfast foods (pancakes with bananas and maple syrup, waffles with strawberries, and French toast!!) Yea, they have eggs and bacon and that crap, but really what matters are the pancakes with bananas and maple syrup! YUMMY!! It was SOOOOOOOOO good. YUM YUM YUM. They also have burgers and ‘Mexican’ food. The salsa, not so good, not even close, but a decent attempt at refried beans. Not what I would call even close to Tex-Mex, but edible. In general it’s the pancakes and maple syrup that matters! YUMMY!!
2. Nairobi is EXPENSIVE!!!!! I realize I am comparing it to Addis which is very cheap, but I think you would be surprised to know most things cost the same or close to the same as in the US. Things are NOT cheaper here then in say Utah. Possibly San Francisco, but for the bulk of the US it’s the same as Nairobi. It’s a serious shock to my system. It doesn’t help that the currency here is Kenyan Shillings and the numbers are HIGH—For example one dollar is 68 shillings, and a bottle of coke costs 400 Shillings ( at a medium class restaurant). The sound of 400 anything freaks me out. Another example, in Addis there is a restaurant (very expensive one) that has pancakes and imitation syrup. It’s decent and costs about $2.50 for the meal. That same meal here in Nairobi, about $8.00!! It is SOOO expensive. Yikes! I hear once you leave Nairobi prices drop drastically, but for Nairobi, its high high stuff.
3. GOAL Kenya Projects—yesterday I got the great opportunity to tour the Kenya Nairobi projects. There are five sites—which I’ll describe below:
A. The Child Rescue Centre: a home for children who are being abused (sexually or physically). The community can call the centre and tell them about a family, or they get referred form health clinics or hospitals. They can have up to 50 kids at one time, ages 4 to 12 for boys and 4 to 18 for girls. They end up taking younger children, but always over one, because they can’t just take the 5 year old sibling and leave the 2 year old the bad situation. The kids come live in this LITTLE house and have school, one on one therapy, group therapy by age, group therapy by gender, and group therapy by type of abuse. They all help clean and keep the centre going. They stay from one night to over a year, depending on their situation. Some kids just stay there until other family members can be found; other kids who are dealing with court issues and pressing charges, stay there until the case is settled then are placed with other family members. It was just the cutest place I’ve ever seen. These kids were so shy, and so cute, so helpless. The centre does amazing work—and has been operating for 5 years. Unfortunately it is the only one of its kind, and serves a city of 5 million! There isn’t a waiting list or anything, not that many get reported—it’s a matter of community education also.
B. Children’s Community School—there are several slum areas in Nairobi. In fact, it is quite famous for these areas. They breed disease, discontent, violence, and uneducated unhealthy children. I can’t really explain them—you have to see them, but picture miles and miles of corrugated iron shacks. No plumbing, no water, no nothing. They generally assemble around the different rivers running though Nairobi. These rivers then become their baths, toilets, and garbage dump. The industrial areas are usually where they stay, as they work in these huge factories. There is little to no enforcement of environmental laws, and the factories all dump EVERYTHING into these rivers. You can tell when you are getting near one, as they absolutely reek. The stench is astounding. These areas are technically illegal neighbourhoods and live with the risk of possibly destruction by the government every day. They of course have no services, which includes schools. So, GOAL has a school in one such area. A lot of the kids are years behind in school, possibly started out and left in second grade and are now 12 or 13 and starting up again. The schools provide two snacks and a healthy lunch each day. They also get counselling and free health services from the GOAL Mobile Health Clinic. In response to need in the area, they also started community information centre. They provide the days papers and a free library (of random books that were donated) for the community to use. Again, a great place—great kids. They have a little spot for a football (soccer) field, though I saw no ball. Their main toys (not just here at the school, but all over and in Ethiopia) are old tires. Car and bicycle tires are the main form of distraction for kids.
C. Adult Education: all these projects were started as one, the Rescue Centre, then to fill another need they added the community school, then the adults wanted schooling, so they added just down the road an Adult Literacy centre. They teach reading and writing in Swahili and English and teach very basic computer skills.
D. Vocational Centre: Again, another need, job skills for ages 18 to 24. The Vocational Centre was born. The kids who go to this usually have never been student before or at best, not since they were 10 or younger. The programme is one year long with the first 2 months teaching them 1-how to be a student, 2-life skills (communication, relationships, etc), and 3-health education (hygiene, sex education, HIV/Aids, etc). They are also fed, but just one snack and lunch a day. They also get free health care – and if they have children of their own, they can be tended to also, immunizations, treatment, whatever. After the 2 months of life skills, they start to train in their chosen skill. Our vocational centre offers carpentry, hospitality (catering and how to make up a hotel bed, be polite, work with foreigners, etc), and third hair dressing. They spend a few months learning and practicing together at the school, then we have agreements with different businesses in Nairobi and they go get practical on job experience. After they graduate, if they desire to open their own business, GOAL helps them set up a business with basic materials. Granted, for the catering don’t be thinking they by these people ovens, or even hot plates. They get a plastic table, four chairs, a display case, and a charcoal stove. This is basic basic, but can save their lives and futures.
E. Lastly is the HIV/Aids education centre. They started working with street children, providing education on HIV/Aids and other infectious diseases. But they have expanded, and work with different orphanages, placement centres, and the community in general to offer education and counselling on options for those who test positive. Overall, I was VERY impressed with GOAL Kenya. TO be honest, I know more about GOAL Kenya now then GOAL Ethiopia—I was supposed to have this same kind of tour in Ethiopia, but I was so busy from day one we never found time to tour around, so I know little about the programme office in Ethiopia. I plan to change that when I get back.
4. Money—as I mentioned life in Nairobi is EXPENSIVE! But, another thing you need to understand is there are some RICH RICH Kenyans. I can’t believe how much money is here. There are homes that are literal castles, motes and all. These aren’t foreigners, these are Kenyans!! It blows my mind how much money is here—but don’t be confused, there is severe poverty. Kenya has one of the largest wealth gaps (difference between top 10% richest and bottom 10% poorest) in the world. The difference is astounding. There just isn’t as much money in Ethiopia. There is essentially one rich Ethiopian, and he is very different from the rest He is actually one of the world’s top 100 richest people. But, for the rest of the country---rich is all relative. It’s crazy how many malls, shopping centres, movie theatres, whatever they have here in Nairobi. And they are always busy! It blows my mind.
5. My last point for the day, is a sad story from one of the aforementioned Centres above. While at the HIV/Aids education centre we were talking with the director on current issues she is facing in programming. She told us the most horrific tale about the adolescent girls she works with at some of the schools in the slums. These girls must prostitute themselves in order to have enough money to by sanitary pads (menstrual napkins, whatever you want to call them). I’m not exaggerating. They are actually quite expensive, $1.00 about for a month supply. There is no money and no programme that provides these things. People worry about food, people worry about education, but when is the last time you heard of NGO providing menstruation supplies for girls. If they can’t afford them, they must sit on the floor for 5 to 7 days until their period is over, wearing the same clothes and not moving. They don’t have water to bathe everyday, and it’s filthy anyway—so they are embarrassed because they are all red, so they just sit on the floor EVERY MONTH! Some use old rags, but as they don’t really have sanitary conditions, they end up getting infections and they don’t have a lot of water to wash the rags, so they don’t clean them properly anyway. Horrific. Something you never thing about, but a fact of life—something these girls deal with every month of their life. If they want to not miss school for a week every month, then they prostitute themselves for one or two nights so they can get cash to buy the pads. These are good girls, just desperate, absolutely more desperate then you can imagine. Before I start getting packages of pads, don’t worry GOAL has decided to provide pads to the schools to hand out to the girls as necessary. I think we are trying to get some international company to donate them. But, remember this is only for the few schools that GOAL works with, and there are girls all over Kenya and the world dealing with this.
Okay—now that I’ve depressed you—I’ll sign off. Sorry, I just like sharing what I see. The reality of life in some of the countries outside the western world is so hidden from us; I think it’s important someone tell you what’s going on. I am off—I need to pack for Twic. It will be HOT HOT HOT HOT and dusty. My favourite. I hope you are all well. I want to wish you all a happy International Women’s Day (March 8th for those of you unaware. It’s not really celebrated in the US).
Ciao,
jessica
Well, just like post graduations, I was wrong—things happen and they happen fast. No, I’m not getting back into Ethiopia this quick, I can only wish. But, as opposed to paying me to just sit around and do nothing (well, I do do some work just not a good 8 hours worth, there just isn’t any), instead of paying me to waste time GOAL has decided to ship me off to help in other countries. What this means—I get to see South Sudan!!!!! Not technically a country yet, but acting as if—with the capitol of Juba, South Sudan is in a time of GREAT flux. Millions coming home who had fled the conflict that is now over, and hundreds of NGOs and UN organizations beefing up their project to help this little (okay really big) country get on its two feet. I am specifically going to a place called Twic and Blue Nile valley! I’ll be doing 2 surveys, one in each place. Twic is apparently the middle of nowhere, with nothing there. A plane flies in supplies (food, water, fuel for a generator, etc) every two weeks. Talk about isolation!!!! It will be great, granted just for one week. Then the Blue Nile Valley, one of the 2 main tributaries of ‘the Nile’ that originates in Ethiopia; the other tributary being the White Nile. It is apparently swampy, which translates to Mosquito heaven and lots of itching and living in mosquito nets. Yes, I take an anti-malarial, no worries. Blue Nile area is supposed to be GORGEOUS!! I’ll let you know more when I can, but FYI I’ll be out of touch for a bit.
Okay so below, some stories from my time here in Nairobi.
1. I had the BEST breakfast EVER! Okay, not really ever, but for a long time. There is a restaurant here called Java. Rumour has it the people who own the chain lived in the US for a bit, and came back here and opened these restaurants. They serve coffee and tea, as the name gives away, but they also serve AMERICAN style breakfast foods (pancakes with bananas and maple syrup, waffles with strawberries, and French toast!!) Yea, they have eggs and bacon and that crap, but really what matters are the pancakes with bananas and maple syrup! YUMMY!! It was SOOOOOOOOO good. YUM YUM YUM. They also have burgers and ‘Mexican’ food. The salsa, not so good, not even close, but a decent attempt at refried beans. Not what I would call even close to Tex-Mex, but edible. In general it’s the pancakes and maple syrup that matters! YUMMY!!
2. Nairobi is EXPENSIVE!!!!! I realize I am comparing it to Addis which is very cheap, but I think you would be surprised to know most things cost the same or close to the same as in the US. Things are NOT cheaper here then in say Utah. Possibly San Francisco, but for the bulk of the US it’s the same as Nairobi. It’s a serious shock to my system. It doesn’t help that the currency here is Kenyan Shillings and the numbers are HIGH—For example one dollar is 68 shillings, and a bottle of coke costs 400 Shillings ( at a medium class restaurant). The sound of 400 anything freaks me out. Another example, in Addis there is a restaurant (very expensive one) that has pancakes and imitation syrup. It’s decent and costs about $2.50 for the meal. That same meal here in Nairobi, about $8.00!! It is SOOO expensive. Yikes! I hear once you leave Nairobi prices drop drastically, but for Nairobi, its high high stuff.
3. GOAL Kenya Projects—yesterday I got the great opportunity to tour the Kenya Nairobi projects. There are five sites—which I’ll describe below:
A. The Child Rescue Centre: a home for children who are being abused (sexually or physically). The community can call the centre and tell them about a family, or they get referred form health clinics or hospitals. They can have up to 50 kids at one time, ages 4 to 12 for boys and 4 to 18 for girls. They end up taking younger children, but always over one, because they can’t just take the 5 year old sibling and leave the 2 year old the bad situation. The kids come live in this LITTLE house and have school, one on one therapy, group therapy by age, group therapy by gender, and group therapy by type of abuse. They all help clean and keep the centre going. They stay from one night to over a year, depending on their situation. Some kids just stay there until other family members can be found; other kids who are dealing with court issues and pressing charges, stay there until the case is settled then are placed with other family members. It was just the cutest place I’ve ever seen. These kids were so shy, and so cute, so helpless. The centre does amazing work—and has been operating for 5 years. Unfortunately it is the only one of its kind, and serves a city of 5 million! There isn’t a waiting list or anything, not that many get reported—it’s a matter of community education also.
B. Children’s Community School—there are several slum areas in Nairobi. In fact, it is quite famous for these areas. They breed disease, discontent, violence, and uneducated unhealthy children. I can’t really explain them—you have to see them, but picture miles and miles of corrugated iron shacks. No plumbing, no water, no nothing. They generally assemble around the different rivers running though Nairobi. These rivers then become their baths, toilets, and garbage dump. The industrial areas are usually where they stay, as they work in these huge factories. There is little to no enforcement of environmental laws, and the factories all dump EVERYTHING into these rivers. You can tell when you are getting near one, as they absolutely reek. The stench is astounding. These areas are technically illegal neighbourhoods and live with the risk of possibly destruction by the government every day. They of course have no services, which includes schools. So, GOAL has a school in one such area. A lot of the kids are years behind in school, possibly started out and left in second grade and are now 12 or 13 and starting up again. The schools provide two snacks and a healthy lunch each day. They also get counselling and free health services from the GOAL Mobile Health Clinic. In response to need in the area, they also started community information centre. They provide the days papers and a free library (of random books that were donated) for the community to use. Again, a great place—great kids. They have a little spot for a football (soccer) field, though I saw no ball. Their main toys (not just here at the school, but all over and in Ethiopia) are old tires. Car and bicycle tires are the main form of distraction for kids.
C. Adult Education: all these projects were started as one, the Rescue Centre, then to fill another need they added the community school, then the adults wanted schooling, so they added just down the road an Adult Literacy centre. They teach reading and writing in Swahili and English and teach very basic computer skills.
D. Vocational Centre: Again, another need, job skills for ages 18 to 24. The Vocational Centre was born. The kids who go to this usually have never been student before or at best, not since they were 10 or younger. The programme is one year long with the first 2 months teaching them 1-how to be a student, 2-life skills (communication, relationships, etc), and 3-health education (hygiene, sex education, HIV/Aids, etc). They are also fed, but just one snack and lunch a day. They also get free health care – and if they have children of their own, they can be tended to also, immunizations, treatment, whatever. After the 2 months of life skills, they start to train in their chosen skill. Our vocational centre offers carpentry, hospitality (catering and how to make up a hotel bed, be polite, work with foreigners, etc), and third hair dressing. They spend a few months learning and practicing together at the school, then we have agreements with different businesses in Nairobi and they go get practical on job experience. After they graduate, if they desire to open their own business, GOAL helps them set up a business with basic materials. Granted, for the catering don’t be thinking they by these people ovens, or even hot plates. They get a plastic table, four chairs, a display case, and a charcoal stove. This is basic basic, but can save their lives and futures.
E. Lastly is the HIV/Aids education centre. They started working with street children, providing education on HIV/Aids and other infectious diseases. But they have expanded, and work with different orphanages, placement centres, and the community in general to offer education and counselling on options for those who test positive. Overall, I was VERY impressed with GOAL Kenya. TO be honest, I know more about GOAL Kenya now then GOAL Ethiopia—I was supposed to have this same kind of tour in Ethiopia, but I was so busy from day one we never found time to tour around, so I know little about the programme office in Ethiopia. I plan to change that when I get back.
4. Money—as I mentioned life in Nairobi is EXPENSIVE! But, another thing you need to understand is there are some RICH RICH Kenyans. I can’t believe how much money is here. There are homes that are literal castles, motes and all. These aren’t foreigners, these are Kenyans!! It blows my mind how much money is here—but don’t be confused, there is severe poverty. Kenya has one of the largest wealth gaps (difference between top 10% richest and bottom 10% poorest) in the world. The difference is astounding. There just isn’t as much money in Ethiopia. There is essentially one rich Ethiopian, and he is very different from the rest He is actually one of the world’s top 100 richest people. But, for the rest of the country---rich is all relative. It’s crazy how many malls, shopping centres, movie theatres, whatever they have here in Nairobi. And they are always busy! It blows my mind.
5. My last point for the day, is a sad story from one of the aforementioned Centres above. While at the HIV/Aids education centre we were talking with the director on current issues she is facing in programming. She told us the most horrific tale about the adolescent girls she works with at some of the schools in the slums. These girls must prostitute themselves in order to have enough money to by sanitary pads (menstrual napkins, whatever you want to call them). I’m not exaggerating. They are actually quite expensive, $1.00 about for a month supply. There is no money and no programme that provides these things. People worry about food, people worry about education, but when is the last time you heard of NGO providing menstruation supplies for girls. If they can’t afford them, they must sit on the floor for 5 to 7 days until their period is over, wearing the same clothes and not moving. They don’t have water to bathe everyday, and it’s filthy anyway—so they are embarrassed because they are all red, so they just sit on the floor EVERY MONTH! Some use old rags, but as they don’t really have sanitary conditions, they end up getting infections and they don’t have a lot of water to wash the rags, so they don’t clean them properly anyway. Horrific. Something you never thing about, but a fact of life—something these girls deal with every month of their life. If they want to not miss school for a week every month, then they prostitute themselves for one or two nights so they can get cash to buy the pads. These are good girls, just desperate, absolutely more desperate then you can imagine. Before I start getting packages of pads, don’t worry GOAL has decided to provide pads to the schools to hand out to the girls as necessary. I think we are trying to get some international company to donate them. But, remember this is only for the few schools that GOAL works with, and there are girls all over Kenya and the world dealing with this.
Okay—now that I’ve depressed you—I’ll sign off. Sorry, I just like sharing what I see. The reality of life in some of the countries outside the western world is so hidden from us; I think it’s important someone tell you what’s going on. I am off—I need to pack for Twic. It will be HOT HOT HOT HOT and dusty. My favourite. I hope you are all well. I want to wish you all a happy International Women’s Day (March 8th for those of you unaware. It’s not really celebrated in the US).
Ciao,
jessica
26 February 2007
Me, again!
This is a short post---possibly the shortest i have ever written! Enjoy!
I have this talent, or curse, depending on your outlook. I have the innate ability to adjust to new places. With in a few days I feel at home somewhere—the new culture, language, food, the look of the area, cars, people, etc. Things quickly become normal to me, or daily grind—or something. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s a talent, b/c within a few days of moving somewhere I feel like I’m at home, comfortable. Because of this, I can get down to normal, doing my job, going to work, my daily life. However, it’s a curse in that the excitement and magic of new places, new countries, and new continents quickly fades. Within a few days I stop noticing the differences between my old life/place and new place, and everything becomes ordinary. It makes it very difficult to write home about my new homes, because after three days it all looks and feels the same to me. I can’t discern between what is new and would be weird, exciting, or interesting to people back home. I just forget that what I experience daily is possibly odd. I COMPLETELY think my life in Ethiopia is normal. Everyone experiences life like I do in Addis, like I do in the field. Right? I can’t even give you examples of what I mean, b/c I think my life is normal. I only know it’s true when people visit me and point out things I haven’t noticed since my first week in country. This happened in Moldova and now here in Ethiopia. I know, it sounds crazy, but possibly it’s how I’m able to do my job. I am sure I could live and work anywhere, just give me 3 maybe 4 days to assimilate. Okay make that anywhere in the developing world. I can’t guarantee I could assimilate to life in San Diego, Chicago, or even NYC. Too easy maybe or maybe I find the developing world too easy.
