I landed back in the U.S. yesterday, so this will be my last post. I've been comparing Ethiopia to the U.S. a lot, and here's a summary of my thoughts.
Favorite things about Ethiopia:
1) 8-cent tea, 15-cent minibus rides, $1.50 meals... the birr-dollar conversion is glorious (at least, it is for Americans)
2) The prevalence of mangoes
3) Textiles (if you haven't been subjected to one of my odes to hand-spun, hand-woven cotton, consider yourself lucky)
4) Shiro
5) The fact that nobody cares or notices if you wear the same outfit more than once a week
6) The scenery
7) The history
8) The fact that heterosexual men are perfectly comfortable holding hands with each other
Favorite things about the U.S.:
1) Fast and reliable internet
2) Pasteurized milk
3) Warm lighting (again, if you haven't been subjected to a lecture on the depressing fluorescent lights of Ethiopia, consider yourself lucky)
4) Food variety
5) English
6) The fact that would not be acceptable for Americans to point and shout "foreigner!" or "Hey you hey you!" at Ethiopians walking around in the U.S.
7) Distinct and varied seasons
8) The fact that homosexual men are perfectly comfortable holding hands with each other (er, in some places...)
Thanks for reading!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
The Time I Almost Stayed in the Nicest Hotel Room I Would Have Ever Stayed In
I went on a semi-spontaneous trip to Hawassa for work at the end of last week. Since my presence on the trip wasn’t decided until the day before we left, we had some issues getting me a hotel room. Long story short, I ended up in the deluxe suite. Holy smokes. It had one of those big round beds with built-in speakers, a complementary bottle of wine, and a massage chair. I only had time to throw my stuff in the room before heading to dinner. When I got back, I spent 20 minutes trying to figure out the shower with its remote control and 10 spigots, showered, dressed, and walked back into the room. At this point it was about 10:30.
I noticed that there were quite a few mosquitoes on the wall next to the bed. I started smashing them with my guidebook, but it seemed like they were multiplying exponentially. They grew in number from “quite a few” to “swarms,” and I went on a rampage with this guidebook. I must have killed at least 40 mosquitoes, leaving disgusting blood stains and half-crushed mosquito bodies plastered all over the wall. It was a full-out massacre. Then I stepped back to survey the damage more fully and realized that this area of my room was now populated by HUNDREDS of mosquitoes. They carpeted the floor and flitted around the wall, ceiling, and bed in enormous packs. They were everywhere. I can’t overstate how many mosquitoes were in this room. Now, Hawassa is in a malaria-endemic area and the room had no bednet, so I decided to pay a visit to the front desk.
The man at the front desk said there were no bednets or any other open rooms, but he offered to bring the roach spray up. He wanted to fumigate my room. With roach spray. And then have me sleep in it. I said that didn’t really sound safe, and he helpfully suggested that I wait 10 minutes after he sprayed to go back in. He came up to the room, opened the door, and saw the population of mosquitoes that had by that time swelled to plague proportions. He freaked out, realized that this room was uninhabitable, and also realized that the window was open behind the floor-to-ceiling curtains. Aha. I didn’t even know there were windows behind the curtains. After ascertaining that I had not opened the window and didn’t realize that the window was open, he moved me to another room and set about cleaning up the deluxe suite to offer to the guest who would be arriving shortly and had reserved my new room. My new room had a normal bed, no wine, and no massage chair. But it did have a bednet and a lack of mosquitoes, so it won by a long shot. The meaning of this little parable: as suspected, I am really not made for deluxe suites.
I noticed that there were quite a few mosquitoes on the wall next to the bed. I started smashing them with my guidebook, but it seemed like they were multiplying exponentially. They grew in number from “quite a few” to “swarms,” and I went on a rampage with this guidebook. I must have killed at least 40 mosquitoes, leaving disgusting blood stains and half-crushed mosquito bodies plastered all over the wall. It was a full-out massacre. Then I stepped back to survey the damage more fully and realized that this area of my room was now populated by HUNDREDS of mosquitoes. They carpeted the floor and flitted around the wall, ceiling, and bed in enormous packs. They were everywhere. I can’t overstate how many mosquitoes were in this room. Now, Hawassa is in a malaria-endemic area and the room had no bednet, so I decided to pay a visit to the front desk.
