Pandora's Box

the weather is here, wish you were beautiful.

2011-10-06T23:46:00.002-04:00

I'm migrating to Tumblr in honor of my recent relocation to sunny Majuro. Check out http://thejduce.tumblr.com for the new Pandora's Box.

a new chapter.

2011-09-14T09:00:00.000-04:00

My dissertation is submitted and I've returned my books via suitcase to the library. I'm officially (most likely) never going to be a student again and, barring a disastrous dissertation, will soon be the proud owner of a master's degree from Scotland's oldest university. Freedom!What's next, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did. I'm moving to Majuro, Marshall Islands to work as the Program Administrator for a national youth health organization! Yes, that's right - a year on a small atoll in the middle of the ocean. Can anyone say 'seafood fest'?

But first, I'm off to Bra, Italy (in Piedmont) for...wait for it...a cheese festival. Yes. I will be attending an event that includes something called 'The Great Hall of Cheese' and 800 wines to sample. It seems a fitting way to depart for an atoll without the space, soil, or vegetation to feed livestock to produce milk to make cheese. My life is absurd.

In honor of this exciting new phase of my life, I'm going to retire from Blogger and migrate over to Tumblr because I feel like I should take more photos and Tumblr seems friendlier for that. Plus it's time to embrace new technology.

So look out for more pictures and less rambling. Okay, probably the same amount of rambling, but hopefully I've grown pithier and wittier over the years. So for future adventures abroad, check out the new Pandora's Box, soon to be filled with gluttonous photos of cheese. And then the ocean. And possibly even me working, but let's not get too crazy.

photos.

2010-09-16T09:32:00.004-04:00

We went on an adventure last night and strolled around the Old Course. Gorgeous!

As a bonus - photos from last month's trip to the South of France.

scotland.

2010-09-13T08:51:00.001-04:00

Well, it's been a month. I've found a job, spent a week and a half in France (tres delicious!), started work, changed my computer to a UK dictionary, officially registered as a student, and started running (?!) again. And I love it. St. Andrews is rapidly becoming one of my favourite cities (okay, towns) in the world. The people are incredibly friendly, even if I'm not entirely sure what they're saying (a major challenge when taking drink orders in a loud, crowded pub), they're as nuts for dogs as I am, and the scenery is breathtaking. My running path takes me along the Old Course (near the hole with the cute little stone bridge), then along the cliffs to the castle ruins, past the old church and cemetery, through the harbour, on the path above the "beach," and back home through a quaint residential neighbourhood and town centre. (There are many, many words with screwy British spelling. This is going to be tricky). I'm going to take photos this week, I promise. The beach is especially amusing. The weather's been gorgeous for Scotland - 65 and sunny - which isn't exactly sunbathing weather. But, that's still a beautiful day, so families venture out to the beach in coats and the kids splash along the shore in rubber boots while their parents drink coffee on the sand.

This feels like a newly liberated phase of my life. After a spontaneous decision to confess long-repressed feelings before leaving the states (and a second follow-up weeks later, just for good measure), I've realised that certainty is more valuable than hope. And the hope was just a lingering vestige from a time and place long since gone by. Let's just hope I haven't also torpedoed a valued friendship in the process. I'm staying out here on this emotional limb - it feels good. I'm in love.

As for this blog, I'm going to try to keep it up while I'm here, but am still working out some sort of theme to keep me on track. I'm too poor (and uncultured) to review all the whiskeys on offer here and I think my grades might suffer if I venture onto a "try every pub in town" project, but I'll think of something. In the meantime, happy college football season to everyone. I've already met my first Gator here (the Gator Nation is everywhere!).

Gone, but not forgotten.

2010-07-26T22:31:00.003-04:00

It's been almost eight months since I left Ethiopia and not a day has gone by where I don't think about my time there. It's virtually impossible to articulate what Assela means to me, but suffice it to say that it's never far from my thoughts. (Admittedly superficial) case in point: yesterday's near-tornado weather has left us without power for nearly a day and a half, but I'm still fixated on the fact that I got a ride out to Maryland so we could work today, during which I also charged my computer and am now amusing myself with Netflix. The fact that my neighbor, who's within wireless router distance, appears to have power, is an issue for another day. I, unlike many of my neighbors, am fully-prepared for two evenings of no power. I was in desperate need of an occasion to catch up on my knitting.

But returning to my original point - Ethiopia. I only spent a brief week or so with Chris and Jess, the lovely couple who took my place in Assela, but that was enough to be certain they were good people. One of my final projects was an attempt to find funding for a disabled cooperative that wanted to start a poultry farm. A Finnish NGO that I approached has apparently dropped the ball on actually paying out their grants, so Jess and Chris took matters in their own hands and have submitted an application to Peace Corps Partners, a grant program that enables PCVs to fundraise for projects outside of their assigned sector. If you're looking for a noble, worthy charitable cause to which to donate, then look no further than Abdiin Halaalissuu. I met them at the perfect time in my service - shortly after my herb garden project fell apart when the women discovered they'd have to work - and AH restored my faith in Ethiopia. They were so positive, and yet so realistic about the project. They incorporated as an organization and applied for a permit for land entirely on their own before they ever approached me about help finding start up funds.

The fact that the Finnish funding never came through during my tenure was one of my big regrets from Ethiopia and I'm so grateful that Chris and Jess have stayed involved with AH. Please read up on their project here. Every little bit helps - when dealing in birr, even 10 dollars is more than most families have to spend in a week. Aside from initial chicken and feed purchase, the majority of the funds will go towards building a proper chicken coop with a fence so that the group can raise chickens and harvest eggs en masse without risk of their chickens escaping or being eaten by local hyenas. The disabled have few rights in Ethiopia and are often sheltered or exploited by their families. The thirty people in AH who had the courage to come together and attempt to support themselves deserve a fighting chance. Every little bit helps, so please consider donating.

Donate Here

If you have any questions about the project, please don't hesitate to email me at jducey(at)gmail(dot)com. Thanks for your support!

the world cup.

2010-06-24T14:37:00.002-04:00

Being here in DC for the World Cup is a strange sensation. Despite the age-old stereotype that Americans couldn't care less about soccer, people here are interested - bars were packed for the USA v England game, crowds gathered in Dupont Circle to watch on an outdoor screen (someone bothered to get the permits for that. Sure, he was an immigrant, but still - he expected enough people to turn up to make it worth his while). My personal favorite was the gang of men dressed in Revolutionary War uniforms marching through the circle and waving a giant flag.

But the best part? All the psuedo-political discussions of this rising trend in American interest in soccer and where it's going. Why we don't like soccer as a nation is an old topic (my personal theory: draws). Americans like dramatic, at-the-buzzer victories (like Donovan's goal), winners, and gloating. We'll happily sit through long, boring games with only fleeting moments of action (baseball, anyone?) or fast-paced/limited scoring sports (hockey?) as long as we can taunt our friends afterward. Otherwise, what's the point?

But as to why we're on board today and whether or not we'll be after the finals...here's an excerpt from Slate's "Dispatch from the US's Amazing World Cup Win over Algeria:"

Soccer may be the only sport left that allows us to be exuberantly and guiltlessly patriotic, which is perhaps why some progressives have trouble supporting the U.S. team. We can get away with such outpourings of nationalism because, in soccer, we're not a superpower. Imagine dressing up like Captain America and screaming your head off at a USA-Algeria basketball game. Not cool. But American soccer fans do scream. They bedeck themselves in flags and elaborate costumes. A national team game now looks like a cross between Carnival and a Revolutionary War re-enactment. And, thanks to Landon Donovan, Tim Howard, Clint Dempsey, and the rest of the U.S. national team, this wacky party will roll through South Africa for at least a few more days.

This is why I love the Olympics - unbridled, good-natured patriotism. Even Foreign Policy is in on the fun, suggesting that our attitude towards new sports is based on how well our team is doing. The Olympics are a great example - how many people cared about competitive swimming before Michael Phelps started collecting gold medals like discarded pennies? It's a bandwagon phenomenon - sure, no one knew Landon Donovan's name on Monday, but that doesn't make his goal any less thrilling or the victory any less sweet.

In this approach, the casual sports fan is using a strategy of "rational ignorance" -- i.e., not caring until the team is sufficiently successful. This is the kind of thing that political scientists tend to understand, but sports and politics junkies reject as somehow not representing true fandom. But it is how most people think about most things in life most of the time.

So true. But back to work for now. Despite not watching a single qualifying match leading up to this game, I'll be in a bar on Saturday afternoon, decked out in red, white, and blue and cheering for my country.

Freedom, compassion, adventure, and "Africa."

2010-06-01T12:00:00.000-04:00

I remember the first time I saw African dance. I was a freshmen at the University of Florida, taking a modern dance class on a whim. Our guest teacher spoke only French, and I'll never forget her standing in the center of the room, doing the same movement over and over while each of us placed our hands on her sternum and back to feel how her breath flowed with the movement. Even without a language barrier, words cannot describe the fluidity of dance. I didn't dance much after that semester, instead dedicating my spare credit hours to mastering Arabic, but that moment stayed with me.

Four and a half years later, I found myself in the banquet hall of a government hotel long past its days of questionable glory in the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. Nine months of paperwork and planning had led to my arrival in Ethiopia in October 2007 as one of 43 Peace Corps Volunteers working in HIV/AIDS prevention and control. The first volunteers in the country since the late 1990s and the first health volunteers in the program's history, we were bursting with idealism and excitement about diving into a new culture. Twenty minutes into our orientation, after discovering that the Amharic alphabet has 231 letters and "thank you" has seven or eight syllables, depending on how formal you want to be, we wondered if we'd ever be able to communicate, let alone begin to understand this new home of ours.

But then the dancing started. Ethiopia is home to some 80 tribes, each with their own languages and dances, but the eskista seems to span ethnic divides. Done almost exclusively with the shoulders, it lacks the spirited leaping I later found in Uganda and the lightening fast feet of West Africa. Instead, it is an organic motion that looks simple until you realize you've never isolated your shoulders like that before. But it is in this deceptive simplicity and repetition that you find eskista's charm. Anyone can do it (albeit with varying degrees of skill). One by one, all 43 of us tentatively joined the circle, mimicking our language teachers' motions. As they smiled and nodded their encouragement, we caught each other's glances across the room, shrugged, and threw ourselves into it. Suddenly, Ethiopia didn't feel so foreign. So what if we couldn't pronounce half the alphabet or read a street sign? We could dance!

Dance remained a stabilizing force throughout my two years of service. Sure, I eventually learned to read the language and eat with my hands without looking like the rejected aftermath of a Jackson Pollock studio session. But dance was always there to build a bridge when words only widened the cultural barriers, whether smoothing over the inevitable awkward moments when discussing my marital status (or lack thereof) or when making friends on an isolated island in southern Uganda. Like the chocolate cakes that became my trademark, dance brought me closer to my community, creating common ground when my atheism, independent streak, and disinterest in domestic bliss and motherhood brought only bewildered stares.

Bushara Island, Lake Bunyoni, Uganda

For a ballerina raised in a carefully planned suburban community, African dance was a window to a new world where passion abounds and "wrong" answers are in short supply. To me, African dance is about freedom. Freedom to dance as you see fit, to let out a ululation or shout if so moved, to embrace your body for what it can do, not what it looks like. The perfectionist in me still loves ballet - that sense of constantly striving towards a goal, the concrete rewards for improvement, a tangible, measurable standard by which to be "the best." But African dance is something else entirely - the drum circle is like a diary, a place for dancers to pour their emotions without judgment.

Today, that's what African dance means to me. A place to tell my story, whether joyful or sad, without the added burden of words. I may or may not have stumbled into love in the Arsi Mountains, but I certainly found compassion and an unwavering patriotism for the American values I hold dear. The complicated emotions Ethiopia provokes in me defy rational or verbal explanation. I'm still resentful of the adjective "African" to describe anything but a landmass. The "African" dance I've experienced here at Dance Place bears no resemblance to the eskista of my Ethiopian days. But the spirit remains the same. It's a way to commiserate with others, to dance united despite our different paths to the circle. A place where participation matters more than skill. But most of all, African dance is a trip down memory lane, to the life I led, the friends I made, and the lessons I learned in a small mountain town in Ethiopia.

Meskel (finding of the true cross) celebration, Assela, Ethiopia

for your amusement.

2010-05-25T12:00:00.002-04:00

fondue pong.

2010-03-11T19:47:00.001-05:00

If it turns out I'm wrong and there is an afterlife, I hope it's like this (Swiss segment starts around 2 minutes, fondue pong around 3 minutes).

The Colbert Report

Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Olympic International Houses

www.colbertnation.com

Colbert Report Full Episodes

Political Humor

Skate Expectations

like a bird stealing bread.

2010-03-04T22:38:00.005-05:00

My life is just less interesting when I'm not abroad. Or at least less entertaining. Snowpocalypse, despite the cabin fever, was not enough to destroy my infatuation with DC and winter. I love this city. I drifted off for a moment on the bus home from the grocery store last weekend and accidentally shouted "waraj ale" (the Amharic for "stop the bus") as we approached my stop. An Ethiopian guy on the bus recovered from his bewilderment in time to pull the cord for me. I repeat, I love this city. I can't see myself settling anywhere else. I mean, where else can you find random snow sculptures in front of phallic monuments?

In the last month, I've been promoted to a full-time staff member at Dance Place, so I'm in the process of leaving NARAL Pro-Choice America. But don't worry, you'll still get your fill of news on reproductive rights and sex education. (Kudos to the Department of Defense for finally providing emergency contraception to soldiers at overseas bases!).

As part of my new position at Dance Place, I'm overseeing the revival of the organization's blog. Check it out for interviews with artists performing at our theater and other news from the DC dance community. I'm especially excited about this weekend's performance from Tiffany Mills. Based on descriptions and her interview, it's the sort of dance I'd like to be doing if I wasn't so afraid of failing as an artist. However, after a recent conversation with an old college mentor, I'm recommitting to that hazy notion I've always had of venturing into the field of travel writing. Seems spending my days surrounded by artists is a good influence for chasing distant pipe dreams.

I've also started spending a few hours a week in our theater shadowing Technical Director Ben Levine and learning about the wonders of light and sound. Talk about an under-appreciated job! When watching a production, most audience members don't realize how much went into those dramatic lights that accentuate every movement. We spent four hours today rigging lights for a simple show in a small space. Every single light is individually hung, positioned, focused, and wired into the light board that allows the tech director to control them all during a performance. Most also get color gels, frosts, or templates added. Since they're positioned overhead, this involves rolling a twenty foot ladder around the stage and climbing up to adjust every light. So next time you're watching something on stage (concert, play, dance production - anything), take a moment to think about how those lights all got there.

In other news, I found a flat in St. Andrews - two bedrooms, right in the heart of the town, five minutes from virtually everything (If I'm willing to pay, I might also have it all to myself in the summer, so start planning your trip now!). The more time I put into preparing to move to Scotland, the more excited I get. Everyone has only the most positive things to say about the Scots and their country (weather and food excepted, but I can subsist on tikka masala, so I'm prepared for British food), and my experiences have done nothing to shake that warm, friendly image.

And finally, because everyone loves puppies...

It's not actually slow motion video - it's a series of stills from a marvelously high-tech digital camera.

Ridiculous.

snowed in.

2010-02-09T10:49:00.003-05:00

I've been snowed in since Friday afternoon and the novelty is wearing off. It's beautiful to look at and two days off of work is never terrible, but I'm getting cabin fever. But the Metro's back today, even though the federal government's not, so I'm going to wander around the Mall and take photos. Anything to get out of the house. Especially considering that more snow is coming tonight...

In other news, the much-anticipated Tebow/Focus on the Family commercial aired. It was worth absolutely none of the hype, but the FoF marketing team gets a prize for creating controversy and guaranteeing everyone watched that ad (but then they get their prize revoked for spreading bigotry and inaccurate information). If they hadn't, it would have been one more ad in the mix, and not even a particularly interesting one. If you weren't familiar with Focus on the Family (which I'd bet a sizable portion of Superbowl-watchers weren't before the media hype began), it would have been just one more reason to make fun of Tim Tebow for bringing emotions into the manly sport of football. (Don't get me wrong, I'm a Gator and love the boy's football skills, but I think he should keep his politics out of the game. Raise money for the foundation and your values on your own time. Capitalizing on his celebrity is fine, everyone does it, but not on the job.) Epic fail for the women's groups who protested the ad and raised its profile and epic fail for FoF for blowing 2.5 million (est.) dollars on thirty seconds when there are families who could use real support. If I were them, I would have rode the publicity bandwagon leading up to the Superbowl, leaked the ad so it would end up on Youtube, and hence on the news, and just reveled in the free media. Good thing they didn't ask me.

One perk to being back in a country with no state-controlled internet: PostSecret. I also think flowers are for people who don't know what the industry does to the environment and water supplies in the developing world. Some grain field in Ethiopia is drying up because water went to the flower farms instead. I don't mean to sound preachy, I just feel really strongly about unnecessary waste.

Happy National Condom Week/Valentine's Day! This year, tell someone how much you love them in your own words and actions. It'll mean more to them, even if it's less poetic.

trust women.

2010-01-21T22:00:00.004-05:00

Today is the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, the landmark Supreme Court Decision that established a woman's right to privacy and safe, legal abortion. Why should you care? Right now, opening statements are underway in the trial of Scott Roeder, accused of murdering Dr. George Tiller, a long-time abortion provider in Kansas, last May. Despite a 1993 attempt on his life, Dr. Tiller continued to offer a vital service to women in need until he was fatally shot while serving as an usher at his church. He famously wore a button that said simply "Trust women." This is all I am asking you to do.

What does it mean to be "pro-choice?"

We believe that individual women know more about their own unique situations than politicians or religious leaders. We believe that every child deserves to enter this world into the arms of parents who are prepared to give him/her all the love, care, and support s/he needs. We believe that women are intelligent enough to make informed decisions about their reproductive health in consultation with their doctors, partners, families, and anyone else they choose to include. Choose. That's what trusting women is about. The pro-choice movement is not pro-abortion. This is patently absurd. No one wants a woman to have an abortion and we certainly don't advocate the procedure as a means of birth control. But the choice must exist so we can ensure that all the other options are also available.

I'm pro-choice because I believe in education. Given accurate information, women (and their partners) can and should be trusted to make educated decisions about their own lives. Given accurate information, abortion should become a moot issue. If children are raised in an open, caring environment where they are comfortable asking questions about sex and sexuality, if schools present accurate, age-appropriate, comprehensive information about abstinence, contraception, and reproductive health, if women and men have universal, affordable, and reliable access to contraception and healthcare, if emergency contraception is available in hospitals and over the counter, then we can create a society where every child is wanted and loved. At the end of the day, isn't that what both sides of this issue want?

I'd like to think so, but it's simply not true. The anti-choice (or "pro-life," as they call themselves) movement continues to oppose comprehensive sex education programs despite mounting evidence that abstinence-only programs are not effective. Studies of peer-reviewed, published research show that abstinence-only programs do nothing to delay sexual debut or reduce rates of STIs and pregnancy. Comprehensive or "abstinence-plus" education programs, on the other hand, consistently achieve positive behavior change, lower STI rates, and do not encourage young people to have sex earlier or with more partners. Abstinence is a personal choice that we are all free to make (and I encourage delaying sex until both partners are ready for the emotional commitment of sex and are fully educated about the possible risks and consequences). Learning about contraception and protection from STIs doesn't interfere with abstinence; it only ensures that those who eventually choose to become sexually active have the knowledge to do so safely. Where's the harm in learning how to protect oneself?