My point in all this is I am in a new place—and thus the magic is back. Coming to Kenya has ignited my excitement and realization; I live on the African continent. Africa! The place you see and hear about all your life in America; like it’s a myth, a place that doesn’t really exist, except in movies and the news. You only see it on globes in school, and hear about it like it’s a place that used to be. It’s surreal. Even books about the area include the words, ‘lost,’ ‘vanishing,’ or ‘what was before.’ The place civilization started, Africa. Here I am in Nairobi. Capitol of Kenya, located in East Africa in the famous Rift Valley. Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately it is nothing like you imagine. Nairobi, or Nairobbery as it is nicknamed because of its high crime rate, is a bustling city with anything and everything you can imagine. Major Hollywood pictures playing, sushi restaurants, J Crew stores, Mercedes, everything. To be honest, I have seen very little of Nairobi, but the little I have seen is exciting. The people I have met, mainly GOAL Kenya and GOAL South Sudan staff are great. The South Sudan program is currently managed from Kenya, but they are working on opening an office in Juba. To be honest, Nairobi makes me feel like I am in NYC. I know all my NYC friends and family just groaned in disgust, but if you had moved from Addis to Nairobi, you’d feel the same way. Actually, I met an American today who is married to a Kenyan from Nairobi. When they went to the US for the first time, the only place he felt like he was at home was NYC, thus validating my opinion. Right? In short, Nairobi is more developed then Addis—not nearly as many people as NYC or tall buildings, but the diversity of people is more like NYC then Addis, plus the plethora of shopping centres and restaurants. And, in case any of you had any doubts as to my complete nerdiness, the best part so far? I found WHOLE OAT oatmeal at the local grocery store. YUMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope to see more in the next few weeks, possibly the ‘real’ Nairobi; not where all the expats live, where Kenyans live. I plan to visit the project areas of GOAL Kenya, including street kids programs. It’s my third day here, and by yesterday it seemed normal. It’s just like every other major city in the world. Hopefully when I get out into the rural areas and other parts of Nairobi I will see and learn more. But for now, Nairobi is just a big city with lots of people from all over the world.
Okay—back to Ethiopia. Hopefully I will have more stories in about a month—keep your fingers crossed. My job has various side effects, good and bad. I live with a stomach constantly unsure of it’s status. Is it sick? Is it well? It doesn’t know. I don’t understand 80% of the conversation going on around me. Is it about me? Nice? Mean? I don’t know and have to learn not to care. I get to see countries most people will never visit on a very personal level. I get to understand on a household level, a country most of the world assumes is one big desert with people always in a famine. I get to see the beauty, culture, and absolute lushness of Ethiopia—everyday. One of the side effects that has both positive and negative effects is my time in the sun. I do believe I am my tannest I have ever been in my life; even including my 7 years at 7-Peaks (a water park in Utah for those unaware. I worked there until through HS and college!)! It’s fascinating how tan my skin has become, I didn’t know it could do brown. Okay, not really brown, but definitely NOT white. However, everything comes with a price. My tan is what I like to call a reverse-trucker-farmer tan. Meaning, my legs and shoulders are whiter then the day I was born (remember I work in a conservative society, no shoulders, nothing above the calf, etc), but my neck and arms are brown. AND, what is distinctly noticeable is the fact that my right arm is MUCH darker then my left. (I call it the reverse trucker, as it is on my right side b/c I am the passenger, not the driver). I am told even the right side of my neck is darker then the other. Nice, very very nice.
Okay—I need to get back to the work of getting back to Ethiopia. I hope you are all well. When I have seen more of Nairobi I will fill you in, but for now I can only tell you the Paneer Tika is delicious, the grocery store has jiffy peanut butter, and Diet Coke is available.
I have this talent, or curse, depending on your outlook. I have the innate ability to adjust to new places. With in a few days I feel at home somewhere—the new culture, language, food, the look of the area, cars, people, etc. Things quickly become normal to me, or daily grind—or something. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s a talent, b/c within a few days of moving somewhere I feel like I’m at home, comfortable. Because of this, I can get down to normal, doing my job, going to work, my daily life. However, it’s a curse in that the excitement and magic of new places, new countries, and new continents quickly fades. Within a few days I stop noticing the differences between my old life/place and new place, and everything becomes ordinary. It makes it very difficult to write home about my new homes, because after three days it all looks and feels the same to me. I can’t discern between what is new and would be weird, exciting, or interesting to people back home. I just forget that what I experience daily is possibly odd. I COMPLETELY think my life in Ethiopia is normal. Everyone experiences life like I do in Addis, like I do in the field. Right? I can’t even give you examples of what I mean, b/c I think my life is normal. I only know it’s true when people visit me and point out things I haven’t noticed since my first week in country. This happened in Moldova and now here in Ethiopia. I know, it sounds crazy, but possibly it’s how I’m able to do my job. I am sure I could live and work anywhere, just give me 3 maybe 4 days to assimilate. Okay make that anywhere in the developing world. I can’t guarantee I could assimilate to life in San Diego, Chicago, or even NYC. Too easy maybe or maybe I find the developing world too easy.
My point in all this is I am in a new place—and thus the magic is back. Coming to Kenya has ignited my excitement and realization; I live on the African continent. Africa! The place you see and hear about all your life in America; like it’s a myth, a place that doesn’t really exist, except in movies and the news. You only see it on globes in school, and hear about it like it’s a place that used to be. It’s surreal. Even books about the area include the words, ‘lost,’ ‘vanishing,’ or ‘what was before.’ The place civilization started, Africa. Here I am in Nairobi. Capitol of Kenya, located in East Africa in the famous Rift Valley. Unfortunately, or possibly fortunately it is nothing like you imagine. Nairobi, or Nairobbery as it is nicknamed because of its high crime rate, is a bustling city with anything and everything you can imagine. Major Hollywood pictures playing, sushi restaurants, J Crew stores, Mercedes, everything. To be honest, I have seen very little of Nairobi, but the little I have seen is exciting. The people I have met, mainly GOAL Kenya and GOAL South Sudan staff are great. The South Sudan program is currently managed from Kenya, but they are working on opening an office in Juba. To be honest, Nairobi makes me feel like I am in NYC. I know all my NYC friends and family just groaned in disgust, but if you had moved from Addis to Nairobi, you’d feel the same way. Actually, I met an American today who is married to a Kenyan from Nairobi. When they went to the US for the first time, the only place he felt like he was at home was NYC, thus validating my opinion. Right? In short, Nairobi is more developed then Addis—not nearly as many people as NYC or tall buildings, but the diversity of people is more like NYC then Addis, plus the plethora of shopping centres and restaurants. And, in case any of you had any doubts as to my complete nerdiness, the best part so far? I found WHOLE OAT oatmeal at the local grocery store. YUMMY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I hope to see more in the next few weeks, possibly the ‘real’ Nairobi; not where all the expats live, where Kenyans live. I plan to visit the project areas of GOAL Kenya, including street kids programs. It’s my third day here, and by yesterday it seemed normal. It’s just like every other major city in the world. Hopefully when I get out into the rural areas and other parts of Nairobi I will see and learn more. But for now, Nairobi is just a big city with lots of people from all over the world.
Okay—back to Ethiopia. Hopefully I will have more stories in about a month—keep your fingers crossed. My job has various side effects, good and bad. I live with a stomach constantly unsure of it’s status. Is it sick? Is it well? It doesn’t know. I don’t understand 80% of the conversation going on around me. Is it about me? Nice? Mean? I don’t know and have to learn not to care. I get to see countries most people will never visit on a very personal level. I get to understand on a household level, a country most of the world assumes is one big desert with people always in a famine. I get to see the beauty, culture, and absolute lushness of Ethiopia—everyday. One of the side effects that has both positive and negative effects is my time in the sun. I do believe I am my tannest I have ever been in my life; even including my 7 years at 7-Peaks (a water park in Utah for those unaware. I worked there until through HS and college!)! It’s fascinating how tan my skin has become, I didn’t know it could do brown. Okay, not really brown, but definitely NOT white. However, everything comes with a price. My tan is what I like to call a reverse-trucker-farmer tan. Meaning, my legs and shoulders are whiter then the day I was born (remember I work in a conservative society, no shoulders, nothing above the calf, etc), but my neck and arms are brown. AND, what is distinctly noticeable is the fact that my right arm is MUCH darker then my left. (I call it the reverse trucker, as it is on my right side b/c I am the passenger, not the driver). I am told even the right side of my neck is darker then the other. Nice, very very nice.
Okay—I need to get back to the work of getting back to Ethiopia. I hope you are all well. When I have seen more of Nairobi I will fill you in, but for now I can only tell you the Paneer Tika is delicious, the grocery store has jiffy peanut butter, and Diet Coke is available.
21 February 2007
Been too long
I can not believe more then a month has gone by since I last wrote! Is that right? I am so sorry—I don’t know where the time goes. A LOT has happened in this world—I just can’t believe so much time has gone by. No wonder my mom was complaining!! Anyway—as you can imagine, more then a month means A LOT to say—so brace yourself!
Where to start is the question! But, I will just delve in and hope I cover it all. One thing about my job is complete disconnection with the outside world. At my home in Addis I do have TV with BBC and I have access to other news sources, but as I am in the field most of the time—I don’t know much. This week, when I returned home I was very surprised to hear about NY and it’s snow storms, Bill Gates suing a poor Russian school teacher, Obama running for president, Harvard has a female president, Anna Nicole Smith is dead(what!?!?), and that I was about to be deported! Holy cow! I just wasn’t expecting any of these things. But such is the world, chaos—absolute! Oh, don’t worry I’m not being deported—it’s just the founder and current CEO of our NGO is very outspoken (John O’Shea). This includes his dislike for the Ethiopian government. Well, when they can they like to make our lives difficult—so they decided our visa’s are not valid and we all must go!! BAM!! But, after waiting in the immigration offices for four hours on 2 separate days (our punishment I suppose for working for that man!), they have decided to let us apply for the proper visas and give them money. Shocking. Some of the expats were worried, but I knew it was all about annoying us because they could, then getting money out of us. To shut down GOAL in Ethiopia would be some seriously bad PR for them, and they REALLY don’t need any. So, I almost came home—but I get to stay now. Good thing, b/c I am a very busy girl. Rapid Assessments, Verification Assessments, Coverage surveys, Nutrition Surveys, etc. Many of you might of heard of the UNICEF EOS project (Enhanced Outreach Strategy). My team was called into review the EOS in three areas, and our findings weren’t good. I hear recently there was a front page article in the NYT on it—extolling how great it is and saving lives. I do not doubt that it is saving lives, don’t get me wrong I am sure it is, but it is also wasting an exorbitant amount of money while it does it. I have ruffled some serious feathers here—at UNICEF. I don’t mean to really, but it is my obligation to report what the data says—I try and say it as objectively as possible—but who knows!!
As you can imagine I am about to embark out into the field again. In the last 3 weeks I have spent four days in my own bed!! I actually was SOO excited to get back to Addis this last time. I desperately wanted pizza. Weird, but true. However, I only get 48 hours, and I’m off again. I am about to go to Duna Woreda. It’s about a 9 or 10 hour drive from Addis. I just got back from Derashe, which was an 18 hour drive! WOW!! The furthest south I have been. Duna I have been to before, I am heading back to do a survey. It’s a surprisingly dirty place. I’m not sure why, but some how it seems dirtier then the rest of Ethiopia. We shall see.
The following items are random observations on my part I just thought I would share. It’s the small things in life that make you happy—you have to find joy in everyday things—and here are some perfect examples. Spelling is difficult in English if it’s your first language, let alone your second or third—but I always love the little errors.
SIGN problems:
Weeding Shop—for all your “white dresses to wear while in the garden” needs
Fruit Supper Market—Does that mean fruit is for dinner or they only sell fruit and dinner foods?
Masager: For musel relef. – Do I dare go?
MENU issues: translating menu items proves very difficult the world over, here are some of my favourites I have encountered recently:
Margarita Pizza: tomatoes, mozzarella, and organs.—um, which organs? The scary thing is it could NOT be a mistake—ick. I stayed away.
Spices mixed for a surprising taste—surprising good or bad? I stayed away.
Sope, Friz, Rees with Veg, Fred Eag—got all that? That’s soup, fries, rice with veg, and fried egg. They are close though, close enough I got it.
FRANCHISES—another great thing about living abroad is the blatant rip off of American/European companies. Using something similar to their name and symbol to sell your product. Here in Ethiopia we have the following—Mariot (note one r and one t, it is by the airport, and they have the same font and symbol!), Burger Queen (his wife?) , McBurger (clever and it has a yellow M), McDils Burgers (close, but not as close as McBurger), Fridays (with the exact same font and sign as TGI Fridays in the US, I don’t know where they got it!) and MANGO (a European Clothing store—same font used on the sign, not the same clothes). When I find more great examples, I’ll share—but you should get the idea.
Coming up is my favourite time of year—the big fast! The Ethiopian Orthodox church has several fasts through the year as well as every Wednesday and Friday. Fasting means no dairy, beef, chicken, goat, mutton, etc. You can eat pulses, veggies/fruits and fish. Well, starting in a week or so will be the fast—almost 2 months. Basically, if it isn’t a fasting day restaurants only make meat. I have to beg them to make me something else. But Wednesday and Fridays no one makes meat, just veggie stuff and stuff with fish. It ends up Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday are my fast days as there is less available for me to eat. But, for the next 2 months EVERY DAY will be a feast of vegetarian delights!! I am very very excited. It doesn’t matter much in the capitol, as there are plenty of ferenji restaurants that serve the same thing no matter what day it is, but when I am in the field and the town has one café—it’s rough.
Now, I’d like to talk about my Dad. For those of you who don’t know him let me give you a short description (and incomplete, but sufficient for today’s purposes). My Dad was born and raised on a small farm in rural Utah. He went on to get his Master’s in Botany and was a forest fire fighter for a bit. He then turned to conservation/environmental issues and stayed there for about 30 years. This means, my dad is both a farmer and an environmentalist—on top of that he did/does all that in Utah, a desert. So—when you are raised in this environment things become normal to you, that you later learn aren’t normal at all (normal meaning average). For example, your father instigates water saving techniques from day one in his household and doesn’t wait for Utah to be in a drought. So, when you wash dishes the concept of leaving the water running as you wash leaves you nauseated. When you take a shower, anything over 3 to 4 minutes makes you nervous. I still actually start to worry about wastage if my shower is more then 4 minutes. Perhaps I should blame me not washing my hair that often on this fact, but it’s most likely laziness. When you are raised in the Barney household the sound of running water makes you stop and think, “Is that okay? Should that water be on?” You also think everyone waters their lawns at 5:00 in the morning to decrease wastage, right? It’s normal. Another big thing my father instilled in my brain and soul, the concept those who litter are of the devil. I think those TV commercials with the dog and good looking guy and car in the 80’s helped too (they should show those again, they were great!); but it was mainly my father. Every year we cleaned up the garbage on our road. When we went camping, we not only carried everything out with us, we carried everyone else’s litter too. Always leave the campground cleaner then when you found it. Because of this, to this day I CAN NOT litter. I can’t. The act of dropping a piece of garbage on the ground or out the car window leaves me shaky. I can’t even drop an apple core or orange peel without guilt. This isn’t such a bad thing in the US, but abroad the concept of litter does not exist. Meaning—drop where ever you want. The first time I had to face this was when I lived in Moldova. They just drop everything on the ground, everyone. It wholly disturbed me. But, even when I carefully carried my garbage with me until the rare and random time I would see a trash can the reality there was the garbage in the can wasn’t going to be collected, but rather burned or just dumped on the ground. What was the point of me putting the effort in? The same is true here—there is garbage everywhere. There is a garbage collection system, but barely, and not everyone uses. Basically you put organic material in one pile and burnable stuff in another—and burn it. Other then that, you just chuck it out your gate; as long as it’s not on your property. When you eat a piece of candy, you drop the wrapper on the ground, always. Everyone does it, even my team members. I have given them lecture after lecture, but it’s almost pointless—the concept is so foreign to them. I have basically settled with the fact that if they just don’t do it when they are with me, I’ll feel better. I know, it sounds awful—but it’s true.
Okay—music. Most of you know I am a music lover. In the past when people asked me what type of music I liked, I would give the universal response of “everything.” People would roll their eyes, and I would say, “No, really. I like country, rap, HipHop, rock, heavy metal, 80’s, 70’s, 60’s, 50’s, jazz, folk, blues, alternative, etc etc.” Then they would believe me a little more. But, now that I have lived in Ethiopia I have learned there is in fact a type of music I don’t like. I don’t think I had ever been forced to listen to this before, maybe in an elevator for 2 minutes, but not for 2 hours in a car—so I didn’t have the chance to learn I HATE it. I don’t really know the name of the genre of music, but I know one of it’s most famous artists, and the one who is fairly popular, Yanni. Oh, I can not explain how quickly my head begins to pound when Yanni comes on. It’s almost instantaneous, and I’ll promise almost anything to the driver to get him to change the music. For those of you unaware, Yanni plays sappy songs on the sax. When we are on a road trip, I can’t handle even one song. Not even 10 seconds of a local artist who plays Sax or Yanni. I have nothing against the sax in jazz music or other songs, but JUST the saxophone, my brain can not handle.
Okay—so I started this blog last week, then ran out of time and left for Duna, the place explained above. One day after arriving there, I was told if I needed to return to Addis b/c I have five days to get out of Ethiopia. So, after all my talk at the beginning of this email, I am being deported!! How many people can say that?! Today is my last day in Ethiopia—and I am busy packing and saying goodbyes. HOWEVER, I plant to come back. We are applying for the correct visa’s, but are not allowed to continue working while they are processing and must leave. We were even told not to go to the office, and have had to do all my work from home. I have a new supervisor, just 2 months under her belt, that will take over and I will manage remotely over email/phone from Nairobi. That’s right, I get to see another country, probably just the capitol, but it’s something. Hopefully I will only be there for about a month while all the paperwork processes. I will let you all know as soon as I can what is happening. But, for now—the next time you hear from me I will be in Kenya!!
Jessica
Where to start is the question! But, I will just delve in and hope I cover it all. One thing about my job is complete disconnection with the outside world. At my home in Addis I do have TV with BBC and I have access to other news sources, but as I am in the field most of the time—I don’t know much. This week, when I returned home I was very surprised to hear about NY and it’s snow storms, Bill Gates suing a poor Russian school teacher, Obama running for president, Harvard has a female president, Anna Nicole Smith is dead(what!?!?), and that I was about to be deported! Holy cow! I just wasn’t expecting any of these things. But such is the world, chaos—absolute! Oh, don’t worry I’m not being deported—it’s just the founder and current CEO of our NGO is very outspoken (John O’Shea). This includes his dislike for the Ethiopian government. Well, when they can they like to make our lives difficult—so they decided our visa’s are not valid and we all must go!! BAM!! But, after waiting in the immigration offices for four hours on 2 separate days (our punishment I suppose for working for that man!), they have decided to let us apply for the proper visas and give them money. Shocking. Some of the expats were worried, but I knew it was all about annoying us because they could, then getting money out of us. To shut down GOAL in Ethiopia would be some seriously bad PR for them, and they REALLY don’t need any. So, I almost came home—but I get to stay now. Good thing, b/c I am a very busy girl. Rapid Assessments, Verification Assessments, Coverage surveys, Nutrition Surveys, etc. Many of you might of heard of the UNICEF EOS project (Enhanced Outreach Strategy). My team was called into review the EOS in three areas, and our findings weren’t good. I hear recently there was a front page article in the NYT on it—extolling how great it is and saving lives. I do not doubt that it is saving lives, don’t get me wrong I am sure it is, but it is also wasting an exorbitant amount of money while it does it. I have ruffled some serious feathers here—at UNICEF. I don’t mean to really, but it is my obligation to report what the data says—I try and say it as objectively as possible—but who knows!!
As you can imagine I am about to embark out into the field again. In the last 3 weeks I have spent four days in my own bed!! I actually was SOO excited to get back to Addis this last time. I desperately wanted pizza. Weird, but true. However, I only get 48 hours, and I’m off again. I am about to go to Duna Woreda. It’s about a 9 or 10 hour drive from Addis. I just got back from Derashe, which was an 18 hour drive! WOW!! The furthest south I have been. Duna I have been to before, I am heading back to do a survey. It’s a surprisingly dirty place. I’m not sure why, but some how it seems dirtier then the rest of Ethiopia. We shall see.
The following items are random observations on my part I just thought I would share. It’s the small things in life that make you happy—you have to find joy in everyday things—and here are some perfect examples. Spelling is difficult in English if it’s your first language, let alone your second or third—but I always love the little errors.
SIGN problems:
Weeding Shop—for all your “white dresses to wear while in the garden” needs
Fruit Supper Market—Does that mean fruit is for dinner or they only sell fruit and dinner foods?
Masager: For musel relef. – Do I dare go?
MENU issues: translating menu items proves very difficult the world over, here are some of my favourites I have encountered recently:
Margarita Pizza: tomatoes, mozzarella, and organs.—um, which organs? The scary thing is it could NOT be a mistake—ick. I stayed away.
Spices mixed for a surprising taste—surprising good or bad? I stayed away.
Sope, Friz, Rees with Veg, Fred Eag—got all that? That’s soup, fries, rice with veg, and fried egg. They are close though, close enough I got it.
