Friday July 23, 2010
I am sitting at the airport wondering how this day came so quickly and searching for the right words to describe my time here. Words are failing me, especially in a country like Ethiopia, in a place as special as Africa. Right now, as I prepare to depart I want a word that explains that something has happened to change me. But the word needs to encompass more than change. Something much bigger has happened. From this point on my life will have a before and after, a was and a will be and I will never again be the same person. But in the end words alone mean very little, as Maya Angelou tells us, “it takes the human voice to infuse them with shades of deeper meaning.” And so, for perhaps the last time, I will give as much of my genuine voice to this final chapter as I can.
It’s too soon to really understand what my time here has meant, nor am I ready to try to explain. Instead I will turn to a favorite quote from a favorite book of mine, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolover, that has been a sustaining thought as I have grappled with many confusing emotions over the past few months.
“To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know…One has only a life of one’s own.”
As most of you know I was never destined for a “normal” path. And while I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand why I needed to do this, all of us make choices in our lives that require us to sacrifice at least a piece of what we cling to. If nothing else explains these past months, maybe that does.
The past few weeks have not only been a whirlwind of activity, but have been deeply emotional and exhausting. I have accomplished more than I ever thought capable of myself. But my initial goals really rather simple. First, I had the hope of giving my time and talents for those who never had the same ample opportunities as I, and second, perhaps more selfishly, to open my perspective to include other cultures in the world. Mission accomplished? With time, I may know one day.
At one point I compared this adventure to falling in love, already knowing that my heart will be broken. Now I have to say that comparison isn’t entirely fair. It isn’t so much of a breaking as a constant longing. I got to know Ethiopia for its beauty and ugliness, it’s good and bad. But more importantly I discovered my beauty and ugliness, my good and bad, what I liked and disliked about me, here, as I was tested over and over again. Ethiopia and I, we experienced life together, what our life would be like together.
So as I prepare to depart, literally, they are boarding my flight, I am still completely at a loss for the right word to encompass this experience. I guess the closest I can come right now is: gratitude. Thank you for the emotional support. I have received countless wonderful e-mails and good thoughts that have helped sustain me through some of the more difficult times. I truly carry all of your love with me, and mostly likely if you are reading this, you are one of those people who has loved me and encouraged the confidence that I needed to undertake this adventure. I feel blessed to have been able to embark upon this journey, and I hope that my experiences have been a blessing to you as a result. Thank you for taking the time to be a part of my life. I hope that when I return our lives will continue to encourage one another.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Going North
Wednesday July 21, 2010
Ever since I heard there were medieval castles in northern Ethiopia, I have been pining to go on a quest to find them and therefore at the absolute last minute and completely spur of the moment I decided to throw caution to the wind and go. I found myself heading north at 4am Saturday night/Sunday morning on what can only be titled an epic adventure. To avoid exhaustive description and superfluous sentences I will limit the details of my trip to the four main attractions.
1)Spent Sunday afternoon cruising Lake Tana, on which the “city” of Bahir Dar is situated. The boat, although less than “complete” in the hippo and crocodile infested waters, made it around the lake with minimal bailing. While Lake Tana is simply a beautiful (and shockingly clean, by Ethiopian standards) vista, what is hidden on the islands and far shores is far more spectacular. Century old monasteries adorned with biblical murals and cross-wielding priests live in near isolation on self-sustainable convents. What interested me most, however, was that some of the monasteries may have been sites of pre-Christian shrines, although they were built in the 16th and 17th centuries, well after Jesus supposedly attempted to impose Christianity on the Ethiopian people. All the churches are built in the orthodox Christian style, which is quite yurt-like, with separate entrances for men and women, if women are allowed at all. I learned, after being spit on by a sister, that you must take off your shoes before entering. And because it is Ethiopia, it is customary to tip the priest, who offers a gentle reminder with his outstretched hand.
2)Monday I made my way up to Gonder (where the castles are!) by spending another 3 hours jammed into an overfilled mini-van type taxi. To be honest, aside from the biggest tree I have ever seen in the town square, the previous capital of Ethiopia looks exactly like every other place here. In the valley, tin-roof shacks line the streets and although significantly smaller, the merkato there is just as frustrating. But I was warned: “it’s not what Gonder is, but what it was” that’s truly spectacular. And it’s true. Presiding over the city are the walls of medieval style castles that predate that era in Europe. How they were built, where the architecture came from is all part of the mystery. What is clear is that each dynasty built their own castle, complete with lion cages. I think the best description is its nickname: The Camelot of Africa. Only it’s real, I promise.
3)Upon returning to Bahir Dar and after seriously catching up on sleep, I suffered serious bumps and bruises taking the rocky road out to the village of Tis Isat site of the Blue Nile Falls. Which were not blue. At all. It was a brown and mucky mess product of the rainy season, but powerful and amazing all the same, and actually more so because it was the rainy season. I have a personal affinity for waterfalls and this did not disappoint, although apparently they were even more magnificent before the hydroelectric project upstream stole most of falls energy. But really in the end, hydroelectric project and Ethiopia in the same sentence is probably the most magnificent combination in the world. The sun even came out long enough to witness a beautiful rainbow and I left damp from the mist, rising out of the gorge. At the convergence water pours over the cliffs into a chasm that cannot even be seen because the mist is so thick and overwhelming. Tis Isat, the name of the village, literally means “water that smokes” and I don’t think I could describe it any better.
4)A lot of ridiculous things happen to me. I am like a magnet for the absurd. If you don’t know me, just take this at face value. Think of the most ridiculous thing to happen to you, multiply by 10 and subtract 5, just for good measure and you get my life. But of all the ridiculous things to ever happen to me this tops the chart. This goes off the chart. The 9 hour journey back to Addis pretty much exceeded all my expectations of ridiculous, so much so that I don’t even know what the right word would be. What goes above and beyond, outlandish, preposterous, outrageous? Because that’s what this was. Ok so here goes.
Remember the furry taxis? Well I decided to take one home to Addis, only it wasn’t furry. Thinking they wouldn’t jam as many people into it for 9 hours, I thought I was scoring the deal of a lifetime. I was wrong. There are 11 legitimate seats in a mini-van taxi. Over the course of the journey we fit 16 adults, one child, one rooster and a goat (that was later removed and tied to the roof…it was pouring rain). So after the taxi gets underway, the four men squashed into the three seats behind me start passing a flask. As they get more and more inebriated one of the gentlemen takes a firm grip on my pig-tails and begins to “milk” them for lack of a better term. This goes on past hilarity and into annoyance at which point I put an end to the madness and try to sleep for a couple of hours. Oh yes, have I mentioned this taxi ride is from 7pm – 5am?
So we take our one bathroom/stretch break and the man with the goat climbs on top of the car, grabs the animal by its neck and checks to see if it is still alive, which it is, only I'm sure it's in sever shock. Then he proceeds to fight with the driver and I can just assume it’s about bringing the sopping wet animal back into the taxi. I am going to let my reaction to that one go unsaid.
Around 3am the taxi arrives at the Nile crossing, a beautiful bridge built for the Millennium, and monitored by the army. A soldier with a large gun opens the door and asks to see identification cards which he briefly considers before returning them to their owners. Finally he receives my passport and as he realizes where I am from his face lights up, I mean it really begins to glow in the yellow hue of the flashlight. With haste he passes his automatic weapon off to the child and begins to unbutton his uniform, pausing only to lift a finger in the “wait one second, don’t go anywhere gesture.” As if I could. So as the uniform looses, the soldier draws it back to reveal a tee-shirt bearing Barack Obama’s face with the slogan “Proud to be American.” Smile and nod, smile and nod.
At 5am the rooster in the taxi went off…
Ever since I heard there were medieval castles in northern Ethiopia, I have been pining to go on a quest to find them and therefore at the absolute last minute and completely spur of the moment I decided to throw caution to the wind and go. I found myself heading north at 4am Saturday night/Sunday morning on what can only be titled an epic adventure. To avoid exhaustive description and superfluous sentences I will limit the details of my trip to the four main attractions.
1)Spent Sunday afternoon cruising Lake Tana, on which the “city” of Bahir Dar is situated. The boat, although less than “complete” in the hippo and crocodile infested waters, made it around the lake with minimal bailing. While Lake Tana is simply a beautiful (and shockingly clean, by Ethiopian standards) vista, what is hidden on the islands and far shores is far more spectacular. Century old monasteries adorned with biblical murals and cross-wielding priests live in near isolation on self-sustainable convents. What interested me most, however, was that some of the monasteries may have been sites of pre-Christian shrines, although they were built in the 16th and 17th centuries, well after Jesus supposedly attempted to impose Christianity on the Ethiopian people. All the churches are built in the orthodox Christian style, which is quite yurt-like, with separate entrances for men and women, if women are allowed at all. I learned, after being spit on by a sister, that you must take off your shoes before entering. And because it is Ethiopia, it is customary to tip the priest, who offers a gentle reminder with his outstretched hand.
2)Monday I made my way up to Gonder (where the castles are!) by spending another 3 hours jammed into an overfilled mini-van type taxi. To be honest, aside from the biggest tree I have ever seen in the town square, the previous capital of Ethiopia looks exactly like every other place here. In the valley, tin-roof shacks line the streets and although significantly smaller, the merkato there is just as frustrating. But I was warned: “it’s not what Gonder is, but what it was” that’s truly spectacular. And it’s true. Presiding over the city are the walls of medieval style castles that predate that era in Europe. How they were built, where the architecture came from is all part of the mystery. What is clear is that each dynasty built their own castle, complete with lion cages. I think the best description is its nickname: The Camelot of Africa. Only it’s real, I promise.
3)Upon returning to Bahir Dar and after seriously catching up on sleep, I suffered serious bumps and bruises taking the rocky road out to the village of Tis Isat site of the Blue Nile Falls. Which were not blue. At all. It was a brown and mucky mess product of the rainy season, but powerful and amazing all the same, and actually more so because it was the rainy season. I have a personal affinity for waterfalls and this did not disappoint, although apparently they were even more magnificent before the hydroelectric project upstream stole most of falls energy. But really in the end, hydroelectric project and Ethiopia in the same sentence is probably the most magnificent combination in the world. The sun even came out long enough to witness a beautiful rainbow and I left damp from the mist, rising out of the gorge. At the convergence water pours over the cliffs into a chasm that cannot even be seen because the mist is so thick and overwhelming. Tis Isat, the name of the village, literally means “water that smokes” and I don’t think I could describe it any better.
4)A lot of ridiculous things happen to me. I am like a magnet for the absurd. If you don’t know me, just take this at face value. Think of the most ridiculous thing to happen to you, multiply by 10 and subtract 5, just for good measure and you get my life. But of all the ridiculous things to ever happen to me this tops the chart. This goes off the chart. The 9 hour journey back to Addis pretty much exceeded all my expectations of ridiculous, so much so that I don’t even know what the right word would be. What goes above and beyond, outlandish, preposterous, outrageous? Because that’s what this was. Ok so here goes.
Remember the furry taxis? Well I decided to take one home to Addis, only it wasn’t furry. Thinking they wouldn’t jam as many people into it for 9 hours, I thought I was scoring the deal of a lifetime. I was wrong. There are 11 legitimate seats in a mini-van taxi. Over the course of the journey we fit 16 adults, one child, one rooster and a goat (that was later removed and tied to the roof…it was pouring rain). So after the taxi gets underway, the four men squashed into the three seats behind me start passing a flask. As they get more and more inebriated one of the gentlemen takes a firm grip on my pig-tails and begins to “milk” them for lack of a better term. This goes on past hilarity and into annoyance at which point I put an end to the madness and try to sleep for a couple of hours. Oh yes, have I mentioned this taxi ride is from 7pm – 5am?
So we take our one bathroom/stretch break and the man with the goat climbs on top of the car, grabs the animal by its neck and checks to see if it is still alive, which it is, only I'm sure it's in sever shock. Then he proceeds to fight with the driver and I can just assume it’s about bringing the sopping wet animal back into the taxi. I am going to let my reaction to that one go unsaid.
Around 3am the taxi arrives at the Nile crossing, a beautiful bridge built for the Millennium, and monitored by the army. A soldier with a large gun opens the door and asks to see identification cards which he briefly considers before returning them to their owners. Finally he receives my passport and as he realizes where I am from his face lights up, I mean it really begins to glow in the yellow hue of the flashlight. With haste he passes his automatic weapon off to the child and begins to unbutton his uniform, pausing only to lift a finger in the “wait one second, don’t go anywhere gesture.” As if I could. So as the uniform looses, the soldier draws it back to reveal a tee-shirt bearing Barack Obama’s face with the slogan “Proud to be American.” Smile and nod, smile and nod.
