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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Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
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.
Reading about the experience of living in
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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Monday, March 9, 2009
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 9th grade and two from 10th grade (there's another French teacher who teaches the rest of the class). Then I teach 7th grade (19 students) and 8th grade (12 students). 6th 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.
After Sunday brunch it's back to work for 3-4 hours to get ready for the week.
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Saturday, February 28, 2009
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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Saturday, February 21, 2009
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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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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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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Rural
I've been camping twice now since arriving. (When I say camping I mean real camping—trees, lakes, vegetation, trails, fire pits etc. I've taken pictures; check out "Amboe" on my Facebook site.) The first time was in a preserved park about two hours from Addis. It was my first experience outside Addis and I was overjoyed to be able to travel outside. On the way we went through lots of villages, which didn't take long. A village is basically a cluster of shacks on either side of the road. As usual, everyone stared at us as we drove through. We had to stop once to get fuel before we turned off the paved road; that was like a parade. People stood and watched us as we waited in the car for our friends to go to the bathroom. You'd have thought we were movie stars. Again, it's the celebrity status we have here as white people. I took a couple of pics of these people.
Anyway, we made it the dirt road and went about 15 miles. There, we went through rural villages with round huts and thatched roofs—like you imagine all over
But the best part about that journey to the camp site was the children who ran, literally, as hard as they could from their huts to the road to see us as we drove by. They would all wave, say hello and give you a huge smile. The three year-olds especially were fun to watch run as fast as they could. We'd slow down to give them a chance to catch us, and we'd put our hands out of the windows so they could shake them. (Pictures in that same album.) That's one thing about Ethiopians: shaking hands is a very respectful act, there is much more dignity and respect displayed in the gesture than in the West. Many of them, rural and urban people, bow just a bit as they shake. But kids especially love shaking hands. When I walk down the street in my neighborhood back in Addis, kids are always looking to shake my hand—after they say "You!", of course.
But back to the villages, we were definitely the event of the day for these kids. We must have waved to a hundred kids by the time we reached our destination. Once I waved at some girls in the middle of a field and one of the girls threw down one of the buckets she was carrying so she could wave back. Things like this, the smiles you see, make you think that even though these people in the countryside are incredibly poor, living without any sign that the 20th century had come, practically, they're happy.
That's one theme I discovered during my first trip into rural
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Sunday, January 25, 2009
From Jan 13 General Update:
Hello Friends. Here's a link to my latest pictures. I hope it works. Emailing pics takes too long, so this will be the route I take for the moment. If you can't click on it, copy the entire address and paste it in your Internet browser.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=58242&l=00d14&id=526567637
I-net has been sketchy recently, so I end up writing things down on Word and pasting them an email.
This from Jan. 6:
I rode around in a car for a few hours today--the pollution is bad here. I choked a couple of times. And it's funny, sometimes you'll be going down a newly paved road (thank you
We (the people at Bingham and I) went a few days without water, and around 24 hours without electricity. Everyone here says in response "Welcome to
But when you see the people around here, and the conditions in which some live, you wonder a lot. But then you quickly come to realize that they have always been used to it—they've never known life otherwise. To generalize, you see lots of people on the street (they literally are always on the street in my neighborhood because sidewalks are for rich area--you just have dirt here) who seem to be happy.
(Next day)The water came back on today—hallelujah! What a luxury...
I'm having my first home-cooked meal tonight—spaghetti with tomato sauce. For this week I bought everything I was used to buying in the States: mayo, mustard, "deli meat", cheese, bread, potatoes, peanut butter (it's the natural kind, not Peter Pan, so I just end up adding sugar, but thank you Lord for PB!)…No difference yet. In fact, last night I met the MTW team (all Americans) for dinner. We had scrambled eggs, pancakes and waffle syrup (I was amazed at the waffle syrup. I can get more "American" items here than in
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Driving in Addis.
I got my driver's license last week and took my driving test the other day—a 10 minute loop around the block. My driving instructor was on his cell phone the whole time yelling at someone— I had to decide where to drive. Needless to say, I passed. When I first arrived in Addis I thought traffic was chaotic. There are a couple of large intersections without working traffic lights—whoever gets there first has the right away. It's quite amusing to watch really. When you're there you're certain that at any given moment there'll be an accident. But miraculously there aren't. "Within the chaos there's always order" as they say.
But now that I've driven for a day I see that there's a certain Amharan order that keeps things moving along, very much similar to that of the
There are two things I've been told to watch out for here while driving: people and animals. Again, there are no sidewalks in my neighborhood so people walk all over the street. There's also the occasional shepherd pushing his herd of 100 sheep through an intersection—what an awesome sight, I'll have to get a picture. I've been told that if I hit an animal and kill it I have to pay for it on the spot. That seems reasonable. If I hit a person and kill him/her (people have explained this to me with a very straight face), regardless of fault, I'll get put in jail for 15 years, no questions asked. And the possibility isn't as small as you'd think, especially at night and especially where the street lights don't work and where people walk across the major freeway. (A friend said that she was turning the corner on the freeway once and a man was sleeping in the two-foot wide shoulder.)