FRANCHISES—another great thing about living abroad is the blatant rip off of American/European companies. Using something similar to their name and symbol to sell your product. Here in Ethiopia we have the following—Mariot (note one r and one t, it is by the airport, and they have the same font and symbol!), Burger Queen (his wife?) , McBurger (clever and it has a yellow M), McDils Burgers (close, but not as close as McBurger), Fridays (with the exact same font and sign as TGI Fridays in the US, I don’t know where they got it!) and MANGO (a European Clothing store—same font used on the sign, not the same clothes). When I find more great examples, I’ll share—but you should get the idea.
Coming up is my favourite time of year—the big fast! The Ethiopian Orthodox church has several fasts through the year as well as every Wednesday and Friday. Fasting means no dairy, beef, chicken, goat, mutton, etc. You can eat pulses, veggies/fruits and fish. Well, starting in a week or so will be the fast—almost 2 months. Basically, if it isn’t a fasting day restaurants only make meat. I have to beg them to make me something else. But Wednesday and Fridays no one makes meat, just veggie stuff and stuff with fish. It ends up Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday are my fast days as there is less available for me to eat. But, for the next 2 months EVERY DAY will be a feast of vegetarian delights!! I am very very excited. It doesn’t matter much in the capitol, as there are plenty of ferenji restaurants that serve the same thing no matter what day it is, but when I am in the field and the town has one café—it’s rough.
Now, I’d like to talk about my Dad. For those of you who don’t know him let me give you a short description (and incomplete, but sufficient for today’s purposes). My Dad was born and raised on a small farm in rural Utah. He went on to get his Master’s in Botany and was a forest fire fighter for a bit. He then turned to conservation/environmental issues and stayed there for about 30 years. This means, my dad is both a farmer and an environmentalist—on top of that he did/does all that in Utah, a desert. So—when you are raised in this environment things become normal to you, that you later learn aren’t normal at all (normal meaning average). For example, your father instigates water saving techniques from day one in his household and doesn’t wait for Utah to be in a drought. So, when you wash dishes the concept of leaving the water running as you wash leaves you nauseated. When you take a shower, anything over 3 to 4 minutes makes you nervous. I still actually start to worry about wastage if my shower is more then 4 minutes. Perhaps I should blame me not washing my hair that often on this fact, but it’s most likely laziness. When you are raised in the Barney household the sound of running water makes you stop and think, “Is that okay? Should that water be on?” You also think everyone waters their lawns at 5:00 in the morning to decrease wastage, right? It’s normal. Another big thing my father instilled in my brain and soul, the concept those who litter are of the devil. I think those TV commercials with the dog and good looking guy and car in the 80’s helped too (they should show those again, they were great!); but it was mainly my father. Every year we cleaned up the garbage on our road. When we went camping, we not only carried everything out with us, we carried everyone else’s litter too. Always leave the campground cleaner then when you found it. Because of this, to this day I CAN NOT litter. I can’t. The act of dropping a piece of garbage on the ground or out the car window leaves me shaky. I can’t even drop an apple core or orange peel without guilt. This isn’t such a bad thing in the US, but abroad the concept of litter does not exist. Meaning—drop where ever you want. The first time I had to face this was when I lived in Moldova. They just drop everything on the ground, everyone. It wholly disturbed me. But, even when I carefully carried my garbage with me until the rare and random time I would see a trash can the reality there was the garbage in the can wasn’t going to be collected, but rather burned or just dumped on the ground. What was the point of me putting the effort in? The same is true here—there is garbage everywhere. There is a garbage collection system, but barely, and not everyone uses. Basically you put organic material in one pile and burnable stuff in another—and burn it. Other then that, you just chuck it out your gate; as long as it’s not on your property. When you eat a piece of candy, you drop the wrapper on the ground, always. Everyone does it, even my team members. I have given them lecture after lecture, but it’s almost pointless—the concept is so foreign to them. I have basically settled with the fact that if they just don’t do it when they are with me, I’ll feel better. I know, it sounds awful—but it’s true.
Okay—music. Most of you know I am a music lover. In the past when people asked me what type of music I liked, I would give the universal response of “everything.” People would roll their eyes, and I would say, “No, really. I like country, rap, HipHop, rock, heavy metal, 80’s, 70’s, 60’s, 50’s, jazz, folk, blues, alternative, etc etc.” Then they would believe me a little more. But, now that I have lived in Ethiopia I have learned there is in fact a type of music I don’t like. I don’t think I had ever been forced to listen to this before, maybe in an elevator for 2 minutes, but not for 2 hours in a car—so I didn’t have the chance to learn I HATE it. I don’t really know the name of the genre of music, but I know one of it’s most famous artists, and the one who is fairly popular, Yanni. Oh, I can not explain how quickly my head begins to pound when Yanni comes on. It’s almost instantaneous, and I’ll promise almost anything to the driver to get him to change the music. For those of you unaware, Yanni plays sappy songs on the sax. When we are on a road trip, I can’t handle even one song. Not even 10 seconds of a local artist who plays Sax or Yanni. I have nothing against the sax in jazz music or other songs, but JUST the saxophone, my brain can not handle.
Okay—so I started this blog last week, then ran out of time and left for Duna, the place explained above. One day after arriving there, I was told if I needed to return to Addis b/c I have five days to get out of Ethiopia. So, after all my talk at the beginning of this email, I am being deported!! How many people can say that?! Today is my last day in Ethiopia—and I am busy packing and saying goodbyes. HOWEVER, I plant to come back. We are applying for the correct visa’s, but are not allowed to continue working while they are processing and must leave. We were even told not to go to the office, and have had to do all my work from home. I have a new supervisor, just 2 months under her belt, that will take over and I will manage remotely over email/phone from Nairobi. That’s right, I get to see another country, probably just the capitol, but it’s something. Hopefully I will only be there for about a month while all the paperwork processes. I will let you all know as soon as I can what is happening. But, for now—the next time you hear from me I will be in Kenya!!
Jessica
10 January 2007
Like lambs to the slaughter—
I was unsure what to expect for Christmas here in Ethiopia. The country is only 50% Christian, but the capitol (where I was for Christmas) is dominantly Christian. I assumed (safely) it wouldn’t be like DC at Christmas, but didn’t know. As far as commercialization, of course there was a bit, but far less then I had expected. One of my FAVORITE things about Ethiopia is the lack of westernization, including—no McDonalds!! YEA! I am sure they are trying, but for now—there is none. I am sure a McDonalds could be maintained with the Expats and richer Ethiopians, but for now I am so glad they aren’t here. Along with that, there is less western influence in the culture. They love their culture, and are proud of it, so change will be slow. However, the few ferenji places and places that cater to that rich 1% of the population (possibly less, I don’t know the exact amount) did have Christmas trees or at minimum pictures of Santa. I saw many signs that said “Mary Christmas!” You can’t really blame them for that misspelling, as Mary was Christ’s mother; but it made me laugh. I saw about eight Christmas trees, including the little one at my house. A former GOAL employee left one behind, about 2 feet with some hideous decorations and some annoying lights that play music and twinkle to the beat. We put it up anyway—just rarely plugged it in.
Anyway—Christmas here is about family, about going home. I let all my staff take the day off on Friday (they already had Monday off) b/c many of them had a 12 to 14 hour bus ride to get home. We didn’t have much going on anyway. Sunday, January 7, was Christmas. I ventured out because it was an absolutely GORGEOUS day. We have had some chilly weather the last week or so, down to 10 and 12 degrees Celsius (50 to 54 Fahrenheit), brrrrr! (I know, I should be stronger, Utahn and all—but I assimilate quickly to new climatesJ). Sunday was gorgeous, actually HOT—it was nice. The temperature reached 27 (80). The town was dead, but not as dead as I had expected—plenty of grocery stores and shops were open. Possibly Muslim owned? The one MAJOR thing I noticed was sheep.
Here, before you slaughter an animal it must be blessed. Once it is blessed, they spray paint a cross on its back or head just to keep them sorted. I have learned the traditional Christmas meal is lamb. So, there were dozens, actually hundreds of lambs in lines waiting to be slaughtered. One thing about Addis is, you will see Land Rovers, Mercedes, BMWs, even two Hummers (owned by someone who works at the American Embassy, shocking!!), but on top of that, you will see herds of cattle, goats, and sheep wandering and grazing in the city. They may walk right past the UN compound, and often cause traffic jams. Luckily, on Christmas, there was hardly any traffic, so most of the herds just stood around in the street. There are certain places you can take your animal to slaughter, where long lines of sheep waited, or near markets there were large gatherings of sheep (spray painted, generally with hot pink for some reason) to be bought and taken home. All day, you could almost hear the screams of the poor lambs as thousands died in the name of Christmas dinner. Ick.
I was invited to spend Christmas with a friend of mine, Henok, and his family. They are of course carnivores; I’ve decided all Africans are. In fact, many of my African friends tell me if you truly want to call yourself African, you must love meat. I suppose I can never convert, not that they would take me. So I go to Henok’s home and am greeted by pans of blood (saved for the dogs), and a lump of innards outside the gate (for the wild dogs in the streets). In fact, all over the city innards are dumped outside people’s gates; it’s a major holiday for street dogs too! The lamb is cooked in different ways, and served with different sauces with injera (Ethiopian flat bread). The family knows I am “not a big meat eater” so they had prepared shuro (one of my favourite dishes, a spicy chickpea sauce). When you eat in Ethiopia, the injera is laid out on a large platter and the different dishes are put directly on the bread. Everyone gathers around this platter, if there are many of you, you turn to your left so your right shoulder is inside, because you eat with your right hand. You tear off a piece of injera and grab some of what you want. SOOO—when you don’t eat what everyone else eats, they must make a separate platter. Thus, it was kind of weird at Christmas dinner as Henok’s family sat around one large platter covered in different lamb dishes as well as a chicken dish, and I had my own little plate with injera and shuro all alone in a different spot! They of course took the time to mock me, purposely eating loud, especially when working on bones—just to see if they could get me to react. I was trying my hardest to not react, and generally I do fine, but when I hear people sucking the bone marrow out of bones (which by the way is VERY healthy), I just can’t handle it. I would cringe, despite my best efforts to not offend. Luckily I am friends with this family, and they don’t care if I cringe—but it was good practice for when I am out with others and must stay straight faced. We then ate cakes, talked, and they told me stories. For Christmas, and other holidays, families spread tall grass, and different herbs whose names I don’t know, on the floor in their homes. I am told it is just because of the greenery and smell it brings to the home. In general, that is all the decorating that happens. Presents are not traditionally part of Ethiopian Christmas, but as you can imagine, are creeping into the culture.
Enough about Christmas—hopefully the lamb stories weren’t enough to warrant a separate ‘gross section;’ if so sorry. I must get back to work. Tomorrow I leave for the field, Silte to be exact. I will be there for one week, then back for a few days, then off to Borena!! YEA!! I hear it is GORGEOUS!! I have a friend coming to town to visit me, some of you know, Natasha Ivans. She is currently finishing up some work in Sudan and is coming through Ethiopia for a few days. She gets here (fingers crossed) on the 13th, which will be nice. I know Tasha from Boston, but she is also a Utah native. I am very excited to hear about her work in Sudan as well as share my new life in Ethiopia with someone.
Okay, cheers to everyone—
jessi
Anyway—Christmas here is about family, about going home. I let all my staff take the day off on Friday (they already had Monday off) b/c many of them had a 12 to 14 hour bus ride to get home. We didn’t have much going on anyway. Sunday, January 7, was Christmas. I ventured out because it was an absolutely GORGEOUS day. We have had some chilly weather the last week or so, down to 10 and 12 degrees Celsius (50 to 54 Fahrenheit), brrrrr! (I know, I should be stronger, Utahn and all—but I assimilate quickly to new climatesJ). Sunday was gorgeous, actually HOT—it was nice. The temperature reached 27 (80). The town was dead, but not as dead as I had expected—plenty of grocery stores and shops were open. Possibly Muslim owned? The one MAJOR thing I noticed was sheep.
Here, before you slaughter an animal it must be blessed. Once it is blessed, they spray paint a cross on its back or head just to keep them sorted. I have learned the traditional Christmas meal is lamb. So, there were dozens, actually hundreds of lambs in lines waiting to be slaughtered. One thing about Addis is, you will see Land Rovers, Mercedes, BMWs, even two Hummers (owned by someone who works at the American Embassy, shocking!!), but on top of that, you will see herds of cattle, goats, and sheep wandering and grazing in the city. They may walk right past the UN compound, and often cause traffic jams. Luckily, on Christmas, there was hardly any traffic, so most of the herds just stood around in the street. There are certain places you can take your animal to slaughter, where long lines of sheep waited, or near markets there were large gatherings of sheep (spray painted, generally with hot pink for some reason) to be bought and taken home. All day, you could almost hear the screams of the poor lambs as thousands died in the name of Christmas dinner. Ick.
I was invited to spend Christmas with a friend of mine, Henok, and his family. They are of course carnivores; I’ve decided all Africans are. In fact, many of my African friends tell me if you truly want to call yourself African, you must love meat. I suppose I can never convert, not that they would take me. So I go to Henok’s home and am greeted by pans of blood (saved for the dogs), and a lump of innards outside the gate (for the wild dogs in the streets). In fact, all over the city innards are dumped outside people’s gates; it’s a major holiday for street dogs too! The lamb is cooked in different ways, and served with different sauces with injera (Ethiopian flat bread). The family knows I am “not a big meat eater” so they had prepared shuro (one of my favourite dishes, a spicy chickpea sauce). When you eat in Ethiopia, the injera is laid out on a large platter and the different dishes are put directly on the bread. Everyone gathers around this platter, if there are many of you, you turn to your left so your right shoulder is inside, because you eat with your right hand. You tear off a piece of injera and grab some of what you want. SOOO—when you don’t eat what everyone else eats, they must make a separate platter. Thus, it was kind of weird at Christmas dinner as Henok’s family sat around one large platter covered in different lamb dishes as well as a chicken dish, and I had my own little plate with injera and shuro all alone in a different spot! They of course took the time to mock me, purposely eating loud, especially when working on bones—just to see if they could get me to react. I was trying my hardest to not react, and generally I do fine, but when I hear people sucking the bone marrow out of bones (which by the way is VERY healthy), I just can’t handle it. I would cringe, despite my best efforts to not offend. Luckily I am friends with this family, and they don’t care if I cringe—but it was good practice for when I am out with others and must stay straight faced. We then ate cakes, talked, and they told me stories. For Christmas, and other holidays, families spread tall grass, and different herbs whose names I don’t know, on the floor in their homes. I am told it is just because of the greenery and smell it brings to the home. In general, that is all the decorating that happens. Presents are not traditionally part of Ethiopian Christmas, but as you can imagine, are creeping into the culture.
Enough about Christmas—hopefully the lamb stories weren’t enough to warrant a separate ‘gross section;’ if so sorry. I must get back to work. Tomorrow I leave for the field, Silte to be exact. I will be there for one week, then back for a few days, then off to Borena!! YEA!! I hear it is GORGEOUS!! I have a friend coming to town to visit me, some of you know, Natasha Ivans. She is currently finishing up some work in Sudan and is coming through Ethiopia for a few days. She gets here (fingers crossed) on the 13th, which will be nice. I know Tasha from Boston, but she is also a Utah native. I am very excited to hear about her work in Sudan as well as share my new life in Ethiopia with someone.
Okay, cheers to everyone—
jessi
09 January 2007
Happy New Year
Happy New Year and Merry Christmas, again! Christmas for the Ethiopian Orthodox church was on January 7—so a whole other Christmas for us!!
My new year began with dinner, a sandwich, and watching CNN talk about Saddam Hussein being executed. Interesting way to start out the year, not what I had planned, but nonetheless engaging. I am still in shock they did it; I just can not believe they up and did it. I thought for sure he’d be around a few more years—at minimum for all his trials. Wow—quite a shocker.
I have grown to love the various news channels I can get here, and am sure I will miss them if ever I move. We get CNN, BBC, and my new favourite, Al Jazeera in English. It’s brilliant, quite a perspective on the world. I figure if I average out the statistics and stories between them all, I might be close to the truth. I am fascinated and annoyed by journalism. I never really thought much about it until I met Mark, a friend from Peace Corps. Mark has the dream (fast becoming, or rather has become reality) of being a reporter/journalist. Now I read, watch, Google, whatever my news with a different attitude. Journalism still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but it is not ‘journalisms’ fault per se, rather the perception of what it is. The ‘news’ is viewed as fact, as the truth or reality of a situation. But, anyone who has been in a place, or involved in a news story, who then saw it reported somewhere can tell you—fact it is not. Actually, what are the facts? What is the truth? Even if we could report truth, can we define it? All information is based on perception, and perception is shaped by life experiences, education, culture, and possibly the biggest determinant, agenda. If a Bush fan and Bush hater watch the exact same news story about Iraq, or elections, or whatever—they both will see/perceive very different reports. The same goes for all topics; your opinion sways how you process the information. SO, if your opinion sways how you listen, how much more does the opinion of the reporter, his/her editor, or the owner of the paper/TV station sway what and how things are reported?!? American news agencies are infamous (in the circles I travel in) for biased reporting. This is easily noted when I watch my three news stations tell the same story three different ways with three different conclusions. But are the American’s the biased ones? Most people I know think so—but they are mostly African and European. So, am I to conclude they are right or in actuality is European news biased? Or, my real opinion, there is no truth and everyone, every station, and every reporter is biased. It makes understanding the world a bit more difficult to view it this way. However, I just can’t blanketly trust a journalist’s point of view—not without personal knowledge of their biases. What is their culture, where were the raised, who are their parents, what did their parents do for a living, where did they go to school, are they religious, which religion, where have they lived, what are their hobbies, with whom do they associate, etc etc. If I know all these things, I can feel more comfortable processing the information and fitting into MY point of view. Which of course leads us to two more problems—1 It is impossible to know this about all reporters and 2 I’m biased! I take all that info, sort it through my perspective, and create what I think is the truth in my mind—yet another version.
Okay—this is a random tangent, not generally what I write, but I have a point. In my field there can be a lot of ‘subjective’ information. Even when there is objective information, a person with a subjective mind collected it, analyzed it, and interpreted it. For my work, I go into an area, survey it, get data both subjective and objective, I analyze it and create a report. So, despite my best efforts to give you the ‘truth’ of what is going on, it is biased. One example of objective data is the GAM (Global Acute Malnutrition). It’s the percentage of children under five whose weight is below what is considered ‘healthy’ or ‘normal’ (which by the way, is their weight compared to a white child of the same age who was bottle fed formula and raised in the US, but that is a WHOLE other topic). So, the percentage of children who fall below ‘normal’ is reported as the rate of malnutrition. It is objective, but what the number means and if action is taken on the number is SUBJECTIVE. These numbers decide who gets funding for nutritional interventions and who doesn’t. These numbers make the news or not. These numbers vary a great deal from country to country. Even within countries in Africa, different numbers mean different things. A GAM of 15% in Ethiopia is different from the same GAM in Niger. For Ethiopia, it’s high (not uncommon) but high. For Niger, it’s practically average. GAM is always that high, so that’s just the way life is, right? But at 15% in Ethiopia, we act. I’m not saying people don’t act in Niger, it’s just that a GAM of 15% in Niger is practically expected. GAM in the US, by the way is 2% (which I think is possibly high). This means, if I did a survey in the US of malnutrition in children under 5, if I found the rate to be 7%, the US Government would PANIC!! But, that same number in Ethiopia, Niger, Zimbabwe, etc is considered normal, baseline. My point in all this is I want you to question what you hear. If you hear that malnutrition is getting better in country X, that could mean their GAM is no longer 15% rather, it’s 12%--still MUCH higher then what we have in the US or what we would accept in the US. Governments also skew the numbers to their benefit. Whether they skew them to look worse, for more donations (a developing nation), or better because it’s an election year (US). This doesn’t just affect malnutrition, but all sciences—and how things are reported. I will post a link for a speech one of my professors from Tufts gave about Human Security in the future. It’s an EXCELLENT speech—and he touches on this topic of reporting of scientific data and how it shapes the planet. Please take time to read it, it’s great.
http://fic.tufts.edu/?pid=11&c=14 Choose Walker, P. 2006. Human security and the pivotal role of science in achieving it.