At 5am the rooster in the taxi went off…
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
One Week To Go
Friday July 16, 2010
I do this annoying thing when I wake up in the morning that I can’t describe better than a need to situate myself in time. I compare the day to larger life events, comings and goings, holidays, due-dates, birthdays etc. I say for example, “this time last week we were leaving for Awassa” or “this time last year I was moving.” It has been a habit of mine for as long as I can remember. Something that I have always needed to do to align my thoughts with reality. So now that I have revealed just how absolutely crazy I am on this oh so public forum I will make my point, and that is that it occurred to me today that, “this time next week will be my last day in Ethiopia.” Sadly, that is the next and most significant milestone. It is no longer logical to calculate how long it has been since my arrival, I am now on the tail end, making the final countdown, playing the bottom of the ninth, you can choose your favorite cliché.
Consequently this all means that I am now thinking about “going back home.” That phrase catches in my throat. And while I am being honest, this is something else I tend to do: to make something real, when I need to convince myself of something, I say it out loud. So, for two reasons, I literally choke over the words.
The first is I hate “good-byes.” They turn me into this incredibly awkward person. And if you heard me say this before it’s because I dread good-byes so much that mull over how awkward the encounter will be days beforehand. I would much rather leave than say goodbye. I honestly think it would be beneficial to all parties if I forwent this traditional social edict and just slipped out.
The second reason is perhaps a little harder to explain.
Dickens wrote “There is nothing harder than being given your chance.” Well I feel as though I have had my chance, I have realized a major dream of mine. This is my dream. And there are days I feel a though this opportunity happened to me. As much as I would like to believe that I drove my life in this direction, it simply isn’t true. This opportunity happened upon me, it was luck, fate, what was meant to be and stuff like that simply doesn’t happen too often. So the hardest part is what will do now that I have been given my chance, going home means “what happens now?”
Going home. Moving forward, but also backward at the same time, it’s a funny contradiction that makes me understand that what I am returning to can never be the same as what I left because I am not the same. So then maybe the contradiction is not in going back home, but in myself.
I do this annoying thing when I wake up in the morning that I can’t describe better than a need to situate myself in time. I compare the day to larger life events, comings and goings, holidays, due-dates, birthdays etc. I say for example, “this time last week we were leaving for Awassa” or “this time last year I was moving.” It has been a habit of mine for as long as I can remember. Something that I have always needed to do to align my thoughts with reality. So now that I have revealed just how absolutely crazy I am on this oh so public forum I will make my point, and that is that it occurred to me today that, “this time next week will be my last day in Ethiopia.” Sadly, that is the next and most significant milestone. It is no longer logical to calculate how long it has been since my arrival, I am now on the tail end, making the final countdown, playing the bottom of the ninth, you can choose your favorite cliché.
Consequently this all means that I am now thinking about “going back home.” That phrase catches in my throat. And while I am being honest, this is something else I tend to do: to make something real, when I need to convince myself of something, I say it out loud. So, for two reasons, I literally choke over the words.
The first is I hate “good-byes.” They turn me into this incredibly awkward person. And if you heard me say this before it’s because I dread good-byes so much that mull over how awkward the encounter will be days beforehand. I would much rather leave than say goodbye. I honestly think it would be beneficial to all parties if I forwent this traditional social edict and just slipped out.
The second reason is perhaps a little harder to explain.
Dickens wrote “There is nothing harder than being given your chance.” Well I feel as though I have had my chance, I have realized a major dream of mine. This is my dream. And there are days I feel a though this opportunity happened to me. As much as I would like to believe that I drove my life in this direction, it simply isn’t true. This opportunity happened upon me, it was luck, fate, what was meant to be and stuff like that simply doesn’t happen too often. So the hardest part is what will do now that I have been given my chance, going home means “what happens now?”
Going home. Moving forward, but also backward at the same time, it’s a funny contradiction that makes me understand that what I am returning to can never be the same as what I left because I am not the same. So then maybe the contradiction is not in going back home, but in myself.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
List It Out
Wednesday July 14, 2010
As my time in Ethiopia comes to a close all my lingering questions, concerns and discomfort subside and I realize, in the face of leaving how much I have fallen in love with this country. But with any great love you have to embrace the good with the bad, so here is the official list, the likes and dislikes of Ethiopia:
Likes:
1)The people, so friendly, joyous. They will go way out of their way to help you. They love saying hello.
2)Coffee, Coffee, Coffee…best I’ve had anywhere in the world!
3)Taxis- it’s an experience every time. Whether I am sitting next to a bag of onions, livestock, a person just eager to demonstrate his English, or some seriously faux fur.
4)The greeting. You start by shaking hands then lean in and bump right shoulders. It’s catchy!
5)The technology is from about 1995, at first I thought this would be frustrating, but it’s actually nice to be disconnected most of the time.
6)The bread. No matter what time a day it feels like it just came from the oven. It is everything a piece of bread should be, crisp and flakey on the outside smooth and fluffy on the inside, with that insatiable smell.
7)The cultural food in general. Yup, I’m shocked too, but it’s really growing on me to the point of genuine enjoyment.
8)That is totally acceptable for 2 or more men to walk down the street hand in hand.
Dislikes:
1.Carcasses- you would be surprised at the discarded bones and goat skulls lying in the street being consumed by bugs. Actually you may not be as surprised as disguised; I gag a little every time.
2.Being called at “Hey You” about every 20 feet of everywhere I go. Clearly I can’t blend in so people are constantly trying to get my attention.
3.The openness of bodily functions. No tissue, pick your nose. Can’t reach, hack and fling. Need a bathroom? That row of (insert anything here) looks good.
4.Tossing trash wherever it pleases. Don’t litter, Save the Earth!
5.The snapping. I know it’s totally culturally acceptable to snap your fingers to get the attention of waiters or in a person’s face to elicit a response, but I can’t get over it. It’s culturally ingrained in me that snapping is rude. Maybe it’s the fact that I was a waitress for far too long.
6.99% of the time I am terrified of the moving vehicle I am in (I guess rightfully so).
As my time in Ethiopia comes to a close all my lingering questions, concerns and discomfort subside and I realize, in the face of leaving how much I have fallen in love with this country. But with any great love you have to embrace the good with the bad, so here is the official list, the likes and dislikes of Ethiopia:
Likes:
1)The people, so friendly, joyous. They will go way out of their way to help you. They love saying hello.
2)Coffee, Coffee, Coffee…best I’ve had anywhere in the world!
3)Taxis- it’s an experience every time. Whether I am sitting next to a bag of onions, livestock, a person just eager to demonstrate his English, or some seriously faux fur.
4)The greeting. You start by shaking hands then lean in and bump right shoulders. It’s catchy!
5)The technology is from about 1995, at first I thought this would be frustrating, but it’s actually nice to be disconnected most of the time.
6)The bread. No matter what time a day it feels like it just came from the oven. It is everything a piece of bread should be, crisp and flakey on the outside smooth and fluffy on the inside, with that insatiable smell.
7)The cultural food in general. Yup, I’m shocked too, but it’s really growing on me to the point of genuine enjoyment.
8)That is totally acceptable for 2 or more men to walk down the street hand in hand.
Dislikes:
1.Carcasses- you would be surprised at the discarded bones and goat skulls lying in the street being consumed by bugs. Actually you may not be as surprised as disguised; I gag a little every time.
2.Being called at “Hey You” about every 20 feet of everywhere I go. Clearly I can’t blend in so people are constantly trying to get my attention.
3.The openness of bodily functions. No tissue, pick your nose. Can’t reach, hack and fling. Need a bathroom? That row of (insert anything here) looks good.
4.Tossing trash wherever it pleases. Don’t litter, Save the Earth!
5.The snapping. I know it’s totally culturally acceptable to snap your fingers to get the attention of waiters or in a person’s face to elicit a response, but I can’t get over it. It’s culturally ingrained in me that snapping is rude. Maybe it’s the fact that I was a waitress for far too long.
6.99% of the time I am terrified of the moving vehicle I am in (I guess rightfully so).
Awassa
Monday July 12, 2010
I know I’m supposed to be saving the world and all, but even the greatest of superheroes needs a vacation, and so this weekend found five of us crammed into a Toyota traveling 5 hours south to the “city” of Awassa. Although I had every intention of taking an extended nap with the sun on my face and the rock of the car, I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes to the rapidly changing scenery. After the smog of Addis cleared we traveled though farmlands, mountains and deserts past greenhouses, steel factories and mud huts. We dodged cattle, donkeys, goats, monkeys and tuck-tucks. We waved to men in fields and children finding shade in desert trees or twisted into the curves of the oversized oaks.
Then we arrived in Awassa. I would be lying if I said the city itself is worth the drive. Actually, the drive is worth the drive, Awassa is nothing more than a large strip of hotels and bars, maybe worthy of a short stroll and nothing more. However, on the outskirts of the town lay Lake Awassa, inundated with hippos and Rastafarians willing to boat you just a little too close. Note to all adrenaline junkies, like myself, being 30 feet in a glorified row boat from the most deadly animal in Africa certainly does the trick; especially when they disappear under the murky water and high grass only to bob to the surface slightly closer.
The next day was equally entertaining as we spent the morning hand-feeding wild monkeys and watching the early morning fishermen cast their nets. There is something so natural about eating the morning catch lake side and chatting with the man who brought it in. Fried in huge barrels we burn our fingers picking apart our breakfast fish and pulling the bones from our teeth.
We broke up the drive home with a stop at some hot springs for a “shower” and left again gnawing on freshly harvested sugar cane. After pulling all the sweetness from the wood we shucked it out the windows with our teeth (sorry to dentists all around the world). It was necessary to stop one more time to purchase honey comb and again, nothing went to waste, not even the waxy texture of the comb itself.
By far the highlight of the trip, however, was enjoying each other’s company duck-side. Literally, we ate nightly at this restaurant whose “fire pit” was in the shape of a giant duck, aflame all night. And that right there is the prime example of all the humor that is Ethiopia. Of all the absurdities…
I know I’m supposed to be saving the world and all, but even the greatest of superheroes needs a vacation, and so this weekend found five of us crammed into a Toyota traveling 5 hours south to the “city” of Awassa. Although I had every intention of taking an extended nap with the sun on my face and the rock of the car, I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes to the rapidly changing scenery. After the smog of Addis cleared we traveled though farmlands, mountains and deserts past greenhouses, steel factories and mud huts. We dodged cattle, donkeys, goats, monkeys and tuck-tucks. We waved to men in fields and children finding shade in desert trees or twisted into the curves of the oversized oaks.
Then we arrived in Awassa. I would be lying if I said the city itself is worth the drive. Actually, the drive is worth the drive, Awassa is nothing more than a large strip of hotels and bars, maybe worthy of a short stroll and nothing more. However, on the outskirts of the town lay Lake Awassa, inundated with hippos and Rastafarians willing to boat you just a little too close. Note to all adrenaline junkies, like myself, being 30 feet in a glorified row boat from the most deadly animal in Africa certainly does the trick; especially when they disappear under the murky water and high grass only to bob to the surface slightly closer.
The next day was equally entertaining as we spent the morning hand-feeding wild monkeys and watching the early morning fishermen cast their nets. There is something so natural about eating the morning catch lake side and chatting with the man who brought it in. Fried in huge barrels we burn our fingers picking apart our breakfast fish and pulling the bones from our teeth.
We broke up the drive home with a stop at some hot springs for a “shower” and left again gnawing on freshly harvested sugar cane. After pulling all the sweetness from the wood we shucked it out the windows with our teeth (sorry to dentists all around the world). It was necessary to stop one more time to purchase honey comb and again, nothing went to waste, not even the waxy texture of the comb itself.
By far the highlight of the trip, however, was enjoying each other’s company duck-side. Literally, we ate nightly at this restaurant whose “fire pit” was in the shape of a giant duck, aflame all night. And that right there is the prime example of all the humor that is Ethiopia. Of all the absurdities…
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Hippos and Zebras
Friday July 9, 2010
I have been seriously slacking on the blogging but that is only because I have been finding a multitude of other ways to keep busy (and once the World Cup ends on Sunday my free time will grow exponentially)!
It goes without saying that the children in foster are growing daily. With the arrival of more volunteers came more books so we have expanded into Safari animals! I am thrilled to announce they are confusing zebras with cows and hippos with fish. I view this with enthusiasm because it means that they are making they are making the connection black and white animal = cow; animal in water = fish. The differentiation will come later and for now they are really observing and crossing knowledge over between books. Simply never cease to amaze me!
