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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Saturday, February 21, 2009
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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