More than 85% of parents want schools to cover sex education topics like HIV, STIs, and contraception. Maybe it's just because they were raised in a generation that eschewed all talk of sex and want to pass the buck, but let's embrace the opportunity to give kids accurate information that could save their lives one day (and possibly ensure they raise children who feel comfortable talking about sex). Perhaps more importantly, 84% of parents believe (correctly) that giving kids information about contraception doesn't increase promiscuity. As I'm fond of saying, just because I distribute condoms and have, at one time or another, stored several thousand in my home, doesn't mean that I feel compelled to rush out and use them. I'm typing this post across from a room filled with condoms, and here I sit, urging restraint and informed decision-making. Only 39% of high schools taught their students how to correctly use a condom in 2006. Ten years ago, it was 50%. Do you know how to correctly use a condom? Do your teenagers?

Currently, almost half of all pregnancies in the United States are unplanned. Of those, the two thirds of women who use contraception regularly account for only 5% of unplanned pregnanies. Access to contraception works. Knowledge about contraception works. Although the US teen pregnancy rate has declined by more than 50% since 1990, it is still double the rate in the UK and Canada and eight times the rate in the Netherlands. For a country that strives to be a gloabl leader, this is unacceptable. A quarter of women who use contraception get it from publicly-funded family planning clinics, and that number is rising due to the recession and increasing unemployment. The average cost of an abortion is $413 dollars. A year of birth control costs around $200 at a clinic like Planned Parenthood, even less with insurance or at clinics with sliding scales. Condoms are even cheaper and are commonly available free from health clinics, college campuses, and other locations. We cannot allow debate about abortion to interfere with funding for these vital contraceptive services.

Don't like abortion? Then do something to make it less necessary. Support affordable access to birth control. Lobby your state to end inaccurate and incomplete "abstinence-only" sex education programs and instead enact comprehensive sex education in schools. Tell your legislators to preserve or increaes public funding for contraception (and while you're at it, mention that servicewomen deserve the same access to emergency contraception that civilians enjoy). We shouldn't, as a country, be arguing about whether or not to make abortion legal (Criminalization does nothing to change abortion rates - they are roughly the same worldwide, regardless of legality. The only difference is safety). We should instead be working together to build a society where abortion is rarely necessary.

End the fight. Support comprehensive access and education.

Trust women.

---

Want to get more involved in pro-choice advocacy and comprehensive sex education? Sign up for action alerts at NARAL Pro-Choice America for quick and easy ways to support pro-choice legislation and policies nationally and in your state.

For more information on contraceptive services and education programs, visit your local Planned Parenthood.

All statistics are from the Guttmacher Institute. Become a fan of Guttmacher on Facebook for more facts like these every day.

a heart just can't contain all of that empty space.

2010-01-13T20:39:00.003-05:00

So I was wrong. Being home finally got to me. The excitement and freedom started to wear off and I'm now nostalgic for the simplicity of Ethiopia. It started with the consumerism of the holidays and the announcement that the city of Orlando had, in a gesture of empathy for those laid off and unemployed this year, decided not to put up its $30,00 (ish - I can't remember the exact amount) holiday light display. Then, a "generous" businessman stepped in and offered to front the bill. For at least as long as I've lived in the state, we've had a teacher shortage and one of the nation's poorest-performing school systems. Why does it not occur to anyone to donate that money to a teacher's salary or textbooks instead?

It was all downhill from there...seeing the time and money we spend on decorations, on gifts selected and given out of obligation, not love. Are people really happier receiving a gift they don't particularly want or need than simply spending time with the person who gave it? I know I'm hardly innocent of spending money on superfluous things - I could have just as easily posted this from a free computer at the library instead of on the expensive laptop I'm currently using. I still intend to eventually own a dog and spoil it in the American tradition. I don't need an iPod or a digital camera or any of the other expensive electronics I own, but a starving kid in the Congo certainly could have benefited from that money. I'm not claiming any false sense of superiority here, just venting. But everything in moderation, right? I don't need these things, but they're at least useful, in a sense. Maybe we should have our major family gatherings around days that would allow us to just celebrate our relationships instead of trying to express them in material things - Independence Day or Thanksgiving, anyone?

What's more depressing is the realization that Americans aren't unique in this, we just have the means to take it to extremes. The vast majority of the world would follow in our footsteps - or at least the spirit thereof - given just a dash of disposable income. I saw it even in Ethiopia, one of the poorest nations in the world. I suppose I should find solace in the fact that maybe this is an inherent part of human nature, but I'm just sad. I desperately don't want to be one of those people who's seen "real poverty" and is forever a sanctimonious jerk to everyone she knows, but I have to say it once here because I can't just ignore it anymore. I'll spare you in the future.

This all spiraled out of control into my sobbing profusely cleaning out my closet for the first time since early high school and seeing firsthand how much I've wasted in the last decade. Seeing how far a dollar goes outside of the US just makes realizing my own selfish waste that much more disgusting (not to mention going through clothes that are a painful reminder of how much thinner I once was). Writing about it is incredibly cathartic, so thank you for reading.

In another shocking development, I had a sudden craving for shiro wat. I thought it would take a lot longer than that to miss Ethiopian food, but here I am in DC, evaluating reviews of Ethiopian restaurants online. I think John, a group 2 volunteer, summed up beautifully the hold Ethiopia eventually had on all of us:

As of late, I have been falling in love with Ethiopia. It’s stubborn, ungracious, dirty, dangerous and I absolutely love it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to move out here, but I definitely feel that Ethiopia will always have a special spot in my heart.

***

Friends, family, and readers of this blog have been asking me "what's next?" After two months bumming on the couch at home, I moved to Washington, DC, where I'm working for Dance Place in the development office and NARAL Pro-Choice America's organizing and affiliate office. So far, both jobs are going well. I'm particularly enjoying being surrounded by young, motivated, and socially conscious women at NARAL after two years of working almost exclusively with men. And I'm looking forward to free dance classes! My cab driver from the airport was an Ethiopian, so I was able to shock him with a few basic greetings and then we discussed Meles' merits (or lack thereof). I love this city.

As for what's next... After the Marshall scholarship debacle, I went ahead and applied direct to St. Andrews University in Scotland and hope to be studying for a master's degree in international security studies next September. I'll continue posting here as I come across interesting things, but probably less prolifically for a while. Thanks to everyone who's followed this blog for the last few years!

lucky if you think of it as home.

2009-11-12T16:04:00.011-05:00

It's been a few days since I've been home, and it's not as weird as I'd imagined. I think I spent so much time thinking about what would be different and challenging that I over hyped the entire "re-entry" concept.

The only truly odd thing about coming back has been the little things I've noticed. In the Frankfurt airport (while enjoying my wheat beer and pretzel!), I was enthralled watching the interactions between the twenty-something waitress and the middle-aged male customers. It wasn't flirting, per se, but more of a friendly banter that made me realize how long it's been since I've seen men and women interact without awkwardness. Now I'm seeing it everywhere and realizing how incomplete life is when you feel uncomfortable around half the population. This relates back to my desire to take salsa or hip-hop classes - after three years, I'm tired of the idea that a woman's sexuality is something to be repressed or feared. Perhaps the novelty will soon wear off and I'll experience the disillusionment with Western consumerism that most volunteers experience. But for now, I'm enjoying the ride.

Now that I've left Ethiopia, if you're craving more stories from the birthplace of humanity, I've linked to several of the more active PCV blogs to the right.

home is where the heart is.

2009-11-07T04:28:00.001-05:00

Gazing out over the scenery while riding the dawn bus from Assela to Adama, I found myself humming a vaguely familiar tune. As we rounded the curve and the full vista of shimmering gold wheat fields in front of distant mountains came into view, I recognized the opening bars of "America the Beautiful," a traditional American song.

"O beautiful, for spacious skies
O'er amber waves of grain
For purple mountains, majesties
Above the fruited plains"

In that moment, Ethiopia looked just like the vast plains of the American midwest where I was born and I realized that Ethiopia had become a second home to me. Looking back, I hardly remember my first frightened trips to the market, testing my fledgling Amharic as I bought a kilo of onions or found the grinding mill for the first time. Today, it all feels like second nature to me.

While my time here has been filled with challenges as I adjusted to living far from home in a new culture, now, just days before my departure, my mind is filled with only the joyous moments of the last two years. The young woman who stood up in an English class full of men and said she wanted to dedicate her life to campaigning for the rights of women around the world. The boy who shyly thanked me and told me that every Ethiopian he knew wanted to go to America, but I was the only American he'd ever seen in Ethiopia. The old woman who passionately taught her daughters that respect is a universal human right. The prisoners overjoyed to discover they deserved the same opportunities as anyone else. The teacher who said he can identify an American because we are always smiling and treat everyone the same. The bus passengers and cafe patrons with whom I shared countless humorous cultural exchanges. The list is endless.

My heart is torn as I alternate between excitement about going back to America and sadness for this new home that I'll be leaving behind. I believe that more unites us than divides us, and never has that been more true than after my time in Ethiopia. When I first arrived here, all I could see was how different Ethiopia was from America. But in time, I realized that deep down, we are all citizens of the world; we all want the same things - the opportunity to improve our lives and leave the world a little better for the next generation. The comfort and love of a family. I'll miss the Ethiopian family I've created here. I'll miss catching my breath every time I look up at the beauty of Chilalo Mountain silhouetted against the crystal blue sky. I'll miss being welcomed like a long lost friend in my local cafes and restaurants. I'll miss introducing dozens of Ethiopians to American chocolate cake and falling asleep to the sound of rain crashing on a tin roof.

In America, we say that "home is where the heart is." If that's true, then my home is scattered around the world, but there's now a little piece of my heart snugly nestled in the Ethiopian highlands. One day, I'll come back to find it again.

-my submission to Peace Corps/Ethiopia's program newsletter and my last post from Ethiopia.

freedom hangs like heaven.

2009-10-21T03:57:00.002-04:00

I finally read The Poisonwood Bible, and although Kingsolver is much too flowery a writer for my taste, I still couldn't put it down. Perhaps because I'm here, but it turned out to be one of those books that will probably forever stay with me. Part of me wishes the preacher had tripped coming off the plane and sustained a brain injury that would leave him forever mute, but I'm sure anyone else who's read the book could have predicted I'd react in that way. There are passages throughout the novel that I felt like were stolen from my own thoughts. About trying to make sense of your own culture, lifestyle, and beliefs in a world where they're frankly absurd. The daughters' reactions to the lives and behaviors of the villagers. Reconciling yourself to the reality that you must live under every assumption based on everyone who's ever looked like you while knowing full well you'll be lambasted for venturing any assumptions of your own. The child-like fascination with the local food, dress, culture, lifestyle - everything. The odd things you find yourself missing from home. Your tiniest, most mundane action being fascinating, every single day for months on end. Feeling like a regular in an establishment to which you've never actually been. The notion that no amount of time or language ability is enough to allow a white person to truly fit in and be accepted. It's comforting to know that you're never the only
one.

As I come down to my final weeks here, I'm starting to think about what Ethiopia will mean to me - how do I take this experience home with me? How have I changed? The five-person narrator style of the book did a lot to set me reflecting on how people allow Africa to affect them. (This will be one of the few times I willingly refer to "Africa" in the broad sense - culturally, each country is drastically different, but the overall effect on Western mores is similar, and that's the only context in which I'll ever use the term). Some people end up feeling forever guilty for the privilege in which they were raised - I don't want to be that girl. There are aspects of America that I'm sure I'll find overwhelmingly gluttonous - we probably don't need twenty varieties of canned soup, but all I can see is the other side of that equation. With rampant consumerism comes choice, and the belief that all of those choices are equally (or at least marginally) valid. I'd rather have twenty soups I don't have to eat than have to justify my job, love life, children or lack thereof, eating habits, what I do or don't do on Sunday mornings, or anything else to anyone else. I now appreciate those choices more than I ever would have if I'd never lived without them. I'll probably also forever appreciate the tiny details of my privileged life that I've historically taken for granted - running water, electricity, parents who allow me to live my own life, friends who appreciate that I form my own opinions, a government that allows me to publicly disagree with it. I'd like to fall somewhere in the middle, not renouncing my own background to become "African," but not also writing off the entire experience as a closed chapter in my life, never to be revisited.

Less than four weeks left. I just can't believe it's been this long already and I don't even know how I feel about leaving. There are reasons here for which I'd stay, not forever but for a time. But there are also reasons at home for which I'd leave tomorrow. People join the Peace Corps to "find themselves," but after life here, everything seems feasible, so how do I weigh those reasons and figure out how I'll carry Ethiopia with my for the rest of my life?

photos finally posted.

2009-10-13T05:17:00.001-04:00

The links in the last post should actually work now - I finally
finished posting photos from the trip. Hope you enjoy!

victory is sweet, even deep in the cheap seats.

2009-10-06T07:37:00.003-04:00

Photos:

Uganda: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2892561&id=2001205&l=a8e8ff8849
Rwanda: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2892547&id=2001205&l=bc92401ce9

As the photos suggest, the trip was incredible. I've never met so many ridiculously friendly people as I did in Uganda. Even the immigration officials had enormous grins on their faces. When we stumbled into the rioting in Kampala, people went out of their way to make sure we weren't involved. Our bus driver warned us about streets to avoid, and a woman ended up walking us a kilometer out of her way to show us to a bus station we were trying to find. And this wasn't limited to saving the mzungus from chaos - on Bushara Island, a stunningly beautiful camp on Lake Bunyonyi (thanks Will for the recommendation!), the staff were equally attentive (apologizing for food being late? Inday?). Bushara was a Peace Corps Volunteer's dream - sustainable, eco-friendly camp (composting toilets!) staffed by the local community and where all profits go back into the community. Scholarships for students, orphan caregiver businesses, handicraft cooperatives, vegetable garden on the premises, dance troupes, dugout canoe trips - the works. We further proved our theory that if you're willing to make a fool of yourself, people will love you forever. Ugandan dance is not beginner-friendly. Lots of spirited leaping high into the air - exhausting. But more more free and uninhibited than most Ethiopian dances, so it was refreshing to move something besides our shoulders. We definitely felt it the next day though! We stayed in a sweet little "treehouse" (although not actually in a tree) with a balcony overlooking the lake and a gorgeous outdoor shower. Glorious. I'm going back if I ever find myself in Uganda again.

Rafting the Nile is better described in photos (we successfully navigated our way down a 12 foot waterfall!), but I'm now considering abandoning all my academic plans and getting certified as a raft guide. That would be the life, for a few years at least. One of our fellow rafters was a Kiwi working for a charity that funds, among other things, an NGO in Somaliland (not Somalia!) working on education and rehabilitation for former Islamic militants. He found my excitement rather odd, to say the least, but is putting me in touch with the directors to see about possible teaching jobs. You meet the most fascinating people wandering through Africa.

And the mountain gorillas. Yes, it's worth it. A 400-pound silverback walked within a meter of me. They're such breathtaking animals, it's easy to see how Dian Fossey ended up spending her life with them. I've never felt so poor in all my life though - we were surrounded by middle age, high-end travelers decked out in all the fancy trekking gear and wearing several thousand dollars worth of camera equipment dangling off their belts, and there we were, the backpackers in ratty clothes, staying at the ten-dollar a night hostel and fretting over the cost of hiring a car to the park entrance. I think the park staff noticed and took pity on us though, because we ended up trekking the Susa family, the largest of them all (41 members when most have 10-15) and also the family that Fossey studied. After scrambling up wet undergrowth on a 45 degree incline at 2500 meters for three hours, we walked up to a sleeping silverback, the family matriarch, and her six-month-old baby. And it just gets better - we ended up seeing at least 24 members of the family, including the playful five-year-old twins who seemed to love posing for our cameras. You're so close that a telephoto lens is actually a handicap. Incredible.

Within our group, we also had a very amusing travel companion, who apparently had "the worst shower of his life" at a $500 per night resort overlooking the volcanoes. We amused our fellow trekkers with stories of Ethiopia, which was simply beyond comprehension for most. Peter frightened them all describing how excited Karen and I got when we discovered that sliced bread abounds in Uganda (seriously - people walk around the bus station selling it! I haven't seen sliced bread in two years!). Note the number of photos we took of us eating basic grocery store food. And then there were the crisp green apples on every street corner. We had a mild breakdown in a supermarket in Entebbe trying to decided between three kinds of equally priced cheese (it took us close to ten minutes to reason it out), then a similar incident when faced with six varieties of sliced bread. We won't even discuss our reactions to finding such a glorious supermarket. Just a precursor to the odd creatures we're going to be when we come home. Consider yourself warned.

We also spent a few nights in Gisenyi, on Lake Kivu, a quiet little lake town that has actually been slightly ruined for me since I learned that it served as the HQ for the interim government/genocidaires when the rebel army captured Kigali. But it boasts a quiet lakefront beach, where we had picnics and made friends with random Rwandan wanderers who asked us for, in order, a book, lotion, and to take his photo with all of us. Plus a couple of teenage boys who proved unable to speak directly to women, diverting all their questions about Karen and I through Peter ("What book is Jessica reading? How old is Karen?"). We spent our evenings at a beach front bar enjoying the local Primus (served in 720 cl bottles!) and playing with the resident dog and her seven (!) puppies. That's an impressive litter anywhere, but to have that many survive in Africa? Wow. I had to be restrained from taking one or more home with us.

All in all, an amazing trip, riots and all. Both countries are highly recommended. Peace Corps officially booked my flight and I'll be home November 15. Crazy. New VSO volunteers arrived last week and the new PCVs arrive in Assela on Saturday (can't wait to meet you all!), so I have plenty of distractions for these final months.

never again.

2009-09-24T07:41:00.003-04:00

For a lot of people, Rwanda exists as the genocide and nothing more. In a way, that's true - it's impossible to be there without thinking about it. But the country shows an incredible recovery. Kigali feels virtually like a first-world capital - paved roads, shiny glass buildings, and some of the cleanest streets I've ever seen. (Perhaps the nationwide ban on plastic bags - in favor of paper - has something to do with that). After the genocide museum and memorials, the country's development seems that much more impressive. The museum is one of the most moving places I've ever seen - the final room is filled with enormous photographs of child victims, complete with information about their lives before the war. Things like their favorite toys or foods and personalities...and then how they died. The one that made me lose it was a little six year old boy who liked helping people, wanted to be a doctor, and who's last words were "UNAMIR will save us." He was hacked to death by a machete. How? Why?

In only fifteen years, the visible signs of a violent civil war have disappeared. But I don't believe the memory ever will. Eight hundred thousand people - ten percent of the population - gone forever. Walking down the street, you can't help but look at everyone and wonder "Where were you?" Did you watch your family slaughtered in front of you? Did a stroke of luck or the generosity of a stranger save you? Did you betray a neighbor? Or worse yet, did you hack your friends and neighbors to death? With every child over the age of fifteen, you can't stop yourself from imagining what they saw. I just finished reading Romeo Dallaire's (the Canadian general who headed the UN Assistance Mission for Rwanda before and during the genocide) Shake Hands with the Devil (a book everyone should read) and I've never been so horrified by anything in my life. Rivers choked with bodies, rats the size of dogs, dogs that had to be shot because they'd developed a taste for human flesh and were no longer satisfied with carrion. Trying to remove a moving person from a pile of bodies only to discover that the maggots inside created the illusion of life. The mission didn't have pens and paper, let alone troops and supplies, yet they stayed, constantly urging the Security Council that they could stop the killings with 5,000 troops. The inaction of the world was shameful, and all the more so because it seems we've learned nothing.

