Wow it's been a while since I last posted. Too many things going on and an unreliable internet connection will do it to you. But, at the moment, I have free time, power, internet and a working computer. Praise God.

There's so many things I'd like to get caught up on in terms of blogging. I'll start with this. Ethiopia, Addis at least, has a very communalistic society. Very. Family, friends and relationships are VERY important, so much that they influence parts of society we, Westerners--especially us professionally hyper-active and ambitious Americans--living in comparatively individualistic societies, wouldn't think of.  Here, in terms of work, for example, having a communalistic society affects how (if) you fire someone (with utmost care and near regret), how jobs are done (more leisurely), how you initiate a project within a group (approach the "elders" ), etc. I'm curious to know if such a round-about way of doing things retards progress e.g. economic development. Maybe not.

But on a mundane level, I enjoy seeing how people interact here in such a society. Male friendships are very intimate. Very. Close guy friends will often hold hands while walking down the street. A bit of a shock to see so much of it at first (having grown up in a conservative state), but now I'm used to it. Even my male students (neigborhood kids) will sometimes grab my hand and want to walk with me down the street to the bread store. I politely let go. Good male friends will also greet each other using feminin pronouns. Very bizarre to hear. It's the equivalent of hearing "How are you doing girl?" in English. But, of course, the meaning is completely different--it's not used to start fights here.

On a somewhat related topic, you'll hardly ever see a male driving alone. People on the street here are almost always with their friends, talking. So when someone with a car goes somewhere, others jump in. It's funny sometimes to see, and I don't imagine these others care where they're going.

But then again, transportation alone is a very imporant determinant of when and where someone goes. It can take a hour to go a mile (no long, straight roads here) with public transportation. The most common form of public transportation is in privately owned blue and white vans. Each van, always crowded beyond belief, has a half mile route and makes stops whenever a passenger yells, literally, "There's a stop!". So between waiting for an empty "taxi", as they're called, making loads of stops, and needing more than one taxi to get from point A to B, it's easy to see why it can take so long to go so short of a distance. (I'll blog about what it's like to ride in one of these taxis--it's always a great experience.)

So when a friend says he has a car and is going somewhere, that car fills up with buddies. It happened to me (my school has vehicles I can drive--I'll blog about driving here) once as I went with my Ethiopian friend to check out some houses. When we stopped in the neigborhood to pick up the "real estate agent" (a guy who knows people), two of his buddies decided to come along. So there I was driving around this neighborhood with a group of strange men in my back seat. The buddies also came with us to look at the houses and reminded me how nice each one was. Good times.

And this transportation opportunity (or opportunity to just hang out and talk) isn't limited to cars. When a bulldozer or a large construction machine comes down the road, chances are very good that there'll be one or two buddies hanging on the door frame, next to the driver, laughing and talking. Even better, just the other day I saw a Caterpillar construction machine with a big front "scoop" coming down the road. And there were about a dozen men, the workers I assume, riding in this scoop. Very safe. (Street safety is another topic. Many people just don't know how to cross the road.) Great sight, too bad I didn't have my camera.  

Til next time.

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Rain and electricity.

 

Before the other day, it hadn't rained in Addis for two months. Dust and dirt were everywhere—especially, as I like leaving my windows open in my apartment (I've figured out how to close them at night, don't worry). Dry weather also means more flies, and warmer weather. So, in a region where you normally go 3 months without any rainfall you're hoping and praying for it by the end of that period, as there are some side-effects worse than dust and dirt that aren't so obvious.

 

Ethiopia gets a huge chunk of its power (maybe all?) from hydro-electric dams. I've actually heard that there's enough running water in Ethiopia to power Africa, if exploited correctly, but that sounds like a modern folklore considering the longevity of the dry season. (The Ethiopian government is actually building the world's deepest dam.) Consequentially, when there's no rain there's limited water and power, and that means regular power and water cuts.