In closing, I must say I was chastised for not putting ALL the possible spellings of Chat, and the supposed ‘correct’ one. So, FYI Chat is commonly spelled Khat, and can also be referred to as: qaadka, miraa, tohai, tschat, Abyssinian Tea, African Tea, and African salad. I am sure there are more, but I hope this appeases my audience.
Again, Happy New Year—and enjoy 2007!!!!!!!
My new year began with dinner, a sandwich, and watching CNN talk about Saddam Hussein being executed. Interesting way to start out the year, not what I had planned, but nonetheless engaging. I am still in shock they did it; I just can not believe they up and did it. I thought for sure he’d be around a few more years—at minimum for all his trials. Wow—quite a shocker.
I have grown to love the various news channels I can get here, and am sure I will miss them if ever I move. We get CNN, BBC, and my new favourite, Al Jazeera in English. It’s brilliant, quite a perspective on the world. I figure if I average out the statistics and stories between them all, I might be close to the truth. I am fascinated and annoyed by journalism. I never really thought much about it until I met Mark, a friend from Peace Corps. Mark has the dream (fast becoming, or rather has become reality) of being a reporter/journalist. Now I read, watch, Google, whatever my news with a different attitude. Journalism still leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but it is not ‘journalisms’ fault per se, rather the perception of what it is. The ‘news’ is viewed as fact, as the truth or reality of a situation. But, anyone who has been in a place, or involved in a news story, who then saw it reported somewhere can tell you—fact it is not. Actually, what are the facts? What is the truth? Even if we could report truth, can we define it? All information is based on perception, and perception is shaped by life experiences, education, culture, and possibly the biggest determinant, agenda. If a Bush fan and Bush hater watch the exact same news story about Iraq, or elections, or whatever—they both will see/perceive very different reports. The same goes for all topics; your opinion sways how you process the information. SO, if your opinion sways how you listen, how much more does the opinion of the reporter, his/her editor, or the owner of the paper/TV station sway what and how things are reported?!? American news agencies are infamous (in the circles I travel in) for biased reporting. This is easily noted when I watch my three news stations tell the same story three different ways with three different conclusions. But are the American’s the biased ones? Most people I know think so—but they are mostly African and European. So, am I to conclude they are right or in actuality is European news biased? Or, my real opinion, there is no truth and everyone, every station, and every reporter is biased. It makes understanding the world a bit more difficult to view it this way. However, I just can’t blanketly trust a journalist’s point of view—not without personal knowledge of their biases. What is their culture, where were the raised, who are their parents, what did their parents do for a living, where did they go to school, are they religious, which religion, where have they lived, what are their hobbies, with whom do they associate, etc etc. If I know all these things, I can feel more comfortable processing the information and fitting into MY point of view. Which of course leads us to two more problems—1 It is impossible to know this about all reporters and 2 I’m biased! I take all that info, sort it through my perspective, and create what I think is the truth in my mind—yet another version.
Okay—this is a random tangent, not generally what I write, but I have a point. In my field there can be a lot of ‘subjective’ information. Even when there is objective information, a person with a subjective mind collected it, analyzed it, and interpreted it. For my work, I go into an area, survey it, get data both subjective and objective, I analyze it and create a report. So, despite my best efforts to give you the ‘truth’ of what is going on, it is biased. One example of objective data is the GAM (Global Acute Malnutrition). It’s the percentage of children under five whose weight is below what is considered ‘healthy’ or ‘normal’ (which by the way, is their weight compared to a white child of the same age who was bottle fed formula and raised in the US, but that is a WHOLE other topic). So, the percentage of children who fall below ‘normal’ is reported as the rate of malnutrition. It is objective, but what the number means and if action is taken on the number is SUBJECTIVE. These numbers decide who gets funding for nutritional interventions and who doesn’t. These numbers make the news or not. These numbers vary a great deal from country to country. Even within countries in Africa, different numbers mean different things. A GAM of 15% in Ethiopia is different from the same GAM in Niger. For Ethiopia, it’s high (not uncommon) but high. For Niger, it’s practically average. GAM is always that high, so that’s just the way life is, right? But at 15% in Ethiopia, we act. I’m not saying people don’t act in Niger, it’s just that a GAM of 15% in Niger is practically expected. GAM in the US, by the way is 2% (which I think is possibly high). This means, if I did a survey in the US of malnutrition in children under 5, if I found the rate to be 7%, the US Government would PANIC!! But, that same number in Ethiopia, Niger, Zimbabwe, etc is considered normal, baseline. My point in all this is I want you to question what you hear. If you hear that malnutrition is getting better in country X, that could mean their GAM is no longer 15% rather, it’s 12%--still MUCH higher then what we have in the US or what we would accept in the US. Governments also skew the numbers to their benefit. Whether they skew them to look worse, for more donations (a developing nation), or better because it’s an election year (US). This doesn’t just affect malnutrition, but all sciences—and how things are reported. I will post a link for a speech one of my professors from Tufts gave about Human Security in the future. It’s an EXCELLENT speech—and he touches on this topic of reporting of scientific data and how it shapes the planet. Please take time to read it, it’s great.
http://fic.tufts.edu/?pid=11&c=14 Choose Walker, P. 2006. Human security and the pivotal role of science in achieving it.
In closing, I must say I was chastised for not putting ALL the possible spellings of Chat, and the supposed ‘correct’ one. So, FYI Chat is commonly spelled Khat, and can also be referred to as: qaadka, miraa, tohai, tschat, Abyssinian Tea, African Tea, and African salad. I am sure there are more, but I hope this appeases my audience.
Again, Happy New Year—and enjoy 2007!!!!!!!
03 January 2007
FINALLY--some pictures
I just loved this little girl and her baby brother. This is how they carry the babies around. You can't tell, but one side goes over her shoulder, then tied in her front. And, you guessed it, if the kid has to go--he just goes, if you know what i mean!! This area (near Harar) is famous for brightly colored and patterned skirts. So cute!!
This is my FAVORITE breakfast. I believe i've described it before--it's 'Special Fool.' YUMMY!! It's a spicy chickpea and egg dish you eat with your hands!! YUMMMY--
The internet has crashed several times today, losing all my work--I'm not in the mood to re-load all the photos, so I'll do them later. Sorry. I am told at the new office, i won't have to be irritated as much!
19 December 2006
Holidays and such
Well Come!
This is my FAVORITE spelling mistake—it’s fairly international as I have seen it on three continents, and to be honest maybe it’s actually the original spelling. Maybe it’s how the word developed, my smart brothers could tell me—but my uneducated guess says yes.
Anyway, I hope you are all well. It has been WAY too long. I know—I’m not sure where the time went. For those of you who didn’t know, since my last writing I have actually been to the US and back!! It’s true. We had a family issue for which if felt I needed to return; it was a quick trip, but a nice break. It was great to see my family—and talk to a few of you. I am sorry I wasn’t able to contact you all, I spent more time on planes then on the ground, so my talking time was limited. The trip took me to NY, Connecticut, and Utah (and Phoenix and DC if you count airports)! The trip back was probably the worst of the whole thing—from the time I left Utah to the time I arrived in Ethiopia, it was 38 hours!! That’s right, I counted; ‘cause I had the time!! It’s a long story, which can be summed up at the incompetence of someone somewhere at Ethiopian Airlines—grrrrrrr.
But, I’m passed that (obviously), and I have a lot to say. So much has happened, so I will just begin. To warn you, this may be long, so you may want to read it in parts. Also, at the end I will include my ‘not suitable for all readers’ stuff. This will entail gross things first, then the sad things. I’ll warn you before I start this section. And, to remind you these are always available on my blog at jessicasrants.blogspot.com That is also where I post my pictures. So, if you haven’t gone there, I’d give it a go.
First, I want to let you all know we spell Ethiopia wrong. Okay not wrong so much as, not phonetically correct. I didn’t know this until very recently, and to be honest had seen the other spelling and thought it was wrong. The truth is, in Amharic (the main Ethiopian language) there is no ‘th’ sound. Thus, E‘th’iopia can’t be right. Actually, once you have been here oh, at least two days you figure out you are saying it wrong, and change. Then, when you see the new spelling it all makes sense. Itiyopia is actually how you say it, and how many people here spell it with the Latin alphabet. I am not sure which Western nation got it wrong, misheard and started writing with the ‘th’, but I’m going to guess England as we can blame them for other mis-pronunciations like Myanmar. Just a random note—I’ve never met an Ethiopian who cares really, but if you say it right, they are quite impressed and will let you know. On one of my LONG LONG layovers, I was asked where I was going, when I responded with Itiyopia, the woman smiled and said she knew I lived there because I could pronounce it. Proud moment for me.
I have some good and bad news, which are interconnected. The good news is I have graduated to a new room in the house. This room is almost three times the size of my other room, has closets, and, drum roll please, it’s own bathroom!! I don’t have to share with two, rather clean, but still male, boys. Nice. The bathroom is very small, rather entertaining. I can sit on the toilet, shower, and wash my hands all at the same time. Okay, not quite wash my hands, but the toilet shower thing is true.. Actually, the only thing I don’t like about it is the shower curtain. I have yet to figure out the benefit of said shower curtain, as water goes everywhere anyway. The shower is just a pipe coming out of the wall, no fancy shower head; but, it’s hot so I don’t care. The bad news is to obtain said room, some people had to leave. My two best ferenji mates have both left Addis. I am very sad about this—and it will be a hard adjustment. I have plenty of friends, mostly Ethiopian, but you just need someone who gets you once in a while. Ethan’s contract finished so he has gone home to Cornwall and Claire has transferred to Goal Sudan. The other girl in the house, Anna, is on extended leave, so actually it’s just me and the boys. They are nice guys, but I do miss my two friends.
Later I will tell some more stories about being a ferenji (stranger/foreigner), but just a quick one to get us started. I was at an internet café trying to get online (after 1 ½ hours of trying I gave up, the internet was down for the town). The guy there was fascinated by me. Some how we got on the topic of skin, and he wondered how I could have been here for three months, including time in Afar, and still I am not black like him?! ME TOO!! I decided to educate him on the concept of sunburns and getting ‘tan.’ He hadn’t heard these words, so I showed him my BEAUTIFUL example of a farmer’s tan, which quite shocked him. My nose was currently sunburned, so that worked out well also. Then, he pointed to the freckles on my arms with a look of confusion—I assumed he wanted to know the word, so I said, “They are freckles. I get them from my Grandmother.”
To my surprise, he responded, “Why don’t you wash them off? They look bad. You look like you don’t wash.” Ouch. Double ouch. To his surprise, I let him know they are permanent, which he had to prove for himself and began rubbing them trying to get some off. It’s so humbling to be here.
Like I mentioned, I am currently staying in Harar. Harar is a municipality, which means it doesn’t belong to the county surrounding it, rather it reports directly to the state. It is a unique area, with an interesting history. The original city has 5 meter high walls surrounding it. It is a heavy Muslim area, surrounded by Christians. They are proud of their Muslim heritage and the role they played in bringing Islam into Africa. They are famous all over Africa for varying reasons, some of which I will outline here.
1. The women wear very colourful outfits. They wear skirts with bright patterns and colours, just as bright shirts, bright scarves around their shoulders, and to cover their heads a net type material. It can be black, neon colours, red, or multicoloured. They also have beautiful bead work, women wear starting at six months or so. They are called Bishane (not the right spelling, but will give you an idea of pronunciation). They are made of at least 4 colours and up. They are long strands of small beads collected and then joined by bigger beads every two inches or so in clumps. Then they ends hang in front like the end of broom or pony tail. Does that make sense? I have some pictures I will put up for you, that will be better. They also wear beaded arm bands and head bands. The head bands come across their foreheads, and back into their hair. Their hair is braided.
2. Another interesting thing is their water jugs. They have a plant here, which I thought looked like a type of squash. I was excited as I LOVE squash, but was disappointed to learn they aren’t edible. When they are ‘ripe’ they pick them, cut off the tops, and let them dry. They then are water jugs. They are generally shaped like an hour glass, with the bottom larger then the top. Sometimes it will be just a large bottom with a long spout. They use them to carry water and to scoop water. The ones with just the long spout and large bottom, they don’t cut the top off rather, they break a whole in the large part and use it as a scoop. They also paint them with local plants and decorate them with leather strands, beads, shells, rocks, etc. I really want one!
3. The Hyena men of Harar. If you have heard of Harar, it is most likely because of this practice. It is a folklore that long ago there was a famine both man and beast was suffering. The Hyena’s began to prey on the humans, so they struck a deal to stop it. They men would always provide for the Hyena, and they wouldn’t eat the humans. They still celebrate this every year. They make what is called “Hyena Porridge” and put it out in a special place. The head Hyena (a woman) comes forward and tries it. If she doesn’t like it, it will be a bad year, if she eats half it will be a good year, if she is gluttonous and eats it all, it will be a bad year. This happens just once a year, but EVERY night you can go to this spot just outside the old city and see the remaining ‘Hyena Men’ feed the wild Hyena’s with their hands and even from their own mouths!!!!!!!!! If you’ve never seen a Hyena, they are bigger then they look in The Lion King. Much bigger. They have these huge shoulders and little butt. Interesting. I was several at night (when they roam the city), but was unable to go and see the famous Hyena men on this trip. I have to go back to Harar in February and will try then.
4. Though it’s its own municipality, Harar is in the state of Oromiya. The ‘official’ language of the state, and also of Harar, is Oromifa. There are of course many other languages spoken here, but Oromifa and Amharic are the unifying languages. The official language of the government bodies is Oromifa. I have decided to abandon my attempts to learn Amharic, and go for Oromifa. I know what you are thinking, why would you want to add yet another not so useful language to your repertoire? Well, it’s not like Amharic is that useful, Oromifa will help me better in my work as it’s what people speak in most of the rural areas where I work, and lastly, they use the Latin alphabet. Okay, the third reason weighs heavy on my decision, and it would be impossible to stop learning Amharic, as it’s spoken around me all day every day, but I’ve decided to really study Oromifa. I actually like it. It’s like German, in that to get a new word or sound they just add more letters. Here’s an example of a title: “Qajeelfama Qindeessaa Warra Soorannaa Hawaasaa Beeksisaniif” Love it. This says something about breastfeeding and benefits for birth spacing. As time goes on hopefully I’ll be able to give you a few lessons too.
5. My current work is doing a coverage survey in Fedis Woreda. This is the ‘county’ just south of Harar. The ‘coverage’ survey means we are assessing how well a nutrition programme reached it’s target people. Did we get good ‘coverage’ of the area, or not. It’s a big big question, and surprisingly hard to answer. There is of course pressure from up top to get good numbers, but, as most of you can imagine, pressures such as these don’t affect me. Which, side note, is why I most likely will never climb too high in any organization; I don’t play the game. Sorry, random tangent, I was going to explain Fedis to you. Fedis Woreda is supposedly one of the most ‘rural’ areas in the state of Oromiya. However, I must say—it doesn’t seem so rural to me. I’m not sure what this means, if I am just accustomed to areas, or people were exaggerating. I do like the area, it’s beautiful. Quite lush, and covered in red rock formations. The ground is clay mostly, with random areas of white sand. This leads to REALLY slick roads on rainy days, but some good times in the Land Cruiser. I LOVE the roads we are asked to drive. Maybe the answer to how rural the area is answered by how much we end up walking to do our work. If the roads are so bad the Land Cruiser can’t go—that’s probably a sign. The other day we walked over 15 Kilometres trying to track down these different villages. I have a great picture of a road we needed to cross I will put up.
6. Unlike other areas I have been to, Tef is not the main staple here, Sorghum is. I have never seen Sorghum grow, so it’s interesting. It’s very tall, like corn, and in fact looks like corn from a distance. The same green long leaves coming off tall straight stalks. However, on top is the difference. There are MANY varieties of sorghum, but the main one here grows in a tear drop shape. On corn where the top yellow part is, is where the sorghum lies. It grows up for a bit, then bends over and hangs down in a tear drop shape. The growing period is between 9 and 12 months!!!!!!! The sorghum is then dried, the leaves used as fodder for animals, and the stalks as building material. The problem with this variety is the LONG growing season, as well as the tear drop shape is PERFECT to catch rain. If there is too much rain in the wrong season, the tear drop holds the water inside and rots the middle of the sorghum. We drove and walked through field after field of rotting Sorghum, thanks to last week’s unseasonable rain. Hopefully the now hot weather will dry out much of the grain, but only time will tell if the bulk of the crop was ruined. Haramaya University, the largest university in Africa (in land) has introduced a new variety of Sorghum that is shorter and doesn’t form the tear drop. Rather, it stays point up like corn. This variety only takes three months to grow, and as it is accepted into the communities will make a profound difference in their lives.
7. As mentioned earlier, Harar area is famous all over Africa for many things. One of these things is Chaat. Also spelled Qaat, Chat, etc etc. Chaat is a green leafy bush native to Ethiopia. When the smaller leaves are chewed on (for a few hours) it creates a stimulant effect. They were first used by priests/monks to increase the amount of time they could pray, but now it is in wide spread use. It is a culture thing, and when you invite someone to your home in this area, you offer the traditional coffee as well as some quality Chaat. Harar area is famous because it is said to have the best variety of Chaat anywhere. People actually fly from Addis to Harar with empty suitcases to come and buy it in bulk. Chaat is illegal in Eritrea and I think Somalia, but legal here in Ethiopia and an integral part of their culture. Some blame societal issues on it, but I have yet to see the evidence of that. Chaat is just like alcohol, coffee, Coke/Pepsi, or to be honest chocolate. Technically none of them are good for you, but used properly or in a ‘social’ way is fine. Many of you on my list may have a different opinion of alcohol or coffee, and I am not excusing either, but it is the abuse of said substances that can lead to issues. It is the same here for Chaat. Chewed after dinner with some friends in town for a few days, it is not a big deal. But, chewed all day everyday, it does affect your behaviour and society. Those who chew enough to get the famous ‘green drool’ are considered inappropriate, outcasts, like an alcoholic. It is said to be addicting, like other stimulants, and possibly a problem. It is not considered much of anything here (in Harar area, but the rest of Ethiopia is different), children eat it, elderly, everyone. I plan to do some more research on the contents of the chaat leaf, as I am curious the affect on pregnant/lactating women as well as children. I’ll let you know if I uncover anything. I am a nerd. I also have a confession, I tried it. Don’t worry, no getting high for me, as you must chew on the leaves for a few hours for the effects to start and I tried nibble of one leaf. I see people eating it all day, and had to know; can it taste good? The answer is a resounding NO!! It tastes worse then wheat grass!!! Ick Ick Ick Ick. My face said everything, as with the first nibble it contorted into shapes I didn’t know were possible much to the amusement of my team. They love doing that to me. Ick. I have no idea how they chew on it all day. Ick ick ick.
8. Onto Ferenji tales. As a ferenji walking into a rural village, it is assumed you are an all knowing all seeing MD or something. Immediately you are taken to the homes of the sickest people, children and adults, and asked to help. This happens almost every time I go into a village, and for the most part isn’t so bad. A lot of the time, I can at minimum give advice, as it’s infected wounds or most commonly childhood illnesses. Also, if I tell them to go to the clinic, they are more likely to listen then when a community volunteer comes by or a neighbour refers them. However, sometimes it is horrific. I will wait to give the details until the end of the email as promised; but for those of you who won’t read on, it’s hard. Its’ hard to see a child or an adult suffering from something easily treated in the US, or other developed nation, that will most likely die here in Ethiopia. You start to think about your resources, how could you ship them to the US for treatment? Do you know anyone who could sponsor them, could get them help? How would it work? What about visa’s? Paperwork? Would it be easier to send them to Nairobi or Cairo for treatment? Your mind races and you realize in the end, you can’t help everyone. You do your best to encourage them, but in reality you are saying, “Nice to meet you. Good luck with that huge health issue, see you later.” It’s frustrating. This last week I had one village that just pushed me over the edge. Four bad cases in one little village, it was hard. Very hard.