But what struck me more was the incongruity of it all. Rwanda is one of the most naturally beautiful places I've ever seen. Lush green hills, rust red dirt - it's the Africa a child would paint. There's nothing impressively beautiful in the way the Grand Canyon or a flawless beach is gorgeous, but more of a calm tranquility that makes what happened even more unbelievable. More shocking is how much a part of life the genocide reminders still are. In one of the most densely populated countries in the world, where even steep hills are intensely cultivated, there's simply no room to move away. We visited a genocide memorial in a church outside of Kigali. You walk down a residential road to reach it, which is difficult enough, only to find that the gates face a school. Walking through the church, with the stifling odor of death and decay and pews piled with a nauseating volume of rags that were once someone's clothes, you can hear the shouts of children in the schoolyard. In the back are underground graves with piles of skulls and bones. They look the same at first, then you notice the smaller skulls or the gashes or the shattered eye sockets. A lone man silently leads you around the grounds and all you can think about is that he has to have a reason to be there. You don't want to ask in case it's guilt, but then what kind of person are you for hoping it's "only" to remain close to the memory of those he lost?

What happened in Rwanda needs to be remembered, but it's unfortunate that the reminders haunt those who can never forget instead of those who stood by and condoned the atrocities. That church belongs in Washington, DC, in Brussels, in Paris, in London, or on the grounds of the UN building, not in the backyards of the survivors. Never again.

life is what happens when you're making other plans.

2009-08-20T05:30:00.004-04:00

"Insensate cruelty to those you can whip, and groveling submission to those you can't...It was inevitable that she should accept any inconsistency and cruelty from her deity as all good worshippers do from theirs. All gods who receive homage are cruel. All gods dispense suffering without reason. Otherwise they would not be worshipped. Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear is the most divine emotion. It is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom. Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood...The physical impossibilities in no way injured faith. That was the mystery and mysteries are the chores of gods. Beyond her faith was a fanaticism to defend the altars of her god. " - Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

I think I've recovered from my Toni Morrison-induced disdain for an entire genre of literature. I've recently finished both Hurston (above) and A Raisin in the Sun, both of which were excellent. Eyes was set in Depression-era Florida, which was entertaining. I also finished the Old Testament (!). Traumatized is a rather gentle word. Read it cover to cover, not just the inspirational quotable bits you'd get in a sermon, and I think you get a better picture of why I can't believe. The indiscriminate punishments, the inconsistencies, the violence (and let's not even get into the frequent rape and gender issues), the holding of grudges and punishing the many for the sins of the few. What's the use of worshiping primarily (or solely, one might argue) out of fear? How is that a god in which anyone could find solace, his non-existence notwithstanding? On a side note, I was rather disappointed that all the allusions I was hoping to better understand turned out to be only a few verses long.

In less contentious news, I recently experienced the joy and efficiency that is the Assela police station. When my wallet was stolen earlier this summer, it seems I was right to think it was too good to be true that someone would be returning it to me. It never showed up and I can't get in touch with the guy who supposedly had it. Alas. Anyway, without an Ethiopian resident ID, I can't get discounted airfare and there are rumors that we have to return the ID in order to leave the country, so I figured I should have that replaced. Unfortunately, you need a sealed police report in order to get a new one, which strikes me a rather silly, since I highly doubt there's much of a market for a resident (not citizen) ID with a white girl's photo on it. But I digress.

I anticipated the process being torturous, so I went with our security officer when he was in town. The "chief investigator," who I sincerely hope is downsized tomorrow, refused to help us because we said it was "lost on a bus" and there was no way of knowing if it actually happened in Assela (never mind that we just wanted the piece of paper, we weren't going so far as to actually request he investigate the crime or anything crazy like that). Fikre (our security officer) happens to be friends with the chief, so he went over his head and talked the chief into forcing a report for us. Fikre was angry enough to not even shake the investigator's hand when we left, which is probably closest to the American equivalent of defecating on someone's desk. I was told to call in a week to see if it was ready. I did so. It wasn't, but would be the following week. I went back. The chief was gone and no one knew what I was talking about. I called Fikre to get the chief to share the situation with his underlings. A week later, I was assured the report and chief would be there the next day, so I showed up again. Chief was gone and no one knew what I was talking about. Three calls to the chief established that my ID had been stolen, but nothing else. While refusing to sit in protest, I managed to make it clear that the report was finished and I just wanted to pick it up. A fourth call to the chief determined this was not the case.

At this point, my standing was making people nervous (we were rapidly approaching the hour mark), so the guy in charge ordered someone to write the report for me. After verifying the name of the country (The Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia) in which he was born and has never left, he embarked upon the task. By hand writing on a piece of double-wide notebook paper, with a sheet of carbon paper in the middle so they could have a copy (I suppose I should be grateful I didn't have to wait for someone to write a second one). Three stamps were applied, someone signed it, and tore the sheet in half (not even cut). At the last moment, someone was sent across the street to buy an envelope. An hour and twenty minutes after walking in, I was solemnly presented with a torn piece of notebook paper in an airmail envelope with another symphony of stamps across the flap. How many people would you guess it takes to reach this state of affairs? I'll give you a hint. A normal person wouldn't have enough fingers to tell this story with dramatic hand gestures for emphasis. We peaked at 11 officers, plus four random people in there for their own reasons (all of whom arrived after and left before me, furthering my frustration). Remind me to never be robbed again.

I wish I wasn't such a slacker at staying in touch with old professors. I'm going to have such horribly mediocre letters of recommendation while applying for graduate school and a means of funding it that doesn't entail black market organ donation. I had also not opened my CV file since before leaving Jordan, which was an unfortunate mess to clean up and update. I haven't brought myself to start the even more excruciating process of personal statements and the like. Baby steps.

Funny how nothing ever seems to go according to plan and we always end up better for the things and people that stumble across us. You'd think we'd learn to just stop planning and live.

in your world my feet are out of step.

2009-08-05T06:08:00.003-04:00

It occurs to me that group 3 of the PC Ethiopia program has probably received all of their invitations by now and are panicking as they attempt to fit their entire life into 80lbs in the next two months. If you've stumbled across this blog googling "peace corps ethiopia," feel free to email me if you have any questions, concerns, whatever. That's what we're here for. You'll all be training in and around my lovely town of Assela, 2600-ish meters above sea level in the shadow of Mt. Chilalo (4139m), where the weather and scenery are gorgeous and there's no oxygen. A great place to start running, if you're given to such silly notions - Assela is the capital of Arsi Zone, birthplace of all of Ethiopia's marathoners. One lap around the stadium track and you'll understand why. A free word of advice - don't bother with solar anything. Your house will have power, and electricity cuts are most common in the rainy season, when there's no sun anyway (13 months of sunshine, the national tourism board slogan, is a misnomer at best).

I've been reading Huxley's Point Counter Point and find myself thoroughly entertained by that generation of literature's assumption that readers speak several languages. Latin and French references are never translated, and although I don't actually speak either language, I enjoy the nostalgia for a time when English speakers weren't necessarily monolingual. Ditto for references to classic literature - one brief line, and the reader is just expected to understand all that Morley or Proust encapsulates (if wishing made it so). Those were the days. I also love the way he talks about sex and love in a poetic, roundabout way - somehow it's sexier than the more explicit, direct descriptions of modern literature.

On that topic, I recently had a fascinating discussion with Eshetu about homosexuality (and sex in general - after all, I AM an HIV educator). Like all Ethiopians I've met, he's repulsed by the idea, although less condemning than most. For him, it's more of a lack of experience than anything else. Anyway, we've danced around this topic a few times in the past, so this time he took the plunge and asked about the mechanics and purpose of homosexuality. I made the argument that in today's world (well, in non-genitally mutilating cultures at least), sex is more about pleasure than procreation (and hence penetration). Why else would we need and have bothered to invent contraception? If it was only about babies, then there'd be no need to prevent pregnancy. Eshetu himself admitted that he and his wife have had sex more than their two children would require. From there, I think it's a small step to suggest that homosexuality isn't any less "normal" than foreplay or sex with no goal of procreation. Not to mention that it's absurd to suggest that it's a choice - even in the most liberal cultures of the world, who would honestly choose to be treated that way by parts of society? Eshetu pointed out that my explanation ignores all religious opinions, but that's hardly new for me. Religion doesn't have to account for the opinions of non-believers, so why should I?

This led into a discussion of the wrath of the God of the Old Testament (I'm into Lamentations now - I can see the light at the end of the tunnel!) and my belief (I won't say "faith," because I have evidence) in science eventually providing an explanation for all of life's little mysteries. Historically, mankind invented a god with a chariot to explain the sunrise and a few seeds of a pomegranate in the underworld to explain winter, so I think it's only a matter of time before other things follow suit. I was also halfway through Dawkins's The Selfish Gene, so maybe that explains it (highly recommended). I think hanging out with three science-loving atheists is really pushing Eshetu to question blind faith and decide if he truly believes in his religion or if he's merely following what his parents taught him.

beware all enterprises which require new clothes.

2009-07-17T04:59:00.001-04:00

Monday was t-minus four months, not that anyone's counting. Pat, one of the Assela VSO volunteers in Assela, left this week, which makes me the longest-serving volunteer in town. Time really does fly. She's been here almost two years (arrived right before I did), so we had to have quite a few farewell programs. As a result, I haven't done much actual work in the last few weeks (although, one could argue, two-thirds of Peace Corps' goals revolve around cultural exchange, so I've actually been working exceptionally hard). We'll go with that.

There are lots of photos for everyone's amusement:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2835949&id=2001205&l=504cf6317b

We started with a Fourth of July "cookout" on electric stoves (but we did at least keep the door open and eat outside). An Ethiopian friend of ours who's always amazed by our ability to discuss food (even while stuffing our faces) suggested we switch to politics, so we talked about the upcoming election. He said he rather vote for a goat, so I suggested we name one Barack Obama and try to get him on the ballot. I'm confident he'd win. I was watching BBC coverage of Obama's visit to Ghana and a woman said "he's everything we dreamed in a president," which is sweet, but sad because he's not her president. I have this sinking feeling nothing he does will ever live up to the global hype. I mean, at this point, world peace and an end to global warming would just be par for the course. On the upside, maybe he'll inspire more potential opposition leaders.

The teacher's college also threw a party, at which all of us had to explain in explicit terms several times over how white people generally prefer informal parties with no speeches or special seats. Most of our Ethiopian friends were confused, but we insisted that Pat would want it that way. As a consolation, we decorated the room with toilet paper (an Ethiopian party standard) and presented her with a bouquet of garish neon plastic flowers (another tradition). Everybody wins. We also had an entertaining photo shoot with the staff of the tea house, all of whom wanted their photos taken alone or with us, but never with each other (it's a mixed staff of young people, so maybe the boys weren't ready to be that close to pretty girls?).

Finally, we were invited to another friend's house for lunch, but Pat couldn't come, so Susie, Peter, and I ate her farewell lunch at Abebe's house. This was the first family I've ever met who could compete with an American love of animals. The cats roamed the house freely and we were encouraged to feed them bread (which worked out well, since we had massive pieces of bread as an appetizer to a lunch that could have easily fed ten people... Before the three refills.). Birtukan, his wife, actually picked up the kittens and played with them, which made us feel less awkward about talking to them after we got over the shock. The chickens are also allowed to nest in the corner when it's cold, and one of the hens laid an egg on the bed during lunch. None of us had ever seen this happen before, much to the amusement of the family. Another hen threw a fit afterwards, so they gave her the egg to play with and she shut up. As we were leaving, Abebe proudly pointed out one of the cows and explained that she had given birth to twin calves. The dogs even got their bellies scratched and have names, although they're still not allowed indoors. Still, an impressive display of affection for the weakest members of the family.

On the topic of "real" work, I visited the prison farm this week to discover that they made almost 1000 birr from the sale of the cabbage crop, which warmed my heart. Tomatoes and garlic should be ready soon as well. The staff is working on proposals to build a health center, refurbish the school, and fund other improvements to the facilities. I won't be around to see them through, but I'd like to help them find some grants.

our endless numbered days.

2009-07-02T06:18:00.002-04:00

The past two weeks, I've been busy with the Christian Horizons training for rural teachers, new and old (originally scheduled for the first week of June, but then the delay shouldn't surprise my readers any more than it does me). Although nothing started or ended on time (again, something I should have learned by now), it was a rousing success. These teachers are out in the middle of nowhere, so it was nice to reach some people who can access areas I'll never see. I helped with the HIV, family planning, and harmful traditional practices session with a guy from the zonal health bureau and the gender issues session with Zebenay, a hilarious woman who just finished her master's thesis. She was the only female presenter (besides Susie and I, who don't necessarily count because our race matters infinitely more than our gender) and I thoroughly enjoyed her because she appreciated my penchant for pointing out tiny details that most people wouldn't relate to gender.

For instance, I talked about the common feature in many languages (Amharic and Afan Oromo included) that creates one title for men regardless of marital status (Mr.. Ato, Obbo, etc) but two for women (Mrs/Miss). Shortly after I asked if the men were married and many refused to disclose, one of the non-disclosers asked how this was relevant to gender. I said he didn't have to tell anyone he was married, but he knew my and Zebenay's status before we walked in the room because our names were on the schedule. One of many inequalities present in Ethiopia. I realize I sound like a crazy feminist here, but I can't help it in a town where 85% of women believe a husband has the right to beat his wife if she refuses sex (one of many appalling facts I learned from a baseline survey done by Alliance for Development last year).

I also brought up some of the religious origins of gender bias in Ethiopia (thanks to my recent foray into the Old Testament - I just finished Numbers and am thoroughly frightened/vindicated in everything I believe), which ended in yet another passionate defense of my atheism with Genene, the program director. He'd met people without faith before, but never really had someone articulate why, so we had an entertaining discussion (including that God, if he exists, has gotten lazy since his days of unleashing plagues for worshipping idols or questioning his will). The following week, Susie and I patiently explained our belief in science but not god, indifference to marriage, and lack of desire to have children to another staff member after he suggested we just put our life in God's hands and everything will turn out fine. We realized we're pretty fascinating/confusing people to most Ethiopians, since many of our major choices and beliefs are completely foreign here (and our family's acceptance or at least tolerance of said choices, like moving halfway around the world). All in all, I've been impressed with Christian Horizons and their staff - I've never met anyone that open minded in a similar position at home. Everyone asks us questions, wanting to know more, instead of just insisting we're wrong and trying to convert us. Refreshing.

And best of all - they let me, the heathen, oversee the HIV training, which naturally (these were grown adults teaching children, after all) included a condom demonstration. CH doesn't own a penile model (their HIV program is new, but I'm not sure any of them would even be comfortable doing a demonstration if one existed), so I brought bananas, thus fulfilling a secret goal of my time as an HIV worker in Africa. Quite possibly two of the funniest experiences (I did it with both training groups) of my service here. After my demonstration (and I now believe that I am impossible to embarrass after standing in front of forty people putting a condom on a banana with a straight face), I had three or four of them do it as well, thus hopefully forever denting some of the taboos surrounding condoms and sex here. Entertainingly, two of my most eager male volunteers in the first group couldn't open their condoms. Inspired by Salam of PSI, I've added a "stretching and blowing up" segment to the demonstration, which relaxes even the most uptight participants. Honestly, the most fun I've had in a long time. They're doing another training in October and giving me a longer session, so I think I'll incorporate broader issues of diversity into HIV and gender. But the bananas are staying, even for organizations that have models. Highly recommended for anyone in a similar line of work.

Last month, a group of Americans (mostly from Texas) on an english teaching/mission trip arrived in Assela, so it's been disconcerting to see white people all over town. But kind of fun to be the knowledgeable, crazy one who actually lives here. After we all finished the CH training last night, we were at the fancy hotel (where they're all staying) in town for a celebratory dinner. Susie got up to smoke as one of the guys was leaving, and he held the door open for her. She stood in front of the door for an awkward amount of time until she realized he was being chivalrous and it made me nostalgic.

Pat, one of the VSO volunteers, leaves next week, making me the senior ex-pat in town - yikes. Time flies. We're on the every other day power schedule, and on the off days, it doesn't come back on until midnight or 6 am. Word on the street is we're switching to one on, two off, which is frustrating enough for me but really making me feel for the IT volunteers. On the upside, I'm honing my Scrabble skills by playing against myself by candlelight- I broke 500 points last week. Don't judge me.

tell it like you still believe.

2009-06-16T05:33:00.002-04:00

I will always envy those who can dance like no one's watching even when they're well aware someone is (although life here has brought me much closer to a genuine ability to overlook what others think of me). I love those who play instruments as thought they've filled a stadium, even when the stadium is a pub the size of a living room filled with friends. I wish I could sing. I like country music because it reminds me of home and the people who taught me to appreciate the South. Flaws and deep-rooted social problems aside, I wouldn't trade my origins for anything. I completely reject the notion of "out of sight, out of mind" - absence really does make the heart grow fonder. This applies to everything from people to traffic laws to fried mozzarella. I don't think race should matter. Ever. I'll never again criticize consumer culture because it means the freedom to choose, and I'd rather face seemingly absurd choices than lose the ability to control my own life. The word "firenji" (or nech or kayo, its other incarnations) invokes in me the same visceral reaction a lot of people have to the word "cunt." I'll never find it quaintly amusing. Old couples who still hold hands and dance together give me hope that maybe love really can last forever, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I believe the creation of religion has been mankind's tragic flaw.

"I want the cultures of the world to blow freely through my house, but I refuse to be swept off my feet by any." - M. Gandhi

I have exactly two photos from my Peace Corps experience in which all of the subjects are still volunteers. This, coupled with yesterday's t-minus five month countdown (!), has left me contemplative. This honestly has been "the toughest job I'll ever love," emphasis on the job aspect. A 50% attrition rate is considered acceptable (although hardly desirable) for a first year program. We're at 55% and quite possibly still falling. Ethiopia's been a valuable experience, but I couldn't live here forever. I don't want to live in the ex-pat Addis bubble, driving between enclaves of Western culture while turning a blind eye to the 80 million people in this country, but neither can I make a life of being a spectacle in a small town. I'm an American. A curiously worldly and restless one, but I know where home is. Above all else, I treasure the uncompromising American individualism that I think defines my country more than any other single trait. I miss just being Jessica, without that having to represent any greater notion of white or female or liberal or young or any other adjective I'd choose to describe myself. The people who've remembered that I'm here and taken the time to keep in touch have done more than they'll ever realize to keep me sane. I'll never be able to repay you or even make you fully understand how much that has meant to me.

On a lighter note, I've been watching Scrubs and I think I'm a little bit in love with Zach Braff. My landlord built a souk next to our compound. Now we all know where I won't be buying my household supplies. The fabled bagel shop in Addis really does exist and it's delicious. And it only took us two hours to find it (which is honestly impressive in a town with no street names or numbers).

i've seen too much/i haven't seen enough.

2009-06-05T03:53:00.000-04:00

I've officially set my COS (close of service) date for 15 November, which means I should be flying back to Orlando on or shortly after that day (in time for Thanksgiving!) - five and a half months left! Time flies... Start making party plans now. My only request is ungodly amounts of cheese and decent wine. I think I've lost interest in traveling after I finish (save perhaps a quick stopover in Europe) - it'll be the holidays, I'll have a ton of luggage, and I think I'll be pretty burnt out on traveling Africa-style - riding in 12 passenger vans with 20 other people.

In other news, we've submitted our application to fund the poultry farm, which is exciting. If all goes well, this could be up and running by late summer and wrapped up before I go home. That would make the rainy season feel more productive. On that note, the textbooks being brought in by the group of RPCVs, among others, are due to be shipped any day now and scheduled to arrive in Addis sometime in August. Also exciting!

Recently, I took the plunge and visited Christian Horizons in Assela, which already sounds like a poor match for me. They focus entirely on projects involving children (including "Christian & moral education," two adjectives which, in my experience, are often mutually exclusive), so this was definitely outside my comfort zone, but unlike the last time I volunteered my services to a faith-based organization (a Gainesville youth group that shall remain nameless), I wasn't brutally rebuffed. Christian education aside, they're also interested in HIV prevention and life skills, and having read much of the faith-based literature on the topics, I'd rather those lessons came from someone who believes in scientific, comprehensive education. Yes, I'm biased. Sue me. Abstinence is a personal choice, but I believe everyone has the right to accurate information regardless of their sexual behavior. Scare tactics only ensure that people are unsafe when they do decide to become sexually active. But I digress.