 

Reading about the experience of living in Baghdad (always a curiosity of mine) I always come across the topic of regular power cuts and wondered what that was like. Back in America it was almost impossible to comprehend (unless you lived in NYC a few years back). Right now in my neighborhood we have a bi-weekly power cut. You never know when; the government cuts off power to different neighborhoods each day—we all take turns.

 

As it turns out power cuts really aren't all that terrible to endure. Sure, your fridge will warm up a little, but that's about the only adverse effect I've noticed thus far (except for not being able to watch all of March Madness—and I did watch on the one satellite T.V. the OU/UNC game). Besides, I find reading and working by candlelight Romantic (referring of course to romanticism and not to chocolate, roses and Valentine's day). And as any good green American, I can simply reason that power cuts help the environment. Also, every business in town has a generator, which keeps things running quite well.

 

Far worse is the water cut offs. When that happens I take showers, bathe rather, with two pots full of water that I heat up on the stove for ten minutes. All happening at 5:45 in the morning when I wake up. Thankfully the water usually comes back the following day. (Although we went 3 days without water in January.)

 

And then you go off campus into the surrounding neighborhood and realize how water and power can be such a minor detail. This is all they know. None of the people who live around our campus have running water—just shantytowns. I remember when I arrived in Addis one of the things that struck me was the permanence of young boys, girls and women on the streets carrying these dirty yellow jerry cans. I later realized (don't know how long it took me) that they water jugs. And I'd be surprised if those shacks had electricity, which would explain why cafes with electricity are crowded at night.

 

So, finally, as of a few days ago (I started this blog 2 weeks ago) the short rain season has begun. Don't know how long it'll last, but it's wonderful!!!

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Daily routine

Someone asked me recently to describe what it is that I do on a typical day and week. So here you go--some days are really interesting; others aren't.

Classes start at 8:20, but we have staff devotions at 7:45 each morning, where we have a quick teaching and then pray. (What a blessing it is too to start your day at work like that!) Each day my teaching load is different. I work with two students from 9^th grade and two from 10^th grade (there's another French teacher who teaches the rest of the class). Then I teach 7^th grade (19 students) and 8^th grade (12 students). 6^th grade (16 students) will start for me next week (please pray for that!  I just keep thinking kindergarten cop).  So far it's been a good workload. I spend quite a bit of time planning and trying to figure out how to teach 13-15 year old kids (my experience is with high school students). It's all about creativity and simplicity for them.  At 10:05 each day we have a 20 minute tea and muffin break, which is so nice.  

 School gets out at 3:25. During basketball season I coached on Mondays and Fridays, with games on Wednesdays. Now I've got some more free time. But in general each night I've got something going on. Monday night I have Bible study; Tuesday night is floor hockey; Thursday night is soccer. After that I'll usually put in 2-3 hours grading and planning. This Friday I'll begin a new ministry! I'll be teaching English to some boys from a different neighborhood, as part of a small Christian organization, Strong Hearts Ethiopia. Looking forward to that.

 On Friday nights I go out to dinner with the other teachers. That's one thing that I can't get used to—eating out. It's just so incredibly affordable. About eight bucks for a nice meal plus dessert. (Same quality around 25 dollars in U.S.) We went out last Friday to the "nicest restaurant" in Addis. It was great food. I had stuffed chicken, appetizers, dessert; meal, tax and tip all for 16 dollars. (Would have easily been 70 dollars in U.S.)

On Saturday afternoons I play basketball. (They've got a real nice gym here.) Then three days a week I run around campus. I'm going to run soon outside on the roads—I hope! It's too difficult to run during the day because of the pedestrians and traffic, so I've heard that, this being Ethiopia and all, you'll see Ethiopians running on the "Ring road" that circles the city—a kind of expressway—at 5AM. Otherwise you'll have to go out to the countryside to see people running. (I've only seen one person running during the day since being here.) So maybe I'll make it out there on the road early in the morning sometime soon. I can no longer use the elevation as an excuse. (We live at 7,850 ft.)