9. A more light hearted ferenji tale, but to be honest just as exhausting as the one above is being treated like a zoo animal. I know I have talked about knowing what ‘fame’ is all about, but I’ve decided my life isn’t like some rich celebrity; it’s more like zoo animal. Possibly celebrities feel this way, as I don’t know any I haven’t asked, but maybe if I cross my fingers I’ll be lucky some day! Anyway, like a zoo animal. We drive into this village in Land Cruiser, my cage. IMMEDIATELY children run up to the car and begin chanting, “Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, etc etc!” It doesn’t stop for a good five minutes or so and usually has this tune they sing it to, the same in every village. I’m not sure if it’s taught in schools, but they all know it. Once I have gathered my stuff, satellite phone, bag, water bottle, etc my team is usually out of the car first and generally provide crowd control. Then, one of them opens my door, it’s like I’m being led around so they can all see. It’s like Peter Hannah (is that his name, it doesn’t sound right but I am referring to the Wild Life guy) is taking me on the Tonight Show or something. The children generally follow us around; older ones run off to let the others know that a strange animal has entered their village. The longer I am there, the greater the crowd grows. Adults join in, though try not to seem as interested. Everyone under say 13 years of age just flat out stares. And, what makes me feel most like an animal is the touching and the fear. They (generally kids under 10) are terrified of me. If I turn around just to face them, they run off in fear screaming. Brave ones sneak forward in the crowd to touch my arm or pull my hair. Some offer me food, others throw things at me. I feel like a need a sign that reads the following: “Please don’t touch the animal, you could harm her. Please don’t feed the animal, don’t throw things at the animal. Don’t tap on the glass, don’t rattle the cage. Don’t taunt the animal; you may just observe her in her natural habitat doing her thing.”
I generally don’t mind, but if you happen to not feel well, or be in a bad mood, you still have to perform. And, if I’m not ‘performing’ (e.g. greeting people, saying the random words I know in the local language, smiling, waving, you know my tricks) my team members, like a zoo keeper will explain I’m not feeling well and to give me space. It’s crazy! Crazy. Of course when we are in areas that are more developed, it doesn’t happen as much, generally younger children always follow me around, but not the whole village. I suppose it’s another way to judge how rural an area is, by how many people follow after me. Most of the time I play it up, shaking hands, little games with kids, and speaking. I even put my arm out to let the kids come up and touch it—they are fascinated by my skin and arm hair. One kid even bit me, not sure why, but don’t worry he didn’t break the skin. If I’m feeling really sassy, I may jump up and yell “RAA!!” at a particular group of kids, sending them scattering for the hills in terror which then turns to giggles and they cautiously make their way back. This THOROUGLY entertains the adults and of course my team members. Once back in my cage (Land Cruiser) and on the road I generally douse my self in hand sanitizer. Children always follow the car banging on the windows again chanting Ferenji Ferenji. I am a zoo animal.
Okay kids, here is where the main email comes to an end and the possibly not what you want to read stuff begins. I am warning you now, so no complaints later. I start with ‘gross’ tales and move onto the health issues I came upon as noted above in my stories.
1. I got sick, I know surprised. Not too bad, just a night of vomiting and that’s all. It could be worse, so I’ll take it. I wasn’t being careful, and in one particular village ate some offered food. I had raw green peanuts straight from the ground, probably not the culprit; some green peppers picked from the garden, and well shook a lot of hands. I also ate at a dodgy restaurant, but such is life. It doesn’t matter where I got the offending item, just how long it will last. The next morning I attempted to go into the office, but it was a no go. Here is where the fun fact and possibly gross part comes in. I won’t explain my vomiting, except of course to say it was orange as my team members were convinced if I drank Mirinda (like Fanta) I would feel better, but I will say there is practice here that still catches me off guard. When people find out you are sick and it has to do with your stomach, the FIRST thing out of their mouth is, “Have you got your poop tested?” I love it. I absolutely love it. I mean of course, it’s what you need to do if it’s serious, but I love that it’s so common and such a common practice that it’s an okay thing to ask. I also am entertained they use the word poop. Not sure how that happened, even the pharmacist I went to wanted to know about my ‘poop.’ Entertaining.
2. The second ‘gross’ thing is most likely just gross to me and a few others. The bulk of you may think the following lines belong in the main body of the letter, but as it is gross to me and I am the author, it goes here. I can honestly say I would rather have a child pee on me, poop on me, or puke on me then sneeze on me. I know, crazy. I don’t know what it is about snot. Even typing the word makes me gag. It’s the only body excrement I can’t handle. I can’t. It freaks me out. I would rather change diarrhoea diapers then wipe a kids nose. Ick. It actually is more of deterrent to my work then my fear of spiders, which will shock a lot of you. I am actually getting over that fear, and can kill with the best of them and even sleep in a room that I KNOW has spiders, cockroaches, whatever, in it. But, my issues with snot continue. Ick. EVERY child here has two snot streams running down their face into their mouth. It is so hard for me to handle. There are no tissues or anything, so if the mom does wipe it up she uses her skirt, shirt, or fingers and then flicks in on the ground. Even writing this is making me sick to my stomach. It’s so awful. I mean kids are so cute, why do they have to be ruined by such a gross substance. Ick. On top of that, despite the fact that my Lonely Planet Guide says ‘body sounds’ are inappropriate in Ethiopia, farmer blows and clearing your throat and ‘hawkin’ a loogie’ is SOOOOO not an issue anywhere in this country at anytime by anyone. ICK. Snot. I realize those two statements are both regional sayings as well as possibly misspelled, so to define it for you—farmer blows are when you block one nostril with your finger and blow the other one into the air, onto the ground, whatever. ‘Hawking a loogie’ is when you clear your throat of mucous then spit it out. Ick. Even the sound of someone clearing their throat makes me cringe. Gag.
3. Kids are FILTHY FILTHY here. You think it’s hard keeping a kid clean in the US, try keeping a kid clean where there is only mud on the ground, inside and out, your house is made of mud, animal and possibly human waste litters the ground, your child has no shoes, you wash his one or two set of clothes in water that is NEVER clear—rather always the colour of clay, you don’t have running water, you have to go and fish your water out of a pond, so none left over for big baths, and there are no diapers. Then add the perpetual rivers of snot running down their faces to the wind blowing dust, and well, it’s a disaster. For those of you unaware, the kids just run around bare bottomed. It’s kind of cute. When they need to go, they go—if you are holding them it’s on you, if not, its down their legs and on the ground. Sometimes the parent will put little underwear type things on them, just cotton things, that when wet they wash and dry. They spend a lot of time sitting on the ground, especially younger ones. They crawl around in the mud and splash in puddles—as dirty as a child can get. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that they don’t try. You can see them try—scrub as hard as they can on the rock that little shirt; but it is SUCH an uphill battle. As you can guess, Urinary Tract Infections are quite common in the little girls. I am fascinated, with my American point of view, children survive childhood here. Their little bodies have to survive all that filth and germs, plus lack of food, and high rates of infectious diseases. Diarrhoea is a way of life, and they don’t even consider having a cold to be sick unless there is a fever with it. If you have a cold, you are normal. Everyone is coughing all the time. At any moment these kids could catch TB, Cholera, Malaria, Measles, worms, parasites, and thousands of other things, and generally do. When a child enters a health program, no matter the reason, they are generally given de-worming tablets as it can just be assumed they all have worms. They are also given routine antibiotics. It’s not like the US, where these antibiotics are being over used; it’s a safe assumption the child needs them. Side note, it is also assumed I have worms and should be taking de-worming tablets every three months or so.
4. Lastly, I will explain the health problems encountered here in Harar. These four cases were all in one village, and it was particularly hard to leave them behind.
1. A little girl was brought to my attention. At first glance she looks healthy, not thin and no oedema. Then you see the sore on her mouth. The right side of her mouth is inflamed and crusty with infection. It looks extremely painful, and little girl can barely open her mouth. Then her mother lifts her dress, there on her left leg spreading from her thigh onto her vagina is the same sore. My guess, Herpes Complex I, but who knows? The poor girl can barely sit down she is in so much pain. The areas are raw and dirty of course. All I could do was refer her to the local clinic (a 2 hour walk). I also assured the mother had soap, and explained how to wash and dry the area. I asked her to try and keep the girl off the ground, sitting on branches, stools, or rocks, instead of the dirt—but as the little girl is three her mother can’t really control where she sits all day. Poor thing.
2. The next little boy was case of Anencephaly. This is when fluids collect in the skull and it continues to grow. It can affect the brain development as well as other problems. The child was just over 2 years, and his head measured 56 cm around (22 inches). The poor kid also had nervous issues, and weak limbs. He had never spoken, crawled, or stood. Here, there is nothing I can say. Nothing. Even in the US to treat this requires surgeries, and is life long ordeal. Here, there is absolutely nothing. The local health clinic is staffed by a ‘junior nurse’ who receives one year of schooling, and even if this village family could afford to go to Addis I doubt they have capabilities there. So, it’s “Well, nice to meet you, good luck with that, have a nice life.” It’s so frustrating.
3. The next was a woman. She was in her mid twenties, though she looked older. Her face was severely swollen, as well as her limbs. She was dizzy and when she ate, she would usually vomit it all up. She was six months post-partum, and the child had died less then a week after delivery. From her description it sounded as if she had had Pre-eclampsia during her pregnancy, and was still having issues. She had gone to the clinic and they sent her home with 5 aspirins and a months worth of folic acid and iron tablets. Like either of those will do any good!! What am I supposed to do? Um, eat right and rest. Okay? I don’t know?!?!? Again, I had to walk away feeling helpless.
4. Next was a 12 year old boy. His foot had begun swelling a month earlier. He had not fallen on it, or gotten a cut, it had just begun on the inside to swell. His foot (near the ankle) was now the size of a softball, and he couldn’t move his ankle and could barely wiggle his toes. The area was now outwardly infected as well, with dried blood visible as well as puss and other unidentifiable items protruding. The family had packed it in dried grass. It was OBVIOUSLY infected, and wasn’t getting better. My advice, um wash it with soap and water, try to keep it clean and get to the clinic if you can. More then likely, the child will lose his leg if he’s lucky, but more likely he will die of sepsis/gangrene.
5. Finally, I am mentally and emotionally drained, and we are done sampling the village so we head back to the car. On the way I am stopped by a mother. She has, what I think is a very shy little girl, standing in front of me. The little girl is about 12 and has a head scarf covering her head and face. I kneel down to greet her, just as she is lifting her veil, and what I see absolutely floors me. I hope with all my soul it didn’t show in my face, but it was disturbing. This beautiful little girl had only what I can describe as ‘eye tumours.’ Her right eye was completely taken over, and the white tumour which had grown straight out from her cornea protruded out from her eye ball. It was like a white marble attached to her lens. It was so large her eye no longer closed, and when she blinked the top eyelid just bumped into the marble and a few tears would sprinkle out. She had of course lost sight in the eye. The whole thing had taken about a year. The bigger issue, as if there could be, was a white spot just as the first had begun, was now forming in her other eye. With in a year, her other eye will be the same. I have ABSOLUTELY NO idea what to say or do. I ask if they had been to the clinic, helpful me, and the mother said yes. The people at the clinic had told her they could treat it but it would cost 600 Birr. Six hundred birr might as well be a billion dollars to these people. And, to be honest, I don’t know what clinic she was referring to, but it didn’t seem easily treated and I doubt the ability of the local clinic to treat it. The mother actually asked me to take a picture, they know it can help. I am debating if I should put the picture up or not. It’s quite graphic and hard to look at without your eyes watering from sympathy pain and sadness. Let me know what you think. So again, I had to say I’m sorry, I’m useless, good luck with that—Chau!! That ride home and that night were my longest thus far in Ethiopia. Sometimes my job sucks, it really truly sucks.
Well, if you have made it this far, I am impressed. My random ramblings are quite cathartic for me, but I’m not sure how readable they are for you. I hope you are all well and hope to write more soon. Happy Holidays, by the way. I get two Christmas’s the “Western” Christmas on December 25, and then the Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. Yea for me J
Cheers,
jessi
This is my FAVORITE spelling mistake—it’s fairly international as I have seen it on three continents, and to be honest maybe it’s actually the original spelling. Maybe it’s how the word developed, my smart brothers could tell me—but my uneducated guess says yes.
Anyway, I hope you are all well. It has been WAY too long. I know—I’m not sure where the time went. For those of you who didn’t know, since my last writing I have actually been to the US and back!! It’s true. We had a family issue for which if felt I needed to return; it was a quick trip, but a nice break. It was great to see my family—and talk to a few of you. I am sorry I wasn’t able to contact you all, I spent more time on planes then on the ground, so my talking time was limited. The trip took me to NY, Connecticut, and Utah (and Phoenix and DC if you count airports)! The trip back was probably the worst of the whole thing—from the time I left Utah to the time I arrived in Ethiopia, it was 38 hours!! That’s right, I counted; ‘cause I had the time!! It’s a long story, which can be summed up at the incompetence of someone somewhere at Ethiopian Airlines—grrrrrrr.
But, I’m passed that (obviously), and I have a lot to say. So much has happened, so I will just begin. To warn you, this may be long, so you may want to read it in parts. Also, at the end I will include my ‘not suitable for all readers’ stuff. This will entail gross things first, then the sad things. I’ll warn you before I start this section. And, to remind you these are always available on my blog at jessicasrants.blogspot.com That is also where I post my pictures. So, if you haven’t gone there, I’d give it a go.
First, I want to let you all know we spell Ethiopia wrong. Okay not wrong so much as, not phonetically correct. I didn’t know this until very recently, and to be honest had seen the other spelling and thought it was wrong. The truth is, in Amharic (the main Ethiopian language) there is no ‘th’ sound. Thus, E‘th’iopia can’t be right. Actually, once you have been here oh, at least two days you figure out you are saying it wrong, and change. Then, when you see the new spelling it all makes sense. Itiyopia is actually how you say it, and how many people here spell it with the Latin alphabet. I am not sure which Western nation got it wrong, misheard and started writing with the ‘th’, but I’m going to guess England as we can blame them for other mis-pronunciations like Myanmar. Just a random note—I’ve never met an Ethiopian who cares really, but if you say it right, they are quite impressed and will let you know. On one of my LONG LONG layovers, I was asked where I was going, when I responded with Itiyopia, the woman smiled and said she knew I lived there because I could pronounce it. Proud moment for me.
I have some good and bad news, which are interconnected. The good news is I have graduated to a new room in the house. This room is almost three times the size of my other room, has closets, and, drum roll please, it’s own bathroom!! I don’t have to share with two, rather clean, but still male, boys. Nice. The bathroom is very small, rather entertaining. I can sit on the toilet, shower, and wash my hands all at the same time. Okay, not quite wash my hands, but the toilet shower thing is true.. Actually, the only thing I don’t like about it is the shower curtain. I have yet to figure out the benefit of said shower curtain, as water goes everywhere anyway. The shower is just a pipe coming out of the wall, no fancy shower head; but, it’s hot so I don’t care. The bad news is to obtain said room, some people had to leave. My two best ferenji mates have both left Addis. I am very sad about this—and it will be a hard adjustment. I have plenty of friends, mostly Ethiopian, but you just need someone who gets you once in a while. Ethan’s contract finished so he has gone home to Cornwall and Claire has transferred to Goal Sudan. The other girl in the house, Anna, is on extended leave, so actually it’s just me and the boys. They are nice guys, but I do miss my two friends.
Later I will tell some more stories about being a ferenji (stranger/foreigner), but just a quick one to get us started. I was at an internet café trying to get online (after 1 ½ hours of trying I gave up, the internet was down for the town). The guy there was fascinated by me. Some how we got on the topic of skin, and he wondered how I could have been here for three months, including time in Afar, and still I am not black like him?! ME TOO!! I decided to educate him on the concept of sunburns and getting ‘tan.’ He hadn’t heard these words, so I showed him my BEAUTIFUL example of a farmer’s tan, which quite shocked him. My nose was currently sunburned, so that worked out well also. Then, he pointed to the freckles on my arms with a look of confusion—I assumed he wanted to know the word, so I said, “They are freckles. I get them from my Grandmother.”
To my surprise, he responded, “Why don’t you wash them off? They look bad. You look like you don’t wash.” Ouch. Double ouch. To his surprise, I let him know they are permanent, which he had to prove for himself and began rubbing them trying to get some off. It’s so humbling to be here.
Like I mentioned, I am currently staying in Harar. Harar is a municipality, which means it doesn’t belong to the county surrounding it, rather it reports directly to the state. It is a unique area, with an interesting history. The original city has 5 meter high walls surrounding it. It is a heavy Muslim area, surrounded by Christians. They are proud of their Muslim heritage and the role they played in bringing Islam into Africa. They are famous all over Africa for varying reasons, some of which I will outline here.
1. The women wear very colourful outfits. They wear skirts with bright patterns and colours, just as bright shirts, bright scarves around their shoulders, and to cover their heads a net type material. It can be black, neon colours, red, or multicoloured. They also have beautiful bead work, women wear starting at six months or so. They are called Bishane (not the right spelling, but will give you an idea of pronunciation). They are made of at least 4 colours and up. They are long strands of small beads collected and then joined by bigger beads every two inches or so in clumps. Then they ends hang in front like the end of broom or pony tail. Does that make sense? I have some pictures I will put up for you, that will be better. They also wear beaded arm bands and head bands. The head bands come across their foreheads, and back into their hair. Their hair is braided.
2. Another interesting thing is their water jugs. They have a plant here, which I thought looked like a type of squash. I was excited as I LOVE squash, but was disappointed to learn they aren’t edible. When they are ‘ripe’ they pick them, cut off the tops, and let them dry. They then are water jugs. They are generally shaped like an hour glass, with the bottom larger then the top. Sometimes it will be just a large bottom with a long spout. They use them to carry water and to scoop water. The ones with just the long spout and large bottom, they don’t cut the top off rather, they break a whole in the large part and use it as a scoop. They also paint them with local plants and decorate them with leather strands, beads, shells, rocks, etc. I really want one!
3. The Hyena men of Harar. If you have heard of Harar, it is most likely because of this practice. It is a folklore that long ago there was a famine both man and beast was suffering. The Hyena’s began to prey on the humans, so they struck a deal to stop it. They men would always provide for the Hyena, and they wouldn’t eat the humans. They still celebrate this every year. They make what is called “Hyena Porridge” and put it out in a special place. The head Hyena (a woman) comes forward and tries it. If she doesn’t like it, it will be a bad year, if she eats half it will be a good year, if she is gluttonous and eats it all, it will be a bad year. This happens just once a year, but EVERY night you can go to this spot just outside the old city and see the remaining ‘Hyena Men’ feed the wild Hyena’s with their hands and even from their own mouths!!!!!!!!! If you’ve never seen a Hyena, they are bigger then they look in The Lion King. Much bigger. They have these huge shoulders and little butt. Interesting. I was several at night (when they roam the city), but was unable to go and see the famous Hyena men on this trip. I have to go back to Harar in February and will try then.
4. Though it’s its own municipality, Harar is in the state of Oromiya. The ‘official’ language of the state, and also of Harar, is Oromifa. There are of course many other languages spoken here, but Oromifa and Amharic are the unifying languages. The official language of the government bodies is Oromifa. I have decided to abandon my attempts to learn Amharic, and go for Oromifa. I know what you are thinking, why would you want to add yet another not so useful language to your repertoire? Well, it’s not like Amharic is that useful, Oromifa will help me better in my work as it’s what people speak in most of the rural areas where I work, and lastly, they use the Latin alphabet. Okay, the third reason weighs heavy on my decision, and it would be impossible to stop learning Amharic, as it’s spoken around me all day every day, but I’ve decided to really study Oromifa. I actually like it. It’s like German, in that to get a new word or sound they just add more letters. Here’s an example of a title: “Qajeelfama Qindeessaa Warra Soorannaa Hawaasaa Beeksisaniif” Love it. This says something about breastfeeding and benefits for birth spacing. As time goes on hopefully I’ll be able to give you a few lessons too.
5. My current work is doing a coverage survey in Fedis Woreda. This is the ‘county’ just south of Harar. The ‘coverage’ survey means we are assessing how well a nutrition programme reached it’s target people. Did we get good ‘coverage’ of the area, or not. It’s a big big question, and surprisingly hard to answer. There is of course pressure from up top to get good numbers, but, as most of you can imagine, pressures such as these don’t affect me. Which, side note, is why I most likely will never climb too high in any organization; I don’t play the game. Sorry, random tangent, I was going to explain Fedis to you. Fedis Woreda is supposedly one of the most ‘rural’ areas in the state of Oromiya. However, I must say—it doesn’t seem so rural to me. I’m not sure what this means, if I am just accustomed to areas, or people were exaggerating. I do like the area, it’s beautiful. Quite lush, and covered in red rock formations. The ground is clay mostly, with random areas of white sand. This leads to REALLY slick roads on rainy days, but some good times in the Land Cruiser. I LOVE the roads we are asked to drive. Maybe the answer to how rural the area is answered by how much we end up walking to do our work. If the roads are so bad the Land Cruiser can’t go—that’s probably a sign. The other day we walked over 15 Kilometres trying to track down these different villages. I have a great picture of a road we needed to cross I will put up.