Among other things, CH runs 25 schools in the extremely rural, isolated areas of Arsi zone (an excellent project in and of itself) and are bringing in the teachers next week for a refresher training. Susie's doing English teaching methods and I'm doing HIV prevention/life skills training, using my own materials. I must say, I'm impressed thus far with the organization - I haven't been asked about my religious views and most of the staff are (Ethiopian) volunteers, which was refreshing after that girl's education project imploded last month at the prospect of teachers having to donate an hour a week of their time. I'm also working on some HIV-related English conversation materials. All in all, a positive experience with a religious organization.

On the topic of things surprisingly positive, I had my wallet stolen on the Jimma trip two weeks ago. We were some of the last people to leave the bar, so I assumed a staff member had probably picked it up at closing and wrote it off as a stupid mistake on my part. As luck would have it, one of the guys we were with is friends with the bar owner, who then spent a week tracking down my wallet. Successfully. It's in the mail on its way home! Not sure if the money's still there, but replacing a resident ID in Ethiopia requires filing a police report, so I'm just happy to avoid that probably-joyous experience. Naturally, Birhan called me shortly after I got the emails saying my credit cards were cancelled and new ones were on the way, but it's not like those were useful here anyway, so I'm just glad to get it back. A very nice, heartwarming moment for me.

While in Addis for Steph's goodbye party, we discovered Rodeo Addis, a restaurant run by an Ethiopian who lived in Texas for a few decades. They feature "The Best Frozen Margarita in Addis," (among a breathtaking six-page cocktail list) which is a bit of a misnomer since it's the only one, but it was still delicious. Took us forever to drink them since we haven't really had ice in 20 months. Apparently tooth resistance to cold is NOT like riding a bike. Later that week, I was at the in-service training for group 2 for a "permaculture/bio-intensive gardening" training. Our trainer was so excited about composting and double digging that now we are all too. Who'dve thought that a profound love for rotting leaves was contagious? Not sure if I'll be able to actually get a garden started, but I'm hoping Christian Horizons will be interested and Susie and Peter can see it through for me. Maybe I'll actually attempt to compost and grow things at home. He made it seem so easy! I suppose Peace Corps Volunteers can generally be expected to be saps for eco-friendly initiatives. Don't judge me.

Wishlist:
See 14 April Post
-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:
+Weeds - Season 4 & 5
+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or any part of the UK Office)
+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4
-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)
-Cheese in any form

so much for the showdown.

2009-05-13T06:43:00.002-04:00

Sorry for the long delay - with my computer in a coma, I didn't have the opportunity to ramble on in my usual fashion. But I'm back and promise to make up for lost time. It's been an interesting month. Peter, Susie (the Assela VSOs), and I all have birthdays within a two week span, so there was a lot of cake, much to the delight of some of our Ethiopian comrades. FYI, if you forget the baking soda in a chocolate cake, you end up with a fudge-esque brick, which is less tasty than one might hope.

We threw a party for the staff of the teacher's college and crammed 50 Ethiopians into Pat's house (which is
larger than the three of ours combined, features a water heater, and costs the same as mine. But that's neither here nor there). In keeping with the slightly-absurd features that have become normal toany gathering here, one of the guests ran down the street to get his TV and VCD player so we could continue the dancing when our speakers died. The dancing went until 10 PM, which in US terms is probably comparable to the 4-5 AM range. I'll put some pictures up soon. I then watched one of the funniest films I've seen in a long time - The Incredible Zohan (maybe not the precise title, but it's an Adam Sandler movie and Zohan is definitely in the title). It features Adam Sandler as an ex-Mossad agent who moves to New York to become a hairdresser and gets caught up in Israeli-Palestinian rivalries in the US with a former terrorist who wants to sell shoes. Hummus plays a prominent role as a very versatile substance. A cameo by Mariah Carey and a Hezbollah terrorist hotline further add to the comedic genius. I almost soiled myself. Highly recommended.

Sarah and I also had the last of our HIV seminars at Rift Valley College in Adama, plus a final "health fair" to squeeze in a bit more prevention education. We brought in Salam, a woman from PSI (an international NGO), to do an HIV discussion in Amharic and are now convinced we'll forever be useless at this language. She had students volunteering to demonstrate condom use in front of a classroom full of people - we have to battle to get people to name the four fluids that transmit HIV. In a brilliant refutation of most anti-condom arguments, she also had the students stretch and blow up the condoms to demonstrate how strong they actually are (photos of that also coming soon - hilarious). Fun (well, perhaps not if you're an American or Asian man) fact: condoms produced for Africa are two mm wider (in diameter) than those for the US and Europe, and those are in turn two mm wider than their Asian counterparts. I'll leave you to some silent reflection on cultural stereotypes.

I found a possible grant to fund my disabled poultry farm, which is exciting, and am still searching for one to fund the rehab center's vocational training program (thanks Jennifer for all your help!). Karen, the PCV in Agaro (or Sudan, as we affectionately call the region), and I are working on a partnership between health workers in her zone (approximately two days by bus from Assela) and the ARC. We're going to train people in her area to identify and refer patients to Assela since the ARC staff doesn't have a budget to travel out there for recruitment. I'm making the journey tomorrow, which will mark my first multi-day bus journey. On unpaved roads. I'm spoiled living four hours from Addis down a newly paved road, I know.

Peace Corps staff came to Assela for the initial pre-service training visit and met with all the zonal administrators. It was a wild success - Girma, our beloved training manager (who once told us that he wished he could write to everyone so we'd all have mail every day in training), is a few more positive experiences from just up and moving to Assela, I think. But the town is excited and there are lots of possible training sites and villages, plus cafes and things to do, so I'm looking forward to it. Sarcasm and rough days aside, I really do love my town. Seven volunteers have left since my last post, plus our medical officer (who is basically the reason those of us who are left are still here). Two of the volunteers are going to China to serve in the new English teaching program, which is exciting, but not doing much for morale.

In non-work news, I've recently emerged victorious (well, almost) from my month-long battle with the mouse who moved into my home. She could sense my inability to harm anything cute and furry and repaid my generosity by giving birth to two garlic clove-sized furballs. Sensing that this could easily spiral out of control, I started hunting for a cruelty-free way to evict them. While obviously waiting for the babies to grow up a bit so they'd have a fighting chance in the big cruel world, naturally. After I balked at the suggestion of a mousetrap, my landlord's back-up plan entailed luring a cat into the compound, a notion that, after the turd-in-my-sheets incident last year, I wasn't eager to repeat. So, I baited the bottom of a cardboard box with peanut butter and sat there while I waited for a mouse to crawl in, then stood the box up and released the mouse outside. Time consuming, but lower-risk than chasing them around my not-spacious house. I caught both babies and am now waiting for the mother to either leave to look for them or smell them in the box so I can take her to where I released her babies, thus reuniting the family. Everybody wins

you're a skylark with your head up in the clouds.

2009-04-14T05:47:00.001-04:00

I recently read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. Call me heartless, but I
really liked it. Maybe it's because I've spent the last 18 months as
a spectacle, but I really identified with the notion that "not a
single second of my life belongs to anyone else." And I don't think
she's arguing for "selfishness" in the sense of overtly hurting others
in the pursuit of your own happiness. Her point isn't that you
shouldn't care about or help others. It's that you should do
something because it make you happy, because you're good at it,
because you want to - not because others will be impressed with the
selflessness or nobility of the act (and honestly, isn't that more
selfish than not caring what others think of you?). If others are
helped along the way, that's great. But live for yourself.
"Selfishness" in the sense that you shouldn't sacrifice your own
happiness for the admiration of others. I also read David Sedaris' Me
Talk Pretty One Day and almost soiled myself, especially during the
story mentioning the town of Mojo, Ethiopia. Small world.

On that note, it's been a rough week. My CSW herb garden imploded on
Friday when the women realized that the grant would be used to start
the business, not distributed as cash to the group. They're not
interested in starting a new business, they just wanted money. I'm
trying to recruit a group of people with HIV so it doesn't have to be
a complete wash, especially since Bekelech, the woman who initially
proposed the idea, is doing this for free and I want to encourage
volunteerism in all forms here. Ran into a similar problem with a
group of high school teachers who want to start a program to help
female students with extra tutoring (75% of female university students
flunk out in their first year), but only if they can be paid. The
program entails an extra hour or two per week of specialized classes,
meaning each teacher would have to donate an hour of their time. No
one's interested without payment. That night, a power surge fried my
computer power cord. All in all, not my best 24 hours.

But life is looking up - Easter was a delicious feast of lasagna,
hummus, and apple crisp (perhaps not Easter-y, but American/British,
and that was the point), where I tried eggnog for the first time
(without contracting salmonella, which is impressive). I'm now
wondering where it's been all my life. The HS teachers are
developing a way to make the tutorial program sustainable - some sort
of income generation done by the students to pay the teachers since
volunteering is so distasteful to everyone. They do have a point - if
it's not free, students are more likely to take it seriously. Trying
to look on the sunny side...

Photos of Zecharias, my newest family member!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2762214&id=2001205&l=9a32263860

Wishlist:
(see last post)
-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

you're only wet because of the rain.

2009-04-01T04:15:00.001-04:00

Since my last post, I've been on safari and gained a new habesha
family member. It's been a exciting couple of weeks. My aunt and
uncle adopted a three-year-old Ethiopian boy named Zecharias,
which meant I got to visit with them in Addis (and take hot
showers!) and now have no need for souvenir shopping since I have
a cousin from Ethiopia. I also liked an infant. Not enough to
have one of my own, but still, a big victory for those hoping I'll
one day have some semblance of maternal instinct. Photos coming
soon...

Afterwards, my mother and I went to Kenya for a safari. We had
some difficulties with the travel company (under no circumstances
would I ever recommend Planet Safari Adventures), but the actual
trip was incredible. Masaai Mara, Nokuru, and Amboseli national
parks. The photos speak for themselves, but some fun facts in the
meantime. A 3-month old rhino is the size of a large golden
retriever. Kissing a giraffe is like kissing an unshaven man.
Lions won't interrupt their siesta for something as incidental as
a car, so you can get within a few meters. 6-month old elephants
are only waist high on an average adult. Camping includes tents
(some members of our travel group weren't aware of this shocking
fact). Impalas and gazelles live in groups of 20-30 females to
one male. Monkeys don't fear humans and really do like bananas.
A 200 mm telephoto lenses is invaluable (I seriously regret not
buying one before this trip). Warthog sex is one of the most
awkwardly funny sights on earth.

Safari photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2755922&id=2001205&l=906a664c73

I'm back in Assela now, trying to get back into the swing of work
(and ration the cheese carried over by my visiting family). The
new supermarket in Assela is selling strawberries. While I was
gone, Abebe, the town crazy, was apparently attacked and killed by
hyenas while sleeping outside the hospital one night. I'm not
really sure how to feel about that.

An interesting (read: non-Ethiopian government sanctioned) look at
the food crisis in Ethiopia:
http://www.ethiomedia.com/adroit/2052.html

Wishlist:
I'm planning to go to Rwanda this summer to see the mountain
gorillas, so if you were going to send me a birthday package, I'd
love for you to consider donating the money you would have spent
to my travel fund instead. Just a thought, I'm not actually
begging for money here, just proposing an alternative use of it.
Email me if you're interested.

But if you wanted to send a smaller gift...
-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:
+Weeds - Season 4 & 5
+The Office (US) - last 6 episodes of Season 3, Seasons 4 & 5
+30 Rock - Season 2 & 3
-cheese in any form

strange little girl.

2009-03-12T07:17:00.000-04:00

I spent the last two weeks not-so-subtly encouraging my colleagues to get moving on our new projects (herb garden, poultry farm, dairy production, and vocational training) while I'm in Kenya (on safari!). It's one of those things I should (and did) see coming, but somehow still bothers me when I explain that I have eight months left and we all saw how long the prison took. I'm trying to step back this time and take more of a consulting role so that my presence is a bonus, not a necessity. It's going to take longer, but then the point of Peace Corps is to build local capacity, not for volunteers to take over their towns. I'm trying to ensure that I'm only actively involved with the steps that require my help (hence pushing for progress while I'm away), despite my almost-insatiable desire to run the whole project and get it done faster. The thing is, there's not a lot even I can do to influence speed. Sure, I can write or send a proposal faster, but I can't make the local government be less inefficient (oh, but if wishing made it so!), so it's still going to take weeks to get a land grant (but the disabled cooperative just got theirs and the CSWs submitted their request this week, so things are moving). I'm not sure I'll ever again be able to muster up any frustration with American "bureaucracy." Even the lines at the DMV don't take more than a day and you can be reasonably sure the post office will keep to its posted hours. Hell, it posts hours.

But I digress. Staff has decided to hold next year's pre-service training (PST) in Assela (if anyone has an invitation for group 3 already, start preparing now for oxygen deprivation!), which is exciting. They're shifting to a true "community-based" model, where the trainees will live in small groups in satellite villages around Assela and do most of their training there, only coming to the hub site once a week for big meetings, medical things, etc. I think I'll get the best of both worlds - a chance to meet them all and make myself useful while my town isn't overwhelmed with forty new firenji. Although, I suppose since I'll be leaving at some point during training, the effect on Assela is sort of a moot point for me. On the upside, I'll be able to meet the volunteer replacing me and introduce them around town, help them get settled - anything for a smoother transition. At least I'll have a lot of distractions in those last months while I'm wrapping up my life here.

Last week, Assela had the equivalent of a county fair. They took over the bus station for a "bazaar" with a handful of cultural products and a lot of miscellaneous household supplies also available in the market, plus beer tents from all the major Ethiopian brands. No rides or kettle corn, but the Ethiopian Seed Enterprise had a large booth, bringing back memories of the 4-H tents at American fairs. Gizaw's cousin ran the St. Georges beer tent ("gore-geez" - the most common, but also crappiest variety of beer in Ethiopia), so we got preferred seating and cheap drafts (that were shockingly icy, which does a lot for Georges' flavor) all week. The moment I sat down, business tripled. I think the other tents were jealous. To my great joy, Hiwot Trust, the national condom brand, also had a little tent and was distributing free condoms. I think the health center may have been in and out during the day doing HIV testing, too. All in all, an cute little event that left me nostalgic for art shows and festivals and fairs back home.

I've mastered homemade mozzarella cheese (even debuted an herb variety last week) and I think the milk woman thinks I'm nuts since she knows I live alone but keep buying several liters at a time. She's getting plenty of business though and everyone on chicken street gets to be amused, so I suppose everybody wins. She dropped a liter last time I was there and shouted "Allahu Akbar" (god is great), which struck me as an odd choice of expletive. I watched the milk meander its way through the rust-colored dirt floor and felt a sudden urge to take a trip via river boat. Alas, I'm off to Kenya next week for a safari, so look out for photos soon.

In the meantime, Bale photos: http://s251.photobucket.com/albums/gg296/jessinethiopia/07%20Bale%20Mountains/

Wishlist:
-Cheese products of any kind (Velveeta, processed slices, squeezable, etc)
-Saltine crackers
-Sourdough pretzel nuggets
-big sugary easter egg candies

the history books forgot about us.

2009-02-26T04:00:00.002-05:00

Apples are now available in Assela! And cheese is in Adama!

Really, what could top that news? I chased a cute little brown mouse out of my house last week. When I heard the little footsteps, I was terrified it was a giant spider, so I really couldn't muster up any emotion besides relief when it turned out to have fur. Plus, it didn't leave any smelly surprises like the cat did, so in the grand scheme of things, a minor nuisance.

I spent last weekend horse trekking in the Bale Mountains - gorgeous! Photos coming in the near future. It was the first time the gloves I brought here came out of the dresser, which made me feel vindicated in packing them. GTZ (the German aid organization) organized the community and built a series of campsites/cabins around the area that are outfitted with beds, blankets, cooking supplies, etc. The families who live in the forest and mountains supply the horses and staff the sites, so the profits are divided amongst the entire community, not just those who happen to speak enough English to work as guides. Everyone was amused by our insistence on personifying the horses. The first thing we did each day was ask our horse's name. They're named for their color, which gets confusing when there are three chestnuts. So we renamed them and spoke to them frequently throughout the trip, much to the amusement of our guide and porters. We tried to give them apples and carrots afterwards, but they've lived their whole lives scrounging for grass and didn't know what to make of treats. Cute, in a sad kind of way. We've made plans to go back in the future, this time equipped with s'more ingredients. I've decided that making horse-riding a regular part of my life is an incentive to eventually have a real job and actual salary. Pity horses aren't a cheaper hobby.

On the downside, the government has put a cap on bus fares that the drivers feel doesn't allow for fuel cost increases. In response, massive numbers of drivers went on strike last Friday. Hence, by the time we tried to get out of Doldola, a tiny little dust bowl of a town that has one bus per day to Assela, there were four days of people try to get on the same bus. Complete and utter chaos. Our trekking guide, Yousef, was a great guy and stuck around to help us fight for seats, so we ended up only spending an extra night in Doldola. He made an interesting observation - he said it's sometimes hard to work with tourists because they're accustomed to logic, which just doesn't apply here. Case in point - there are no tickets for busses, no departure times, no lines. I just like that he understands what it looks like from our point of view.

Work is going well - stumbled across not one, but three (!!) new potential partners last week. A woman named Bekelech called who wanted to train poor women in herb gardening. High-value, low-maintenance, and small land requirements. Over the course of our discussion, we decided to recruit a group of commercial sex workers who are interested in getting out of the trade. Alliance is recruiting the group from the pool they've trained in the past, Bekelech will help them establish themselves as a legal entity, and they'll ask the municipality for land. In the meantime, I'll request money from the same PC fund we used for the prison farm. I'm excited.

On my way to meet Bekelech, I ran into the representative from Land O'Lakes (of butter spread fame), who I tried to contact months ago but who hadn't called me back yet. He'd turned up at the office looking for me. The organization does dairy production with poor people and wants to expand into helping people living with HIV/AIDS. I get to recruit and organize the first group of beneficiaries. I'm hoping for cheese and yogurt as part of the "value-added" chain of dairy production, but I suppose I shouldn't get my hopes up. At least I can find a regular milk dealer to support my cheese-making habit.

Last Wednesday, two Jewish groups came to Assela to meet with Alliance for Development. One is an Israeli group currently working in Nepal and looking to expand to Ethiopia, which is possibly exciting for the future but unlikely to come to fruition during my tenure. The other group, however, is a secular US-based volunteer organization that also funds grassroots projects (their major interest is in human rights advocacy, which warmed my heart, but left them uneasy about working here because of the new law that forbids foreign organizations from addressing human rights issues). They're interested in possibly placing a volunteer with Alliance, which again, might not happen while I'm here, but is still exciting. I'm more excited about discovering another possible donor agency. The representative we met was an RPCV (health in Uzbekistan), so it was nice to talk to someone with a similar outlook on development. All in all, an incredibly productive week (and it even included a vacation!).

Eshetu, my old language tutor, suggested I come back to Ethiopia in 2010 as an election monitor since I won't be around as a PCV anymore. He knows how I feel about democracy. If a monitor position includes a plane ticket, I'd definitely come back for a few weeks to watch ballot boxes. On a related note, I've also recently learned that approximately half the faculty at the teacher's college have served time in prison for being on the wrong side of a political debate at one time or another. Susie, the new (ish - she arrived in October) VSO volunteer, has been briefing me on some of the political drama at the college - apparently, there have been quite a few suspicious firings of opposition sympathizers and questionable promotions of unqualified party members. I'm confident we're not actually supposed to discuss these issues (in print here or over beers in Ethiopia) as government-affiliated volunteers, but we've elected to view the law as a restriction on our actions, not our thoughts. We're both of the opinion that a government that bans human rights advocacy is probably most in need of it. But I digress.