The man at the front desk said there were no bednets or any other open rooms, but he offered to bring the roach spray up. He wanted to fumigate my room. With roach spray. And then have me sleep in it. I said that didn’t really sound safe, and he helpfully suggested that I wait 10 minutes after he sprayed to go back in. He came up to the room, opened the door, and saw the population of mosquitoes that had by that time swelled to plague proportions. He freaked out, realized that this room was uninhabitable, and also realized that the window was open behind the floor-to-ceiling curtains. Aha. I didn’t even know there were windows behind the curtains. After ascertaining that I had not opened the window and didn’t realize that the window was open, he moved me to another room and set about cleaning up the deluxe suite to offer to the guest who would be arriving shortly and had reserved my new room. My new room had a normal bed, no wine, and no massage chair. But it did have a bednet and a lack of mosquitoes, so it won by a long shot. The meaning of this little parable: as suspected, I am really not made for deluxe suites.
Ex-Co-Coord Meeting...in Addis
T and Stina came to visit for 2 days last week! Happiness abounded.
Highlights:
One of us (I won’t say who lest she be embarrassed) got a little silly on tej (honey wine) Monday night and sang along to “Wake Me Up Before You Go” rather spiritedly in the taxi on the way home. Our taxi driver took this as a sign that she loved the song and turned the volume up to an absurd level. The juxtaposition of Addis after dark and that song at that volume was amazing.
We went to Entoto on Tuesday. To get to Entoto, you drive up a STEEP mountainside, full of hairpin turns and flanked alternately by a eucalyptus forest and sheer cliffs. Sometimes you have to swerve around donkeys or goats. We were in a malfunctioning minibus, which made the trip all the more amusing and memorable. Every hundred feet or so, this minibus would stall, roll backwards a few feet, stop, and then slowly start to creep forward again. T spent the whole time trying to distract me from visions of our impending fall off the side of the mountain. At one point the minibus pulled over, all the passengers unloaded, and the driver LIFTED THE FRONT SEAT UP to fiddle with the engine. Some boys ran down the hill singing Shakira’s World Cup song while we waited. The kids who had gathered by the road to stare at the minibus thought it was hilarious when I sang along. Eventually we made it to the top safely and saw the sights, yadayada, but the ride was really the best part.
Highlights:
One of us (I won’t say who lest she be embarrassed) got a little silly on tej (honey wine) Monday night and sang along to “Wake Me Up Before You Go” rather spiritedly in the taxi on the way home. Our taxi driver took this as a sign that she loved the song and turned the volume up to an absurd level. The juxtaposition of Addis after dark and that song at that volume was amazing.
We went to Entoto on Tuesday. To get to Entoto, you drive up a STEEP mountainside, full of hairpin turns and flanked alternately by a eucalyptus forest and sheer cliffs. Sometimes you have to swerve around donkeys or goats. We were in a malfunctioning minibus, which made the trip all the more amusing and memorable. Every hundred feet or so, this minibus would stall, roll backwards a few feet, stop, and then slowly start to creep forward again. T spent the whole time trying to distract me from visions of our impending fall off the side of the mountain. At one point the minibus pulled over, all the passengers unloaded, and the driver LIFTED THE FRONT SEAT UP to fiddle with the engine. Some boys ran down the hill singing Shakira’s World Cup song while we waited. The kids who had gathered by the road to stare at the minibus thought it was hilarious when I sang along. Eventually we made it to the top safely and saw the sights, yadayada, but the ride was really the best part.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
The Great Flea Hunt of 2002
Last week I kind of, uh, got fleas.
Well, my bed became infested with fleas. I don't think I actually had anything to do with it, other than providing them with a food source. According to wikipedia the eggs can chill in bedding for like a year before they hatch, so maybe that was the reason. I really don't know.
But it did result in the adventure that was The Great Flea Hunt of 2002. Yes, 2002. Ethiopia has its own calendar, with 13 months. It’s 2002 in Ethiopia. But it’s fiscal year 2003. I don’t even want to talk about it.
The Great Flea Hunt of 2002 consisted of stripping all my bedding, dragging it into the hallway, screaming and running away when K shook it out, getting a wicked foot cramp from running, sitting on the floor trying to un-dislocate my toe while K dissolved into a fit of laughter, borrowing K's headlamp to do a thorough inspection of the bedding, putting it back on my bed, smothering my legs in DEET, and looking down at my leg while brushing my teeth the next morning to see that it all had no effect because a couple of the damn things were still contentedly attached to me.