6. Unlike other areas I have been to, Tef is not the main staple here, Sorghum is. I have never seen Sorghum grow, so it’s interesting. It’s very tall, like corn, and in fact looks like corn from a distance. The same green long leaves coming off tall straight stalks. However, on top is the difference. There are MANY varieties of sorghum, but the main one here grows in a tear drop shape. On corn where the top yellow part is, is where the sorghum lies. It grows up for a bit, then bends over and hangs down in a tear drop shape. The growing period is between 9 and 12 months!!!!!!! The sorghum is then dried, the leaves used as fodder for animals, and the stalks as building material. The problem with this variety is the LONG growing season, as well as the tear drop shape is PERFECT to catch rain. If there is too much rain in the wrong season, the tear drop holds the water inside and rots the middle of the sorghum. We drove and walked through field after field of rotting Sorghum, thanks to last week’s unseasonable rain. Hopefully the now hot weather will dry out much of the grain, but only time will tell if the bulk of the crop was ruined. Haramaya University, the largest university in Africa (in land) has introduced a new variety of Sorghum that is shorter and doesn’t form the tear drop. Rather, it stays point up like corn. This variety only takes three months to grow, and as it is accepted into the communities will make a profound difference in their lives.
7. As mentioned earlier, Harar area is famous all over Africa for many things. One of these things is Chaat. Also spelled Qaat, Chat, etc etc. Chaat is a green leafy bush native to Ethiopia. When the smaller leaves are chewed on (for a few hours) it creates a stimulant effect. They were first used by priests/monks to increase the amount of time they could pray, but now it is in wide spread use. It is a culture thing, and when you invite someone to your home in this area, you offer the traditional coffee as well as some quality Chaat. Harar area is famous because it is said to have the best variety of Chaat anywhere. People actually fly from Addis to Harar with empty suitcases to come and buy it in bulk. Chaat is illegal in Eritrea and I think Somalia, but legal here in Ethiopia and an integral part of their culture. Some blame societal issues on it, but I have yet to see the evidence of that. Chaat is just like alcohol, coffee, Coke/Pepsi, or to be honest chocolate. Technically none of them are good for you, but used properly or in a ‘social’ way is fine. Many of you on my list may have a different opinion of alcohol or coffee, and I am not excusing either, but it is the abuse of said substances that can lead to issues. It is the same here for Chaat. Chewed after dinner with some friends in town for a few days, it is not a big deal. But, chewed all day everyday, it does affect your behaviour and society. Those who chew enough to get the famous ‘green drool’ are considered inappropriate, outcasts, like an alcoholic. It is said to be addicting, like other stimulants, and possibly a problem. It is not considered much of anything here (in Harar area, but the rest of Ethiopia is different), children eat it, elderly, everyone. I plan to do some more research on the contents of the chaat leaf, as I am curious the affect on pregnant/lactating women as well as children. I’ll let you know if I uncover anything. I am a nerd. I also have a confession, I tried it. Don’t worry, no getting high for me, as you must chew on the leaves for a few hours for the effects to start and I tried nibble of one leaf. I see people eating it all day, and had to know; can it taste good? The answer is a resounding NO!! It tastes worse then wheat grass!!! Ick Ick Ick Ick. My face said everything, as with the first nibble it contorted into shapes I didn’t know were possible much to the amusement of my team. They love doing that to me. Ick. I have no idea how they chew on it all day. Ick ick ick.
8. Onto Ferenji tales. As a ferenji walking into a rural village, it is assumed you are an all knowing all seeing MD or something. Immediately you are taken to the homes of the sickest people, children and adults, and asked to help. This happens almost every time I go into a village, and for the most part isn’t so bad. A lot of the time, I can at minimum give advice, as it’s infected wounds or most commonly childhood illnesses. Also, if I tell them to go to the clinic, they are more likely to listen then when a community volunteer comes by or a neighbour refers them. However, sometimes it is horrific. I will wait to give the details until the end of the email as promised; but for those of you who won’t read on, it’s hard. Its’ hard to see a child or an adult suffering from something easily treated in the US, or other developed nation, that will most likely die here in Ethiopia. You start to think about your resources, how could you ship them to the US for treatment? Do you know anyone who could sponsor them, could get them help? How would it work? What about visa’s? Paperwork? Would it be easier to send them to Nairobi or Cairo for treatment? Your mind races and you realize in the end, you can’t help everyone. You do your best to encourage them, but in reality you are saying, “Nice to meet you. Good luck with that huge health issue, see you later.” It’s frustrating. This last week I had one village that just pushed me over the edge. Four bad cases in one little village, it was hard. Very hard.
9. A more light hearted ferenji tale, but to be honest just as exhausting as the one above is being treated like a zoo animal. I know I have talked about knowing what ‘fame’ is all about, but I’ve decided my life isn’t like some rich celebrity; it’s more like zoo animal. Possibly celebrities feel this way, as I don’t know any I haven’t asked, but maybe if I cross my fingers I’ll be lucky some day! Anyway, like a zoo animal. We drive into this village in Land Cruiser, my cage. IMMEDIATELY children run up to the car and begin chanting, “Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, Ferenji, etc etc!” It doesn’t stop for a good five minutes or so and usually has this tune they sing it to, the same in every village. I’m not sure if it’s taught in schools, but they all know it. Once I have gathered my stuff, satellite phone, bag, water bottle, etc my team is usually out of the car first and generally provide crowd control. Then, one of them opens my door, it’s like I’m being led around so they can all see. It’s like Peter Hannah (is that his name, it doesn’t sound right but I am referring to the Wild Life guy) is taking me on the Tonight Show or something. The children generally follow us around; older ones run off to let the others know that a strange animal has entered their village. The longer I am there, the greater the crowd grows. Adults join in, though try not to seem as interested. Everyone under say 13 years of age just flat out stares. And, what makes me feel most like an animal is the touching and the fear. They (generally kids under 10) are terrified of me. If I turn around just to face them, they run off in fear screaming. Brave ones sneak forward in the crowd to touch my arm or pull my hair. Some offer me food, others throw things at me. I feel like a need a sign that reads the following: “Please don’t touch the animal, you could harm her. Please don’t feed the animal, don’t throw things at the animal. Don’t tap on the glass, don’t rattle the cage. Don’t taunt the animal; you may just observe her in her natural habitat doing her thing.”
I generally don’t mind, but if you happen to not feel well, or be in a bad mood, you still have to perform. And, if I’m not ‘performing’ (e.g. greeting people, saying the random words I know in the local language, smiling, waving, you know my tricks) my team members, like a zoo keeper will explain I’m not feeling well and to give me space. It’s crazy! Crazy. Of course when we are in areas that are more developed, it doesn’t happen as much, generally younger children always follow me around, but not the whole village. I suppose it’s another way to judge how rural an area is, by how many people follow after me. Most of the time I play it up, shaking hands, little games with kids, and speaking. I even put my arm out to let the kids come up and touch it—they are fascinated by my skin and arm hair. One kid even bit me, not sure why, but don’t worry he didn’t break the skin. If I’m feeling really sassy, I may jump up and yell “RAA!!” at a particular group of kids, sending them scattering for the hills in terror which then turns to giggles and they cautiously make their way back. This THOROUGLY entertains the adults and of course my team members. Once back in my cage (Land Cruiser) and on the road I generally douse my self in hand sanitizer. Children always follow the car banging on the windows again chanting Ferenji Ferenji. I am a zoo animal.
Okay kids, here is where the main email comes to an end and the possibly not what you want to read stuff begins. I am warning you now, so no complaints later. I start with ‘gross’ tales and move onto the health issues I came upon as noted above in my stories.
1. I got sick, I know surprised. Not too bad, just a night of vomiting and that’s all. It could be worse, so I’ll take it. I wasn’t being careful, and in one particular village ate some offered food. I had raw green peanuts straight from the ground, probably not the culprit; some green peppers picked from the garden, and well shook a lot of hands. I also ate at a dodgy restaurant, but such is life. It doesn’t matter where I got the offending item, just how long it will last. The next morning I attempted to go into the office, but it was a no go. Here is where the fun fact and possibly gross part comes in. I won’t explain my vomiting, except of course to say it was orange as my team members were convinced if I drank Mirinda (like Fanta) I would feel better, but I will say there is practice here that still catches me off guard. When people find out you are sick and it has to do with your stomach, the FIRST thing out of their mouth is, “Have you got your poop tested?” I love it. I absolutely love it. I mean of course, it’s what you need to do if it’s serious, but I love that it’s so common and such a common practice that it’s an okay thing to ask. I also am entertained they use the word poop. Not sure how that happened, even the pharmacist I went to wanted to know about my ‘poop.’ Entertaining.
2. The second ‘gross’ thing is most likely just gross to me and a few others. The bulk of you may think the following lines belong in the main body of the letter, but as it is gross to me and I am the author, it goes here. I can honestly say I would rather have a child pee on me, poop on me, or puke on me then sneeze on me. I know, crazy. I don’t know what it is about snot. Even typing the word makes me gag. It’s the only body excrement I can’t handle. I can’t. It freaks me out. I would rather change diarrhoea diapers then wipe a kids nose. Ick. It actually is more of deterrent to my work then my fear of spiders, which will shock a lot of you. I am actually getting over that fear, and can kill with the best of them and even sleep in a room that I KNOW has spiders, cockroaches, whatever, in it. But, my issues with snot continue. Ick. EVERY child here has two snot streams running down their face into their mouth. It is so hard for me to handle. There are no tissues or anything, so if the mom does wipe it up she uses her skirt, shirt, or fingers and then flicks in on the ground. Even writing this is making me sick to my stomach. It’s so awful. I mean kids are so cute, why do they have to be ruined by such a gross substance. Ick. On top of that, despite the fact that my Lonely Planet Guide says ‘body sounds’ are inappropriate in Ethiopia, farmer blows and clearing your throat and ‘hawkin’ a loogie’ is SOOOOO not an issue anywhere in this country at anytime by anyone. ICK. Snot. I realize those two statements are both regional sayings as well as possibly misspelled, so to define it for you—farmer blows are when you block one nostril with your finger and blow the other one into the air, onto the ground, whatever. ‘Hawking a loogie’ is when you clear your throat of mucous then spit it out. Ick. Even the sound of someone clearing their throat makes me cringe. Gag.
3. Kids are FILTHY FILTHY here. You think it’s hard keeping a kid clean in the US, try keeping a kid clean where there is only mud on the ground, inside and out, your house is made of mud, animal and possibly human waste litters the ground, your child has no shoes, you wash his one or two set of clothes in water that is NEVER clear—rather always the colour of clay, you don’t have running water, you have to go and fish your water out of a pond, so none left over for big baths, and there are no diapers. Then add the perpetual rivers of snot running down their faces to the wind blowing dust, and well, it’s a disaster. For those of you unaware, the kids just run around bare bottomed. It’s kind of cute. When they need to go, they go—if you are holding them it’s on you, if not, its down their legs and on the ground. Sometimes the parent will put little underwear type things on them, just cotton things, that when wet they wash and dry. They spend a lot of time sitting on the ground, especially younger ones. They crawl around in the mud and splash in puddles—as dirty as a child can get. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that they don’t try. You can see them try—scrub as hard as they can on the rock that little shirt; but it is SUCH an uphill battle. As you can guess, Urinary Tract Infections are quite common in the little girls. I am fascinated, with my American point of view, children survive childhood here. Their little bodies have to survive all that filth and germs, plus lack of food, and high rates of infectious diseases. Diarrhoea is a way of life, and they don’t even consider having a cold to be sick unless there is a fever with it. If you have a cold, you are normal. Everyone is coughing all the time. At any moment these kids could catch TB, Cholera, Malaria, Measles, worms, parasites, and thousands of other things, and generally do. When a child enters a health program, no matter the reason, they are generally given de-worming tablets as it can just be assumed they all have worms. They are also given routine antibiotics. It’s not like the US, where these antibiotics are being over used; it’s a safe assumption the child needs them. Side note, it is also assumed I have worms and should be taking de-worming tablets every three months or so.
4. Lastly, I will explain the health problems encountered here in Harar. These four cases were all in one village, and it was particularly hard to leave them behind.
1. A little girl was brought to my attention. At first glance she looks healthy, not thin and no oedema. Then you see the sore on her mouth. The right side of her mouth is inflamed and crusty with infection. It looks extremely painful, and little girl can barely open her mouth. Then her mother lifts her dress, there on her left leg spreading from her thigh onto her vagina is the same sore. My guess, Herpes Complex I, but who knows? The poor girl can barely sit down she is in so much pain. The areas are raw and dirty of course. All I could do was refer her to the local clinic (a 2 hour walk). I also assured the mother had soap, and explained how to wash and dry the area. I asked her to try and keep the girl off the ground, sitting on branches, stools, or rocks, instead of the dirt—but as the little girl is three her mother can’t really control where she sits all day. Poor thing.
2. The next little boy was case of Anencephaly. This is when fluids collect in the skull and it continues to grow. It can affect the brain development as well as other problems. The child was just over 2 years, and his head measured 56 cm around (22 inches). The poor kid also had nervous issues, and weak limbs. He had never spoken, crawled, or stood. Here, there is nothing I can say. Nothing. Even in the US to treat this requires surgeries, and is life long ordeal. Here, there is absolutely nothing. The local health clinic is staffed by a ‘junior nurse’ who receives one year of schooling, and even if this village family could afford to go to Addis I doubt they have capabilities there. So, it’s “Well, nice to meet you, good luck with that, have a nice life.” It’s so frustrating.
3. The next was a woman. She was in her mid twenties, though she looked older. Her face was severely swollen, as well as her limbs. She was dizzy and when she ate, she would usually vomit it all up. She was six months post-partum, and the child had died less then a week after delivery. From her description it sounded as if she had had Pre-eclampsia during her pregnancy, and was still having issues. She had gone to the clinic and they sent her home with 5 aspirins and a months worth of folic acid and iron tablets. Like either of those will do any good!! What am I supposed to do? Um, eat right and rest. Okay? I don’t know?!?!? Again, I had to walk away feeling helpless.
4. Next was a 12 year old boy. His foot had begun swelling a month earlier. He had not fallen on it, or gotten a cut, it had just begun on the inside to swell. His foot (near the ankle) was now the size of a softball, and he couldn’t move his ankle and could barely wiggle his toes. The area was now outwardly infected as well, with dried blood visible as well as puss and other unidentifiable items protruding. The family had packed it in dried grass. It was OBVIOUSLY infected, and wasn’t getting better. My advice, um wash it with soap and water, try to keep it clean and get to the clinic if you can. More then likely, the child will lose his leg if he’s lucky, but more likely he will die of sepsis/gangrene.
5. Finally, I am mentally and emotionally drained, and we are done sampling the village so we head back to the car. On the way I am stopped by a mother. She has, what I think is a very shy little girl, standing in front of me. The little girl is about 12 and has a head scarf covering her head and face. I kneel down to greet her, just as she is lifting her veil, and what I see absolutely floors me. I hope with all my soul it didn’t show in my face, but it was disturbing. This beautiful little girl had only what I can describe as ‘eye tumours.’ Her right eye was completely taken over, and the white tumour which had grown straight out from her cornea protruded out from her eye ball. It was like a white marble attached to her lens. It was so large her eye no longer closed, and when she blinked the top eyelid just bumped into the marble and a few tears would sprinkle out. She had of course lost sight in the eye. The whole thing had taken about a year. The bigger issue, as if there could be, was a white spot just as the first had begun, was now forming in her other eye. With in a year, her other eye will be the same. I have ABSOLUTELY NO idea what to say or do. I ask if they had been to the clinic, helpful me, and the mother said yes. The people at the clinic had told her they could treat it but it would cost 600 Birr. Six hundred birr might as well be a billion dollars to these people. And, to be honest, I don’t know what clinic she was referring to, but it didn’t seem easily treated and I doubt the ability of the local clinic to treat it. The mother actually asked me to take a picture, they know it can help. I am debating if I should put the picture up or not. It’s quite graphic and hard to look at without your eyes watering from sympathy pain and sadness. Let me know what you think. So again, I had to say I’m sorry, I’m useless, good luck with that—Chau!! That ride home and that night were my longest thus far in Ethiopia. Sometimes my job sucks, it really truly sucks.
Well, if you have made it this far, I am impressed. My random ramblings are quite cathartic for me, but I’m not sure how readable they are for you. I hope you are all well and hope to write more soon. Happy Holidays, by the way. I get two Christmas’s the “Western” Christmas on December 25, and then the Orthodox Christmas on January 7th. Yea for me J
Cheers,
jessi
23 November 2006
Thanksgiving Ethiopian Style!
Hello! It has been a long time since I have written, but to be honest there hasn’t been much to say. I have been based in Addis for TOO long now only doing managerial/administrative work. It has NOT been fun. I don’t like being stuck at a desk bogged down with random things to do—ick. I don’t mind writing up reports on surveys/assessments I’ve done, as at least I was out and did something, but spending 2 ½ weeks at my desk (what has happened) has NOT made me happy. Plus, I think my body doesn’t like the pollution in Addis. It’s fairly high, and the longer I am here—the worse my symptoms get. I have a stuffy nose and slight sore throat, for no reason. The same thing happened in New Delhi, so I believe its air pollution. When I am often in the field, I get the fresh air and my body cleans out, so to speak. I have a VERY long trip coming up in 1 week, so it will be nice. But, I must survive one more week in Addis. Eek.
I am writing this on Thanksgiving Day. Doesn’t really feel that way to me, as I’m not on break from school, not crowded in a house full of nieces and nephews, and the weather is gorgeous. The sun is shining with a slight breeze that cools you off, absolutely fabulous. My Thanksgiving plans are GREATLY hindered by the fact that I have to work, and though my boss said I could take extra lunch time, I don’t really have time, as I have meetings all day! Some friends of mine invited me to a Thanksgiving Feast at their home, they work at the US Embassy—but alas they are eating at the EXACT time I have my biggest meeting—so a no go. The worse part is, the wife is a professional baker!!! I am MISSING OUT!! I might pop over there for a few minutes on my lunch break, to at least talk to some Americans on an American holiday. Get a break from the Irish, British, and Ethiopian accents I hear all day. Not that they aren’t lovely, just a break. I RARELY see Americans—I feel like there are so few here. I’m just not in the right circles I suppose (or maybe I am in the right circles, depending on your point of view!). To make myself feel better, I have ordered pie for the office. A restaurant here, The Lime Tree, specializes in baked products. They aim directly at the firengi population (ex-pats) so are having a Thanksgiving Buffet and making pies. I can’t go to the Buffet, and shouldn’t to be honest, but I ordered 2 pumpkin pies and 2 apple pies for my office. There are about 25 of us. I have told them all about the pumpkin pie, and in general they kindly respond, we’ll try it. They have pumpkin here, but they eat it boiled with spices, not sweet. They are all a little nervous, but appeasing me. I even found heavy whipping cream to whip up. Granted, I have to do it with a whisk (by hand, remember those days), so we shall see how ‘fluffy’ it gets. Apples are not really available here. If you see them at a market, they are imported from South Africa and VERY expensive. They are not the greatest of quality, but I have succumbed to cravings and bought them. For 5 apples it is 25 birr. To put that in perspective, a little over 2 pounds (1 kilogram=2.2 pounds) of Avocados is 3 birr, Oranges 2-3 birr, Mandarin Oranges 2-3 birr, etc etc. So, not generally in the diet of the Ethiopian. I am worried about the quality of the pies, as I haven’t had them from there—but hopefully it will be decent. I wanted to make pies, but as I have to make it all from scratch—including cutting up and boiling the pumpkin which takes FOREVER, I don’t have the time or patience. Tomorrow I am having a meeting/party for just my staff (9 people), and I have decided to make them Banana Cream Pie, as it is WAY easier. I’ll let you know how the pie went over!