Candace and Mom, I got your mail - thanks!

Wishlist:
-Cheese products of any kind (Velveeta, processed slices, squeezable, etc)
-Saltine crackers
-Sourdough pretzel nuggets
-big sugary easter egg candies

remember to remember me.

2009-02-13T05:46:00.000-05:00

Happy National Condom Day! Wrap it up every time!

It's also Valentine's Day, for my more prudish readers. Our new trainees swore in yesterday and are moving to site today (so now our program officially has 67 volunteers, which means additional computers at the PC office!). I'd feel bad for them, except they get to spend the holiday road-tripping with each other and we moved to site just in time to spend Christmas alone in our houses (if we were lucky - some of us were still in hotels or squatting with other volunteers).

Last week, Steph and I went to Ambo for the much-anticpated cooking lesson. Ethiopian food not being renowned for its diversity, they were looking forward to new flavors. The "real food" lesson was fun, but I wish I had video of the dessert session. Steph and I made three cakes and a banana bread the night before (because what kind of heartless, cruel people would we be if we expected 40 people to share one cake and one banana bread?), so these were sitting on our demonstration table during the entire lesson. I'd estimate that half the trainees spent the session staring at the cakes and scheming ways to innocently be standing next to the table when we actually let them eat. It was like lions on a wounded antelope. I found it very heartwarming - I liked this group already, but now they've endeared themselves to me. Absolutely no shame in smearing chocolate across their faces as they licked clean a piece of aluminum foil. The last cake was finishing cooling as they devoured the first ones, so a few enterprising trainees circled the table, picking up trash and bringing it to the trash box one piece at a time so as to stay within striking distance. The more creative stood directly in front of the dutch oven, asking me inane questions about topics we'd already covered. "Where can I buy baking powder?" "Can I lick the frosting bowl?" "So you've brewed your own beer? How do I do that?" "Can I have a piece of warm, gooey cake?" Fortunately for them, a handful of these guys are quite adorable and charming, so I couldn't resist sharing. I'm a sucker for a cute smile, I know.

Steph (the former dental hygienist) also gave a hilarious lesson on dental hygiene and proper flossing technique. "Not flossing is like taking a shower but never washing your armpits, butt crack, crotch, or feet." 'Nuf said.

Regarding my actual job (as opposed to overtly buying the affection of the new group), I met with GTZ (the German aid organization), who's running a program to improve the vocational training school network in Ethiopia. I want to start a vocational training program at the Assela Rehabilitation Center, so that might work out splendidly. The program director is also going to set me up with GTZ's HIV officer, so there's another potential project (mainstreaming HIV education is becoming part of virtually every development project, but it generally falls to people who already didn't have enough time on their hands, so maybe I can help fill that gap). And my love of Germany (its efficiency, beer, pretzels, and cleanliness) is no big secret, so maybe these contacts can help me find a way to spend some time in Berlin actually earning money, not just spending it.

The Chilalo HS improvement project is also moving forward - making contacts with groups in Addis who might help us out with funding (particularly for a computer lab) and we're anticipating delivery of a bunch of textbooks in March. We've officially formed the Assela committee of education and government leaders (plus me!) to oversee the fundraising for the "community contribution" and we'll be having our first meeting next week. It'll be my first time participating in a bureaucratic meeting, not just keeping a chair warm and being eye candy - should be interesting. I have exactly nine months left here, a fact about which I have increasingly not-mixed feelings. It's been (and continues to be) a valuable experience, but I'm looking forward to being home for the holidays!

To illustrate how much more emotional I've become in this country, I offer the following anecdote. After lending out much of my collection, the early disks of The West Wing recently came back to me, so I embarked on a nostalgic reunion. I'm sure most of my readers aren't as well-versed in the series as I am (you should be - start renting/downloading it), but I was watching the season 1 Christmas episode, where a homeless veteran wearing Toby's coat is found dead by the Korean War monument (and then he uses his influence to get him a proper funeral and a burial at Arlington) and Mrs. Landingham reminisces about her twin sons killed in Vietnam, and I cried like a baby. Granted, I was finishing off some of my homemade moonshine, but the point remains that I cried during a television program. That I've seen before, many times. I also sometimes get misty-eyed when my mailbox is full of mail that's not from Peace Corps.

Aly, Stephanie, Dad, Nick, and Erin, I got your mail - I love you guys!

i would stand in line for this.

2009-01-31T07:10:00.005-05:00

I'm completely in love with Zanzibar. Impressively, it lives up to all its hype - beautiful beaches, charming town, delicious food, and warm, friendly people (including the children!). I actually enjoyed the smell of the fish market on the first day until I remembered that raw fish is, in fact, NOT an appealing odor. Whoops. None of the shouting and pointing at white people, which may be related to the fact that Zanzibar sees a lot of tourists. Although, by that logic, Lalibela and Addis should also ignore white people, which is decidedly not the case. Even when I wondered into a residential neighborhood, people just looked at me briefly to decide if I looked lost and wanted/needed help, and a couple of people asked if I was. Children walked by me without so much as a second glance. Even the local beach boys who latch onto tourists are more entertaining than their Ethiopian counterparts - their English is much better, so you can crack jokes and talk about more than the weather (I debated the existence of god with one) and they tend to take the hint if you turn down their offers of tours or trips. Only downside - when people asked what I was doing in Africa, I got more than a few lectures about how condoms don't stop the transmission of HIV. Crazy children aside, I'm glad I'm doing HIV work in Ethiopia - I don't think I'd be able to cope with constantly battling myths like that.

Stonetown, the capital, is a quaint little colonial town with classic whitewashed buildings, enormous terraces, and narrow alleys winding throughout the old city (much like Harar or other Arab-esque cities). Say what you want about the British colonial legacy, it at least left behind some charming architecture. Unfortunately, it also left behind a system of driving on the wrong side of the road, which confuses me to no end. However, the country DOES labels its busses so you know where they're going, which was both shocking and gloriously convenient. Sure, I tried to board them through the driver's side panel a few times, but at least I knew I was at the right bus. And they open windows on busses, a vitally necessary social practice in a country with both heat and humidity (I'd forgotten what that felt like!).

And the food - seafood everywhere! Every night in Stonetown, vendors sell skewers of fresh seafood for a couple bucks - shrimp, giant crab claws, lobsters, fish, squid, the works. And it only gets better in the restaurants (although sadly, not cheaper!). The only thing I couldn't find was coconut fried shrimp, which was an unexpected disappointment since the island is covered with coconuts. The fruit was a welcome respite from gorging myself on seafood. Enormous pineapples, passion fruits, and fat, juicy mangos. Plus more fruits that I'd never seen before than are available in the whole of Ethiopia. I've long suspected, but am now certain, that we got the short end of the culinary stick when the Peace Corps sent us to Ethiopia.

Traveling alone is a bit strange (especially around those romantic beach resorts!), but I met some fascinating people from all over, including, of course, a member of the Gator Nation. I ran into an older couple from Vermont on my last night, and in the course of our conversation about the election and safaris, we ventured on to the topic of butterflies and how they're un-appreciated in Africa. I told them about how I'd gained an (admittedly amateurish) appreciation thanks to UF's McGuire center, and it turns out the husband donated a lot of his specimens to the museum there and has willed the rest of his collection to UF. They'd also spent some time in Oklahoma, and ordered me not to tell them about the BCS game since they'd taped it and wanted to watch it when they got home. This discussion was not prefaced with questions about my interest in or knowledge about college football, because all loyal Gators know that such pesky things as an ocean, a sizable continent, and a painfully inadequate communications infrastructure wouldn't squelch our ability to follow our team. The Gator Nation is everywhere.

As for those beaches, a picture is worth a thousand words: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2711847&l=b2ad0&id=2001205.

In Ethiopia news, the short rains came early (being greeted by cold rain as I left the plane was NOT the best transition from Zanzibar), which is further wreaking havoc on the agriculture here. The new trainees have two weeks left until swearing in, then we officially get new neighbors. We're already planning a massive feast for the new arrivals to our little corner of Ethiopia - it's more of an excuse for us to binge, but we're marketing it as a welcome party.

Candace, Jason & Julie, Gil, Nick, and Kimberly, I got your mail - thanks!

like somebody's shadow.

2009-01-23T01:53:00.001-05:00

"Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to
believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too? - Douglas
Adams

There are aspects of life here to which I'll never adapt (that
independent streak just isn't going anywhere), but (not to stereotype
or anything) life in Africa does give you an appreciation of the
little things. Maybe something about seeing kids kick a ball of rags
around the street for hours on end (and never mind their ability to
run for hours on end at this altitude), but I've reached a point where
a particular email or letter can put me in the sort of good mood that
makes people steer clear of the mildly deranged-looking grin on my
face. And given the children here, that's precisely the mood I'm
aiming for - happy enough to not be affected by the staring. Knowing
that people back home remember that I'm here and actually enjoy
reading my rambling letters makes it so much easier to stick it out.
Moral of the story - I love and miss you all. And I'm probably going
to be uncharacteristically affectionate and painfully socially awkward
when I get home. I hope you'll still love me. I'll bake you cookies
to ease the transition.

I was meeting with Belihu, a biology teacher at Chilalo HS, about
improving the school's library, and while we were waiting for the
librarian to come back from lunch, he launched into a discussion of
how much he just loves praising Jesus and how much he admires the
faith of such brilliant American "men of God" like George Bush and
Billy Graham. Shockingly, I managed to just smile and nod.
Fortunately, he wasn't interested in what I thought, he just wanted to
extol their virtues.

We finished the water reservoir and have started planting at the
prison. Apparently, certain vegetables have to be sprouted in the
shade and then transplanted to their growing field. Learn something
new everyday. I was just excited to see tangible results of my
efforts.

My tortoise friend came back - I was afraid he'd died. I saw a kid
carrying a chicken in his arms the way you'd carry a pet (as opposed
to the "upside down by the feet" technique that's the norm here) and
it warmed my heart. Later, I saw a man beating a crying boy with a
stick and felt nothing. I guess I have adapted to some things.

Zanzibar was breathtaking - photos and update coming next weekend!

Caitlin, Mom, Will, Gordon, Cassie, Pedro, Leah, and Grandma, I got
your mail. Thanks!

melkem firenji addis amet.

2008-12-29T06:23:00.002-05:00

Happy Foreigner New Year!

That's what it's called here. Ethiopians rang in 2001 on 11 September, so this is just a Thursday to the rest of my temporarily adopted country. I got an intestinal parasite for Christmas, so I've spent the last few days in Addis producing stool samples to identify the little bugger. It's been loads of fun. On the upside, this is my first "real" illness in Ethiopia, so I'm just glad I made it this far. I was probably due.

Christmas itself was fun - Steph and I cooked up a storm at Kelly's place in Ambo, shared some cookies with the new trainees (I've never claimed to be above bribery), and watched mindless movies. All in all, a strange-but-good holiday. I'm looking forward to being back in Assela, if only to be able to check my mailbox. T-minus 17 days until Zanzibar!

the ecstasy of being free.

2008-12-20T06:19:00.002-05:00

Merry Christmas!

I've realized what it is I miss about home. Anonymity. Or just individuality. Knowing that whatever I say or do won't be extended to every other American/young/female/white/ suburban/Polish/atheist/vegetarian/middle-class/sad music-loving/educated/ sarcastic/southern/liberal/brunette person. The ability to represent my country was part of what attracted me to the Peace Corps, but sometimes I miss just representing Jessica. When I could just have a bad day and not worry that I was fostering anti-Americanism by not discussing the weather with every person on the street. Part of what makes me want to represent America abroad is that we're proud of what makes us different, that conformity (besides to unreasonable physical standards of beauty, that is) isn't valued - I miss that. So on that note, Merry Christmas! Celebrate in your own weird way and be thankful you don't have to explain or justify it to anyone.

Dad, Grandpa, Mary Ann, and Sinead, I got your Christmas mail - thanks!

Wishlist:
-dried fruit (apples, cranberries, or cherries)
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-non-refrigerated cheese
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-Fritos
-sour cream & chives noodles
-sour jelly bellys
-yarn
-books

nobody said it would be easy.

2008-12-08T05:41:00.000-05:00

Happy belated Thanksgiving...we celebrated in Assela with veggie lasagna (from scratch - homemade noodles and everything!) and brownies. And birthday cake. Not exactly festive, but then I've never seen a turkey in this country (well, outside of the commissary at the embassy, but that's technically American soil and hence not "in this country"). I've realized that I haven't spent 14 consecutive months in the same country since high school (but no, I'm not an addict) and am now suffering from cabin fever. So, I've decided to go on vacation in January. Cheapest destination with a beach is Zanzibar (and in the southern hemisphere, so it's summer, and the Indian Ocean is warm. Victory.). Anyone want to join me? My trip falls over MLK day, so it's even a real holiday for Americans.

Thanksgiving week, Alliance for Development's major donor came to visit (she's from a Canadian foundation based in Quebec), so we had a two-day tour of all the programs she's funded around Assela, plus my prison farm, which is Alliance-sponsored but Peace Corps-funded. One of those was a kindergarten, which translated into thirty minutes in my own personal hell, but another included a visit to Konicha kebele (district/neighborhood), my favorite kebele in Assela. It's way out on the edge of town, down a ravine, across a river, and back up again, so it's pretty isolated. In May, Alliance built a water point for the community so they'd no longer have to make that trek to get water. When we inaugurated it, the entire community turned out for singing, dancing, and lots of heartfelt speeches thanking Alliance, plus an elaborate coffee ceremony. We expected to make a quick trip out there, see the site, maybe talk to a couple of the beneficiaries, and then head back to town. Not so much. Everyone greeted us at the bridge to escort us to the site, then the kebele committee set up an even-more-elaborate coffee ceremony than last time on the bank of the river (arguably one of the most beautiful places in Assela). Both kinds of ceremonial bread to start (one of which is delicious; the other is, at best, strange), then coffee. Then the local Oromo delicacy, gunfo. In both forms. One is basically barley flour, which will suck all moisture out of your mouth but is otherwise harmless. The other is a bit more special - they call it porridge. PCVs call it "play doh volcano with spicy melted butter lava." Our description is more reflective of the actual taste (and appearance). Then we got "milk at the mother house" (so named because of Anna's story - she was the first volunteer to have the experience), which is watered-down sour yogurt mixed with cottage cheese. Not "like." "Is." There's no other way to describe it. Both of these things are expensive and difficult to make, and hence a very big honor to be served. (see photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2662617&l=4f875&id=2001205) Like PIKE frat boys, Ethiopians just won't take "no" for an answer. Crappy food aside, I still love Konicha.

I spent last week in Ambo helping with "training of trainers (ToT)" for the language and culture facilitators for this year's new volunteers. We have quite a few returnees from last year, so we had fun bonding with them again. Plus teaching them about the eccentricities of American culture, lessons they seemed to enjoy. Almaz, one of the leaders, especially did a good job absorbing the "diversity" lesson - during a practice lesson by one of the new teachers, he touched her leg (completely normal in Ethiopia) and she turned around to us to ask if that'd be weird for Americans. She also played the role of the disinterested, lazy student who couldn't pronounce anything, which cracked us up. All in all, thoroughly amusing. And I finally finished Orientalism. The back half of the last section and the epilogue were tolerable. I can't say the same for the preceding three hundred pages, but at least I've finished it.

Yesterday, we had a welcome party for the new trainees (yes, they're finally here!) and four of us got the honored distinction of being the first volunteers to meet them. Then we had a dance party with various Ethiopian dances, followed by "Born in the USA" and "Sweet Home Alabama," the two songs we picked when instructed to bring some American music, which are classic but not necessarily dance-able. Plus, we don't really have "traditional" American dances. So we did the electric slide and various dances in the lawnmower/sprinkler/shopping cart/cabbage patch family, much to the amusement of our staff. One of the trainees commented that we seemed sane and well-adjusted - I think that may have had more to do with the previous six days of hot showers than anything else, but we took the compliment. We have forty new trainees (including 19 men, a ratio unheard of in the Peace Corps, especially in the health sector. I'll plead the fifth on that one.), all of whom seem like good times - bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, which brought back fond memories of our arrival 14 (!!) months ago. It's nice to have a group of people who are genuinely interested in as much as you have to say about PC and Ethiopia as possible. Then Smith and I discovered a new, cheap pizza place in Addis that has an extensive (for Ethiopia) wine list and cocktail menu, but doesn't actually carry any of said drinks. In a poignant testament to how long we've been here, that wasn't surprising or even disappointing.

I'm currently reading (and loving!) Reading Lolita in Tehran and have developed a newfound fascination for modern Iranian history (especially the overthrow of the Shah and its aftermath). I want to learn more. If anyone can recommend/send me a good, balanced historical overview, I'd love it. Or two not-at-all balanced histories from competing sides. It IS almost Christmas, after all...

Christen's dad, thanks for the SEC championship update!

Pouya, Grandma/Mary Ann (I could definitely see your influence in that package!), and Mom - got your mail, thanks! Happy Birthday little bro!

Wishlist:
-dried fruit (apples, cranberries, or cherries)
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-non-refrigerated cheese
-brownie mix
-Fritos
-sour cream & chives noodles
-sour jelly bellys
-Pantene conditioner (small-ish bottle)
-yarn
-books

where would we be without wishful thinking?

2008-11-24T03:58:00.001-05:00

Last week, Susie and I had our debut meeting for the debate club at
the teacher's college. Unfortunately, it fell on the same afternoon
that the college distributed living allowances to students, so we only
had four people show up, but it was still a riot. Has the potential
to earn "most-favored activity" status if it keeps up. We debated
polygamy ("a man who marries two wives is better than a man who
marries one wife") on the suggestion of the debate club organizing
committee, but I don't think they were fully aware that "debate" meant
people had to argue both sides. They all (two guys, two girls)
supported the idea of one wife and the two on my side (I elected to
lead the pro-polygamy team) had such a hard time grasping the notion
of devil's advocate and making the case for the side that you don't
believe that Susie and I ended up switching them all to the same side
while we argued for polygamy. I think that's why we had so much fun -
we came up with the following reasons:

-If a man's first wife is sterile, he can marry a second wife so he
can have kids without having to leave the first wife
-A man won't get bored and cheat if he has two wives
-The two wives can help each other with housework and caring for the
children so they don't get too tired
-There are more women than men in the world, so in order to spare
women a life of prostitution (because women need men to complete them)
and to allow women to fulfill their purpose by becoming mothers, men
should be able to take second wives
-With two wives, one (or both) can get a job, thus bringing two (or
three) incomes into the household and making everyone happier, since
we all know money buys happiness.

Such good times. Susie and I couldn't maintain straight faces, but we
did manage to teach them about arguing opinions in which you don't
believe. We think we may have gotten a little hasty with such a
contentious topic to start, so we picked "Is it better to live in the
city or the country?" for this week. Still fun, although not as
entertaining. We're hoping to transition them towards a more
structured one-on-one or team format, loosely based on Lincoln-Douglas
debate but probably with less-strict time constraints.

While the city v. country debate was less entertaining than polygamy,
one student did bring up a very interesting point that I think
brilliantly illustrates the problems I (and all non-Ethiopians) face
here. On the country side, he said that the country is better because
everyone is of the same nationality and culture, but in the city,
there are lots of different ones. Just to verify that nothing was
lost in translation, I had him clarify whether one culture was better
than diversity. He says yes. Goes a long way towards explaining the
pervasive sense of dehumanization I feel here. Susie and I were
laughing about it afterwards (because, honestly, how else do you deal
with someone telling you that your presence and differing opinions are
a detriment to their quality of life?) by saying we should dismantle
the english language program to preserve the Oromo nature of the
college. It's funny in a way, but then it's really not.