Sunday I go to a different church each week. I've been making my rounds and still haven't chosen one. I either go to the International Evangelical Church (IEC), which is a contemporary non-denominational church. The praise and worship there is great. Or I'll go to an Anglican church, where lots of the Bingham teachers go. It's where I go to satisfy my traditional worship service yearnings.

After Sunday brunch it's back to work for 3-4 hours to get ready for the week.  

During the week I try to go outside campus as much as possible to remind myself that I'm living in Ethiopia. If it weren't for the Muslim and Orthodox calls to prayer (5 a day for the Muslims, I don't know how many for the Orthodox; but they're loud. People can't say they didn't hear the call in the morning because they're as loud as my alarm clock.), the occasional power and water cuts and the dogs who bark at night (stray dogs are a fixture here in Addis—they're every where), I'd say we live in a bubble. So I like to go out to the market, or a café, or even to get my shoes shined. (I'll have to take a pic of that, but there are teenage boys on every corner shining people's shoes. That's another thing about the developing world: there's lots dirt. You always come back from town with dirty shoes and pants—no need to try and brush them during the day in the city; dirty pants are part of the deal.)

But maybe I go out simply because I like being noticed. "You!", they always say. Or sometimes "Hello!". "Foreigner!" is my preferred salutation. To the latter I either respond with "Nope, I'm a native." (which perplexes some) or "You're really clever!"  They can also yell out their English word of the day. A few weeks ago someone shouted out "Microsoft!" as I walked by. We'll see what tomorrow brings.

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The ENTOURAGE

 

One thing I still enjoy thinking about is the entourage we get from our Celebrity Status. It's increased by a factor of 10 when you go back country. It's great. Just as we entered the countryside, a host of young boys and girls came to greet us, all smiling. They hiked up the hill with us to where we would camp. It was fun talking to them and asking them questions in English they didn't understand ("That's a super nice dress! Where'd ya get it?" They laughed. I laughed as well when it was my turn to not understand anything.) and vice versa, on the way up. We all had fun. Then once we got to the top, another group of boys from a nearby village was eagerly awaiting our arrival. They wanted to help us do anything. But they especially enjoyed watching us talk and then set up a tent that we pulled out of our bags. They'd never seen tents before, so we let them help us set up shop. They we absolutely thrilled. I could just imagine one of the boys later that night in his room writing in his diary:

 

"Dear Diary, Today was the most amazing day ever! Some white people came up that big hill and just stopped and talked! LOL! We all watched, as usual! OMG!--it got better. The tall one pulled out a house from his bag! Not kidding! And we helped build it. BTW, we're going back tomorrow morning to see what they're up to. Maybe they'll put their houses back in their bags."

 

Sure enough, they came back at 7AM. It was nice to see them. I shared my breakfast with them—bananas, oranges, nuts. They were so appreciative; good times. And as soon as we packed up they ran back down the hill to their village.  (That's one of the things that so amazing about living here in the developing world—the gratitude you receive from the most seemingly insignificant things. You can read about it all you want, but meeting these boys and seeing their faces and emotions is beautiful.)

 

As we were hiking back to the car we passed another village. More of the same. I took a picture of the boys trailing Brian, the guy who organized the trip (and who speaks Amharic).

 

We made it back no problem. Our kids really enjoyed the trip, as did I. I got to know them all a lot better, which is what I wanted to do. Pretty soon I'll get to the point where—I hope—I can talk to some of them individually about their faith, especially those who show few signs of a strong belief.  But it's all on God's watch.

 

Blessings.

 

To see the pictures follow this link:

 

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=67939&id=526567637&l=05f0b

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New Pictures.
 
Follow this link to see some pics of my 1st camping trip. So now that I can put pics up, I'll try to do so as much as possible.
 
Enjoy!
 
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=66598&id=526567637&l=c439c

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Some Ethiopian Women, Part II

 

Ha! You knew this one had to be coming…It is true, Ethiopian women are beautiful—everyone will admit to that. It must be their skin color. And lots of them have really nice teeth—white and straight. Which is always a surprise. I mean not to be rude or disparaging—this is just an observation I believe Americans in particular with our love for nice teeth are more apt to make—but the women (and men for that matter) in general here have straighter and whiter teeth than any other peoples I've run across in Europe. 