Moving on, thought you all should know, I officially know what ring worm looks and feels like. It’s true, I have ring worm. I am embarrassed to admit, I thought you could only get it from animals. The only person I ever knew who had it had gotten it from her cats. But, seems you can get ring worm from ANY thing the dermis touches. For me, we are guessing it was one of the dodgy hotels I stayed in with an unwashed pillow case, as the ring worm is located on my neck and face! You heard me, neck and face!!! For those unaware of ring worm, it is not actually a worm. It is called that because the symptoms are round bumps (like a donut, generally the size of a dime) on your skin, and it sort of looks like a worm crawled in under skin and set up camp. But, in actuality it’s a fungus. Yummy. It’s completely treatable, not really an issue, just not that pretty. You should see my neck; everyone is making fun of me or just staring. I have taken to wearing scarves wrapped around my neck for the duration of the day, no matter the temperature. The pain is, you have to put this cream on it for 3 weeks—one week to get rid of the symptoms, then 2 more weeks to ensure the fungi is dead/gone. It’s this white pasty cream that just adds to the beauty of my disease. Lovely. LOVELY.
My team is currently down 3 members. The top two people on the team resigned shortly after I arrived. No, it wasn’t because of me, they got better job offers. So, I have been struggling to try and keep things a float, learn what I am doing, and seek out candidates. I FINALLY was able to schedule interviews, but must say—I HATE INTERVIEWING PEOPLE!! The whole process is so painful and depressing. You just remember a time when you were desperately looking for a job, and you went to all these interviews trying your best to prove to these people you can do the job, then getting shot down and having to start over. Ick. It’s so painful—so, when I am responsible for doing that, I just feel evil. I had three positions, and received a total of about 100 applicants!! I had to comb through all their CVs and letters, and shortlist those who I wanted to interview. That was extremely difficult, as each stack of papers represented a person in need—someone asking me to help them. Then, I have the power to say, “No, I’m not going to give you a chance to better your life, sorry. I’ll give it to this guy/girl because….” It’s so arbitrary really, like you can tell what a person is from their CV. These jobs generally pay better then what they are already doing, so it’s all about money and survival. These people don’t want a pay raise so they can get that fancy new car, rather so they can afford to live. Just depressing. Then, the interviews, when I actually get to see their faces—how nervous they are, how hard they are trying to impress me, the firinge, how many of them there are! Ick. But, today I officially finished and have picked my candidates, and need to move on. I know, it sounds so melodramatic to be this upset by interviews, but it just is. If you’ve never been without a job and had to hunt for one, constantly getting shot down and feeling worthless because no one chooses you, you can’t understand. Its something you can’t take personal, but of course you do—because it’s your life. It’s you they are judging, qualified or not. Good or Bad. So glad it’s over, now I just have to train the newbies.
There is one very amusing story from the whole bad experience. Last week, during my interviewing time period, our compound was inundated with ants. It was like over night all the ants in Addis decided to have a party at our office. The grass was black with ants, they were in the building, and especially in the guard shack. Our cleaning lady spent most of the day sweeping them away from us, but stragglers would get through. Most of us spent the day brushing ants off our legs and arms. So, I’m sitting in the conference room interviewing one candidate. Suddenly, I have an itch just at the base of my hair on my neck. Then, it didn’t itch so much as HURT. I actually let out a yelp and put my hands up to investigate, at which point I felt several ants crawling around in my hair!! I jumped out of my chair, knocking it backwards onto the floor. Of course, my hair was pulled up in a bun with a hair-stick (chop stick). I yanked the stick out, and flipped my head over to begin shaking my hair. The entire time, the little buggers were still biting me!!!!!! My colleague realized what was happening as I was screaming ‘Ants Ants!’ and began picking at me like a monkey, looking for the ants. The guy I was interviewing jumped in to help, and they got three BIG ants out of my hair. Only three, I was very disappointed, as it felt like an army, but they were huge. HUGE BLACK ANTS. I’ve never had an issue with ants before, just afraid of spiders, but now, I will be more cautious. The guy will NEVER forget his interview.
Just a few more things and I will leave you. First, to prove what a SMALL world it is—a story. I attended a meeting in Awassa. A city I have talked about 275 kilometres south of Addis. It’s a GORGEOUS place I could settle down in. Awassa is the regional capital for the area, SNNPR, which is essentially a state in Ethiopia. I was attending a regional meeting about all the nutrition programming, crisis, and needs in the area. In total about 15 people attend. I was waiting in the hall for the room to be ready when coming up the stairs was a familiar face. There on the stairs was my friend Rose, from Tufts!! Rose is from Kenya, and was at Tufts my first year doing the one year degree in Humanitarian Assistance. She now lives in DC and works for World Vision. She is in Ethiopia for one week, and happened to be in Awassa the day of the meeting. Her World Vision colleagues suggested she attend the meeting, to get an idea of what was going on in the region! RANDOM!! It was great to catch up.
This Sunday is “The Great Ethiopian Run.” Which to be honest I don’t know too much about, but will fill you in on what I know. It starts in ‘famous’ Meskel square and is 10K. Hundreds of thousands of people run in it. It is sponsored by a variety of people, but generally the main theme is from a health organization—HIV/Aids, etc. GOAL is one of the sponsors and pretty much EVERYONE who works for Goal will be participating. The front of the T-shirt has names of airlines, restaurants, etc. But the back of the shirt merely says GOAL. Nice. I unfortunately will not be participating, which really bums me out. I’ve seen pictures of last years and it really looks cool, but I am otherwise engaged at church.
Lastly, just a heads up on my coming schedule. Starting December 3 to February 28, I will only be in the office for 12 days total!!!!!! No joke. Those 12 days do include American Christmas (25th) and Ethiopian Christmas (7th of January), but that’s about it. I will be in the field doing surveys the ENTIRE time. It’s going to be great! Love my job. For some of it I’ll be camping, but unfortunately for most of it I’ll be in guest houses. And, now with ringworm experiences under my belt, I’m not too happy about that. I am trying to convince the powers that be to let me camp. I’ll let you know what happens.
Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it that is. Eat lots of holiday food for me!!
Jess
I am writing this on Thanksgiving Day. Doesn’t really feel that way to me, as I’m not on break from school, not crowded in a house full of nieces and nephews, and the weather is gorgeous. The sun is shining with a slight breeze that cools you off, absolutely fabulous. My Thanksgiving plans are GREATLY hindered by the fact that I have to work, and though my boss said I could take extra lunch time, I don’t really have time, as I have meetings all day! Some friends of mine invited me to a Thanksgiving Feast at their home, they work at the US Embassy—but alas they are eating at the EXACT time I have my biggest meeting—so a no go. The worse part is, the wife is a professional baker!!! I am MISSING OUT!! I might pop over there for a few minutes on my lunch break, to at least talk to some Americans on an American holiday. Get a break from the Irish, British, and Ethiopian accents I hear all day. Not that they aren’t lovely, just a break. I RARELY see Americans—I feel like there are so few here. I’m just not in the right circles I suppose (or maybe I am in the right circles, depending on your point of view!). To make myself feel better, I have ordered pie for the office. A restaurant here, The Lime Tree, specializes in baked products. They aim directly at the firengi population (ex-pats) so are having a Thanksgiving Buffet and making pies. I can’t go to the Buffet, and shouldn’t to be honest, but I ordered 2 pumpkin pies and 2 apple pies for my office. There are about 25 of us. I have told them all about the pumpkin pie, and in general they kindly respond, we’ll try it. They have pumpkin here, but they eat it boiled with spices, not sweet. They are all a little nervous, but appeasing me. I even found heavy whipping cream to whip up. Granted, I have to do it with a whisk (by hand, remember those days), so we shall see how ‘fluffy’ it gets. Apples are not really available here. If you see them at a market, they are imported from South Africa and VERY expensive. They are not the greatest of quality, but I have succumbed to cravings and bought them. For 5 apples it is 25 birr. To put that in perspective, a little over 2 pounds (1 kilogram=2.2 pounds) of Avocados is 3 birr, Oranges 2-3 birr, Mandarin Oranges 2-3 birr, etc etc. So, not generally in the diet of the Ethiopian. I am worried about the quality of the pies, as I haven’t had them from there—but hopefully it will be decent. I wanted to make pies, but as I have to make it all from scratch—including cutting up and boiling the pumpkin which takes FOREVER, I don’t have the time or patience. Tomorrow I am having a meeting/party for just my staff (9 people), and I have decided to make them Banana Cream Pie, as it is WAY easier. I’ll let you know how the pie went over!
Moving on, thought you all should know, I officially know what ring worm looks and feels like. It’s true, I have ring worm. I am embarrassed to admit, I thought you could only get it from animals. The only person I ever knew who had it had gotten it from her cats. But, seems you can get ring worm from ANY thing the dermis touches. For me, we are guessing it was one of the dodgy hotels I stayed in with an unwashed pillow case, as the ring worm is located on my neck and face! You heard me, neck and face!!! For those unaware of ring worm, it is not actually a worm. It is called that because the symptoms are round bumps (like a donut, generally the size of a dime) on your skin, and it sort of looks like a worm crawled in under skin and set up camp. But, in actuality it’s a fungus. Yummy. It’s completely treatable, not really an issue, just not that pretty. You should see my neck; everyone is making fun of me or just staring. I have taken to wearing scarves wrapped around my neck for the duration of the day, no matter the temperature. The pain is, you have to put this cream on it for 3 weeks—one week to get rid of the symptoms, then 2 more weeks to ensure the fungi is dead/gone. It’s this white pasty cream that just adds to the beauty of my disease. Lovely. LOVELY.
My team is currently down 3 members. The top two people on the team resigned shortly after I arrived. No, it wasn’t because of me, they got better job offers. So, I have been struggling to try and keep things a float, learn what I am doing, and seek out candidates. I FINALLY was able to schedule interviews, but must say—I HATE INTERVIEWING PEOPLE!! The whole process is so painful and depressing. You just remember a time when you were desperately looking for a job, and you went to all these interviews trying your best to prove to these people you can do the job, then getting shot down and having to start over. Ick. It’s so painful—so, when I am responsible for doing that, I just feel evil. I had three positions, and received a total of about 100 applicants!! I had to comb through all their CVs and letters, and shortlist those who I wanted to interview. That was extremely difficult, as each stack of papers represented a person in need—someone asking me to help them. Then, I have the power to say, “No, I’m not going to give you a chance to better your life, sorry. I’ll give it to this guy/girl because….” It’s so arbitrary really, like you can tell what a person is from their CV. These jobs generally pay better then what they are already doing, so it’s all about money and survival. These people don’t want a pay raise so they can get that fancy new car, rather so they can afford to live. Just depressing. Then, the interviews, when I actually get to see their faces—how nervous they are, how hard they are trying to impress me, the firinge, how many of them there are! Ick. But, today I officially finished and have picked my candidates, and need to move on. I know, it sounds so melodramatic to be this upset by interviews, but it just is. If you’ve never been without a job and had to hunt for one, constantly getting shot down and feeling worthless because no one chooses you, you can’t understand. Its something you can’t take personal, but of course you do—because it’s your life. It’s you they are judging, qualified or not. Good or Bad. So glad it’s over, now I just have to train the newbies.
There is one very amusing story from the whole bad experience. Last week, during my interviewing time period, our compound was inundated with ants. It was like over night all the ants in Addis decided to have a party at our office. The grass was black with ants, they were in the building, and especially in the guard shack. Our cleaning lady spent most of the day sweeping them away from us, but stragglers would get through. Most of us spent the day brushing ants off our legs and arms. So, I’m sitting in the conference room interviewing one candidate. Suddenly, I have an itch just at the base of my hair on my neck. Then, it didn’t itch so much as HURT. I actually let out a yelp and put my hands up to investigate, at which point I felt several ants crawling around in my hair!! I jumped out of my chair, knocking it backwards onto the floor. Of course, my hair was pulled up in a bun with a hair-stick (chop stick). I yanked the stick out, and flipped my head over to begin shaking my hair. The entire time, the little buggers were still biting me!!!!!! My colleague realized what was happening as I was screaming ‘Ants Ants!’ and began picking at me like a monkey, looking for the ants. The guy I was interviewing jumped in to help, and they got three BIG ants out of my hair. Only three, I was very disappointed, as it felt like an army, but they were huge. HUGE BLACK ANTS. I’ve never had an issue with ants before, just afraid of spiders, but now, I will be more cautious. The guy will NEVER forget his interview.
Just a few more things and I will leave you. First, to prove what a SMALL world it is—a story. I attended a meeting in Awassa. A city I have talked about 275 kilometres south of Addis. It’s a GORGEOUS place I could settle down in. Awassa is the regional capital for the area, SNNPR, which is essentially a state in Ethiopia. I was attending a regional meeting about all the nutrition programming, crisis, and needs in the area. In total about 15 people attend. I was waiting in the hall for the room to be ready when coming up the stairs was a familiar face. There on the stairs was my friend Rose, from Tufts!! Rose is from Kenya, and was at Tufts my first year doing the one year degree in Humanitarian Assistance. She now lives in DC and works for World Vision. She is in Ethiopia for one week, and happened to be in Awassa the day of the meeting. Her World Vision colleagues suggested she attend the meeting, to get an idea of what was going on in the region! RANDOM!! It was great to catch up.
This Sunday is “The Great Ethiopian Run.” Which to be honest I don’t know too much about, but will fill you in on what I know. It starts in ‘famous’ Meskel square and is 10K. Hundreds of thousands of people run in it. It is sponsored by a variety of people, but generally the main theme is from a health organization—HIV/Aids, etc. GOAL is one of the sponsors and pretty much EVERYONE who works for Goal will be participating. The front of the T-shirt has names of airlines, restaurants, etc. But the back of the shirt merely says GOAL. Nice. I unfortunately will not be participating, which really bums me out. I’ve seen pictures of last years and it really looks cool, but I am otherwise engaged at church.
Lastly, just a heads up on my coming schedule. Starting December 3 to February 28, I will only be in the office for 12 days total!!!!!! No joke. Those 12 days do include American Christmas (25th) and Ethiopian Christmas (7th of January), but that’s about it. I will be in the field doing surveys the ENTIRE time. It’s going to be great! Love my job. For some of it I’ll be camping, but unfortunately for most of it I’ll be in guest houses. And, now with ringworm experiences under my belt, I’m not too happy about that. I am trying to convince the powers that be to let me camp. I’ll let you know what happens.
Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, if you celebrate it that is. Eat lots of holiday food for me!!
Jess
22 November 2006
Some photos
Here I am with one of two, twins that is. They are boy girl twins, this is the boy. He is 10 months old, and not growing well. The girl is actually quite plump for a rural Ethiopian child, and only the boy qualified to join the feeding programme. But, when there are twins we take both--This is is first try of PlumpyNut, the therapeutic food we provide and I believe I've mentioned before. He was a BIG fan, it was so cute!! Of course it is just really sugary peanut butter. This picture was taken by my colleague Anna--
Here, on the right I am holding a very sick child. This is her after being in a therapeutic feeding unit for 2 weeks, and now at home with therapeutic foods. She weighs 6 kg (13.2 pounds) and is 26 months old. She is a very sick little girl. Her mother and father are ill, and she is cared for by her grandmother (on my left). You can tell the grandmother is at wits end, trying to help the little girl. Each week she must walk 2 hours (one way) to the clinic to pick up her weeks supply of therapeutic foods. Because the parents are also ill, she cares for the older children and takes care of the home and farming.
That is about all my wee little dial up can handle. Cross your fingers this loads with in one hour as I have to leave then. Hope you are all well.
jess
13 November 2006
Times
I started this blog in the field on October 18th, but wasn’t able to finish it. This is the report of two trips to the field and some random stories and observations.
I am sitting in the hospital for Woreda (county) Dulecha. I use the term ‘hospital’ lightly, as there is never a doctor here, only a nurse and a few health workers. Nurses here are more like CNA’s in the US. Two years of school. The health centre is rather large, I’d say about 20 rooms. Some of those offices, treatment rooms, patient rooms, and one is the ‘ER.’ Right now there are three patients. Two are elderly with Malaria, it seems, and one is a gun shot wound. The night we got here a fight broke out between clans over grazing land and water for their cattle, and one guy got shot. It was a BIG to do, as violence at that level hasn’t happened here in a very long time. Usually just shoving and calling each other names. I am betting it was a mistake as he was hit just above the knee. Lucky guy, as the only thing they can do here is give him an IV drip of saline, and clean the wound. Before you panic mom, about the gunshot, remember that there has been a murder in Mapleton. It was a similar situation, people fighting over irrigation—livelihoods are serious. We are ‘camping’ here while we do a rapid assessment. Meaning, we need to check out this area, there are no hotels/guest homes so we are using pop tents and mats sleeping here on the grounds of the ‘hospital.’ It’s nice enough.
Many have requested some details on my job—so here you are. I am in charge of rapid assessments and surveys. What that means is, each time you hear a report about malnutrition in this country or that country, or about rise in death or diarrhoea, or malaria, whatever, someone like myself and my team went out and walked around in the bush counting and calculating with some very crude methods in the HEAT of the sun. What happens here in Ethiopia is as follows: First the country is broken down as follows: Starting at the top are Regions (like states), then Zones with in Regions, then Woredas within Zones, then Kebele within Woredas, then villages. Each of these levels (aside from the village level) has a Disaster Preparedness and Prevention Office. They monitor what is going on—if something happens, e.g flood, drought, fire, conflict, cholera outbreak, etc. They pass up the chain what is going on. Word gets to organizations like my own, if something is off. We then send out a team of 3 to 5 people, depending on the ground we must cover, and to do a ‘Rapid Assessment.’ This is a quick and dirty way to assess the situation. It seems it would be easy to just know if there is a problem, but its not. For example, it is easy to know if there is a flood, what you can’t assume is how the people will be affected. People outside of the “West (developed nations)” are FAR more resilient. A little flood may be nothing, or it could cause loss of a substantial amount of crops and an outbreak in Cholera. It’s surprisingly difficult to know which is going to happen until it does. People spend millions a year trying to figure out just that—they are called Early Warning Systems, and they don’t always work. That’s a whole other topic, so back on track. We conduct focus groups with locals, key informant interviews, and of course measure children—lots of children. In the Rapid Assessments you just check the MUAC, or Mid-upper Arm Circumference. No weights or heights. The circumference of the arm of kids 6 to 59 months can tell you a lot about a situation. In areas where children are fed before adults, you also check the MUAC of pregnant and lactating women and elderly.
Then, if the situation is ‘bad’ (to be explained later) we conduct a full blown survey. This takes 2 weeks give or take, and we assess more people, ask more questions of each mother/father/caregiver, measure weights and heights on kids and moms. If the situation isn’t ‘bad’ we walk away. This is where my job can suck. Bad is defined as the percentage of children who are malnourished (low weight for height or small arm circumference). Or a high rate of diarrhoea, malaria, cholera, etc etc. The sucky part of my job is that I am a triage nurse. If the situation doesn’t reach the international standards (hotly contested numbers used by UN and NGOs as cut-offs and to compare different areas or years), then they won’t get help. Even though there are sick children there, malnourished children there, a program won’t be set up there. Resources are limited, so you have to put them where they will do the most good. But, if the situation is ‘bad’ enough, my organization will set up a feeding program, or we will give the info to another organization to do it.
Anyway—I’ll stop ranting about my job and give you some ideas about Ethiopia and random observations. Some have to do with Ethiopia, others things I am learning about British/Irish culture.
1. First—am I the only one in America that just learned that the British/Irish hold their fork upside down? The curve is facing down, and they hold their knife in their other hand pushing the food up onto the fork. When did we change that? Why did we change that? Seriously, I get SERIOUS harassment about being an ‘American Shovelor.’ Seriously, how did that happen?!?!
2. Ethiopia is famous for their juice. It’s DELICIOUS!! It’s not really juice, rather nectar. Thick. And, it’s layered. SO you’ll have a green, pink, orange layered juice. They drink avocado juice, banana juice, mango, papaya, orange, etc etc. Yummy!! I’ll try and get a picture of it.