The shop women are furiously crafting 1,000 bracelets to be sold state side (plug!) and arguing logos, although I am still pretty sure the point of why this is important is lost in translation. They are also knitting adorable booties in colors of choice, so while you excuse my not so subtle hints, check those out on your next trip to Ethiopia!
I went back up the mountain of Entoto to the school for the HIV children on Thursday and met some of the children’s families with Mesfia (Yemamau’s friend). At this time food money has dried up so he can no longer provide the children a meal and consequently attendance has dropped nearly 30%. The purpose of the family visits was simply to show his devotion and encourage continued attendance. My purpose was simply to take pictures so that he could have more to show potential benefactors.
We first met a group of previous students selling boiled sweet potatoes on the side of the road and another working 1 of 3 crisscrossed looms taking up the entire home. He was making these beautiful white linen scarves traditionally worn by the orthodox Christian women. The homes wore dung huts with thatched roofs. My arm span is a pretty accurate measure of their size and six is the average number of children in a family. The purpose of the home is solely for sleeping. All other activities are done in the communal cooking hut or outside.
Aside from soccer the children entertain themselves with hop-scotch etched into the dirt and jump rope, and undeterred by their bare feet and tattered clothes, race through the woods and fields. A young boy is tasked with keeping the herds for the day. He relaxes in the field practicing his whip cracking and the most trouble he encounters comes from the other children being mischievous but the bulls with gigantic horns apparently pose no threat.
Being up on the mountain again I began thinking about this completely contrary life to Addis; completely pastoral living that we might be too quick to condemn for its simplicity. But then who am I to judge what is “better.” These people may not be literate or technologically say but they know their land better than anything. They know what to do with it, how to live off it, they have a different, perhaps even more important kind of knowledge because it enables them to survive. The children might be dirty, they might be hungry or sick, but still, I can’t help but think that they are better off, living fresh from the squalor of Addis.
I often consider that Ethiopia developed too quickly for its own good. It avoided colonization, which preserved a beautiful culture, but then Ethiopia got caught in globalization, the modern world forced its self upon this nation; ready or not. The result is a half-way effect. They have modern machines but no controls on pollution, road-construction or traffic, technology but no one skilled enough to operate it, and the accessibility to information but lack of literacy. To top it off the cultural mindset would lead any typical Westerner into impatient chaos. But then again, maybe that is our own American downfall. I am finally getting around to reading a book by an Ethiopian author, Dinaw Mengestu. The other day he told me that Americans are always racing, we have this insatiable need to be the first to do something and as a result we have an antipathy toward the past. “We raced across America to get to the Pacific, and then we raced to build a railroad to connect it all. We raced to the moon. We raced to build as many bombs as was humanly possible. I wonder if now we haven’t run out of things to race against. I think the moment that happens we’ll have nothing to do but look back. Then we’ll know if it was worth it.”
So as my time here continues to rapidly wane I have decided to stop racing with it; to embody Ethiopians so to speak. Most of the time I have to check myself anyway because I am still in awe that this is my life. How did I get so lucky as to be living out this dream? It’s like when you hear sirens on the streets of any major city. They are at first faint but then growing louder with each passing second, people begin to strain to see, traffic clears the center of the street and of course there are those who feign comfort, pretend they cannot be bothered. The sound quickly takes over, burning the ears, refusing to be ignored. Then there is no other option but to watch the parade of police, fire trucks, ambulances, or possibly black SUVs or a stretch limo lead by the flags of some far off place and wonder, “what is of such great importance?” At the moment it barely registers. And maybe only later when catching a glimpse at the news is the witnessed moment connected to something greater, and maybe it is completely fleeting to be forgotten as the sounds recede in to the distance and everyone resumes their lives. But the point is, for that one moment, every ordinary person is fulfilling their role as observers and time is temporally suspended.
That is precisely how these last months have been to me and what they have meant I am only just beginning to discover. I am an observer, nothing greater. Still, as such, I bear a great responsibility that will continue to work itself out in meaning for the rest of my life. In the end I am, grasping on with white knuckles to what I can and hoping the meaning comes later.
I have been seriously slacking on the blogging but that is only because I have been finding a multitude of other ways to keep busy (and once the World Cup ends on Sunday my free time will grow exponentially)!
It goes without saying that the children in foster are growing daily. With the arrival of more volunteers came more books so we have expanded into Safari animals! I am thrilled to announce they are confusing zebras with cows and hippos with fish. I view this with enthusiasm because it means that they are making they are making the connection black and white animal = cow; animal in water = fish. The differentiation will come later and for now they are really observing and crossing knowledge over between books. Simply never cease to amaze me!
The shop women are furiously crafting 1,000 bracelets to be sold state side (plug!) and arguing logos, although I am still pretty sure the point of why this is important is lost in translation. They are also knitting adorable booties in colors of choice, so while you excuse my not so subtle hints, check those out on your next trip to Ethiopia!
I went back up the mountain of Entoto to the school for the HIV children on Thursday and met some of the children’s families with Mesfia (Yemamau’s friend). At this time food money has dried up so he can no longer provide the children a meal and consequently attendance has dropped nearly 30%. The purpose of the family visits was simply to show his devotion and encourage continued attendance. My purpose was simply to take pictures so that he could have more to show potential benefactors.
We first met a group of previous students selling boiled sweet potatoes on the side of the road and another working 1 of 3 crisscrossed looms taking up the entire home. He was making these beautiful white linen scarves traditionally worn by the orthodox Christian women. The homes wore dung huts with thatched roofs. My arm span is a pretty accurate measure of their size and six is the average number of children in a family. The purpose of the home is solely for sleeping. All other activities are done in the communal cooking hut or outside.
Aside from soccer the children entertain themselves with hop-scotch etched into the dirt and jump rope, and undeterred by their bare feet and tattered clothes, race through the woods and fields. A young boy is tasked with keeping the herds for the day. He relaxes in the field practicing his whip cracking and the most trouble he encounters comes from the other children being mischievous but the bulls with gigantic horns apparently pose no threat.
Being up on the mountain again I began thinking about this completely contrary life to Addis; completely pastoral living that we might be too quick to condemn for its simplicity. But then who am I to judge what is “better.” These people may not be literate or technologically say but they know their land better than anything. They know what to do with it, how to live off it, they have a different, perhaps even more important kind of knowledge because it enables them to survive. The children might be dirty, they might be hungry or sick, but still, I can’t help but think that they are better off, living fresh from the squalor of Addis.
I often consider that Ethiopia developed too quickly for its own good. It avoided colonization, which preserved a beautiful culture, but then Ethiopia got caught in globalization, the modern world forced its self upon this nation; ready or not. The result is a half-way effect. They have modern machines but no controls on pollution, road-construction or traffic, technology but no one skilled enough to operate it, and the accessibility to information but lack of literacy. To top it off the cultural mindset would lead any typical Westerner into impatient chaos. But then again, maybe that is our own American downfall. I am finally getting around to reading a book by an Ethiopian author, Dinaw Mengestu. The other day he told me that Americans are always racing, we have this insatiable need to be the first to do something and as a result we have an antipathy toward the past. “We raced across America to get to the Pacific, and then we raced to build a railroad to connect it all. We raced to the moon. We raced to build as many bombs as was humanly possible. I wonder if now we haven’t run out of things to race against. I think the moment that happens we’ll have nothing to do but look back. Then we’ll know if it was worth it.”
So as my time here continues to rapidly wane I have decided to stop racing with it; to embody Ethiopians so to speak. Most of the time I have to check myself anyway because I am still in awe that this is my life. How did I get so lucky as to be living out this dream? It’s like when you hear sirens on the streets of any major city. They are at first faint but then growing louder with each passing second, people begin to strain to see, traffic clears the center of the street and of course there are those who feign comfort, pretend they cannot be bothered. The sound quickly takes over, burning the ears, refusing to be ignored. Then there is no other option but to watch the parade of police, fire trucks, ambulances, or possibly black SUVs or a stretch limo lead by the flags of some far off place and wonder, “what is of such great importance?” At the moment it barely registers. And maybe only later when catching a glimpse at the news is the witnessed moment connected to something greater, and maybe it is completely fleeting to be forgotten as the sounds recede in to the distance and everyone resumes their lives. But the point is, for that one moment, every ordinary person is fulfilling their role as observers and time is temporally suspended.
That is precisely how these last months have been to me and what they have meant I am only just beginning to discover. I am an observer, nothing greater. Still, as such, I bear a great responsibility that will continue to work itself out in meaning for the rest of my life. In the end I am, grasping on with white knuckles to what I can and hoping the meaning comes later.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Entoto
Apologies for the delay
Saturday July 3 2010
Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to describe my current ability to function. Zombie might be a more accurate description of how I look and feel. As the Uruguay-Ghana game went into overtime and kick-offs the anxiety and excitement of Millennium hall was thick and tangible. Packed into a huge hall was several thousand Ethiopians, all hope hanging on their African counterparts playing in the quarter-finals. The dream of the first African team to go to the semi-finals and possibly play for the title piled on top of the first time Africa has hosted the World Cup. No less than ten big screens broadcasted the game in what can only be described as a stadium simulation. Then there was silence as we shuffled out of the hall, disappointment and sadness, but in true Ethiopian fashion no display of emotion.
As the city woke this morning, back to its typical Saturday morning bustle, no one wanted to talk about it. It’s just over. And World Cup excitement has almost completely diminished.
Out early, I met with one of Yemamu’s childhood friends, Mesfia, for breakfast and a trip up the mountain of Entoto. Although only about 20 minutes north of the city, the atmosphere feels like another world. The misty, cool forests are vaguely reminiscent of the jungles of Hawaii and the rolling green fields made me believe I had traveled back to pastoral Europe. Just as a reminder though, from the octagonal shaped Entoto Maryam Chuch is a beautiful view of Addis, provided the sun burns off the smog.
Past the small village and the makeshift soccer field is a small plot of land donated to Mesfia for his mission. He built a small wooden frame and a couple of benches and covered it in several tarps, establishing the village’s first school. About 50 children come daily (and more when he can afford to provide a meal) with their one notebook and pen to learn. There are no school supplies, blackboard, desks or books, just children huddled together taking in the oral lesson of the teacher and yet it is more than has ever before been offered.
An astounding 85% of the community is HIV positive and has therefore been left largely neglected. Living in even more astounding poverty than those in the city, the women carry back-breaking bundles of wood down the mountain every morning to sell in market only to return to care for their children, who never cease to amaze me with their ability to be children. After an epic game of soccer and lots of time spent touching my skin and hair, they filled me with questions about my favorite food, sport, animal, music, everything. And as I tried to come up with answers they could relate to (my favorite food is clearly shiro!) I realized how just how many worlds apart we grew up. It probably should be redundant to me at this point, obvious all the opportunities I had that they will never, but for some reason it became so much more apparent trying to answer these simple questions that all children everywhere ask, exactly the same. I think that is what baffled me the most. The questions where the same, much like children all over the world are filled with that sense of joy and wonder. Where we change, where our inherent qualities become cloudy is in our exposure and witness to nearly everything (or nothing).
Dinaw Mengestu reminisces about growing up in Ethiopia as he writes, “Our memories are like a river cut off from the ocean. With time they will slowly dry out in the sun, and so we drink and drink and drink and we can never have our fill.” The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears
Saturday July 3 2010
Exhaustion doesn’t even begin to describe my current ability to function. Zombie might be a more accurate description of how I look and feel. As the Uruguay-Ghana game went into overtime and kick-offs the anxiety and excitement of Millennium hall was thick and tangible. Packed into a huge hall was several thousand Ethiopians, all hope hanging on their African counterparts playing in the quarter-finals. The dream of the first African team to go to the semi-finals and possibly play for the title piled on top of the first time Africa has hosted the World Cup. No less than ten big screens broadcasted the game in what can only be described as a stadium simulation. Then there was silence as we shuffled out of the hall, disappointment and sadness, but in true Ethiopian fashion no display of emotion.
As the city woke this morning, back to its typical Saturday morning bustle, no one wanted to talk about it. It’s just over. And World Cup excitement has almost completely diminished.
Out early, I met with one of Yemamu’s childhood friends, Mesfia, for breakfast and a trip up the mountain of Entoto. Although only about 20 minutes north of the city, the atmosphere feels like another world. The misty, cool forests are vaguely reminiscent of the jungles of Hawaii and the rolling green fields made me believe I had traveled back to pastoral Europe. Just as a reminder though, from the octagonal shaped Entoto Maryam Chuch is a beautiful view of Addis, provided the sun burns off the smog.