The Great Flea Hunt of 2002, Part 2 ensued the following night. By the third day, I finally got smart and just asked them to change my sheets. Success.
In other news, I told a couple of obnoxious, persistent Rastas in the Piassa that my name was Zelda. I really want to try to use Zenon one of these days, but I don't know if I can keep a straight face.
Well, my bed became infested with fleas. I don't think I actually had anything to do with it, other than providing them with a food source. According to wikipedia the eggs can chill in bedding for like a year before they hatch, so maybe that was the reason. I really don't know.
But it did result in the adventure that was The Great Flea Hunt of 2002. Yes, 2002. Ethiopia has its own calendar, with 13 months. It’s 2002 in Ethiopia. But it’s fiscal year 2003. I don’t even want to talk about it.
The Great Flea Hunt of 2002 consisted of stripping all my bedding, dragging it into the hallway, screaming and running away when K shook it out, getting a wicked foot cramp from running, sitting on the floor trying to un-dislocate my toe while K dissolved into a fit of laughter, borrowing K's headlamp to do a thorough inspection of the bedding, putting it back on my bed, smothering my legs in DEET, and looking down at my leg while brushing my teeth the next morning to see that it all had no effect because a couple of the damn things were still contentedly attached to me.
The Great Flea Hunt of 2002, Part 2 ensued the following night. By the third day, I finally got smart and just asked them to change my sheets. Success.
In other news, I told a couple of obnoxious, persistent Rastas in the Piassa that my name was Zelda. I really want to try to use Zenon one of these days, but I don't know if I can keep a straight face.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Shopping
On Saturday K’s boss took us to the Merkato, which is touted as the world’s largest open-air market. It’s actually an enormous collection of stores, none of which appeared to be open-air. But it was awesome, especially with someone to negotiate for us in Amharic. I was looking at crosses, and one had a particularly prominent figure of Jesus. I was trying to think of the best way to describe my thoughts on it, and all I could come up with was, “It has too much…[long pause]… Christ.” It has too much Christ. Oy vey.
We met K’s boss’s adorable two-year-old son after. It’s customary to fake-kiss people on the cheeks to say hello or goodbye, but the baby full-on smooched my cheeks to say goodbye. I melted.
This morning a white woman who was obviously a tourist walked into the office and approached my desk as though she had a question. I am not the person that people typically choose to ask for assistance when they walk in the office, so I just stared at her confusedly. Then she asked me where she could buy tampons. I’m not sure if she sought me out because I am white and thus probably speak English or if she sought me out because I am white and thus… an expert in the procurement of feminine hygiene products? Either way, I didn’t understand why she had wandered into the Ministry of Health to get this information. Turned out she had brought some medical equipment with her from Canada while on a trip to visit her friend’s family here and was trying to figure out how to donate it to hospitals. Aha, that’s why she was in the Ministry of Health. On a side note, I felt pretty badass when she asked skeptically if I worked here and I got to say yes. Even though that’s kind of false.
We met K’s boss’s adorable two-year-old son after. It’s customary to fake-kiss people on the cheeks to say hello or goodbye, but the baby full-on smooched my cheeks to say goodbye. I melted.
This morning a white woman who was obviously a tourist walked into the office and approached my desk as though she had a question. I am not the person that people typically choose to ask for assistance when they walk in the office, so I just stared at her confusedly. Then she asked me where she could buy tampons. I’m not sure if she sought me out because I am white and thus probably speak English or if she sought me out because I am white and thus… an expert in the procurement of feminine hygiene products? Either way, I didn’t understand why she had wandered into the Ministry of Health to get this information. Turned out she had brought some medical equipment with her from Canada while on a trip to visit her friend’s family here and was trying to figure out how to donate it to hospitals. Aha, that’s why she was in the Ministry of Health. On a side note, I felt pretty badass when she asked skeptically if I worked here and I got to say yes. Even though that’s kind of false.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Have Good Appetite!
So the place where I'm staying is full of these awesome Germans. There was the woman who listened to opera and instrumental versions of ABBA songs (she left a couple days ago), Pastor Thomas (who used to live in Chino...huh?), and the white-haired man whose name I can never quite catch but who is basically my favorite person ever. I've never met anyone who better fits the word "jolly." He was thrilled that I had heard of Berlin and even more thrilled when he was briefly under the mistaken impression that I am from Sweden. Last night he walked past as I was eating dinner in the sitting room and called out, "Have good appetite!" with the biggest smile.