3. In Ethiopia it is the year 1999. New year is celebrated in September. That means I get to celebrate Y2K again!!!! That’s why Ethiopian Tourism brochures say “Come to Ethiopia, you’ll feel 7 years younger!” Also, there are 13 months in their calendar—so you’ll see brochures that say “Ethiopia, 13 months of sunshine.” Also, their clock is 6 hours different from ours. It actually makes perfect sense, once it was explained to me. The sun rises and sets at 12 everyday (give or take ½ hour), so the first hour of the day is 1, then 2, etc. I work from 2 to 11 (well that is the schedule, I generally go in at 1 then go home at 12. I rather like it. But, it works so well because they are near the equator and the times of sunrise/set don’t change much.
4. I am not a birder (bird watcher), whatever. But, I have fallen in love with several birds here. Near my office there are these beautiful brown and dark red birds. They are small as mice, and they are just beautiful. I know brown and red doesn’t sound pretty, but they are gorgeous. In the field, I’ll be in the middle of dry forsaken place, no colour but the tan of the sand, bushes, animals—then along will come a bird with the most brilliant colours. Bright blue, red, orange, green, white. Vertical and horizontal stripes. Gorgeous.
5. This last bit (before I delve into the two rural areas I visited), is embarrassing, but hilarious. I was out wandering around looking at shops with two of my flatmates. I was bored, shockingly enough—not really a shopper. I saw these kids playing in a side street. I of course went over to join them. I just generally greet them, say ‘Selam’ and shake their hand. That alone will entertain a good 15 kids for 20 minutes! Then, I say the random words I know. I generally beg for money, and sometimes I’ll pretend I am getting money out for them then when they come for it, I tickle them. Anyway, I was sitting on a rock entertaining myself when this little boy sat down next to me. We were ‘chatting.’ The kids generally will touch me, my arms and hair. This little boy was no different, and touched my arm just above my elbow. Then, he discovered something more interesting then just my pasty white skin! He discovered as he tapped my arm, it jiggled. I am sure he had never in his life seen an arm ‘jiggle.’ So, he proceeded with great wonder to play with my flab. It was grand. Just Grand.
Okay, as stated I have been to two places in the field to do assessments since I last wrote. The first is the Afar region. This region is the one I started out talking about, where we camped at the hospital. Afar is in the North East of Ethiopia. I think I talked about it in the previous email, all desert. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I saw blew my mind; it was stunning. We had to travel over these rocky steep mountains, then dropdown into a gorgeous desert. I felt like I was home. It was just like Utah, with a few changes in home type, people, and animals—but so much like it. Absolutely gorgeous sunsets and rises. We stayed in the town of Dulecha, then drove out to the affected areas to assess. One half of the area is having a drought, the rains which they rely on for their crops were fewer and further between then normal and crops had failed. They walked 6 hours a day to get water for their families. Imagine, they (the women) leave their homes at 4:00 am, two hours before the sun rises, get to the river after three hours, fill up jerry cans then turn around. They have to gather all the water they need for the day; for cleaning, drinking, and cooking. The women in this culture are given quite a lot of responsibility. In fact it is their job to build the family home. The drought area didn’t’ really have a road into it either. In fact, for a good hour of the journey we drove in dry river beds; sandy and rocky. I saw the full capabilities of a Land Cruiser put to use. It was quality fun. The people were great. They wear skirts and scarves (no shirts) mainly, I was jealous. The men wear white woven material as a skirt, then one as a scarf. They carry their traditional knives, long and in leather cases. They also carry walking sticks and guns. They are agro-pastoralists. The women wear bright coloured patterned skirts, with either a similar scarf or a stripped shirt with a scarf.
While staying in Dulecha I was invited to someone’s house for coffee. Ethiopia is famous for it’s coffee. For those of you who drink coffee, I am sure you know—for the rest of you, FYI it is believed coffee originated here. When you go to someone’s home they perform the ‘coffee ceremony.’ They get the green beans and roast them, then make the coffee. I love the smell of coffee, so I generally enjoy it. I was in this particular home when I experienced one of my favourite phenomenon abroad; the random stuff they can get at the market. In this families mud hut (which they can do wonders with, more on that in another email) they had a small rug hung on the wall. It was the size of a doormat. They had hung it next to the bed, so you could lean against it. The background was an American flag with three men on it. You’ll never guess who! The best part is they didn’t know who these people were, they just knew the American flag and assumed they were American. In the middle was our famous Martin Luther King, on his left was JFK and on his right was Bobby Kennedy. It was great. I told them they were American leaders they should be proud of.
The second day we went to the flooded area. The area is truly inundated with water. The area had a road going into it, just finished last year that was washed out in several places. So, even though I really wanted to try it, the Land Cruiser couldn’t take us. We had to wade in! It was a 1 ½ hour hike into the first village. We had to cross water on three occasions, often coming up to our waste. It was great fun! As I had been reading my lonely planet guide, I saw that Ethiopia has crocodiles, big ones. The book said they can get up to 10 meters!! NOT FEET, meters!! Eek. I asked if they existed in this area, and was told no. Hallelujah. But, along the way in this journey, I was able to see the ‘famous’ Ethiopian Fox (I hadn’t heard of it either, but apparently it is a famous candid?), the bleeding heart baboon (it has a red patch on it’s chest), and plenty of wart hogs. We crossed through these different places to find the people had mainly abandoned their villages and homes. The river had receded, but a few families had come back to take advantage of the now green area with their livestock. However, most families lost a good ½ of their livestock in the flood. We wandered around the area for 2 hours looking for families and asking them how they were doing, measuring children, observing their homes and what food/water they had available. The locals were very surprised to see a firengi (white person) in their area of the planet. They said I was strong. I took the compliment. Then, 1 ½ hour hike back out. It was great fun. On the way out, our guide (a local man who had shown us around to the different areas where families had resettled) pointed over into the bushes next to the water we were crossing. It took me a moment, then I saw it, a crocodile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am not kidding. Granted, it was a small one, but still!! Eeek. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had a daddy near by. Obviously nothing happened, as I am here typing the story—and the locals were VERY calm about the whole situation, so—I tried my best to seem calm also.
The next area was to the South West of Addis. A place called East Showa Zone, Adama Woreda. This area was not as dry, in fact there was a sugar cane factory in the area. There were reports of severe malnutrition, so bad children were not attending school. My team and I deployed. We stayed in the ‘county seat’ of Adama at a hotel. A big change and I must say I liked the camping better. So, we head out to the door and hop in our Land Cruiser. We get to the ‘most affected’ villages and start talking to local leaders and measuring women and children. Long story short (really LONG HOT DAY), we found fat kids. I am not kidding. Turns out it was overnutrition, not under. Not that that is how it was reported to us, they were looking for assistance money. It’s not that there were no health problems, in fact quite the opposite, many health issues. I’ll put you to the test—if you were visiting an area that was surrounded by sugar cane fields, what would you think is the number one problem? For our answer, I’ll refer to my friend Dr. Nate DDS, who I know would have DIED when he saw these kids. Not only do they all have rotting teeth, but due to high fluoride in the water source, they all have flouridosis of their teeth and high rates of arthritis and osteoporosis. I cut my assessment short by two dies, as our services were not needed, but I strongly recommended someone who does nutrition education and dental health get into the area stat. For those of you familiar with MUAC (the mid-upper arm circumference we measure on kids) this next bit will REALLY entertain you. For the rest of you, MUAC is measured in millimetres/centimetres. So, the reading for children is generally 130mm (13cm), etc. To be accepted to a feeding program they must be below 12cm, and below 11cm is considered Severe. Women on the other hand of course have larger arms. Not as large as ours in the US, but larger. For women, the cut off to be accepted to a feeding program is under 21cm (210mm). In this village where supposedly children were severely UNDER nourished, we found a kid who was four years old with a MUAC of 19!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You just can’t imagine. When I first saw him from a distance, I assumed he had SEVERE oedema, and panicked really. Then, when I got up close I realized he was just fat. Obese to be exact. The chubbiest kid I have ever seen outside the US. Fascinating.
Well, I need to actually do some work. More to say, but no time to say it. I’ll put up pictures when I can. Hope you are all well—
I am sitting in the hospital for Woreda (county) Dulecha. I use the term ‘hospital’ lightly, as there is never a doctor here, only a nurse and a few health workers. Nurses here are more like CNA’s in the US. Two years of school. The health centre is rather large, I’d say about 20 rooms. Some of those offices, treatment rooms, patient rooms, and one is the ‘ER.’ Right now there are three patients. Two are elderly with Malaria, it seems, and one is a gun shot wound. The night we got here a fight broke out between clans over grazing land and water for their cattle, and one guy got shot. It was a BIG to do, as violence at that level hasn’t happened here in a very long time. Usually just shoving and calling each other names. I am betting it was a mistake as he was hit just above the knee. Lucky guy, as the only thing they can do here is give him an IV drip of saline, and clean the wound. Before you panic mom, about the gunshot, remember that there has been a murder in Mapleton. It was a similar situation, people fighting over irrigation—livelihoods are serious. We are ‘camping’ here while we do a rapid assessment. Meaning, we need to check out this area, there are no hotels/guest homes so we are using pop tents and mats sleeping here on the grounds of the ‘hospital.’ It’s nice enough.
Many have requested some details on my job—so here you are. I am in charge of rapid assessments and surveys. What that means is, each time you hear a report about malnutrition in this country or that country, or about rise in death or diarrhoea, or malaria, whatever, someone like myself and my team went out and walked around in the bush counting and calculating with some very crude methods in the HEAT of the sun. What happens here in Ethiopia is as follows: First the country is broken down as follows: Starting at the top are Regions (like states), then Zones with in Regions, then Woredas within Zones, then Kebele within Woredas, then villages. Each of these levels (aside from the village level) has a Disaster Preparedness and Prevention Office. They monitor what is going on—if something happens, e.g flood, drought, fire, conflict, cholera outbreak, etc. They pass up the chain what is going on. Word gets to organizations like my own, if something is off. We then send out a team of 3 to 5 people, depending on the ground we must cover, and to do a ‘Rapid Assessment.’ This is a quick and dirty way to assess the situation. It seems it would be easy to just know if there is a problem, but its not. For example, it is easy to know if there is a flood, what you can’t assume is how the people will be affected. People outside of the “West (developed nations)” are FAR more resilient. A little flood may be nothing, or it could cause loss of a substantial amount of crops and an outbreak in Cholera. It’s surprisingly difficult to know which is going to happen until it does. People spend millions a year trying to figure out just that—they are called Early Warning Systems, and they don’t always work. That’s a whole other topic, so back on track. We conduct focus groups with locals, key informant interviews, and of course measure children—lots of children. In the Rapid Assessments you just check the MUAC, or Mid-upper Arm Circumference. No weights or heights. The circumference of the arm of kids 6 to 59 months can tell you a lot about a situation. In areas where children are fed before adults, you also check the MUAC of pregnant and lactating women and elderly.
Then, if the situation is ‘bad’ (to be explained later) we conduct a full blown survey. This takes 2 weeks give or take, and we assess more people, ask more questions of each mother/father/caregiver, measure weights and heights on kids and moms. If the situation isn’t ‘bad’ we walk away. This is where my job can suck. Bad is defined as the percentage of children who are malnourished (low weight for height or small arm circumference). Or a high rate of diarrhoea, malaria, cholera, etc etc. The sucky part of my job is that I am a triage nurse. If the situation doesn’t reach the international standards (hotly contested numbers used by UN and NGOs as cut-offs and to compare different areas or years), then they won’t get help. Even though there are sick children there, malnourished children there, a program won’t be set up there. Resources are limited, so you have to put them where they will do the most good. But, if the situation is ‘bad’ enough, my organization will set up a feeding program, or we will give the info to another organization to do it.
Anyway—I’ll stop ranting about my job and give you some ideas about Ethiopia and random observations. Some have to do with Ethiopia, others things I am learning about British/Irish culture.
1. First—am I the only one in America that just learned that the British/Irish hold their fork upside down? The curve is facing down, and they hold their knife in their other hand pushing the food up onto the fork. When did we change that? Why did we change that? Seriously, I get SERIOUS harassment about being an ‘American Shovelor.’ Seriously, how did that happen?!?!
2. Ethiopia is famous for their juice. It’s DELICIOUS!! It’s not really juice, rather nectar. Thick. And, it’s layered. SO you’ll have a green, pink, orange layered juice. They drink avocado juice, banana juice, mango, papaya, orange, etc etc. Yummy!! I’ll try and get a picture of it.
3. In Ethiopia it is the year 1999. New year is celebrated in September. That means I get to celebrate Y2K again!!!! That’s why Ethiopian Tourism brochures say “Come to Ethiopia, you’ll feel 7 years younger!” Also, there are 13 months in their calendar—so you’ll see brochures that say “Ethiopia, 13 months of sunshine.” Also, their clock is 6 hours different from ours. It actually makes perfect sense, once it was explained to me. The sun rises and sets at 12 everyday (give or take ½ hour), so the first hour of the day is 1, then 2, etc. I work from 2 to 11 (well that is the schedule, I generally go in at 1 then go home at 12. I rather like it. But, it works so well because they are near the equator and the times of sunrise/set don’t change much.
4. I am not a birder (bird watcher), whatever. But, I have fallen in love with several birds here. Near my office there are these beautiful brown and dark red birds. They are small as mice, and they are just beautiful. I know brown and red doesn’t sound pretty, but they are gorgeous. In the field, I’ll be in the middle of dry forsaken place, no colour but the tan of the sand, bushes, animals—then along will come a bird with the most brilliant colours. Bright blue, red, orange, green, white. Vertical and horizontal stripes. Gorgeous.
5. This last bit (before I delve into the two rural areas I visited), is embarrassing, but hilarious. I was out wandering around looking at shops with two of my flatmates. I was bored, shockingly enough—not really a shopper. I saw these kids playing in a side street. I of course went over to join them. I just generally greet them, say ‘Selam’ and shake their hand. That alone will entertain a good 15 kids for 20 minutes! Then, I say the random words I know. I generally beg for money, and sometimes I’ll pretend I am getting money out for them then when they come for it, I tickle them. Anyway, I was sitting on a rock entertaining myself when this little boy sat down next to me. We were ‘chatting.’ The kids generally will touch me, my arms and hair. This little boy was no different, and touched my arm just above my elbow. Then, he discovered something more interesting then just my pasty white skin! He discovered as he tapped my arm, it jiggled. I am sure he had never in his life seen an arm ‘jiggle.’ So, he proceeded with great wonder to play with my flab. It was grand. Just Grand.
Okay, as stated I have been to two places in the field to do assessments since I last wrote. The first is the Afar region. This region is the one I started out talking about, where we camped at the hospital. Afar is in the North East of Ethiopia. I think I talked about it in the previous email, all desert. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but what I saw blew my mind; it was stunning. We had to travel over these rocky steep mountains, then dropdown into a gorgeous desert. I felt like I was home. It was just like Utah, with a few changes in home type, people, and animals—but so much like it. Absolutely gorgeous sunsets and rises. We stayed in the town of Dulecha, then drove out to the affected areas to assess. One half of the area is having a drought, the rains which they rely on for their crops were fewer and further between then normal and crops had failed. They walked 6 hours a day to get water for their families. Imagine, they (the women) leave their homes at 4:00 am, two hours before the sun rises, get to the river after three hours, fill up jerry cans then turn around. They have to gather all the water they need for the day; for cleaning, drinking, and cooking. The women in this culture are given quite a lot of responsibility. In fact it is their job to build the family home. The drought area didn’t’ really have a road into it either. In fact, for a good hour of the journey we drove in dry river beds; sandy and rocky. I saw the full capabilities of a Land Cruiser put to use. It was quality fun. The people were great. They wear skirts and scarves (no shirts) mainly, I was jealous. The men wear white woven material as a skirt, then one as a scarf. They carry their traditional knives, long and in leather cases. They also carry walking sticks and guns. They are agro-pastoralists. The women wear bright coloured patterned skirts, with either a similar scarf or a stripped shirt with a scarf.
While staying in Dulecha I was invited to someone’s house for coffee. Ethiopia is famous for it’s coffee. For those of you who drink coffee, I am sure you know—for the rest of you, FYI it is believed coffee originated here. When you go to someone’s home they perform the ‘coffee ceremony.’ They get the green beans and roast them, then make the coffee. I love the smell of coffee, so I generally enjoy it. I was in this particular home when I experienced one of my favourite phenomenon abroad; the random stuff they can get at the market. In this families mud hut (which they can do wonders with, more on that in another email) they had a small rug hung on the wall. It was the size of a doormat. They had hung it next to the bed, so you could lean against it. The background was an American flag with three men on it. You’ll never guess who! The best part is they didn’t know who these people were, they just knew the American flag and assumed they were American. In the middle was our famous Martin Luther King, on his left was JFK and on his right was Bobby Kennedy. It was great. I told them they were American leaders they should be proud of.
The second day we went to the flooded area. The area is truly inundated with water. The area had a road going into it, just finished last year that was washed out in several places. So, even though I really wanted to try it, the Land Cruiser couldn’t take us. We had to wade in! It was a 1 ½ hour hike into the first village. We had to cross water on three occasions, often coming up to our waste. It was great fun! As I had been reading my lonely planet guide, I saw that Ethiopia has crocodiles, big ones. The book said they can get up to 10 meters!! NOT FEET, meters!! Eek. I asked if they existed in this area, and was told no. Hallelujah. But, along the way in this journey, I was able to see the ‘famous’ Ethiopian Fox (I hadn’t heard of it either, but apparently it is a famous candid?), the bleeding heart baboon (it has a red patch on it’s chest), and plenty of wart hogs. We crossed through these different places to find the people had mainly abandoned their villages and homes. The river had receded, but a few families had come back to take advantage of the now green area with their livestock. However, most families lost a good ½ of their livestock in the flood. We wandered around the area for 2 hours looking for families and asking them how they were doing, measuring children, observing their homes and what food/water they had available. The locals were very surprised to see a firengi (white person) in their area of the planet. They said I was strong. I took the compliment. Then, 1 ½ hour hike back out. It was great fun. On the way out, our guide (a local man who had shown us around to the different areas where families had resettled) pointed over into the bushes next to the water we were crossing. It took me a moment, then I saw it, a crocodile!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am not kidding. Granted, it was a small one, but still!! Eeek. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had a daddy near by. Obviously nothing happened, as I am here typing the story—and the locals were VERY calm about the whole situation, so—I tried my best to seem calm also.
The next area was to the South West of Addis. A place called East Showa Zone, Adama Woreda. This area was not as dry, in fact there was a sugar cane factory in the area. There were reports of severe malnutrition, so bad children were not attending school. My team and I deployed. We stayed in the ‘county seat’ of Adama at a hotel. A big change and I must say I liked the camping better. So, we head out to the door and hop in our Land Cruiser. We get to the ‘most affected’ villages and start talking to local leaders and measuring women and children. Long story short (really LONG HOT DAY), we found fat kids. I am not kidding. Turns out it was overnutrition, not under. Not that that is how it was reported to us, they were looking for assistance money. It’s not that there were no health problems, in fact quite the opposite, many health issues. I’ll put you to the test—if you were visiting an area that was surrounded by sugar cane fields, what would you think is the number one problem? For our answer, I’ll refer to my friend Dr. Nate DDS, who I know would have DIED when he saw these kids. Not only do they all have rotting teeth, but due to high fluoride in the water source, they all have flouridosis of their teeth and high rates of arthritis and osteoporosis. I cut my assessment short by two dies, as our services were not needed, but I strongly recommended someone who does nutrition education and dental health get into the area stat. For those of you familiar with MUAC (the mid-upper arm circumference we measure on kids) this next bit will REALLY entertain you. For the rest of you, MUAC is measured in millimetres/centimetres. So, the reading for children is generally 130mm (13cm), etc. To be accepted to a feeding program they must be below 12cm, and below 11cm is considered Severe. Women on the other hand of course have larger arms. Not as large as ours in the US, but larger. For women, the cut off to be accepted to a feeding program is under 21cm (210mm). In this village where supposedly children were severely UNDER nourished, we found a kid who was four years old with a MUAC of 19!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You just can’t imagine. When I first saw him from a distance, I assumed he had SEVERE oedema, and panicked really. Then, when I got up close I realized he was just fat. Obese to be exact. The chubbiest kid I have ever seen outside the US. Fascinating.
Well, I need to actually do some work. More to say, but no time to say it. I’ll put up pictures when I can. Hope you are all well—
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