In english class last week, we talked about American culture and I had
a lot to say about diversity (and not just of the racial variety).
Namely, how my staunchly non-violent parents would have backhanded me
if I'd ever screamed "look, a black!" and pointed across the road as a
small child. As well they should have. Another student asked me about
Ethiopian politics, so I unloaded about election fraud and the law
banning foreign organizations from addressing transparency, human
rights, or good governance. All this prefaced with how the Ethiopian
government technically doesn't allow me to express my thoughts on
those matters, but since I love the first amendment (albeit not
applicable in this situation), I choose not to honor that law. The
kids all had those nervous smiles that people get when you're
preaching to closeted choirs, which suggests that change isn't a
complete pipe dream here. I really don't think I'd mind getting
deported, as long as I could make sure they all knew why I had to
leave.

But moving onto the topic of things I like about Ethiopia (I'm really
not trying to be negative here, but I'm at a low point on the
"cultural integration" timeline), emergency contraception recently
became available in a handful of pharmacies around Assela. Over the
counter. For five birr (about 50 cents). Not quite cheap, but
certainly affordable when used correctly (i.e. only after the rare
condom break, not as regular birth control). I saw posters at a few
pharmacies, so I went in and asked. Score one for the Ethiopian
healthcare industry. Sad that it's still age-restricted and
pharmacists can refuse to sell it to you in the states.

Last weekend, we had an HIV "awareness-raising" day at the teacher's
college, put on by the anti-AIDS club. Three hours of Afan Oromo got
old for me and the VSOs, but the students had a good time. I had a
brief presentation on HIV statistics worldwide and Ethiopia, then they
did a long drama dealing with multiple partners and being tested.
Pat, the VSO volunteer who's been fighting tooth and nail to start the
Gender Issues club at the college, was about to fall out of her chair
during the drama. The woman was the victim, of course, but no mention
of the man who infected her (and, the character was pregnant, but no
discussion of his future role). Then I almost had an aneurysm when
the HIV counselor told the main character's friend about her test
results. Blatant violations of confidentiality like that are why
people don't get tested! After the drama, we had the traditional buna
ceremony - the women served while the guys had a dance party. In a
related development, I've decided to join Pat in her quest for a
discussion of gender at this college.

The prison farm is being planted this week. We (okay, they) prepped
the land last week and the water reservoir is halfway done. I can't
wait for those cucumbers. Solomon, the nurse at the prison who
basically looks out for all the prisoners (and me), warned Gizaw and I
that the administrators and officers would try to steal the tools and
supplies for their own use, so we should form a committee dominated by
prisoners (and Solomon) to control their storage and distribution.
That dampened my excitement about seeing the farm come to fruition,
but Solomon risked his job to warn us, which warms my heart. But to
end on a happier note, this only serves to further illustrate why
Solomon is fabulous. We were making conversation in the prison
courtyard last week while someone found the key to the classroom, and
he asked what I thought of the prisoners. I said they were all very
good students, polite, respectful, and always asking good questions.
He smiled and said it's because the administration (well, really just
him, but he'd never admit that) is pushing "behavioral change"
programs to teach prisoners to be better citizens. I told him that
everyone should go to prison, only half joking, and the look on his
face was priceless. Just this enormous, glowing smile. I imagine he
doesn't get much feedback or gratitude for his work, so hearing it
from the exalted foreigner was a big deal to him.

I met with Masay, the environmental health and sanitation officer at
the health center (where I, unsurprisingly, did not run into Daniel,
my "real" counterpart), and she wants to work with me on some health
education programs. She just finished a survey of health issues
around Assela, so we're going to analyze the data and propose some
programs to address the biggest issues. I'm very excited, not just
because it's more work, but because Masay has the potential to be my
first female Ethiopian friend. Everyone I work with is male and those
few women who do work outside the home are still responsible for the
housework at home, so they don't have social lives. But she's
unmarried and lives alone, so we can actually spend time together.
Hooray! I like her already because she wrote notes to me during our
first meeting since she reads and writes English better than she
speaks it and wanted to make sure we understood each other. That's
true of everyone here, but she's the first person I've ever met
willing to admit her shortcomings with spoken English. I respect her
honesty.

The first time I've ever wanted to do something silly like run 10 km
and terrorists ruin it. In response to a recent series of vague
threats, the US Embassy forbade US citizens from running in the Great
Ethiopian Run. I suppose it IS a gathering of tens of thousands of
people, which is generally the sort of thing you're supposed to avoid
if you're security-minded in the developing world, but still. I was
annoyed. Alas.

During the course of shopping for farm tools, I discovered that our
hardware store sells metal screen. I don't really have mosquitos, so
I don't need window screens, but I did construct a pretty impressive
(if I do say so myself) fruit drying rack instead. I bought a cheap,
haphazard wood coffee table and tore it apart to build a frame, then
encased the whole mess in screen. Warake and her visiting son were
amused - I couldn't explain "fruit-drying rack" in Amharic, so they
didn't really understand why I was destroying the table and nailing
pieces back together with little regard for attractiveness. But they
did lend me the saw and hammer, so it went a lot quicker. All in all,
a surprisingly productive Saturday. My first project was sun-dried
tomatoes and bananas. So far, so good. Next up is an attempt at
potatoes. Maybe they'll turn into chips. I can dream. I also made
some guava wine since the mangoes are still MIA. I'd have been such a
great frontier woman.

Some sort of work is being done on the internet connections around the
country, which means internet access is more limited than usual for
the next few months. Response time to emails will be delayed and blog
posts will be longer and more infrequent. Apologies. TIA.

New book recommendation: The Wisdom of Whores by Elizabeth Pisani.
Sounds a like a black comedy satire, but is actually about global HIV
interventions. Amazing. Scathing critiques of the religious
institutions hindering HIV work worldwide (led by, but by no means
limited to, the Bush administration and the Christian right).
Basically, she makes the point that the reason HIV has become such a
problem is because it's most commonly spread by things people (meaning
individuals, organizations, and governments) don't want to talk about
- sex and drugs. Add in fears of sounding racist and culturally
insensitive in developing nations, and you've got a recipe for
disaster. Read it. It'll change the way you think about the
pandemic. It makes the top ten best book I've read thus far in this
country.

start making a fool out of me.

2008-11-11T08:31:00.001-05:00

"And to all those who have wondered if America's beacon still
burns as bright: Tonight, we proved once more that the true
strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the
scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals:
democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."

Watching Obama's victory speech, I've never been so proud to be an
American. I really hope his election makes it okay for liberals
to like America again. I'm tired of patriotism having to mean
support of the Iraq war and liberal meaning America-bashing.
Can't I love my country and also like diplomacy, healthcare, and
comprehensive sex education? I think so.

Last week I met with two of the contacts on this end for the
school improvement project with the organization of Ethiopians and
RPCVs in the States. Afterwards, we talked about some of the
cultural differences between Ethiopia and America (including, for
instance, how it's rude to point, stare, hit, or throw things at
people who look different....). My favorite was homosexuality
though - I said that in America, men don't really touch each other
unless they're a couple. They didn't get it, so I spelled it out
- holding hands with another man means you're a homosexual. They
gave me that pained, giggly, awkward look of school-aged boys when
you say the word "penis." Homosexuality is culturally taboo and
illegal (punishable by deportation in some cases) in Ethiopia, so
even the most liberated colleagues of mine are pretty squeamish
about the topic. During training last year, a volunteer asked how
gay male friends visiting would be received in Ethiopia - we all
decided that they're probably be uncomfortable with the level of
public displays of affection, but would otherwise be fine. Ahh,
irony. I really miss gay culture.

On the prison farm front, we've purchased our seeds, tools, and
selected a location for our water reservoir. Choosing said
location required two hours of what can only be described as
"wading" through mud. I couldn't make them understand that
although I applied for and won the grant, I have absolutely no
background in or knowledge about water storage or construction.
After this little adventure, we went for shay/bunna at Inspector
Deraje's house, where, as these things often go, the conversation
turned to religion. I tried a new diversionary tactic and said
that I believe in science (which is true). They seemed to like
the notion, although I see it as an obvious dodge - saying I
believe something that's not religion is a lot easier to hear than
saying I don't believe in god. Worth filing away for future
reference - pacifies the religious while allowing me to preserve
the integrity of my beliefs. Victory!

Tool shopping was almost as exciting - judging from everyone's
reaction, I get the impression that women don't usually hang out
at the hardware store. Especially white ones. I found a roll of
screen, which will make my planned fruit drying rack a much more
organized contraption (this, of course, assuming that the rain
stops and the sun returns). When I asked about the price of small
nails, I got a handful of them as a free gift. They also sold
compact fluorescent light bulbs, which warmed my green little
heart. Planting at the farm should have started, but since the
rainy season refuses to end, the entire field is mud. This is
also ruining the grain harvest - fields are flooding, so farmers
can't harvest. Between the delayed rains this year and now the
extension that's preventing new planting, this could be bad for
next year's food supplies.

Wishlist:
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-Fritos
-sour jelly bellys
-yarn
-books

election day!

2008-11-04T04:37:00.001-05:00

Happy election day! Tomorrow morning, I'll be parking my behind
at the Darartu Hotel and forcing the staff to leave the TV tuned
to BBC or CNN, whoever has better return coverage. It'll be
strange not to stay up all night - somehow
celebratory/drowning-of-sorrows drinks don't seem appropriate at
noon. Alas.

Last Tuesday night, we had a going away party for Jenny (of the
anonymous letter at the post office fame), the VSO volunteer who's
leaving. As has become tradition, I made a chocolate cake
(layered - I'm trying to master the skill so I can produce
aesthetically-pleasing cakes by the time I go home) that proved
popular among the Ethiopians. There's definitely a market for
cakes that don't suck in this country - Betty Crocker and
Pilsbury, are you listening? Then I took over the music selection
for a bit and we had a dance party to the Beatles, Simon &
Garfunkel, and the Police. Ethiopian men have no qualms about
dancing in general, but after a few beers, they were out of
control. I guess in a culture where men hold hands and often rest
their hands on parts of the inner thigh I wouldn't let a lover
touch in public, not much else is sacred. I impressed the wait
staff/buna ceremony girls (we went all out and had the party
catered) with my ability to pick up on Oromo dancing from the
music videos. I didn't want to spoil it by telling them I'd been
here for a year and had had plenty of opportunities in which to
practice. But I'm still a pretty quick study for a foreigner.
Not that I don't look ridiculous - the dances involve a lot of
shoulder and head-shaking, so I think everyone looks at least a
little silly.

The next morning, I went with Peace Corps staff south to Bekoji,
the next city (I use the term loosely) down the (dirt) road for a
site development visit. I dearly love my freshly-paved road. I
wasn't taking it for granted or anything, but I definitely gave it
an affectionate little toe nudge when we got back. It'll be nice
to have another volunteer nearby, but I think I'll be pushing them
to visit me instead of vice versa. They don't have internet in
Bekoji, so that's an incentive. The staff insisted on driving all
over the town of 15,000, instead of walking, which serves as a
vivid illustration of why they had no idea what any of our sites
were actually like when we moved here (case in point - they speak
Amharic in Assela). That's a bureaucracy for you.

Last week, we were all in Addis for our mid-service conference,
which turned out surprisingly well. Nice presentations from some
organizations with whom we can possibly work and an excellent
session on the nature of the food crisis from the World Food
Program. I've never taken economics and I was enthralled. Would
have been nice to know about some of those organizations earlier,
but now we're pushing the staff to invited them to the inservice
training for the new volunteers, which comes three months after
they move to site. A woman from the US Embassy came to talk about
their grants, one of which comes from the "Democracy and Human
Rights Fund." If the new Ethiopian law restricting foreign aid
passes, the fund might be squashed, but if not, I'm ridiculously
excited about applying for one.

Continuing our tradition of staff exodus, our country director
resigned as of the end of October. No comment.

Gizaw, my counterpart, and I went to Adama to buy seeds for the
prison farm. I've subtly suggested an experimental plot of
cucumbers to "test the market" (or so I can eat them, whichever.
I'll be paying for them, so it wasn't an entirely selfish
suggestion). We're going this afternoon to set a planting
schedule with the administration, so hopefully we'll be planting
by the weekend. Finally!

Happy birthday Jason! Nothing personal, but I hope tomorrow's not
as celebratory as it could be...

Claire, Kimberly, Jolene, Mary Ann, Gordon, Caitlin, Sinead, Dad,
and Mom, I got your mail - thanks!

Wishlist:
-reese's peanut butter cups
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-powdered drink flavorings (gatorade, crystal light, etc)
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-Fritos
-sour jelly bellys
-yarn
-books

i don't want to be adored for what i merely represent.

2008-10-18T04:17:00.001-04:00

This week I met with Susie and Pat, two of the VSOs, about our 1000
pounds to spend. We've decided to have a week of seminars, one long
one for teachers, talking about stigma and the role of community
leaders, and one (well, a lot) for the approximately 4000 students,
with more of a focus on prevention. Since we have money, we're going
to bring in some speakers and have refreshments so people will be
motivated to stick around. And of course, testing from the hospital
or health center. From there, we're going to recruit interested
students to form a peer educator group that will become the backbone
of the Anti-AIDS club, who will then run future seminars for new
students. We're so sustainable. Once we cover per diems, copies,
shay buna, etc, we're spending the rest on condoms since the teacher's
college is out on the edge of town and far from the health center and
NGO offices that distribute free condoms. I'm super excited - these
women are great and very dedicated to HIV and gender programming.
Then we had a lunch party at Pat's house, which is approximately the
size of four PCV houses combined. Massive living room/dining room
bigger than my entire house, two bedrooms, a bathroom with a water
heater, internet access, and a kitchen, also bigger than mine.
Jealous doesn't even begin to cover it. I'd settle for just the water
heater.

I'm joining the Tae Kwon Do club in Assela. This could well turn out
to be even more fascinating then me buying a chicken. Then I promptly
sprained my ankle on a run and hence had to delay my "sparring with
small children" debut. Damn. My grant money for the prison farm
finally came through - in the form of a check that has to be picked up
in person in Addis. At least I get a hot shower or two, good food,
and the chance to go grocery shopping. Two weeks ago, an evaluation
team from Peace Corps DC came to talk to volunteers and visit sites.
Thanks to this blog, a member of the team (hi!) was thoroughly amused
by my profound love for cheddar goldfish crackers. She didn't think
they'd travel well, so she brought us chocolate instead. Our love is
so easy to buy.

I was watching some Southpark after a day of crappy children and found
myself suddenly nostalgic for the holiday season after the Mr.
Hankey's Christmas Classics episode. So I spent the afternoon
listening to my collection of Christmas music. Between this and last
week's sudden craving for shiro wat, I think I might be going round
the bend.

Wishlist:
-reese's peanut butter cups
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-powdered drink flavorings (gatorade, crystal light, etc)
-hot cocoa mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-dried seasonings
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-sour jelly bellys
-baking products (chocolate chips, frosting, mixes, etc)
-yarn
-books

i'm a joke that you probably enjoy.

2008-10-10T06:02:00.002-04:00

I'm sorry that formatting is always screwed up on these posts - I have to post via email since blogger is blocked in Ethiopia (but not on the PC computers, which is why this one has been corrected).

I was walking down the street this week and suddenly found myself craving shiro wat (chickpea), so I went to the famous tibs (meat) beyt and had some. This has never happened to me in the ten months I've been living in this town. Ironic that I'd pick the tibs beyt, but it's a good place to get vegetarian food since everyone else eats the meat - they have to make the shiro fresh.

We ended up not discussing religion in english class - we talked about the relationship between parents and children. They were interested in the notion of allowances and chores and learning
fiscal responsibility. We also talked about how women are generally better savers than men - some of the older guys said that's because the men have to do the calling (rather pricey on the Ethiopian telecom network) and "inviting" (taking out for tea, coffee, food, etc). I said, and most of the women agreed, that that's a small price to pay for also having the freedom to be out after dark and not be a domestic servant in your own family. Some of the girls mentioned that their mothers are better with money because they're the ones who go shopping and see how changes (well, really just massive increases) in food prices affect the whole family. Men in Ethiopia generally have no idea how to cook food, let alone what it costs.

Case in point: Gizaw, my counterpart at Alliance for Development, mentioned that injera is easy to make. His daughter was visiting and she said it's not. It's a 3 day process to ferment the batter, then the baking takes the better part of an afternoon. The teacher mentioned that men get married when they want someone to take care of them at home - us women said that makes marriage a very attractive arrangement for us. We had to explain the sarcasm, which ruined the moment, but they got it eventually. All in all, not as exciting as religion, but a good discussion. I'm pushing for religion next week. I'll also be investigating the location of the Tae Kwon Do center since I feel I need some variety in my physical life and I don't think there's a dance studio in this country.

After class (which fell on t-minus 4 weeks until Election Day), the teacher, Bantie, and I got into a discussion of the election. He'd vote for McCain to make the world safer. He's a die hard, neo-con, Bush-loving Republican who supported and continues to support the Iraq invasion as a means of catching the 9/11 perpetrators and ensuring global security. Bantie also believes the world is safer since the invasion - I think victims of bombings in Madrid, London, Casablanca, Amman, and elsewhere might beg to differ. It was an ironic little moment to hear a US policy most conservatives have rejected defended so passionately. He's the most fiercely anti-Islamic person I've met outside the American south - he contends that all Muslims want to see the destruction of the West and all infidels. Then he asked if I knew any Muslims (you can actually see the minaret of the main mosque in Assela from the window of the classroom, a visual irony I enjoyed). It seemed to deflate him a bit when I reminded him where I lived for the better part of last year. While I'm hardly an apologist, I think even moderate religion (of any denomination) does in fact pave the way for extremism, and I didn't mention my Iraqi neighbor who made us watch "Insurgent TV" (the propaganda channel often celebrating the deaths of American soldiers), my experience in the Muslim world suggests that the vast majority don't give a damn about global jihad and would prefer to have things like schools and hospitals and the ability to use them without fear of untimely death. But I remember why I love my conservative friends - I realized I hadn't had a genuine debate over policy since I left last year. I still think he's a bit nutty, but I enjoy the debates.

One of the students was lingering after class during this discussion and couldn't resist the urge to jump in. He had a hard time following in the beginning, and assumed I was the McCain supporter and interrupted to ask me why I liked McCain. The horrified look on my face set him straight (although it's not really McCain I can't stand, it's Palin being second in line to a man who's a long way from young and vital), and then he seemed painfully confused defending Barack Obama alongside me against his teacher and fellow Ethiopian. I was proud that he was willing to stand up to his teacher and assert himself - that's pretty socially unacceptable here. He probably only dared because it was an English class and I drive home the point every week that discourse is an important part of my class, but it was a small victory nonetheless.

On Thursday night (okay, afternoon), I got mildly tipsy on homemade moonshine that's been brewing in a bucket next to my toilet (covered, of course) for the last two weeks. What has my life become? FYI, the last two inches in a 20 liter bucket equals more glasses than you'd think. For my first attempt, it wasn't half-bad. I may have a future in this. You know, if bringing peace to Israel and Palestine doesn't end up working out.

Photos from the Olympic celebration last week:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2480158&l=25661&id=2001205

Wishlist:
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-powdered drink flavorings (gatorade, crystal light, etc)
-hot cocoa mix
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-dried seasonings
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-sour jelly bellys
-baking products (chocolate chips, frosting, mixes, etc)
-yarn
-books

where do you stand when all your idols have fallen?

2008-10-04T04:07:00.001-04:00

It's been a year since I signed my life away to the Peace Corps.
Tuesday will be 1 year in Ethiopia. Time flies....