Past the small village and the makeshift soccer field is a small plot of land donated to Mesfia for his mission. He built a small wooden frame and a couple of benches and covered it in several tarps, establishing the village’s first school. About 50 children come daily (and more when he can afford to provide a meal) with their one notebook and pen to learn. There are no school supplies, blackboard, desks or books, just children huddled together taking in the oral lesson of the teacher and yet it is more than has ever before been offered.
An astounding 85% of the community is HIV positive and has therefore been left largely neglected. Living in even more astounding poverty than those in the city, the women carry back-breaking bundles of wood down the mountain every morning to sell in market only to return to care for their children, who never cease to amaze me with their ability to be children. After an epic game of soccer and lots of time spent touching my skin and hair, they filled me with questions about my favorite food, sport, animal, music, everything. And as I tried to come up with answers they could relate to (my favorite food is clearly shiro!) I realized how just how many worlds apart we grew up. It probably should be redundant to me at this point, obvious all the opportunities I had that they will never, but for some reason it became so much more apparent trying to answer these simple questions that all children everywhere ask, exactly the same. I think that is what baffled me the most. The questions where the same, much like children all over the world are filled with that sense of joy and wonder. Where we change, where our inherent qualities become cloudy is in our exposure and witness to nearly everything (or nothing).
Dinaw Mengestu reminisces about growing up in Ethiopia as he writes, “Our memories are like a river cut off from the ocean. With time they will slowly dry out in the sun, and so we drink and drink and drink and we can never have our fill.” The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears
Monday, July 5, 2010
A Little of This, A Little of That...
Friday July 2, 2010
I have spent the last 48 hours mentally preparing myself to go to Merkato for the umpteenth time and no amount of preparation can ready oneself for Merkato during a down pour. The mission: a cabinet or shelving unit and some comfortable floor pillows for the play room behind the third foster care home.
To back up for a moment, Kate, another summer volunteer, and I have spent the past week compiling all the donated toys, games, books and crafts not yet divided amongst the houses. After divining up the goods to the appropriate ages, we brought the surplus to a closet-room, out-housed behind the foster care of the oldest kids. The plan for the future (which is a common phrase here, whenever you see a half-built building) is to have a space available for one-on-one play, counseling and therapy.
While the space now looks great and the cabinet was a shockingly easy purchase, the rain and quest for big floor pillows coincided creating mayhem. No less than four gentlemen took it upon themselves to “help” us. Lack of success diverted our attention to a man selling alphabet posters, but the pillow guys were determined, still stuffing them in our faces trying to make a deal, all the while we are getting soaked.
Yemamu and I followed this expedition up with a second trip to Merkato today and the downpour did not cease. We went back to our string dealer for enough to make 1,000 braided bracelets for On Their Own. The vender wasn’t their when we got to his stall, and so the ink guy across the way called him. Five minutes he said. Nearly forty-five minutes later he comes strolling back in. My desperation to wait was only outweighed by my desired to avoid coming back a third day. And while you might think there are several other people who sell embroidery sting, shockingly he is the only one, although there is a surplus of knitting yarn. The first time the string was B15 a spool, the second B12, and today only 9 birr. That’s what a “relationship,” a long wait and a bulk purchase will get you!
I have also been spending a lot more time with the three oldest girls at Foster Care now that school is out for the summer. At ten and eleven, they are significantly older than the other children there and so they come and eat lunch with me, in our newly furnished room, and we do manicures or play games like jenga, uno and of course jump rope. I have been teaching them chants: “Strawberry-shortcake with cream on top…” My highly skilled jump roping days of elementary school are finally paying off.
Childhood and adolescents as we know it are completely by-passed here. Culturally children go from being babies to adults. As young as seven, they become responsible for their younger siblings and go to work as shoe-shiners or gum and cigarette sellers to help the family. Only the very lucky ones get to go to school, and even that is tentative on the family’s situation. I love playing with the girls at foster because in some ways, they get to be the adolescent that I was. They get to come home from school to a snack and play time and they are forever coming up with creative games and acting the older sisters to all the other children.
They are at that awful, awkward, tough middle school age that I look back on and still dread. Not the fondest memories. However, so much is learned at this time. It is the beginning of a lifetime of personal discovery, who you are and more importantly who you never want to be. It is a time of “emerging from innocents” and therefore crucially important to expose them to positive influences. Our language connection is strained and the differences of our personal histories make total connection difficult but there is something so simple and empowering about spending time with these girls. It makes a difference to them. Makes them feel special to not just be lumped with all the other children, whose thoughts, emotions, feelings, worries and excitements , while just as valid, are not the same. The reward is the smile on their face when you arrive, how excited they get when you want to take a picture with them or even simply that you asked how their week is going and then how genuinely interested you are in their answer.
I have spent the last 48 hours mentally preparing myself to go to Merkato for the umpteenth time and no amount of preparation can ready oneself for Merkato during a down pour. The mission: a cabinet or shelving unit and some comfortable floor pillows for the play room behind the third foster care home.
To back up for a moment, Kate, another summer volunteer, and I have spent the past week compiling all the donated toys, games, books and crafts not yet divided amongst the houses. After divining up the goods to the appropriate ages, we brought the surplus to a closet-room, out-housed behind the foster care of the oldest kids. The plan for the future (which is a common phrase here, whenever you see a half-built building) is to have a space available for one-on-one play, counseling and therapy.
While the space now looks great and the cabinet was a shockingly easy purchase, the rain and quest for big floor pillows coincided creating mayhem. No less than four gentlemen took it upon themselves to “help” us. Lack of success diverted our attention to a man selling alphabet posters, but the pillow guys were determined, still stuffing them in our faces trying to make a deal, all the while we are getting soaked.
Yemamu and I followed this expedition up with a second trip to Merkato today and the downpour did not cease. We went back to our string dealer for enough to make 1,000 braided bracelets for On Their Own. The vender wasn’t their when we got to his stall, and so the ink guy across the way called him. Five minutes he said. Nearly forty-five minutes later he comes strolling back in. My desperation to wait was only outweighed by my desired to avoid coming back a third day. And while you might think there are several other people who sell embroidery sting, shockingly he is the only one, although there is a surplus of knitting yarn. The first time the string was B15 a spool, the second B12, and today only 9 birr. That’s what a “relationship,” a long wait and a bulk purchase will get you!
I have also been spending a lot more time with the three oldest girls at Foster Care now that school is out for the summer. At ten and eleven, they are significantly older than the other children there and so they come and eat lunch with me, in our newly furnished room, and we do manicures or play games like jenga, uno and of course jump rope. I have been teaching them chants: “Strawberry-shortcake with cream on top…” My highly skilled jump roping days of elementary school are finally paying off.
Childhood and adolescents as we know it are completely by-passed here. Culturally children go from being babies to adults. As young as seven, they become responsible for their younger siblings and go to work as shoe-shiners or gum and cigarette sellers to help the family. Only the very lucky ones get to go to school, and even that is tentative on the family’s situation. I love playing with the girls at foster because in some ways, they get to be the adolescent that I was. They get to come home from school to a snack and play time and they are forever coming up with creative games and acting the older sisters to all the other children.
They are at that awful, awkward, tough middle school age that I look back on and still dread. Not the fondest memories. However, so much is learned at this time. It is the beginning of a lifetime of personal discovery, who you are and more importantly who you never want to be. It is a time of “emerging from innocents” and therefore crucially important to expose them to positive influences. Our language connection is strained and the differences of our personal histories make total connection difficult but there is something so simple and empowering about spending time with these girls. It makes a difference to them. Makes them feel special to not just be lumped with all the other children, whose thoughts, emotions, feelings, worries and excitements , while just as valid, are not the same. The reward is the smile on their face when you arrive, how excited they get when you want to take a picture with them or even simply that you asked how their week is going and then how genuinely interested you are in their answer.
Friday, July 2, 2010
The setting: An Ethiopian Spin Class
Wednesday June 30, 2010
Yes I found one and it is unique to say the least. Any trainer in the US would go crazy with anxiety watching these guys doing a Harlem shake and bouncing back and forth to the music as their knees waver in and out. Most even take off their seat to get a broader range of body-flinging motion. The music is so loud (like everything else in Ethiopia) that the instructor whistles commands at us, while he dances around the room drinking orange soda. If I paid attention for the whole hour I wouldn’t be able to tolerate it very long, but I am grateful for the bike and so I just tune it out and do my own thing. However, if ever in Ethiopia I highly recommend as a cultural adventure.
It’s been a long time since I have committed myself to writing because I have been that really great kind of busy where stuff actually gets accomplished. I am fairly certain that the increase in the quality of my morning coffee has had a direct effect on my productivity level. With the arrival of Joan and Neeah, two Occupational Therapists, came a French press…NO MORE INSTANT! So as I sit here with my fabulously bohemian clay mug, purchased from the foreigner haven NGO bazaar, I feel clear headed in a way that only rich caffeine can provide.
But the NGO bazaar got me thinking. What is so fabulous there that foreigners flock? Literally we line up outside at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to get the prime pick. Why doesn’t this happen at the bazaars the Kechene women attend? Well the answer is simple. The NGO venders all offer completely unique wares that beautifully interweave Ethiopian culture with foreigner appeal and wear-ability, while the Kechene women offer much the same as every other typical Ethiopian tourist shop. So now the question becomes: how do we get Kechene products up to NGO bazaar standards so they can hold a monthly spot their too?
The shop women have maintained a stand at a bazaar all last week and are attending a new one this week. I am not sure how successful these bazaar stands are, but based on my observations from the NGO fair, my intuition tells me that they do not do so well. I went to visit them last Wednesday and while they are proud, they are not selling. This is not to say they don’t have exceptional crafting talent, it’s just the variety and uniqueness of execution gets lost. However, it is still really great for the women to be able to get their wares “out there” a little more.
Ideas. They need fresh ideas. And so I have been working on differentiation techniques with some of the Gladney staff who help support the shop. Some suggestions have to do with product, what do American families (bringing home a new child or two) want to buy? Because certainly the last thing they want to occupy their mind is how to pack a coffee ceremony or tribal drum set, which both are currently occupying places of honor in the shop. Families are not your typical tourists and frankly, if you want to be a typical tourist I would not recommend Ethiopia.
What I want to work on is marketing the Kechene shop based on the women themselves. They have such incredible stories and in my completely unbiased opinion, are deserving of business over any competing shop. They need a support system, a way to get their stories even further and this would lead to greater success in the shop. Right now I am helping them devise a “logo” (thanks mom) a depiction of who these women are, that can be embroidered or imprinted on all their handcrafted pieces. Having a “look” is an important first step. And I think from creating a unique insignia follows more creativity of product, focus of demography and awareness of quality.
So why this arduous explanation? Because we need help! It is obvious based on my experience thus far that buying chackies unique to Ethiopia is important, but there is a balance between being “culturally Ethiopian” and “glaringly Ethiopian.” Which if you don’t know what I mean picture Rastafarian with some extra flare. Now that’s a hard sell to your average American. Working through some new product ideas I can handle, though suggestions are always welcome. Where I am struggling is how else can we let the world know about these women? How can we get tourists to choose the Kechene shop over the Leper shop or some random tourist trap at Piazza? It might be hard to picture never having been here, but we are in a great bustling location and trust me, in Ethiopia, customer service is not a problem.
So in the end, I wrote this blog to ask for help. To plead for suggestions. E-mail me! (lmoskowitz@moskow.us) Thoughts, ideas, questions, concerns, wishes, hopes and dreams, all is welcome.
Yes I found one and it is unique to say the least. Any trainer in the US would go crazy with anxiety watching these guys doing a Harlem shake and bouncing back and forth to the music as their knees waver in and out. Most even take off their seat to get a broader range of body-flinging motion. The music is so loud (like everything else in Ethiopia) that the instructor whistles commands at us, while he dances around the room drinking orange soda. If I paid attention for the whole hour I wouldn’t be able to tolerate it very long, but I am grateful for the bike and so I just tune it out and do my own thing. However, if ever in Ethiopia I highly recommend as a cultural adventure.
It’s been a long time since I have committed myself to writing because I have been that really great kind of busy where stuff actually gets accomplished. I am fairly certain that the increase in the quality of my morning coffee has had a direct effect on my productivity level. With the arrival of Joan and Neeah, two Occupational Therapists, came a French press…NO MORE INSTANT! So as I sit here with my fabulously bohemian clay mug, purchased from the foreigner haven NGO bazaar, I feel clear headed in a way that only rich caffeine can provide.