 

I've had a few run-ins with native women around here. (I've already mentioned the supermarket worker, whom I haven't seen since…) And these run-ins seem to elicit my cultural naiveté. I went to a big Ethiopian religious celebration in January called Timket, which celebrates Christ's baptism.  (Can't remember if I blogged about this.) Any way it's a huge festival held at an enormous open field in the center of Addis. The main attraction at this festival for us foreigners were the baptismal water canons.  There's a picture of this on my Facebook page—"Timket" album. Anyway, people crowd around a fenced-in area from where priests spray—drench—individuals in the crowd with water. It was quite a site. Anyway, I was taking loads of pictures and found a girl who was soaking wet, and wanted a pic. So I asked if it'd be O.K. She smiled and posed. I took the pic, showed it to her (customary) and said thanks. I started walking away and could sense that she was following me. (By then I'd noticed that she was probably unemployed and very poor.) I looked around and saw some younger middle class (you really can tell the social classes by looking at clothes) girls giggling. I suddenly realized that my new friend was ready to get married. The problem was (well, beside the fact that I'm not looking to date anyone) that language barrier, so I couldn't shed her. She stayed glued to my hip for about a half hour. I was about to start running until I saw a friend of mine who speaks Amharic. He basically asked her what she was doing. And I don't know what they talked about for 5 minutes, but at the end he told me she wanted to shake my hand. Relieved, I did and said melkam k'an (have a good day.)

 

Lesson learned.

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Language barriers                                                                                     February 15

 

So, I have an Ethiopian house worker (maid) who comes to my little studio three times a week. Her name is Sebula and she's from a village somewhere outside Addis. She doesn't speak English so we're left to leaving notes for each other, translated by one of the school's secretaries. The only way I know she's from a village is that she has tattoos on her face that go from her ears and trace her jaw line to her chin, like a chinstrap. You see these tattoos (a chain of crosses basically) all the time when you come across women from villages. I've no idea why they get them; as soon as my Amharic gets better I'll ask Sebula. Also, I'll try to get a picture with her sometime within the next year; I'm guessing she'll be comfortable enough around me by then.

 

I honestly have no need for her as I enjoy, yes enjoy, cleaning. I just wanted to give her some hours so she could make more money (she cleans three other teachers' apartments.) She's an extremely sweet girl—probably about 25 years old, although I have a feeling she doesn't know exactly how old she is, which isn't uncommon for people from villages. I've run into a couple of other people while hiking who gave approximations of their ages. Anyway, like a typical village woman, as I'm learning, Sebula still is a bit uneasy around men, and she is still getting used to me. She used to jump back when I entered my apartment while she was in there during the day.  She's calmed down a lot as I try to practice my Amharic with her and initiate conversations.

 

Language has been a small issue. Once I had Sebula go to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things during the middle of the week. Among other things, I had asked for paper towels, chocolate cereal and milk. She didn't know what paper towels were so she came to my classroom while I was teaching with roll of paper towels and asked if that was what I meant. I said yes, and went back to teaching. When I got home later that day the groceries were on the counter. But there were a few surprises owing to the language barrier. Instead of chocolate cereal I got Nutella, and instead of milk I got a soy soda spritzer. O.K., I can handle the 7 dollar Nutella (!!!), but soy soda spritzer ?! Who? Why?..out of control.

 

On another occasion I wrote a note asking Sebula to go to the market across the street to get some carrots. I must have been making some stew. I wrote down .5 kilos, about a pound. When I got back to my apartment after school there was a huge pile of carrots that had been bleached (we're supposed to soak our veggies and fruit in bleach water before we eat them; sometimes I do, sometimes I don't—trying to develop that Iron Stomach) next to the sink. Apparently decimals haven't gained much currency over here, because I definitely had 5 kilos of carrots (11 pounds) on my counter.

 

I need to work on my Amharic.  Melkam k'an!

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