The new VSO volunteers arrived, and while a strapping young Irishman
with a sexy accent was not placed in Assela, I did get Susie, a
twenty-something British woman working on English language education,
which is potentially more exciting. And not just because it's a
friend who will understand what it's like to be a white woman of
marriageable age in this country. Since we're all here for the start
of the school year at the teacher college, we can work together on
programs and get them started from the beginning. I'll get to play a
bigger role in teaching English - we're planning a film club to help
get people used to english and provoke discussion in a stress-free
environment, plus some classes for the teachers. We're also doing an
HIV/sex ed orientation for the first year students, bringing testing
to campus, and reviving an info board where students can leave
questions anonymously and we can post answers for a little passive
education. I'm excited.

Thursday ended up an unofficial holiday of sorts - the Olympic
medallists and president of Oromiya region came to Assela for a
ceremony and dedication of land for a new athletic village being built
just south of Assela. This is one of those times I love my
disproportionately famous little town, although lacking such amenities
as the cheese, customs agents, olive oil, and affordable internet
found in the big-city sites of other volunteers. Being white served
me well throughout the morning. I got caught up in the parade of
people entering the stadium (Ethiopians don't just walk into events
silently, they parade en masse - see photo link below) and instead of
getting held up with the pesky pat down searches, a cop just waved me
in (a valuable security lesson in and of itself). I was sitting in
the crowd along the edge of the stadium, but then other army guys kept
noticing me and moving me into gradually better spots. I ended up on
the field next to the stage with free reign. I guess carrying a
respectable looking camera made them think I had to be a journalist.
I also managed to get myself interviewed by ETV, the Ethiopian state
channel. I'll be famous.

(edit: On Saturday, I was in Adama for some grocery shopping and
someone recognized me from Friday night's news broadcast.)

As a result of being mistaken for someone important, I ended up within
a few feet of Tulu Darartu (of Darartu Hotel fame, Assela's equivalent
of the Ritz) and Haile Gabreselassie, Ethiopia's most famous
marathoners and former (possibly still current) world record holders.
It motivated me to not embarrass myself at the Great Ethiopian Run
next month. They had a 3000m men and women's race for some of the up
and coming athletes in the area - some of the runners were barefoot,
which befits Africa. All in all, a fun morning. I'll try to get some
photos up on facebook in the next week or so, but no promises.

If you don't believe religion should be subject to the same discourse
and challenges as other ideas, then you should probably skip the rest
of this post. This is a culmination of spending the last two years in
highly religious cultures and there are just some things I can't
handle being silent about anymore.

I was reading Dawkins in a cafe when a guy asked me what it was. The
children had been rather touchy and demanding that morning, so I was
in a "take me as I am, I won't lie to win your approval" mood. I gave
him one chance and said it was about religion. He responded, "Oh,
you're a Catholic." Not so much, so I said it was a book about how
there's probably not a god and religion has a negative impact on the
world. He gave me that awkward, pained smile people resort to when
you tell them something shocking that they're not sure how to take.
He asked if I knew about Orthodox Christianity and said I had to
believe it since I lived here. If you know me well or have ever tried
to convert me, you can probably see where this is going. I told him
that in my country, we respect people's right to hold different
beliefs. That's probably rude, but we all have a breaking point and I
can't handle being preached at like I'm incapable of reasoning for
myself. In my book, forced conversion is equally rude.

I've realized that when you move to a new culture, you have to examine
your personal values and decided what's nonnegotiable for you - what
you won't compromise to fit in. For me, it's how I feel about god and
religion and attempts to convert me. (We can discuss whether I should
keep spending time in devout countries another time, but I'd say that
beliefs are strengthened by discourse). I won't stand for having my
opinions belittled. People tell me that's insensitive, so then why is
it courageous and noble for a Christian to continue practicing in the
Muslim world, or for Catholics to worship in Orthodox areas like
Ethiopia? My rejection of his faith would be just as strong if I were
a Catholic. Stronger, even, since I'd believe he was destined to
eternal hellfire and now I just think he's wrong. I'm tired of having
my beliefs rejected when I'm not allowed to do the same.

Anyway...moving onto our religion discussion in English class. Eid
Mubarak. The holiday fell a few days earlier than expected, so
Tuesday ended up a day off and class was cancelled. Lunar holidays
can be tricky. I celebrated with a Owen Wilson mindless comedy, some
instant broccoli cheddar soup, and a few beers. I tried to have a
meeting with the HIV-postive prisoners in the afternoon, but was shut
down, despite the fact that neither I, my counterpart, my translator,
nor any of the prisoners, are Muslim. I suppose I learned my lesson
about trying to work on holidays. Alas. I also learned that Ayalew,
my translator, was just released after serving seven years for killing
a man. I knew he was an inmate working in the prison administrative
office because he spoke english and was well behaved, but I had no
idea of his initial crime. I sort of wish I still didn't know.

In sum, I'd like to reiterate that you all should read The God
Delusion. Seriously.

i'm not like all of the other girls.

2008-09-25T06:15:00.001-04:00

Last week, I was eating leftover new year's cake with Negash and
Warake (my landlord and his wife). We had a brief discussion of
how Ethiopian cakes are generally pretty bad, and I was glad they
can at least recognize the weakness, even if they're not clear how
to fix it (hint - add sugar). I'll make them a chocolate fudge
cake sometime soon and see how it goes.

Cake aside, the conversation turned down a very interesting road
after talking about the little spawns of satan - oops, I mean
children - returning to school and thus having less time to follow
me down the road. Warake, who speaks virtually no English, was in
and out cleaning up the kitchen, then sat down and said, in
Amharic, that she was tired after the new year. She said had to
make the tella (moonshine), dorro wat (holiday chicken dish), and
all the other food, then clean up the house, all while the men
(pointed look at Negash, sitting in the comfortable chair in the
living room) sat around. Negash said that the men work outside
the home while the women work in it, so I countered that he's a
teacher, and hence hasn't been working for months (summer
vacation), plus he gets evenings and weekends off. Warake, on the
other hand, works all day, every day. I said he should help and
she agreed, but he said that other people (read: men) would make
fun of him if he did housework. I said that the only opinion that
matters is his and Warake's - she agreed - but he wasn't buying.
I told them I wouldn't marry a man who refused to contribute and
the daughter agreed, so at least the younger generation is on
board. Funny how the women tend to want change before the men
do.

This week in English class we started talking about the role of
the West in development. My views can be summed up as: "Give a
man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you feed
him for a lifetime." Hence why I came here and why I don't give
money to children or beggars (besides not having enough for the
sheer number who ask). I saw a few students writing it down, so I
think a lot agreed. One brought up the Marshall Plan and I think
that's the model we ought to use - the recipient nations need to
play much larger roles, from project development to implementation
to monitoring and evaluation to accountability. No handouts and
no forced ideals - change has to come from the ground up, with
community support, to be sustainable. It might take longer, but
it'll last, and I think that's the goal we ought to keep in mind.

Someone brought up the question of whether the West really has an
interest in helping poor countries. I think there was a time
where a source of cheap resources outweighed any real humanitarian
interest, but I think we've reached a point as a globalized
society where security is a bigger priority. Rogue states are all
underdeveloped. No one's threatened by Sweden. I believe with
development comes stability, and with stability, security. We
can't expect people fighting for their next meal to think of the
future, let alone tomorrow or any notion of "greater good." But I
digress.

A couple of students suggested that it's the responsibility of the
West to fix the problems of the developing world. Bantie, the
teacher, in particular is a big proponent of the notion that the
developed world is somehow superior - he uses the term "backward"
to describe Ethiopia and Africa often. I cringe every time. I
disagree - I believe developing nations need to have a stake in
all stages, and the developed world should only come in to fill
resource gaps and provide guidance as requested. Imposed
solutions rarely (never?) work, especially in the long term. I
asked these students if they would be willing to accept my
solutions just because I'm an American. A handful said yes, then
I said that one of my solutions would probably include turning all
religious buildings into schools or hospitals and removing all
semblance of religion from laws and government. They disagreed.
I rest my case.

It turned into a rousing discussing of American foreign and
development policy - shouting, interrupting, the works. I was
proud - Ethiopians aren't generally accustomed to passionate
discourse because so much is taboo here. I explained that moments
like that illustrate why I defend my country and why I get riled
up when it's blindly criticized. I'm allowed to disagree with my
government - in print, in a public forum like this or in a
classroom, even - without fear of retribution. They don't have
that privilege but I think they're starting to grasp why I value
it so dearly.

Next week we've decided to tackle religion. I'm so excited! I'm
currently reading Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, so I'll be
bursting by the time class rolls around. Dawkins is basically the
CS Lewis of the atheist/agnostic community, so if you've ever
suggested I read Mere Christianity, I have - now I urge you to
read Dawkins. It's the sort of book that would change my life if
I weren't already on board. It's joining Middlesex on the list of
best books I've read thus far. I also finished the Harry Potter
series and I'm sorry I ever made fun of anyone who waited in line
at midnight to buy the next book. Unless you did it in costume.
Then I still reserve the right to judge you, but just a little.

Wishlist:
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-dried seasonings
-sourdough pretzel nuggets
-sour jelly bellys
-Right Guard extreme invisible solid deodorant
-baking products (chocolate chips, frosting, mixes, etc)
-yarn
-books

always a siren singing you to shipwreck.

2008-09-20T06:14:00.001-04:00

Happy New Year! We celebrated with a reggae party in Adama until the
wee hours of the morning. Not a very Ethiopian celebration - here,
the holiday is only on New Year's day, they don't do the "countdown to
midnight" aspect, but then I'm not into the church services, so it
seemed a fair compromise. The hotel that sponsored put up tents for
those too cheap to shell out for real rooms - that turned out to be
just us, but it was a good night and the tent remained waterproof
during the dawn downpour, so everybody wins. Plus there was a pool,
and we won't even discuss how much I miss water activities. Seems the
band we saw is sort of a big deal in the Ethiopian Rastafarian
community. Quite a few people from Jamaica and the US attended, but
only a handful of "real" (read: white) firenji were there, so it was a
pretty interesting experience. I have virtually no experience with
the Rasta community, but we had a great time. In true Peace Corps
fashion, we ate before the party and smuggled in our own liquor.

While waiting to meet up with Sarah and Suzi at a cafe in Adama, a
group of guys at a neighboring table attempted to attract my attention
by playing cell phone ringtone music, making noises (and laughing in
response), and finally, by taking photos of me reading quietly with
their cellphone cameras. They forgot to turn off the fake camera
noise, so it was pretty obvious. What do I have to do to be seen as a
human being? They wouldn't do that to an Ethiopian woman, so why am I
any different? I hate how angry this makes me, but things like this
are so common, I can't just write it off as a handful of rogue
individuals. It just helps to vent, so pardon the negative tone.
It's not all butterflies and rainbows over here.

After sleeping most of the day after New Year's (some things cross
oceans and continents), I went up to the fancy Darartu Hotel cafe for
the afternoon. It's no Maude's, but it's nice to have a change of
scenery and they don't do enough business to force you out if you want
to read for a few hours while only ordering tea. While there, a man
and his three kids came in for sodas and donuts and I had fond
nostalgic memories of my brother and I going with my dad to Dairy
Queen for Blizzards or Mister Misties after playing miniature golf.
I'm not sure if we ever actually did those two things in the same
evening (Adam/Dad - did we?), but in my mind, they're associated. Or
maybe I just really miss ice cream? Probably a combination thereof.

Sarah, Suzi, and I are working together on a series of HIV seminars
for the nursing students at Rift Valley College, a private school in
Adama. We had our first session this week - HIV basics and ARTs. We
had a good turnout - about 100 people for the two sessions, although a
lot were pharmacy students instead of nursing. At least we focused on
ARV drugs, so hopefully they learned something. We're offering a
certificate program for those who attend 3 of 4, so I think that was a
big incentive. Offering certificates in Ethiopia is like offering
free food and cash in the States - everyone will show up. If the
certificate might be relevant to your career, even better.

My latest group of prisoners was exceptionally interested in HIV's
possible monkey origins. They assured me humans got HIV because
someone had sex with a monkey (cue giggles). I tried to explain that
we don't really know where it first came from because of the long lag
between infection and symptoms, but they were having none of it. I
suppose if you're going to cling to strange myths, I'd rather it be
that than "HIV is an invention of the west to kill Africans" or "HIV
is in the condoms, so don't use them." There's really no harm in
being amused that a man may or may not have made sweet love to an ape.
The following day, another group got on the topic of "double-bagging"
(using two condoms, for those readers not fluent in modern sexual
colloquialisms). I managed to get that message across (don't ever do
it, unless you want two broken condoms!), so I'll call the week a
victory.

Amisha, I got your package - thanks so much! Mom, your box and letter
arrived as well. Thanks!

Wishlist:
-freeze dried mangoes
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-dried seasonings
-gummi Lifesavers
-sour jelly bellys
-baking products (chocolate chips, mixes, etc)
-yarn
-books

you've changed so much but it's still you.

2008-09-09T08:04:00.001-04:00

Happy Ethiopian New Year (11 September)! Party like it's 2001.

Last week I met with the women at the prison. Gender inequalities
persist right down to the penal system. Their compound was
haphazardly built and lacking most of the facilities that the men have
(like tables and chairs). We had our session in a glorified barn -
one real wall, the rest more of a stick fence - with most of the women
crouching on the dirt floor, breast feeding children to keep them
quiet. Conditions aside, they were just as polite and grateful as the
men, perhaps more so. Especially when we talked about how part of the
reason women are at higher risk for sexual transmission is that they
have very little control over their sexual decisions. It's one of
those things everyone knows but few actually say. My translator even
did a little double take when I said it. This remains one of the most
rewarding projects I've ever undertaken.

The following day, while back on the men's side, I stumbled across a
"Government and Civics" textbook. I only made it through the first
few pages discussing the rule of law and origins of democracy, but I
was thoroughly intrigued. I was just about to get into the
independent judiciary section when my class arrived. Pity. If I find
it again, I'm tracking down the teacher and offering my services.

23 November: The Great Ethiopian Run. Most all of the PCVs not
traveling then will be huffing and puffing our way through a 10K at
8500 feet. I think the altitude is getting to us.

Living here is turning me into a total sap. I find myself misty eyed
at every corny romantic comedy I watch. Even ones by the Farrelly
brothers. For shame.

I watched the documentary "Jesus Camp." Horrified, traumatized, and
nauseous don't even begin to cover it. I honestly had to stop it and
walk away several times. Bad flashbacks to that <a
href="http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2351095&l=b18d7&id=2001205">website</a>
I found last year. Fortunately, Harry Potter 6 and Richard Dawkins
arrived the following day, so I have more than 1000 pages of blasphemy
in which to drown myself. I threw in Fear and Loathing too, just for
good measure. I'm immensely proud to be the "enemy."

Obama...Biden 2008? Not my first choice, but hey, go Dems. Figures
the Republicans would once again (potentially) have the first woman in
an important position.

I made donuts, guava jelly, homemade ravioli, and my first layered
cake recently. FYI, donut recipes have a high yield and the "jelly
stage" takes quite some time to reach. Fortunately, it wasn't like I
had plans for any of those evenings.

Nick, Will (and Illana - love the cookbook!), Caitlin, Candace, and
Jason/Julie, thanks for making my week. I may not feel nostalgic for
icy showers and muddy roads when I'm home again, but I'll miss the
excitement of opening a mailbox to more than bills and junk mail.
Speaking of junk mail, kudos to those political staffers who bother to
send ads to the international absentee addresses. I don't now nor do
I ever intend again to live in Orange County, so I won't be voting in
the local elections, but I do appreciate the thought.

Wishlist:
-mac and cheese
-freeze dried mangoes
-Gillette Venus razor refills
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-dried seasonings
-gummi Lifesavers
-sour jelly bellys
-yarn
-books

no alarms and no surprises.

2008-08-27T09:54:00.001-04:00

Jenny, one of the VSO volunteers in Assela, started a community
library at the teacher's college. I was in her office (also the
library) last week talking to her about the private school plans for
Assela when a group of kids crowded the door, waiting for her to open
for business so they could get more books. Apparently our meeting had
run past opening time. It's the only time since arriving in this
country that anyone besides me objected to an establishment opening
late. It was pretty cute, and I don't even like kids.

Nod and I watched the Olympic men's 10,000 m finals last week in
Assela. It's pretty exciting to watch crammed into a satellite TV bar
with fifty other people, many of whom probably know or went to school
with the Ethiopian runners (who took gold and silver, with Kenya
taking third - shocking, no?). I'm still backing the Americans in
every other event, but after watching the white guys get lapped in the
10,000, I'm comfortable rooting for my temporarily adopted country in
long-distance running.

Someone at the prison filled in the holes on the path to the classroom
I use each week. It was formerly a muddy obstacle course, but now
it's relatively smooth. I felt loved.

During English class last week, we somehow found ourselves on the
topic of "dating," which proved amusing. It's a basically nonexistent
notion here, so the students were thoroughly amused. And intrigued.
Seems they'd like the opportunity to get to know people before
settling down for marriage. That's odd. One kid asked if I was
married, and when I said no, asked what I thought of the teacher.
Contrary to popular belief, Ethiopians can, in fact, blush. They had
a hard time understanding that finding a husband is not a priority for
me. Another student suggested that since women outnumber men in the
world, men should be allowed to take multiple wives so the women don't
have to go into prostitution. I explained that not being married
doesn't necessarily mean you have to sell your body to find
fulfillment in men, but he wasn't buying. To each his own, I suppose.

In a related discussion, Hiqma, my favorite student, said that she
wants to make encouraging Ethiopian women to stand up for their rights
her life's mission. I love Hiqma. Another kid wants to study
computer animation so he can make movies about Ethiopia's long
history, which I thought was interesting in a country where the
ability to use MS Word makes you an expert. Then on the walk back
home, a random guy asked if I wanted "the fucking" with him. I wish
we'd export more romantic comedies and less pornography to the
developing world.

The week before, we were talking about Ethiopia's historic sites
(specifically the churches at Lalibela) - one student asked why I
though Ethiopia formerly had advanced civilization and was now one of
the poorest countries in the world. I said that although the churches
are beautiful, all I can see when I look at things like that is the
time, labor, and resources that could have been put into schools or
hospitals or other considerations of the future generation. I think
that plays a large role in the collapse of civilizations (thanks Jared
Diamond) - expending resources on venerating gods or kings that (I
believe) could be put to better use elsewhere. Worship as you want,
but put the cement and labor towards a school. Ethiopian culture is
still very religious, but they were all silent for a bit pondering
this idea. I wonder if god would really care if you became a doctor
while worshiping him in a field instead of a gilded church. And if he
would, is that really a notion in which you can find salvation and
comfort?

We had a three car accident at the intersection by my house.
Unremarkable, except that area generally sees about ten cars per day,
so three of them attempting the turn simultaneously is pretty strange.

I just read Middlesex (Jeffrey Eugenides) and everyone should do the
same. It's in the running for best/favorite book I've read thus far
in Ethiopia, an honor I don't imagine Orientalism will achieve (still
suffering through that one). Adam, thanks for indulging my need for a
properly organized iTunes. You're my favorite brother.

Invitations are starting to go out, so howdy to any Ethiopia invitees
who've stumbled across this blog. See you in December, but feel free
to email me with any questions/concerns/etc you may have in the
meantime.

I've outsmarted the computer and am now capable of compressing and
emailing the volunteer newsletter on the excruciatingly slow dial up.
Email me if you want copies.

in defense of youth.

2008-08-21T04:33:00.001-04:00

A while back, Yahoo! published an article
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080425/ts_csm/opeacecorps;_ylt=AjH.oCVEqOGhNjRa3lG9HNys0NUE)
criticizing the youth of Peace Corps volunteers in general and their
inexperience in Ethiopia in particular. Nicholas Benequista called
for "professionalizing" the Peace Corps along the lines of the UK's
Volunteer Services Overseas (VSO) in order to better address the
increasingly complicated issues (i.e. environmental degradation or
HIV/AIDS) that now fall under the umbrella of the Peace Corps.