But the NGO bazaar got me thinking. What is so fabulous there that foreigners flock? Literally we line up outside at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to get the prime pick. Why doesn’t this happen at the bazaars the Kechene women attend? Well the answer is simple. The NGO venders all offer completely unique wares that beautifully interweave Ethiopian culture with foreigner appeal and wear-ability, while the Kechene women offer much the same as every other typical Ethiopian tourist shop. So now the question becomes: how do we get Kechene products up to NGO bazaar standards so they can hold a monthly spot their too?
The shop women have maintained a stand at a bazaar all last week and are attending a new one this week. I am not sure how successful these bazaar stands are, but based on my observations from the NGO fair, my intuition tells me that they do not do so well. I went to visit them last Wednesday and while they are proud, they are not selling. This is not to say they don’t have exceptional crafting talent, it’s just the variety and uniqueness of execution gets lost. However, it is still really great for the women to be able to get their wares “out there” a little more.
Ideas. They need fresh ideas. And so I have been working on differentiation techniques with some of the Gladney staff who help support the shop. Some suggestions have to do with product, what do American families (bringing home a new child or two) want to buy? Because certainly the last thing they want to occupy their mind is how to pack a coffee ceremony or tribal drum set, which both are currently occupying places of honor in the shop. Families are not your typical tourists and frankly, if you want to be a typical tourist I would not recommend Ethiopia.
What I want to work on is marketing the Kechene shop based on the women themselves. They have such incredible stories and in my completely unbiased opinion, are deserving of business over any competing shop. They need a support system, a way to get their stories even further and this would lead to greater success in the shop. Right now I am helping them devise a “logo” (thanks mom) a depiction of who these women are, that can be embroidered or imprinted on all their handcrafted pieces. Having a “look” is an important first step. And I think from creating a unique insignia follows more creativity of product, focus of demography and awareness of quality.
So why this arduous explanation? Because we need help! It is obvious based on my experience thus far that buying chackies unique to Ethiopia is important, but there is a balance between being “culturally Ethiopian” and “glaringly Ethiopian.” Which if you don’t know what I mean picture Rastafarian with some extra flare. Now that’s a hard sell to your average American. Working through some new product ideas I can handle, though suggestions are always welcome. Where I am struggling is how else can we let the world know about these women? How can we get tourists to choose the Kechene shop over the Leper shop or some random tourist trap at Piazza? It might be hard to picture never having been here, but we are in a great bustling location and trust me, in Ethiopia, customer service is not a problem.
So in the end, I wrote this blog to ask for help. To plead for suggestions. E-mail me! (lmoskowitz@moskow.us) Thoughts, ideas, questions, concerns, wishes, hopes and dreams, all is welcome.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
To Gladney's Families
Since my arrival in Ethiopia, reading with your children has been a pleasure and joy. Every day they astound me as they make connections and grow exponentially!
Reading aloud has been deemed “the single most important activity” for the growth and development of children, both cognitively and emotionally. Reading is truly an enjoyment based activity. Just as we talk to children to reassure, entertain, bond, explain or inspire, we can read to accomplish all these feelings and more. Reading builds vocabulary, it creates a natural opportunity to connect with children focusing around something pleasant and it creates the groundwork for life-long reading, life-long learning.
My goals are simple. Primarily I want your children to enjoy reading, to enjoy their time with me while actively learning. With the use of board books, I am exposing them to colors, numbers, animals, the alphabet, and more; but all that comes secondary to just hearing words as I read and connecting them to the illustrations. Even if this connection is unconscious, on some level it is there and will be retained. Later, the need for illustrations decreases as the imagination takes over.
My second and most important goal is to ease the transition of your children from our Foster Care to their home with you. Incorporating reading time with your child will create a familiar and enjoyable link.
They are always excited to see me walk into their room with my pile of reading material. I guarantee they will be increasingly interested to read personally with you and providing that time will be a wonderful way to simplify this incredibly huge transition.
I have compiled a list of the books we enjoy. The reading list below is divided into two categories: daily reads, which they will practically know by heart, and longer books that I incorporate less frequently for a change of pace, to add length and breadth to their attention span and to peak their curiosity of what might come. Plus they just love surprises! Although comprehension and familiarity is much less with these books, offering new material occasionally works to increase vocabulary and the children show a great interest in new illustrations.
As you already know, I cherish the time spent with your children. Thank you.
Daily Reads:
• Hand Hand Fingers Thumb by Al Perkins*
• Click Clack 1,2,3 by Doreen Cronin and Betsy Lewin
• Where Is Babies Belly Button? by Karen Katz*
• Good Night Moon by Margaret Wise Brown
• Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault *
• Moo, Baa, La La La by Sandra Boynton*
• Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton
• Hey! Wake Up! by Sandra Boynton
• Blue Hat, Green Hat by Sandra Boynton
• Oh My Oh My Dinosaurs by Sandra Boynton*
• But Not The Hippopotamus by Sandra Boynton
• Pajama Time by Sandra Boynton
Periodic Reads:
• How Do I Love You? by Marion Dan Bauer
• Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
• One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss
• ABC by Dr. Seuss
• Go Dogs Go! by Dr. Seuss
• The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
• Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? by Eric Carle
• The Grouchy Ladybug by Eric Carle
• What’s Wrong Little Pookie? by Sandra Boynton
• Lets Dance Little Pookie by Sandra Boynton
• He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands by Kadir Nelson*
*Indicates children’s favorites!
For more information and detailed research on the read-aloud program check out: www.trelease-on-reading.com/rah-ch1.html
Reading aloud has been deemed “the single most important activity” for the growth and development of children, both cognitively and emotionally. Reading is truly an enjoyment based activity. Just as we talk to children to reassure, entertain, bond, explain or inspire, we can read to accomplish all these feelings and more. Reading builds vocabulary, it creates a natural opportunity to connect with children focusing around something pleasant and it creates the groundwork for life-long reading, life-long learning.
My goals are simple. Primarily I want your children to enjoy reading, to enjoy their time with me while actively learning. With the use of board books, I am exposing them to colors, numbers, animals, the alphabet, and more; but all that comes secondary to just hearing words as I read and connecting them to the illustrations. Even if this connection is unconscious, on some level it is there and will be retained. Later, the need for illustrations decreases as the imagination takes over.
My second and most important goal is to ease the transition of your children from our Foster Care to their home with you. Incorporating reading time with your child will create a familiar and enjoyable link.
They are always excited to see me walk into their room with my pile of reading material. I guarantee they will be increasingly interested to read personally with you and providing that time will be a wonderful way to simplify this incredibly huge transition.
I have compiled a list of the books we enjoy. The reading list below is divided into two categories: daily reads, which they will practically know by heart, and longer books that I incorporate less frequently for a change of pace, to add length and breadth to their attention span and to peak their curiosity of what might come. Plus they just love surprises! Although comprehension and familiarity is much less with these books, offering new material occasionally works to increase vocabulary and the children show a great interest in new illustrations.
As you already know, I cherish the time spent with your children. Thank you.
Daily Reads:
• Hand Hand Fingers Thumb by Al Perkins*
• Click Clack 1,2,3 by Doreen Cronin and Betsy Lewin
• Where Is Babies Belly Button? by Karen Katz*
• Good Night Moon by Margaret Wise Brown
• Chicka Chicka Boom Boom by Bill Martin Jr. and John Archambault *
• Moo, Baa, La La La by Sandra Boynton*
• Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton
• Hey! Wake Up! by Sandra Boynton
• Blue Hat, Green Hat by Sandra Boynton
• Oh My Oh My Dinosaurs by Sandra Boynton*
• But Not The Hippopotamus by Sandra Boynton
• Pajama Time by Sandra Boynton
Periodic Reads:
• How Do I Love You? by Marion Dan Bauer
• Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss
• One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish by Dr. Seuss
• ABC by Dr. Seuss
• Go Dogs Go! by Dr. Seuss
• The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle
• Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? by Eric Carle
• The Grouchy Ladybug by Eric Carle
• What’s Wrong Little Pookie? by Sandra Boynton
• Lets Dance Little Pookie by Sandra Boynton
• He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands by Kadir Nelson*
*Indicates children’s favorites!
For more information and detailed research on the read-aloud program check out: www.trelease-on-reading.com/rah-ch1.html
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Rain
Sunday June 20, 2010
The minute I went to step out today the rain came pouring down. Have I mentioned its rains every day? At least it is nice in the mornings and the showers only come in the afternoons otherwise I would be getting really depressed. The droplets right now are as big as hail stones and some even round off that visual effect as they rickashay off the tin roofs. It makes me grateful to have a real roof and a hot cup of tea, but it also pains me as I think about the thousands of people all around me whose roofs are leaking and whose floors are washing away.
I got frustrated at the sudden down pour cramping my afternoon, as I scurried back through my gate trying to get into my warm home. Then while fiddling with the lock I glanced down my street to see a woman with her skirt hiked up to her knees sliding in her rubber sandals pushing rocks up against the metal wall of her house. She was either trying to keep it from falling or keep the water from rushing under.
Squinting my eyes against the golf ball sized droplets I waddled down the street to help her. Upon noticing my presence she disappeared inside and produced an umbrella for me. She actually thought I wanted to watch her struggle (not an uncommon thing for an Ethiopian, around every man changing a tire or hauling rocks at a construction site, there is a spectator group there to offer “expert advice”). “No,” I shouted, “I help” and even when I refused the umbrella she didn’t understand until I started passing rocks to her. I think I made her uncomfortable, like she was supposed to be hospitable towards me, and I had somehow breached my role as her guest with my attempt to help.
When you are a foreigner in Ethiopia every person looks upon you as their personal “company.” If you are a visitor to their country, you are a visitor to them personally, and therefore it is their job to meet your needs and have something to offer. There I was, wanting nothing but to keep her house standing, and she is insisting that I go inside, sit down and accept some coffee. In such a hostess flurry, she was even insisting that I stop passing the rocks to her. Politely refusing my hand-off was more like it, and naturally so, as if refusing a drink or second-helpings.
My attempts being thwarted, I shuffled back home drenched and jumped immediately in the hot shower, (yes, the water came back on Friday evening!), even more frustrated than when the rain began. Why would someone refuse that kind of help? Is it pride, disbelief, or some overly ingrained cultural teaching? If I weren’t so obviously a foreigner would she have accepted me? Have we done a disservice to Ethiopians, aiding them so completely, that they feel the need to act subservient towards us?
I experience the host/guest role nearly every day in almost every interaction. Although it makes me uncomfortable about 99% of the time, I make an attempt to stifle this discomfort and replace it with graciousness. As a very self-reliant person, it goes against my very being to be offered things and then be waited on, especially in places where I feel at home. It goes against my grain even more when an Ethiopian tries to hand-feed me (supposedly an act of respect that I just find yucky). In general, I am not shy and if I want something I will get it or make it happen. But still, as I dry off and decompress, what happened last hour bothers me, even more it hurts me. Her situation was desperate, how could she conceive I came over to distract from what she was doing? Why would she imagine that I put myself in her way just to be served? Is that really the reputation foreigners have made for themselves in Ethiopia?
There is this quote that I recall from my thesis research that stands out at this moment and I apologize because I don’t remember who actually wrote it, but they said, “It is almost a universal human trait to devalue what you know and value what everyone else knows.” But why?
The minute I went to step out today the rain came pouring down. Have I mentioned its rains every day? At least it is nice in the mornings and the showers only come in the afternoons otherwise I would be getting really depressed. The droplets right now are as big as hail stones and some even round off that visual effect as they rickashay off the tin roofs. It makes me grateful to have a real roof and a hot cup of tea, but it also pains me as I think about the thousands of people all around me whose roofs are leaking and whose floors are washing away.
I got frustrated at the sudden down pour cramping my afternoon, as I scurried back through my gate trying to get into my warm home. Then while fiddling with the lock I glanced down my street to see a woman with her skirt hiked up to her knees sliding in her rubber sandals pushing rocks up against the metal wall of her house. She was either trying to keep it from falling or keep the water from rushing under.
Squinting my eyes against the golf ball sized droplets I waddled down the street to help her. Upon noticing my presence she disappeared inside and produced an umbrella for me. She actually thought I wanted to watch her struggle (not an uncommon thing for an Ethiopian, around every man changing a tire or hauling rocks at a construction site, there is a spectator group there to offer “expert advice”). “No,” I shouted, “I help” and even when I refused the umbrella she didn’t understand until I started passing rocks to her. I think I made her uncomfortable, like she was supposed to be hospitable towards me, and I had somehow breached my role as her guest with my attempt to help.