Blessings.
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Language (From Jan. 10)
When I do go around the city and use the little Amharic I know, it's not like in
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Taxis
I really enjoy taking taxis here. Basically the taxis are like buses (Russian VW's). Each one has a specific route, normally going from one round-about (intersection) to the next, and back. So in order to get somewhere you usually have to take 3 or 4 different ones (I've got some pictures of these on one of my Facebook albums, they're blue and white vans.) Anyway, there are two people who work these privately-owned taxis: the driver and the "conductor". The conductor takes money once you get in, and more importantly, leans out the side window and yells the destination "Kolfe! Kolfe! Kolfe! Kolfe!" as a form of advertisement. There are only unofficial stops, usually underneath pedestrian bridges, or whenever someone flags the van down, or when a passenger wants to get off and bangs on the side of the van. (Yellow strips of tape haven't made it here yet.) Once I find one with enough room (by room I mean anywhere to sit down—on the backside of the front seat, on the wheel, in the aisle. No, there are no comforting signs that read : "We're serious about safety—Your safety.") I pay my fare, usually, depending on the person, about $.08 a mile. And once I get settled, celebrity status kicks in with the kids: they stare at me, I smile, they smile back. When I'm ready to get off I in turn bang on the side of the car, yell "Wirage!" (Stop) and continue on my way.
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7-ELEVEN SPECIAL
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It's been some time since I've last written, unfortunately. This is all due to a virus called "The Worm" that has debilitated our network at school. I actually still don't have internet at work or at home; I'm writing this from someone else's home.
God Bless
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There are the good sides to not having internet—mainly productivity while I'm at my desk at school. But then you can't keep up with people and send pictures, which is not very convenient when you're on a mission and would like to keep your supporters updated. (Sigh). Oh well, it's all in God's hands. But if this problem continues it looks like I'll be writing quite a few letters.
Things are going well after 24 days here. I would say that I'm feeling comfortable here, but I don't think I've yet been uncomfortable. I guess it's due to my itinerant nature: move to a city, stay there for a year (or three like in NYC), then leave. I haven't really given much thought to why I like to do that (I do enjoy it). I'm here in Addis because God wants me to do His work. But there is a "selfish" motive of wanting to encounter and understand different cultures. That probably also explains my desire to learn Amharic (the language here) and get to know as many natives as possible.
Anyway, life is good. I'm very happy with my job. From a professional standpoint, I've never been happier. I'm doing what I've wanted to do for years now: teach French to people who don't know it.
Classes are going very well. I get along very well with my students, seventh and eighth grades. I'm really amazed at how more mature the eighth graders are. The seventh graders giggle at everything: my hand-drawn maps of
Otherwise I have two ministry updates. I've been asked to start working with a Christian non-profit called "Hearts". Some of the teachers here volunteer there and brought me to one of their info gatherings. Hear is an organization works with street kids—groups of kids, sometimes orphans, without homes. There are a couple of teachers here who go out on Wednesday nights to a particular neighborhood to talk with boys, start friendships and evangelize. I was speaking with one of the organizers of the organization last night and he said he'd be very happy to have me come. He also would like me to start teaching English to the kids at a new center they've created. I think they both sound like amazing opportunities to let them know about the Gospel and God's love for us. But this is all on the drawing board—nothing permanent.
God Bless
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Wednesday, January 7, 2009
pics
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=58242&l=00d14&id=526567637
Blessings
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Well things are good. I don't have lots of time to blog at the moment, but I just wanted to make it known that Inet has been quite unreliable these past few days, which means that I can't transfer photos from my laptop to my blog or to facebook. (Update: I'm going to try and download some pics. Hopefully it'll work!)
Otherwise all is good. School starts tomorrow and I'm really excited to meet the kids. I'll have 7,8,9 and 10. I've been reading through the previous teachers' comments about the 7th and 8th graders--the majority don't like French. :) Hopefully I'll be able to change that.
I walked around my neighborhood the other day. Our school is definitely in the slum--shantytowns everywhere, no sidewalks, just dirt (sidewalks are indeed for rich countries). I enjoy how people stare at me, as I'm the only white person around. But as soon as I flash a smile and bow my head quickly and raise both my hands, palms out (typical greeting gesture), they give me a huge smile. And when I go into cafes, all eyes are on me. I enjoy it. Walking around is always an adventure. Children follow you around and say "You!". Sometimes they can speak pretty good English, and if they do they smile the entire time they talk. Then there are the kids who just say "Money" in Amharic (the language) as they follow you.