Yesterday it was absolutely pouring when I left work, which meant that the streets had basically turned into rivers. I had to cross this one road where someone had thrown a big stone in the middle of this pool of water because the water was way too wide to jump across. But the stone was too far for me to step to, so I had to jump to it and then jump to the other side. I know what you're thinking--yeah, big deal, you jumped across a puddle. So let me share the following details so you can appreciate how much I was like Indiana Jones:
1) The rock was wobbly and only wide enough for one foot.
2) I was wearing a white skirt.
3) I was wearing slippery shoes.
4) I have remarkably poor coordination and balance.
5) I had my laptop in my backpack
6) This was in central Addis, where there is a ton of traffic and the drivers only kind of care if they run you over.
7) It is very likely that there was some sewage in that bottomless lake. Now, those of you who are familiar with my feelings on sanitation know that asking me to jump across a sewage puddle to a wobbly rock is roughly equivalent to asking me to jump across a FIERY PIT OF LAVA.
I'm pretty sure my co-workers think of me as a bumbling (hopefully lovably bumbling) ferenge (is that how you spell ferenge? I don't even know). I went out to tea with a few of them a couple days ago and they found my fear of bees endlessly amusing. Also my inability to pronounce Amharic and the fact that one of them saw me walking all the way back to the Piassa Monday when I couldn't find a minibus to take me there.
Ciao for now
Yesterday it was absolutely pouring when I left work, which meant that the streets had basically turned into rivers. I had to cross this one road where someone had thrown a big stone in the middle of this pool of water because the water was way too wide to jump across. But the stone was too far for me to step to, so I had to jump to it and then jump to the other side. I know what you're thinking--yeah, big deal, you jumped across a puddle. So let me share the following details so you can appreciate how much I was like Indiana Jones:
1) The rock was wobbly and only wide enough for one foot.
2) I was wearing a white skirt.
3) I was wearing slippery shoes.
4) I have remarkably poor coordination and balance.
5) I had my laptop in my backpack
6) This was in central Addis, where there is a ton of traffic and the drivers only kind of care if they run you over.
7) It is very likely that there was some sewage in that bottomless lake. Now, those of you who are familiar with my feelings on sanitation know that asking me to jump across a sewage puddle to a wobbly rock is roughly equivalent to asking me to jump across a FIERY PIT OF LAVA.
I'm pretty sure my co-workers think of me as a bumbling (hopefully lovably bumbling) ferenge (is that how you spell ferenge? I don't even know). I went out to tea with a few of them a couple days ago and they found my fear of bees endlessly amusing. Also my inability to pronounce Amharic and the fact that one of them saw me walking all the way back to the Piassa Monday when I couldn't find a minibus to take me there.
Ciao for now
Monday, July 5, 2010
From the mouths of babes...
Welcome to Addis!
The plane over here was packed with Americans going on mission trips to various places in Africa. I think the people I talked to were confused by the fact that a) I wasn't traveling with a group and b) I wasn't going to volunteer in an orphanage.
Saturday was my first day exploring the city, which is a little chaotic. Addis is packed with people and goats and cattle and friendly strangers who unfailingly help me find my way when I unfailingly get lost trying to ride the minibuses.
Re: the title of this blog post: a little girl who could not have been more than 4 years old grabbed my hand and walked with me while asking for money (which is pretty common). What wasn't as common was that, when I shook my head no and took my hand away, she shouted "Screw you!" after me.
For the 4th of July yesterday we sat under an awning in the hostel and watched a sweet lightning storm in lieu of fireworks.
That's all for now!
The plane over here was packed with Americans going on mission trips to various places in Africa. I think the people I talked to were confused by the fact that a) I wasn't traveling with a group and b) I wasn't going to volunteer in an orphanage.
Saturday was my first day exploring the city, which is a little chaotic. Addis is packed with people and goats and cattle and friendly strangers who unfailingly help me find my way when I unfailingly get lost trying to ride the minibuses.
Re: the title of this blog post: a little girl who could not have been more than 4 years old grabbed my hand and walked with me while asking for money (which is pretty common). What wasn't as common was that, when I shook my head no and took my hand away, she shouted "Screw you!" after me.
For the 4th of July yesterday we sat under an awning in the hostel and watched a sweet lightning storm in lieu of fireworks.
That's all for now!
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