When you are a foreigner in Ethiopia every person looks upon you as their personal “company.” If you are a visitor to their country, you are a visitor to them personally, and therefore it is their job to meet your needs and have something to offer. There I was, wanting nothing but to keep her house standing, and she is insisting that I go inside, sit down and accept some coffee. In such a hostess flurry, she was even insisting that I stop passing the rocks to her. Politely refusing my hand-off was more like it, and naturally so, as if refusing a drink or second-helpings.
My attempts being thwarted, I shuffled back home drenched and jumped immediately in the hot shower, (yes, the water came back on Friday evening!), even more frustrated than when the rain began. Why would someone refuse that kind of help? Is it pride, disbelief, or some overly ingrained cultural teaching? If I weren’t so obviously a foreigner would she have accepted me? Have we done a disservice to Ethiopians, aiding them so completely, that they feel the need to act subservient towards us?
I experience the host/guest role nearly every day in almost every interaction. Although it makes me uncomfortable about 99% of the time, I make an attempt to stifle this discomfort and replace it with graciousness. As a very self-reliant person, it goes against my very being to be offered things and then be waited on, especially in places where I feel at home. It goes against my grain even more when an Ethiopian tries to hand-feed me (supposedly an act of respect that I just find yucky). In general, I am not shy and if I want something I will get it or make it happen. But still, as I dry off and decompress, what happened last hour bothers me, even more it hurts me. Her situation was desperate, how could she conceive I came over to distract from what she was doing? Why would she imagine that I put myself in her way just to be served? Is that really the reputation foreigners have made for themselves in Ethiopia?
There is this quote that I recall from my thesis research that stands out at this moment and I apologize because I don’t remember who actually wrote it, but they said, “It is almost a universal human trait to devalue what you know and value what everyone else knows.” But why?
No Water!
Friday June 18, 2010
Day 4, no water. I am actually considering going out into the pouring rain to shower. Any thoughts or experience with this course of action. It’s really only bearable for three reasons: 1) The landlord provides me with a small barrel each afternoon for cooking and toilet flushing, 2) Rhonda (a play therapist volunteer here this week) is in good spirits about it too and 3) the electricity has been relatively reliable these days, only going out twice. There is really nothing that can be done but laugh. The lack of water is not the true problem, after all I can only start smelling Ethiopian rather than “bad”; the issue is there is no measurable way to determine when it will come back on. It could be next hour, tomorrow, or in two months. And I am assured that, unlike in the US, no one is really working that hard to fix this predicament.
Despite all this I had a major breakthrough with some of the older kids at Foster. I literally had an adrenaline rush, which is a good thing for me because I’m sort of a junkie. As I was casually reading “Goodnight Moon,” as I do every day, one of the girls connected the “cow jumping over the moon” to the sound cow make; then more associated “two little kittens” with the sound of a cat. They have known their “barnyard” animal noises for weeks now, however always in the context of the story, “Moo, Baa, La La La,” which explicitly teaches what animals say. This connection between books really shows that they are comprehending rather than just memorizing, which it totally the next step. A big success!
Day 4, no water. I am actually considering going out into the pouring rain to shower. Any thoughts or experience with this course of action. It’s really only bearable for three reasons: 1) The landlord provides me with a small barrel each afternoon for cooking and toilet flushing, 2) Rhonda (a play therapist volunteer here this week) is in good spirits about it too and 3) the electricity has been relatively reliable these days, only going out twice. There is really nothing that can be done but laugh. The lack of water is not the true problem, after all I can only start smelling Ethiopian rather than “bad”; the issue is there is no measurable way to determine when it will come back on. It could be next hour, tomorrow, or in two months. And I am assured that, unlike in the US, no one is really working that hard to fix this predicament.
Despite all this I had a major breakthrough with some of the older kids at Foster. I literally had an adrenaline rush, which is a good thing for me because I’m sort of a junkie. As I was casually reading “Goodnight Moon,” as I do every day, one of the girls connected the “cow jumping over the moon” to the sound cow make; then more associated “two little kittens” with the sound of a cat. They have known their “barnyard” animal noises for weeks now, however always in the context of the story, “Moo, Baa, La La La,” which explicitly teaches what animals say. This connection between books really shows that they are comprehending rather than just memorizing, which it totally the next step. A big success!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Merkato (again)
Wednesday June 16, 2010
UGGGG! Back to Merkato yesterday. But it was much better than before because I didn’t go at it alone this time. I brought one of the girls from the shop came with me and we bought things I wouldn’t have otherwise considered as she explained how they would craft them. There were other things to, like medium sized knitting needles that they needed and were using to weave the braids tighter. It makes sense, but it’s all that crafty stuff that I would never consider.
But here is the other thing that makes me crazy about Merkato, and it has nothing to do with negotiating prices or the nonsensical arrangement of the booths. It is that everyone involves themselves in your business. I think people literally hang around Merkato just to claim they “assisted” and hold out their hand for money. As we were leaning up against out taxi, having a discussion about how we would use what we just bought and what else we needed three guys came into our audience, one of whom took it upon himself to try and offer his expert opinion. Then he proceeded to follow us around and jump on the answers to my questions directed at Yemamu, in incomprehensible English. When I tried to offer a reasonable price, he thwarted my negotiation, by explaining why the stall-keeper wanted what he asked. “Very precious beads, of course.” Distracting as this was, the problem really arose when he demanded money of me for his “negotiation” and “directional” services. Um sorry sir, no, this would have been even more productive and efficient if you neglected to “help.” Sometimes watching is helping.
I am excited to see what the women will do with the supplies. I am kind of talking a step back on this one. It is kind of an experiment to see what they produce when “on their own.” After I explained a little, and vetoed materials that were simply to gaudy and flashy, I want to see what they will come up with that can possibly be marketed in the US. Ethiopian style does not generally mesh with the typical American audience, and that is why I think they girls struggle at the shop, because their target audience is the families. It’s a difficult balance because I don’t want to be down on their cultural crafts, nor do seek to discourage them completely, but we need to achieve some balance between “cultural” and “wearable.”
Supplies are not a problem. I know I can literally find anything at a better than reasonable price and the women are really crafty, so any suggestions, things you would be interested in wearing, shoot me an e-mail. As always, I am open to anything and willing to try even more!
UGGGG! Back to Merkato yesterday. But it was much better than before because I didn’t go at it alone this time. I brought one of the girls from the shop came with me and we bought things I wouldn’t have otherwise considered as she explained how they would craft them. There were other things to, like medium sized knitting needles that they needed and were using to weave the braids tighter. It makes sense, but it’s all that crafty stuff that I would never consider.
But here is the other thing that makes me crazy about Merkato, and it has nothing to do with negotiating prices or the nonsensical arrangement of the booths. It is that everyone involves themselves in your business. I think people literally hang around Merkato just to claim they “assisted” and hold out their hand for money. As we were leaning up against out taxi, having a discussion about how we would use what we just bought and what else we needed three guys came into our audience, one of whom took it upon himself to try and offer his expert opinion. Then he proceeded to follow us around and jump on the answers to my questions directed at Yemamu, in incomprehensible English. When I tried to offer a reasonable price, he thwarted my negotiation, by explaining why the stall-keeper wanted what he asked. “Very precious beads, of course.” Distracting as this was, the problem really arose when he demanded money of me for his “negotiation” and “directional” services. Um sorry sir, no, this would have been even more productive and efficient if you neglected to “help.” Sometimes watching is helping.
I am excited to see what the women will do with the supplies. I am kind of talking a step back on this one. It is kind of an experiment to see what they produce when “on their own.” After I explained a little, and vetoed materials that were simply to gaudy and flashy, I want to see what they will come up with that can possibly be marketed in the US. Ethiopian style does not generally mesh with the typical American audience, and that is why I think they girls struggle at the shop, because their target audience is the families. It’s a difficult balance because I don’t want to be down on their cultural crafts, nor do seek to discourage them completely, but we need to achieve some balance between “cultural” and “wearable.”
Supplies are not a problem. I know I can literally find anything at a better than reasonable price and the women are really crafty, so any suggestions, things you would be interested in wearing, shoot me an e-mail. As always, I am open to anything and willing to try even more!
Opposites
Monday June 14, 2010
Ethiopia is all in a tizzy. It feels like a light has turned on. There is this tangible atmosphere of excitement and energy radiating from the World Cup. I have been walking the streets in the evenings just to pick up on the liveliness all around. The shouts of support or disappointment shooting out of the bars overlaid by the screams of the announcer and crowd on the television, or the groups huddled around a handheld radio talking turns pushing it to their ears to get the play-by-play over the roar of traffic and the static.
This past week has been incredible. And change seems to be the theme. Everything has been turning around, starting fresh. Several volunteers are here now, and combined with the extensive training the caregivers just underwent, Foster is buzzing with energy. My job has become slightly more challenging because the kids are all “riled up” from their previous activity. But I would prefer them making transitions between different kinds of play rather than arriving to them already sitting still and quiet.
The other day, a kind of rainy indoor day, I walked into the foster care house for the oldest kids and the entire floor was covered in ripped paper that they were rolling in, sliding around, and throwing in a snow-ball fight fashion. They didn’t even notice my arrival they were so absorbed and having just this amazingly pure fun. Once they were given the tools, the caregivers have impressed me with their skills and creativity involving activities for the kids.
Today also marks the one month mark of reading! And while the changes are specific and unique toeachroom, each child and sometimes so slight that no one would really take note, I guarantee every child has made some new connection. They have gone from not recognizing animals, to knowing what all the barnyard animals say, from not differentiating colors to matching illustrations to the color of their clothes! And most importantly, they are still not board with me as I worried they might become! I am so impressed by their interest, attention, participation and absorption of information. I had another volunteer do some video of reading time, and as I was reviewing the tapes, I realized how much I miss when I am absorbed in reading and maintaining attention. The children who are strong participants I know, of course, but the camera picked up on lots of subtle moments I never would have noticed. Toddlers “trying out” animal noises’, experimenting with sounds and words very quietly, and the older kids pointing and discussing some illustration in whispered voices, they are all finding some way to involve themselves further in what I only initiate.
To completely (and oh so subtly) change topics, the Kechene Women at the shop finished a different kind of project. They made 65 braided bracelets with button clasps and many chose to weave the buttons into their braiding as well. They are all unique and rather cute; however the quality and imagination really depended on the crafter. I let them go on this one, gave them the supplies and the basic outline of what I wanted and told them to be creative. I really wanted to see their capabilities and creativity and I was not disappointed.
There is this book of opposites that I have been reading with the kids (Oh My Oh My Dinosaurs! by Sandra Boynton) and they way everything has flipped reminds me of that now. Truly Ethiopia reminds me every day of opposing forces. Things that shouldn’t go together anywhere else, here they do. It is a blending of old world and modernity, cultural and international, change and stagnant stubbornness. The same is true for my life here, I feel as though the opposing (and much more positive) side has come out in the past month bringing energy and enthusiasm, not only for me, but for the kids and the Kechene women, as well. Just like the World Cup has changed the climate of Ethiopia, I feel the changing atmosphere all around me.
Ethiopia is all in a tizzy. It feels like a light has turned on. There is this tangible atmosphere of excitement and energy radiating from the World Cup. I have been walking the streets in the evenings just to pick up on the liveliness all around. The shouts of support or disappointment shooting out of the bars overlaid by the screams of the announcer and crowd on the television, or the groups huddled around a handheld radio talking turns pushing it to their ears to get the play-by-play over the roar of traffic and the static.
This past week has been incredible. And change seems to be the theme. Everything has been turning around, starting fresh. Several volunteers are here now, and combined with the extensive training the caregivers just underwent, Foster is buzzing with energy. My job has become slightly more challenging because the kids are all “riled up” from their previous activity. But I would prefer them making transitions between different kinds of play rather than arriving to them already sitting still and quiet.
The other day, a kind of rainy indoor day, I walked into the foster care house for the oldest kids and the entire floor was covered in ripped paper that they were rolling in, sliding around, and throwing in a snow-ball fight fashion. They didn’t even notice my arrival they were so absorbed and having just this amazingly pure fun. Once they were given the tools, the caregivers have impressed me with their skills and creativity involving activities for the kids.
Today also marks the one month mark of reading! And while the changes are specific and unique toeachroom, each child and sometimes so slight that no one would really take note, I guarantee every child has made some new connection. They have gone from not recognizing animals, to knowing what all the barnyard animals say, from not differentiating colors to matching illustrations to the color of their clothes! And most importantly, they are still not board with me as I worried they might become! I am so impressed by their interest, attention, participation and absorption of information. I had another volunteer do some video of reading time, and as I was reviewing the tapes, I realized how much I miss when I am absorbed in reading and maintaining attention. The children who are strong participants I know, of course, but the camera picked up on lots of subtle moments I never would have noticed. Toddlers “trying out” animal noises’, experimenting with sounds and words very quietly, and the older kids pointing and discussing some illustration in whispered voices, they are all finding some way to involve themselves further in what I only initiate.