Today I had a great conversation with an 8 year-old boy. He followed me around while I took pictures of my neighborhood. He spoke some English--constant smile. "What does your mother do?" "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" I didn't get a chance to take a picture of him as there were police around. (Police don't like you taking pictures.) While I was walking around, every boy under 12 ran up to me to shake my hand. They had huge smiles on their faces. It was heart warming.
Another custom: politeness isn't expected. I was told that when you go to the bread store all you have to do is say four in Amharic ("arat") without please or thank you. So I walked into the store, nodded and said "Arat!", "Four!". It worked, she gave me the bread and I paid 40 cents for 4 pieces of bread. But I just can't shake the feeling of being the angry white man when I do that. Please and Thank you from now on.
Blessings
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Otherwise all is good. School starts tomorrow and I'm really excited to meet the kids. I'll have 7,8,9 and 10. I've been reading through the previous teachers' comments about the 7th and 8th graders--the majority don't like French. :) Hopefully I'll be able to change that.
I walked around my neighborhood the other day. Our school is definitely in the slum--shantytowns everywhere, no sidewalks, just dirt (sidewalks are indeed for rich countries). I enjoy how people stare at me, as I'm the only white person around. But as soon as I flash a smile and bow my head quickly and raise both my hands, palms out (typical greeting gesture), they give me a huge smile. And when I go into cafes, all eyes are on me. I enjoy it. Walking around is always an adventure. Children follow you around and say "You!". Sometimes they can speak pretty good English, and if they do they smile the entire time they talk. Then there are the kids who just say "Money" in Amharic (the language) as they follow you.
Today I had a great conversation with an 8 year-old boy. He followed me around while I took pictures of my neighborhood. He spoke some English--constant smile. "What does your mother do?" "How many brothers and sisters do you have?" I didn't get a chance to take a picture of him as there were police around. (Police don't like you taking pictures.) While I was walking around, every boy under 12 ran up to me to shake my hand. They had huge smiles on their faces. It was heart warming.
Another custom: politeness isn't expected. I was told that when you go to the bread store all you have to do is say four in Amharic ("arat") without please or thank you. So I walked into the store, nodded and said "Arat!", "Four!". It worked, she gave me the bread and I paid 40 cents for 4 pieces of bread. But I just can't shake the feeling of being the angry white man when I do that. Please and Thank you from now on.
Blessings
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Friday, January 2, 2009
I've finally made it to Addis. I got in last night and spent most of the day today in meetings. Nights here are quite cool--it was 59 in my bedroom last night, but during the day it's beautiful, about 75. I think I'll always be making the comment, "Nice day, huh?" School starts next week. Until then, preparation and meetings.
Not too much going on aside from that. It looks like I'll have a personal (Ethiopian) "helper", to do whatever I'd like in the apartment--cook, clean, laudry--while I teach during the day. Not too shabby! The apartment itself is great (I'll work on pictures, but I think it'll be slow), all to myself--nice change.
But the campus itself is really nice, 8 acres, especially as it sits right in the middle of a rather poor Muslim neighborhood. You really feel isolated from the rest of the neighborhood due to the 10 foot concrete wall that surrounds the campus. (Apparently when Bingham Academy was built the area was a forest, with no neighbors.) I took my first walk around the block tonight with another teacher's son. It was great. I'll have to take pictures, but imagine roads in bad shape, no sidewalks, cars going everywhere, and pedestrians everywhere, always on the street, walking through traffic and jaywalking in middle of highways that barely missing them...neat sight.
But, finally, living in a Muslim neighborhood means being woken up at 5:15 AM (every morning) for...the morning call for prayer. It's really loud; there are speakers on top of small poles that literally wake worshipers up to go and pray. I'd only read about them. But it was strangely serene listening to this man sing in Arabic. Can't wait for tomorrow!
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Not too much going on aside from that. It looks like I'll have a personal (Ethiopian) "helper", to do whatever I'd like in the apartment--cook, clean, laudry--while I teach during the day. Not too shabby! The apartment itself is great (I'll work on pictures, but I think it'll be slow), all to myself--nice change.
But the campus itself is really nice, 8 acres, especially as it sits right in the middle of a rather poor Muslim neighborhood. You really feel isolated from the rest of the neighborhood due to the 10 foot concrete wall that surrounds the campus. (Apparently when Bingham Academy was built the area was a forest, with no neighbors.) I took my first walk around the block tonight with another teacher's son. It was great. I'll have to take pictures, but imagine roads in bad shape, no sidewalks, cars going everywhere, and pedestrians everywhere, always on the street, walking through traffic and jaywalking in middle of highways that barely missing them...neat sight.
But, finally, living in a Muslim neighborhood means being woken up at 5:15 AM (every morning) for...the morning call for prayer. It's really loud; there are speakers on top of small poles that literally wake worshipers up to go and pray. I'd only read about them. But it was strangely serene listening to this man sing in Arabic. Can't wait for tomorrow!
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