To completely (and oh so subtly) change topics, the Kechene Women at the shop finished a different kind of project. They made 65 braided bracelets with button clasps and many chose to weave the buttons into their braiding as well. They are all unique and rather cute; however the quality and imagination really depended on the crafter. I let them go on this one, gave them the supplies and the basic outline of what I wanted and told them to be creative. I really wanted to see their capabilities and creativity and I was not disappointed.
There is this book of opposites that I have been reading with the kids (Oh My Oh My Dinosaurs! by Sandra Boynton) and they way everything has flipped reminds me of that now. Truly Ethiopia reminds me every day of opposing forces. Things that shouldn’t go together anywhere else, here they do. It is a blending of old world and modernity, cultural and international, change and stagnant stubbornness. The same is true for my life here, I feel as though the opposing (and much more positive) side has come out in the past month bringing energy and enthusiasm, not only for me, but for the kids and the Kechene women, as well. Just like the World Cup has changed the climate of Ethiopia, I feel the changing atmosphere all around me.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Teachers
Tuesday June 8, 2010
I’m LEGAL! Got my passport with visa back in less than 15 minutes from immigration yesterday that has to be a new record!
I also developed a new method for easing my heart stings with the begging children. I have such a hard time passing them with a cold stare, especially since they single me out (for obvious reasons) over every other passer-by. But giving a birr to everyone is nearly impossible and I would be out of taxi fare in 50 feet. So I have resorted to buying a pack of gum for only one birr and passing out the sticks…its 5 for the price of 1! I piloted this program today with great success. And while I don’t mean to make light of such a desperate situation, a little humor is the only way for me to survive, to not feel overwhelming guilty walking down the street with a bag full of groceries on my way to my nice house.
Nicholas Kristof, co-author of Half the Sky, an amazing journalistic book that addresses the global issue of gendercide on a human level, spoke at my high school’s seminar day. While I am disappointed to have missed him, the reporting article quoted him as saying, “you have won the world’s lottery.” That has NEVER been more apparent to me until now. Until I slip pass those outstretched hands, the days begging’s clanging in the tiny palms. Could I live one week, one day, one week even pleading for survival? Could I pick my next meal from the filth and sewage? It takes more bravery, humility and destitute than I could ever imagine.
I have this philosophy, and it is most important for days, like today, when the guilt crushes me; when I begin to think “who am I to be this lucky?” And maybe it’s just something I need to believe, but I feel,hat the moment I begin to suffer guilt is the moment I lose my ability to serve objectively. To feel shame is to lose perspective. To let it reach your core is to lose strength. There is no way to help everybody. No one saves the world alone, so I must stay my course, stick to my goals and pray that there are more people filling in the gaps.
In the end, who are we not to enjoy life? I believe the human spirit is resilient beyond imagination, and goodness will always triumph. I believe in my part in that victory. Just because I get angry about injustice, frustrated with myself fro only being able to do so little, especially now, when it’s all right in front of me does not mean I neglect to realize the privilege I have of doing this work. And while I might be here to teach and observe, in the end, all those I meet, children and adults alike, have been my teachers. They have carved and shaped me in still unthinkable ways. They are the life’s lessons personified, I don’t know if I would otherwise learn. Their names and faces may be fleeting, on days memories, another days ghosts. But they should know, and they never will, that they have made my life triumphant, joyful and valid. They made me.
I’m LEGAL! Got my passport with visa back in less than 15 minutes from immigration yesterday that has to be a new record!
I also developed a new method for easing my heart stings with the begging children. I have such a hard time passing them with a cold stare, especially since they single me out (for obvious reasons) over every other passer-by. But giving a birr to everyone is nearly impossible and I would be out of taxi fare in 50 feet. So I have resorted to buying a pack of gum for only one birr and passing out the sticks…its 5 for the price of 1! I piloted this program today with great success. And while I don’t mean to make light of such a desperate situation, a little humor is the only way for me to survive, to not feel overwhelming guilty walking down the street with a bag full of groceries on my way to my nice house.
Nicholas Kristof, co-author of Half the Sky, an amazing journalistic book that addresses the global issue of gendercide on a human level, spoke at my high school’s seminar day. While I am disappointed to have missed him, the reporting article quoted him as saying, “you have won the world’s lottery.” That has NEVER been more apparent to me until now. Until I slip pass those outstretched hands, the days begging’s clanging in the tiny palms. Could I live one week, one day, one week even pleading for survival? Could I pick my next meal from the filth and sewage? It takes more bravery, humility and destitute than I could ever imagine.
I have this philosophy, and it is most important for days, like today, when the guilt crushes me; when I begin to think “who am I to be this lucky?” And maybe it’s just something I need to believe, but I feel,hat the moment I begin to suffer guilt is the moment I lose my ability to serve objectively. To feel shame is to lose perspective. To let it reach your core is to lose strength. There is no way to help everybody. No one saves the world alone, so I must stay my course, stick to my goals and pray that there are more people filling in the gaps.
In the end, who are we not to enjoy life? I believe the human spirit is resilient beyond imagination, and goodness will always triumph. I believe in my part in that victory. Just because I get angry about injustice, frustrated with myself fro only being able to do so little, especially now, when it’s all right in front of me does not mean I neglect to realize the privilege I have of doing this work. And while I might be here to teach and observe, in the end, all those I meet, children and adults alike, have been my teachers. They have carved and shaped me in still unthinkable ways. They are the life’s lessons personified, I don’t know if I would otherwise learn. Their names and faces may be fleeting, on days memories, another days ghosts. But they should know, and they never will, that they have made my life triumphant, joyful and valid. They made me.
Immigration Round II
Friday June 4, 2010
You know it’s bad when you begin making friend at the office of immigration. My passport have as well, because it is a having a full weekend sleepover.
I returned today at 1:40pm (20 minute early- can you tell I am a little anxious?) to pick up my passport and subsequent visa. As the pile of US passports began diminishing before me I began to get more and more nervous. “Great,” I’m thinking, “now that you LOST my passport I am going to have to rescind my statement about this being a relatively painless process.” Sure enough it wasn’t actually lost, just put in the “problem” pile. Apparently three days past expired incurs a $20 dollar fine, in addition to a $20 dollar renewal fee. So can’t I just go to the billing room and pay more money. Of course not, that would be logical. Instead, it’s back through the whole process: one form, six rooms, $20 more dollars, and a newly formed friendship with my interrogator and I should have a visa by Monday afternoon. I am still going to have to revoke yesterday’s statement! Especially since the computer system was down for the first hour I was there. I suppose I should be thankful that there is a computer system to begin with…
And so the saga continues. Hopefully, these entries don’t exceed a trilogy.
In other news, the Kechene women and I are starting another project on Tuesday. They will be braiding/knitting/weaving bracelets based on their specialty, with the sting I bought at Merkato. The clasp for the bracelets is a button, that I am pretty pround of purchasing, because I endured and negotiated Merkato solo. I would rather spend another day at immigration before navigating Merkato alone again. And considering that I typically love those types of places, that is saying a lot.
Merkato is just one of the most nonsensical situations I have ever been it. Finding the button guy was fairly easy, I made sure I had buttons on my shirt that day so I could communicate what I wanted to find and a backpack salesman actually gave me really great directions. But the button guy, who had millions of buttons in about 50 shoe boxes tried to convince me that each button was worth a birr. That would be about 7 cents a button, which seems a little ridiculous and would require counting out the big handfuls I wanted to buy. I asked him if he could charge me by the kilo rather than the piece, but no these buttons are “very precious.” Then I decided to just negotiate for a whole shoe box, even though it would be way more than I needed. One shoe box, containing thousands was starting price of 600 birr, so they’re not worth 1 birr a piece then. Every time I tried to bring the price down he kept saying, “We make good relationship for next time.” Yeah, okay. After a long convoluted negotiation, we settled on 200 birr for half a box. But the thing that I can’t understand and this happens repeatedly here, so I’m beginning to think it’s kind of an Ethiopian mentality, is why would someone rather have thousand of buttons that would take centuries to sell off, than a hundred birr today? This really not about the buttons specifically, but it’s an overarching concept here that I can’t seem to understand. Help!
You know it’s bad when you begin making friend at the office of immigration. My passport have as well, because it is a having a full weekend sleepover.
I returned today at 1:40pm (20 minute early- can you tell I am a little anxious?) to pick up my passport and subsequent visa. As the pile of US passports began diminishing before me I began to get more and more nervous. “Great,” I’m thinking, “now that you LOST my passport I am going to have to rescind my statement about this being a relatively painless process.” Sure enough it wasn’t actually lost, just put in the “problem” pile. Apparently three days past expired incurs a $20 dollar fine, in addition to a $20 dollar renewal fee. So can’t I just go to the billing room and pay more money. Of course not, that would be logical. Instead, it’s back through the whole process: one form, six rooms, $20 more dollars, and a newly formed friendship with my interrogator and I should have a visa by Monday afternoon. I am still going to have to revoke yesterday’s statement! Especially since the computer system was down for the first hour I was there. I suppose I should be thankful that there is a computer system to begin with…
And so the saga continues. Hopefully, these entries don’t exceed a trilogy.
In other news, the Kechene women and I are starting another project on Tuesday. They will be braiding/knitting/weaving bracelets based on their specialty, with the sting I bought at Merkato. The clasp for the bracelets is a button, that I am pretty pround of purchasing, because I endured and negotiated Merkato solo. I would rather spend another day at immigration before navigating Merkato alone again. And considering that I typically love those types of places, that is saying a lot.
Merkato is just one of the most nonsensical situations I have ever been it. Finding the button guy was fairly easy, I made sure I had buttons on my shirt that day so I could communicate what I wanted to find and a backpack salesman actually gave me really great directions. But the button guy, who had millions of buttons in about 50 shoe boxes tried to convince me that each button was worth a birr. That would be about 7 cents a button, which seems a little ridiculous and would require counting out the big handfuls I wanted to buy. I asked him if he could charge me by the kilo rather than the piece, but no these buttons are “very precious.” Then I decided to just negotiate for a whole shoe box, even though it would be way more than I needed. One shoe box, containing thousands was starting price of 600 birr, so they’re not worth 1 birr a piece then. Every time I tried to bring the price down he kept saying, “We make good relationship for next time.” Yeah, okay. After a long convoluted negotiation, we settled on 200 birr for half a box. But the thing that I can’t understand and this happens repeatedly here, so I’m beginning to think it’s kind of an Ethiopian mentality, is why would someone rather have thousand of buttons that would take centuries to sell off, than a hundred birr today? This really not about the buttons specifically, but it’s an overarching concept here that I can’t seem to understand. Help!
Immigration
Thursday June 3, 2010
Currently, my passport is not in my possession. This is probably the most frightening thing that can happen in a foreign country. It is currently residing in the office of immigration awaiting a stamp on my newly renewed visa, allowing me to stay in the country 60 more days, and more importantly allowing me to leave on my desired flight.
Renewing a visa in Ethiopia was shockingly one of the easiest things I’ve done. I only had to fill out one form, go to six different rooms at the office of immigration, be interrogated about my intentions for staying by two different people, pay $20, forfeit my passport, return the following day and help a lovely lady who couldn’t read English fill out her form. But even more surprising all of this only took three hours.
The upside is that I don’t have to be back to immigration until the afternoon, so I have the morning to go to foster, and won’t neglect the kids further.
The moral of this story is don’t let your visa expire, even if they did change the law the very same day you got on the plane and mid-air you were not aware that you can now only get a 30 day visa upon arrival and finally, don’t neglect to look at said visa until the first of the following month, 2 days too late.
Currently, my passport is not in my possession. This is probably the most frightening thing that can happen in a foreign country. It is currently residing in the office of immigration awaiting a stamp on my newly renewed visa, allowing me to stay in the country 60 more days, and more importantly allowing me to leave on my desired flight.
Renewing a visa in Ethiopia was shockingly one of the easiest things I’ve done. I only had to fill out one form, go to six different rooms at the office of immigration, be interrogated about my intentions for staying by two different people, pay $20, forfeit my passport, return the following day and help a lovely lady who couldn’t read English fill out her form. But even more surprising all of this only took three hours.
The upside is that I don’t have to be back to immigration until the afternoon, so I have the morning to go to foster, and won’t neglect the kids further.
The moral of this story is don’t let your visa expire, even if they did change the law the very same day you got on the plane and mid-air you were not aware that you can now only get a 30 day visa upon arrival and finally, don’t neglect to look at said visa until the first of the following month, 2 days too late.
June
Wednesday June 2, 2010
It’s June!!!! That means I’ve been here a whole month already and my first question is: Where did the time go? June also signifies a month since I moved home from college (terrifying), the 6th month that I have been travelling (thrilling) and the last month that I am 22 (petrifying). But a month in a country also means that any lingering questions subside and I begin to really love where I am. I get comfortable, content and start saying, “I am living here.”
The kids at Foster are seriously getting jipped this week, and consequently I feel shorted too. Yesterday I had to move from my guesthouse to a rental and the only time for the landlord was during foster time. Tomorrow I have to go to immigration to straighten out some visa confusion (also brought on by June). I am not liking this every-other-day thing because it only confuses the kids. That being said, they have not missed a beat. They are not forgetting or losing momentum, but rather are eager and learning every day.
The oldest kids impress me the most. While I expected them to pick things up faster, I also thought they might get bored with board books. But they are really into their animal sounds, the alphabet and colors, especially matching the colors they’re wearing to the colors in the books. I never imagined that “Blue Hat, Green Hat” (by Sandra Boynton) could have long-term appeal to a six year old. They have gotten into this funny phase of repeating absolutely everything I say. Then I get sassy and start saying thing like, “I want a banana split” or “I’m a crazy little monkey!” just to hear them repeat it. I call them all my monkeys because of the saying: “monkey see, monkey do!” They like repeating that one.
Sometimes I worry if they are really “getting it,” because they copy everything I speak. If I pause to see if they will anticipate the next sound or word and call it out, they go silent too, waiting for me. I suspect they know, but repeating is such a strong habit. Every once in a while someone will “anticipate” and I get excited and point to them and say “yeah!” but then they get embarrassed and giggly, particularly the oldest children. I need to learn to contain my enthusiasm and then maybe they will call out more.
Even the room I was initially struggling in has picked up significantly. I now have three solid reliable participators daily and they are becoming much more attentive for a longer period of time. As always, they relish in their time to hold books. Now my challenge has shifted to the other toddler room, because I have nearly an entirely new group. Five from this room went home with their families, which is exciting and wonderful, but sad for me. I am not used to having to say good-bye to the babies because in Guatemala they weren’t leaving regularly. Needless to say, I am practically starting over in this third room, (1) because there is a new dynamic, (2) because the average age is now younger, and (3) because there are five toddlers who have never been exposed to books, reading, or the concepts that I am introducing. The fact that there are some experienced children is helping; they are really setting the right example, and carrying on like nothing has changed, but after a comfortable month, I forgot about the challenges of the beginning weeks.
Lastly, I just wanted to ask that everyone keeps Guatemala in their thoughts and prayers. I have heard from Casa Bernabe, and they are all safe and well. A testament to that is sending e-mails! But the country, devastated to begin, is in complete ruin. I think about how all those tin shacks, perched on the steep mountain slopes, must be washing away. People with nothing, do not have anything now. That is going to mean a lot for Casa Bernabe, other orphanages and thousands of children as the devastation continues to take its toll. So please, keep them in your thoughts and send them all your positive energy.
It’s June!!!! That means I’ve been here a whole month already and my first question is: Where did the time go? June also signifies a month since I moved home from college (terrifying), the 6th month that I have been travelling (thrilling) and the last month that I am 22 (petrifying). But a month in a country also means that any lingering questions subside and I begin to really love where I am. I get comfortable, content and start saying, “I am living here.”
The kids at Foster are seriously getting jipped this week, and consequently I feel shorted too. Yesterday I had to move from my guesthouse to a rental and the only time for the landlord was during foster time. Tomorrow I have to go to immigration to straighten out some visa confusion (also brought on by June). I am not liking this every-other-day thing because it only confuses the kids. That being said, they have not missed a beat. They are not forgetting or losing momentum, but rather are eager and learning every day.
The oldest kids impress me the most. While I expected them to pick things up faster, I also thought they might get bored with board books. But they are really into their animal sounds, the alphabet and colors, especially matching the colors they’re wearing to the colors in the books. I never imagined that “Blue Hat, Green Hat” (by Sandra Boynton) could have long-term appeal to a six year old. They have gotten into this funny phase of repeating absolutely everything I say. Then I get sassy and start saying thing like, “I want a banana split” or “I’m a crazy little monkey!” just to hear them repeat it. I call them all my monkeys because of the saying: “monkey see, monkey do!” They like repeating that one.
Sometimes I worry if they are really “getting it,” because they copy everything I speak. If I pause to see if they will anticipate the next sound or word and call it out, they go silent too, waiting for me. I suspect they know, but repeating is such a strong habit. Every once in a while someone will “anticipate” and I get excited and point to them and say “yeah!” but then they get embarrassed and giggly, particularly the oldest children. I need to learn to contain my enthusiasm and then maybe they will call out more.
Even the room I was initially struggling in has picked up significantly. I now have three solid reliable participators daily and they are becoming much more attentive for a longer period of time. As always, they relish in their time to hold books. Now my challenge has shifted to the other toddler room, because I have nearly an entirely new group. Five from this room went home with their families, which is exciting and wonderful, but sad for me. I am not used to having to say good-bye to the babies because in Guatemala they weren’t leaving regularly. Needless to say, I am practically starting over in this third room, (1) because there is a new dynamic, (2) because the average age is now younger, and (3) because there are five toddlers who have never been exposed to books, reading, or the concepts that I am introducing. The fact that there are some experienced children is helping; they are really setting the right example, and carrying on like nothing has changed, but after a comfortable month, I forgot about the challenges of the beginning weeks.
Lastly, I just wanted to ask that everyone keeps Guatemala in their thoughts and prayers. I have heard from Casa Bernabe, and they are all safe and well. A testament to that is sending e-mails! But the country, devastated to begin, is in complete ruin. I think about how all those tin shacks, perched on the steep mountain slopes, must be washing away. People with nothing, do not have anything now. That is going to mean a lot for Casa Bernabe, other orphanages and thousands of children as the devastation continues to take its toll. So please, keep them in your thoughts and send them all your positive energy.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Nazret
Monday May 31, 2010
Here’s a riddle:
How many Ethiopians does it take to complete a credit card transaction?
The answer: It takes three to watch the foreigner do it herself, after the others had all made their attempts.
To add to the craziness that was last week was a whirlwind of a weekend. I went down to Nazret a smaller city about an hour south of Addis. It actually reminded me of a mini Addis, the same old world meets new, without the big city hustle. All of Ethiopia is really a clash of the past and future, of culture and international; and no more so than in Nazareth where you can literally watch a horse and buggy alongside a Mercedes, waiting for the light to turn green.
While most of the weekend was devoted to a little R&R at the hot springs and swimming pool, there was a little work involved too, although I was mostly an observer to that as well. Ten boys from the Kolffe orphanage took their “aging out” money and started a farm. With the support of Gladney, they now fatten oxen to sell, in addition to growing and bringing to market a variety of vegetables and herbs. An irrigation system was developed and implemented as well. It is an impressive operation. Especially if you consider the boys (who are really men) bunk together in a large brink barn-like structure, sharing space with the seed and grains, and fend for themselves in all other ways. They even make their own injera.
Today I visited the three government orphanages in Addis. It’s hard to express how such a sad place can really be filled with so much happiness. The orphanages are bare to the bone, and even with an incredible amount of assistance, still survive only on meager means. The need in this country is so widespread and vast, there will never be enough. Yet, children will always be children. They will be mischievous, joyful, playful, imaginative and all other wonderful things. In fact, that is what always strikes me most about children, especially those in hard and desperate situations; they still have a sense of pure wonder. Wonder. That is what is lost as we grow-up and who knows when, but somewhere along the way we start seeing dirt, rust, an old tire and a hundred ways to get hurt and stop asking to be pushed higher on some semblance of a swing.
Here’s a riddle:
How many Ethiopians does it take to complete a credit card transaction?
The answer: It takes three to watch the foreigner do it herself, after the others had all made their attempts.
To add to the craziness that was last week was a whirlwind of a weekend. I went down to Nazret a smaller city about an hour south of Addis. It actually reminded me of a mini Addis, the same old world meets new, without the big city hustle. All of Ethiopia is really a clash of the past and future, of culture and international; and no more so than in Nazareth where you can literally watch a horse and buggy alongside a Mercedes, waiting for the light to turn green.
While most of the weekend was devoted to a little R&R at the hot springs and swimming pool, there was a little work involved too, although I was mostly an observer to that as well. Ten boys from the Kolffe orphanage took their “aging out” money and started a farm. With the support of Gladney, they now fatten oxen to sell, in addition to growing and bringing to market a variety of vegetables and herbs. An irrigation system was developed and implemented as well. It is an impressive operation. Especially if you consider the boys (who are really men) bunk together in a large brink barn-like structure, sharing space with the seed and grains, and fend for themselves in all other ways. They even make their own injera.
Today I visited the three government orphanages in Addis. It’s hard to express how such a sad place can really be filled with so much happiness. The orphanages are bare to the bone, and even with an incredible amount of assistance, still survive only on meager means. The need in this country is so widespread and vast, there will never be enough. Yet, children will always be children. They will be mischievous, joyful, playful, imaginative and all other wonderful things. In fact, that is what always strikes me most about children, especially those in hard and desperate situations; they still have a sense of pure wonder. Wonder. That is what is lost as we grow-up and who knows when, but somewhere along the way we start seeing dirt, rust, an old tire and a hundred ways to get hurt and stop asking to be pushed higher on some semblance of a swing.
Anticlimactic Blog- Sorry
Friday May 28, 2010
This week went by in a blur. I don’t know if anything else could have been packed in. I feel uninspired because so much has happened but it doesn’t feel like anything extraordinary has occurred. I guess that means that I am comfortably settling into life here.
The kids are doing wonderfully every day. There are successes and developments that wouldn’t appear much to an onlooker, but that make each day amazing for me. They are minute changes that only I would notice, and it goes up and down daily, but it is still all progress. The oldest kids are starting to anticipate the pages as they are being turned. Especially when it comes to animal noises and the alphabet. I’m almost positive they have memorized “Chicka, Chicka Boom, Boom.” They asked me to teach them songs, which just might be my specialty (see Guatemala), so starting Monday we are going to have some fun with those too.
This inspired me to teach the caregivers of the babies/toddlers interactive songs, like “The Grand Old Duke of York” where you balance a baby on your knees and “march them up to the top of the hill and march them down again.” It would be a simple way to get the caregiver more involved in what I am doing and I know they are always searching for new games and activities, especially in the wake of their recent training sessions.
This past Tuesday it was back to the Merkato! Amidst an (almost) parking disaster and a near run in with a bull, I managed to find some supplies for the next project with the Kechene women. Stay tuned! Hopefully we will jump start next week. It all just seems so anticlimactic. Trust me though, it’s not. Gosh! I must be tired if I can’t even muster up some ridiculous thing that happened, because they happen every day. Maybe Ethiopia has worn me down to the point of being blind sighted by its absurdities? No wait, not possible.
This week went by in a blur. I don’t know if anything else could have been packed in. I feel uninspired because so much has happened but it doesn’t feel like anything extraordinary has occurred. I guess that means that I am comfortably settling into life here.
The kids are doing wonderfully every day. There are successes and developments that wouldn’t appear much to an onlooker, but that make each day amazing for me. They are minute changes that only I would notice, and it goes up and down daily, but it is still all progress. The oldest kids are starting to anticipate the pages as they are being turned. Especially when it comes to animal noises and the alphabet. I’m almost positive they have memorized “Chicka, Chicka Boom, Boom.” They asked me to teach them songs, which just might be my specialty (see Guatemala), so starting Monday we are going to have some fun with those too.
This inspired me to teach the caregivers of the babies/toddlers interactive songs, like “The Grand Old Duke of York” where you balance a baby on your knees and “march them up to the top of the hill and march them down again.” It would be a simple way to get the caregiver more involved in what I am doing and I know they are always searching for new games and activities, especially in the wake of their recent training sessions.
This past Tuesday it was back to the Merkato! Amidst an (almost) parking disaster and a near run in with a bull, I managed to find some supplies for the next project with the Kechene women. Stay tuned! Hopefully we will jump start next week. It all just seems so anticlimactic. Trust me though, it’s not. Gosh! I must be tired if I can’t even muster up some ridiculous thing that happened, because they happen every day. Maybe Ethiopia has worn me down to the point of being blind sighted by its absurdities? No wait, not possible.
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