The Peace Corps would certainly not suffer from greater numbers of
older volunteers, but it is a fallacy to suggest that age or
experience causes or is even correlated with success in the Peace
Corps. The issues volunteers are facing in Ethiopia are incredibly
complex and, as the article pointed out, quite new - experience in the
American professional world doesn't necessarily translate to
experience combating the spread of HIV in a culture almost entirely
unlike that of the United States.

A significant portion of the young volunteers currently working in
Ethiopia have lived and worked in developing nations around the world,
including Burkina Faso, Swaziland, Tanzania, South Africa, Guinea,
Argentina, Mexico, Vietnam, and Jordan. Volunteers are currently
organizing zonal home-based care programs for HIV patients, starting
income generation projects for reformed commercial sex workers and
people living with HIV, creating job and health training programs in
prisons, reforming hospital record-keeping systems, writing
curriculums for health education in schools, and developing
eco-tourism programs to support and fund development projects.

Age is not the only measure of experience, nor is it an accurate
predictor of success. With age comes experience, perhaps, but then
with youth comes innovation. New, creative solutions don't come from
a lifetime spent in the same career; they come from a fresh pair of
eyes looking at a situation from a new angle. Some of the world's
most successful companies (including, incidentally, Benequista's
employer, Yahoo! and its chief rival, Google) were founded by young
professionals who looked at a blossoming industry and saw gaps they
could fill. Young volunteers look at development in the same way -
connecting and combining resources when new ones can't be afforded,
challenging social practices that perpetuate problems. Today's
twenty-somethings were raised to believe they can do and be anything -
is that really an attitude that doesn't have a valuable place in
development?

There is a practical reason the Peace Corps attracts "youthful zeal" -
it is a volunteer agency. Volunteers live on no more than three to
four dollars a day, often in conditions unfathomable to the average
American, and earn less than $2,500 a year for their efforts. For
recent college graduates, the experience outweighs the meager pay, but
for older professionals, it is difficult to walk away from a five- or
six-digit salary for a couple of years in a developing nation. The
problems faced by Ethiopia (and other Peace Corps countries) are
complex and deep-rooted. It will take passionate, dedicated
individuals who can "afford" two years away from the comforts of the
Western world to make lasting contributions. They should be applauded
for taking on a task most wouldn't even consider, not criticized by
those who've never walked in their shoes.

These young Peace Corps volunteers, the vast majority of them female,
are working in a culture that values youth and masculinity above all
else. Women don't question their husbands and children never
challenge their elders. These women face near-constant sexual
harassment in their communities and even their workplaces. Many
struggle to work with counterparts who are reluctant to take their
ideas seriously and to genuinely work with them. Yet they're still
there, striving every day to be seen as individuals with something to
contribute. If your boss commented on your body, your bus driver
tried to grab your breast, and children threw stones at you every day,
would you persist in your work? They do. It would be absurd to
contend that they were incompetent by virtue of their sex - is it
acceptable to suggest the same because of their age?

While the Peace Corps would certainly not be harmed by an increase in
older volunteers, it would be remiss to abandon the passionate young
people who have formed its heart and soul for the past forty years.
The Peace Corps applicant pool isn't exactly overflowing with older
professionals - should the young really be turned away?

living well is the best revenge.

2008-08-15T07:49:00.001-04:00

First sessions with the prisoners were great. They made a captive,
curious audience, even without an armed guard in sight. The following
day, a group were convoying (by foot) into town and those in my class
said hi to me. I felt loved. They had some entertaining questions:
"If a person with HIV uses a condom and throws it away, then a chicken
eats it (not out of the questions - there are no garbage services here
and the chickens run free), will you get HIV from the eggs?" Good
times all around.

Later that first day, I discussed HIV prevention with my English class
and I was betam (very) proud when two of them figured out why women
are at higher risk for HIV transmission. (If you don't know, you
should write me a letter and I'll explain it to you.) One of the guys
asked if masturbation was bad for you. I said it was sex with someone
you love. Well, I think Woody Allen said it first, but they had no
way of knowing. Half the class didn't know what it was (or pretended
not to, it's still pretty taboo here), so it resulted in a
particularly entertaining episode of charades. My life is absurd
sometimes.

Fun Fact: It takes approximately 4 hours to download a 52.8 MB file on
a dial-up internet connection. I don't want to talk about it.

re: Beijing '08 - go USA!

Wishlist:
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Gillette Venus razor refills
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-gummi Lifesavers
-yarn
-books

i've got nothing to do today but smile.

2008-08-08T07:32:00.001-04:00

Last week, my english class and I had a free discussion period. They
asked about US-Iranian relations, climate change, the undemocratic
nature of the UN, race relations in the US, and post-war Iraq and
Afghanistan, among other things. They may have never heard of
censorship, but they're better informed than Americans with
near-constant access to television, internet, and print news. That
saddens me.

My prison education program starts next week - twice weekly small
group discussions until we get through everyone. This will keep me
occupied for quite some time. The prisoners are prepping the land
while we wait for the grant to be dispersed - they're so excited they
don't need any prodding at all. Either that, or the administration's
so excited that the free labor is motivated by proxy. I don't ask too
many questions.

Biofarm hired a new education director (not actually his title, but
definitely his job) to oversee the development of schools in Mekele
and Assela. He's an Irish man (a conspiracy to remind me of a certain
Irish volunteer who's no longer eating my brownies...), which means
he's blessed with a western work ethic and understands my insatiable
desire to start now, instead of next week. We're in the market for
funds to build a network of schools in Assela, Mekele, and hopefully
in the southern Sudan as well. The primary school will be in a
converted existing building and should open in the fall, while the
secondary school will be built on the lake near the Biopark. From
there, we're hoping to use the school as a springboard to start
ecotourism projects and get the community to use the space. Biofarm
offered me a job overseeing the school when I finish PC, which made me
feel good about myself even if I don't have a serious interest in
staying on in Ethiopia after I finish Peace Corps.

My landlord fired another maid while I was on vacation, lettuce and
corn arrived in the market, and I think it might snow. I'm adapting
to the new, lonelier life here. On the upside, my Amharic is
improving and I'm saving money on phone minutes.

photos from the northern circuit:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2574749&l=1501d&id=2001205

Wishlist:
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Gillette Venus razor refills
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-gummi Lifesavers
-yarn
-books

clever, not beautiful.

2008-07-23T07:36:00.001-04:00

After 10 days in northern Ethiopia, I've decided that this country,
despite some transportation and culinary flaws, is beautiful. Of
course, this is the rainy season and everything is lush and green, but
I think my ability to love it while wading through ankle deep mud is a
testament to its beauty. I had my first visitor, the lovely Alana,
and we tore up the historic circuit, Gator-style. This included not
one, but two, hikes up muddy mountains in flip-flops and a nearly-lost
shoe in a deep puddle the local shepherd boy was kind enough to point
out as a breeding ground for malaria mosquitoes before retrieving the
shoes. For a price, of course.

The inappropriately named Bahir Dar ("house of the sea") on the shores
of Lake Tana is a charming city with good food, dancing, and palm
tree-lined boulevards. Although the last bunch of volunteers to go up
there got robbed on three separate occasions and hence holds a grudge,
I'm in love. I'll be back. I impressed (amused?) the clientele of a
local "asmari beyt" (traditional dance house) by joining in the
dances. Ethiopian traditional dancing involves primarily
shoulder-shaking, which is humorous for any white person, but the
sight of Levi, the giant linebacker, was almost too much. Alana and I
would have had the hottest YouTube video since the stoned UF
management professor, but for our lack of a camera and YouTube's being
blocked in this country. Alas.

We celebrated Steph's birthday, then headed to gorgeous Gondar,
perhaps my favorite city in Ethiopia thus far. Castles, a trek to the
Simien mountains to see the endemic gelada baboon, and the fabulous
Tara Center, an animal-rescuing/poverty-reducing NGO that I wish
desperately had a branch in Assela. We played with dogs who actually
love people and lovable, if mischievous, monkeys (photos coming soon)
while being wildly jealous of the three PCVs who actually live there.
I was minutes away from adopting Lulu, a hyperactive little brown
puppy who stood up to the big dogs even though she was half their
size. Alas, I had no means of getting her back to Assela, but I'm
keeping an open mind. A monkey farted in my face and attempted to
remove my clothes, which is always amusing. I'm now fully committed
to going to Rwanda to see the gorillas - anyone want to join? In
another life, I'd most certainly have been Jane Goodall.

Lalibela turned out to be a bit of an overpriced disappointment, but
we still had a good time crawling through the towers and tunnels of
the church complexes. Orthodox Christianity continues to frighten me.
It's the icons. We met a German and Italian guy who'd just finished
a few years working in Kenya and were in the process of driving from
Nairobi to Italy. After a night of tej (honey wine), we discovered
the bus we planned to take neglected to show up, so we rode in the
back of their ancient Land Cruiser, thus cutting our travel time in
half. They had little patience for the ubiquitous livestock in the
road, which made for a thoroughly amusing trip. We spent the night in
Debre Tabor, stuffed our faces, then headed back to Bahir Dar, a trip
covering half the distance but taking twice the time of the day before
due to the dilapidated bus. Can't win 'em all, I suppose.

After nine months, I'm starting to actually like (as opposed to just
tolerate) Ethiopian food. Just shiro wat so far (chickpea puree), but
it's a start. Perhaps there's hope for me after all.

I read The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J Maarten Troost - perhaps one of
the funniest writers ever. I want to be him. If I wrote a book about
living abroad, I would want it compared to his. I also read Collapse,
Jared Diamond's sequel to Guns, Germs, and Steel, and although he's as
long-winded-but-thorough as ever, I respect a man who lists religion
as a major reason societies make irrational decisions and slips not
one but two subtle critiques of US family planning policy abroad (or
lack thereof) into a chapter about hope for the future.

I'm currently back in Addis, saying goodbye to my site buddy, Candace,
who's leaving to take a job as a flight attendant with Emirates
Airlines in Dubai. Two other volunteers also left this week, one also
from my area, so it's been a rough week for the Peace Corps and me in
particular. I suppose I expected PC to be a lonely and isolated two
years, but after 9 months of being pleasantly surprised with my
proximity to other volunteers, it's hard to return to that mindset.
Hamda allah for knitting, I suppose.

Jason, Dad, and Mom, got your mail - thanks!

Wishlist:
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Gillette Venus razor refills
-original cheddar goldfish crackers
-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix
-non-refrigerated cheese products
-yarn
-books

for it irony, for the thrill of it, for everything that mattered.

2008-07-09T03:58:00.000-04:00

Week two of language class: Censorship. Once I explained the term to
everyone (teacher included) - a fact that I think says more than the
discussion ever could - we had a lively discussions, much of it
focused on the famine and former Derg government. I won't go into
more detail, but read the article I linked to in my previous post.

Week three: Comprehensive v abstinence only sex ed. Everyone should
be well aware of my feelings on this matter, so suffice it to say that
if certain policy makers had consulted much of the world before
implementing PEPFAR, we'd be looking at a very different (and much
more effective) HIV-prevention program on this continent. Alas.

The prison program is off to a good start - thanks to the health
center, testing is in progress and everyone is surprisingly eager to
volunteer for testing. I'm working on a proposal to fund vegetable
farming and chicken coops for the HIV-positive prisoners - nutritional
support, income generation, and job training. Next month, we'll start
weekly small-group discussion classes, which will hopefully eventually
expand into a peer education program, but that's tricky since it's
such a transient population. Even if they're just bringing prevention
education back to their hometowns, that's progress.

I'm off to Bahir Dar, Gonder, and Lalibela for the next 10 days - back
in Assela 20 July. I'll be taking my first domestic Ethiopian
Airlines flight. Wish me luck. Although, given that Ethiopia is the
most dangerous place in the world to ride in a car, I'm looking
forward to my first peaceful transport experience in 9 months.

24 is only getting more stressful. I read Tucker Max's I Hope They
Serve Beer in Hell and almost peed myself. Degrading, offensive, but
oh-so-hilarious. Wouldn't recommend it for fathers though.

I learned to make cornmeal pancakes, which puts me halfway to arepas,
one of my favorite foods. Now all I need is a regular supply of
cheese. I also successfully had pants made in Assela, thus solving my
increasingly hole-y and baggy pants problem. Victory.

Ruby, thanks for the excellent reading material!

Wishlist:
-Vanilla frosting
-Gummi LIfesavers
-Non-refrigerated cheese products
-Original cheddar goldfish crackers
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Dried fruit
-Right Guard extreme stick deodorant
-Gillette Venus razor blade refills
-Yarn
-Books

food for thought.

2008-07-03T06:18:00.001-04:00

http://www.nationmedia.com/eastafrican/current/Opinion/oped300620087.htm

just because i couldn't say it doesn't make me a liar.

2008-06-30T05:45:00.001-04:00

Barack '08! And I found broccoli again, twice in one month. To put
that in perspective, it's a bit like finding a hundred dollar bill in
the gutter...twice. And since I'm probably the only person in the
country, and definitely the only one in the greater Rift Valley area
who gives a damn about broccoli, it's dirt cheap. Unlike the
cauliflower, which was 12 birr/head. I've never watched inflation
happen before my eyes like this. I did notice that US postage
increased - thanks to everyone who loves me that 4 extra cents.

After a crappy day involving both screaming children and the town
lunatic chasing me down the road while raving about what a good lay I
was (as bystanders just laughed), I went to a night school english
class run by a former student of my Amharic tutor. What a day
brightener. The students were nervous to practice with a native
speaker, but you could see how excited they were that I was there.
One guy thanked me for being there, saying that there are big
populations of Ethiopians in America and everyone he knows wants to
go there, but I'm the only American in Ethiopia. I felt loved, and in
the good way, not the sex object way that is the norm here. I'm
starting them on a weekly debate club, which should provide fodder for
an endless supply of amusing anecdotes.

Week 1: "Is it easier to be a man or a woman in Ethiopia?" One girl
got riled up and passionately explained how even if women are going to
school and wearing pants these days, she's still expected to come home
and do all the chores while her brother keeps the couch warm in front
of the television. Then one of the guys used the word 'revolution'
unprovoked, and I was smitten. This is going to be great.

A Swiss organization toured the Assela Biofarm last week, and I met
this amazing American woman who's on their board but also runs an
educational exchange in Mongolia. Perhaps something to do in that
lull between my close of service here and grad school eight months
later... She also spoke German and is basically my hero, thus
bringing me closer to committing to applying for a year-long
fellowship in Germany at some point in the near future.

Wednesday through Friday last week, I went to Welenchiti to
theoretically break ground on Sinead's vegetable farm for reformed
commercial sex workers. TIA. Like Eeyore, I managed to bring the
grey cloud that perpetually hangs over Assela to a desert town that's
seen three days of rain in the last month. It rained all three days I
was there, someone attempted to steal our land, no one told us to
plough, and the trainers showed up late for the program. Needless to
say, we weren't as productive as we'd hoped. For some reason, after 9
months in Ethiopia, that still frustrates us. But the land is
ploughed and ownership is clear now, so hopefully we'll plant later
this week. We also watched the movie North Country, which was great,
but not such a good idea for Ethiopia because it puts you in a sort of
zero tolerance for harassment mood.

Edit: Tuesday we were scheduled to plant, but it seems in desert
towns, you have to plant the day after it rains. It didn't rain all
weekend in Welenchiti and the phone network was down, so SInead
couldn't call to tell me not to come, so I showed up in Welenchiti
only to find no one at the land. Fortunately, the town is tiny and
Sinead's the only white person to have ever lived there, so everyone
(when they weren't confusing me with her) could tell me she was back
at her house.

I read David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim and had
to restrain myself from laughing hysterically in public. I was a mess
reading "Nuit of the Living Dead" in my house - "I was on the front
porch, drowning a mouse in a bucket when this van pulled up, which was
strange." Anyone wanted to send some more Sedaris my way, I'd be
eternally grateful.

Perhaps the most awkward moment of my life: Gizaw, my 50-something
counterpart at Alliance for Development, after the lengthy Amharic
greeting process, asked, "What are sex toys?" Somehow, he'd gotten
his hands on an HIV prevention brochure printed in the US that, among
other things, urged you not to share your sex toys, and if you do, use
a fresh condom each time (good advice, in case you were concerned).
These things aren't available in Ethiopia (at least not as far as I
know), so he was utterly baffled even after I explained the general
notion. He didn't get why people would have them, which led us into
the touchy subject of female masturbation. I decided that was
probably traumatizing enough and he wasn't ready for discussions of
homosexuality. He's already appalled that I don't go to church, have
divorced parents, and have no immediate plans for marriage, so one
step at a time. On the upside, I now feel confident in my ability to
discuss any aspect of HIV and sex with any person - bring on the
priests.

Thanks to the wonders of rental VCDs (a technology that completely
bypassed the United States in our transition from VHS to DVD), I've
started watching 24. I don't understand how people handled watching
it with a week delay between episodes. But rentals are 1 birr each
(about ten cents), so at least I'll stay more or less up to date on
film and television while I'm here.

I went to Addis and now have two balls of mozzarella cheese and black
olives to my name. Life is good.

Pouya, Gordon, Krzysztof, Kimberly, Nick, WIll, Claire, Mom, and
Grandma, got your mail - thanks!

Wishlist:
-Vanilla frosting
-Gummi LIfesavers
-Non-refrigerated cheese products
-Original cheddar goldfish crackers
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Dried fruit
-Low rise athletic socks!
-Right Guard extreme stick deodorant
-Yarn
-Books

an open letter to departing PCVs.

2008-06-06T08:29:00.002-04:00

Summer is upon us, which means a large number of people are packing their bags for the Peace Corps. If you're anything like me, you've been googling Peace Corps blogs for a while now, so I figured I'd offer my thoughts (and a few packing ideas). Granted, I'm in Ethiopia, so your experience will probably differ drastically, but it's the spirit that counts.

Training sucks. It's hard, it moves excruciatingly slowly, and you'll find yourself wondering why on earth you signed up for this torture. Living with a host family is the hardest part. If you're a recent college grad, you're at least a few years removed from your mother force-feeding you at every meal and imposing an early curfew. If you're older, it's been even longer since you didn't have control of your daily activities. Write yourself a letter about why you joined the Peace Corps and mail it with your favorite candy right before you leave - depending on the quality of your country's postal service, it'll arrive sometime during training and will remind you what you're doing there (and give you a chance to eat some feelings). Push through - it's only three months of a 27-month commitment and it'll be over before you know it. You'll eventually even find yourself nostalgic for the fun you had in training and the relationship you formed with your family.

Prepare yourself for massive amounts of solitude. You'll soon learn (if you haven't already) that being alone is not the same as being lonely. In time, you'll probably come to crave that solitude - you'll be on display every moment of every day you leave your house. Say goodbye to the ability to be invisible. Every move you make will fascinate those around you - buying groceries, speaking the language, riding local transport - it's okay to not always find that quaintly amusing. It is, in fact, annoying sometimes. You're only human. Take time for yourself.

On the topic of solitude, bring hobbies. With that much alone time comes serious introspection - when you have enough time to analyze every word of a letter from home, you better have something with which to distract yourself or you'll go 'round the bend the first month at site. Pick at least one or two that can be done by candlelight - even if you have electricity, it probably won't be that reliable. Knitting is becoming increasingly hip and results in nifty hand-made gifts for everyone you know - I'd highly recommend it.

"Integration" means fitting the person you are into the context of your host country, not becoming that culture. You hold certain values that are probably foreign to your host country - don't feel you have to sacrifice those to fully integrate. You wouldn't change yourself to make someone like you back home, so don't feel you should in order to better "fit in" at your site. Think of it as a blind date - what would you willingly gloss over to make a good impression, and what's a deal-breaker for you? It's okay not to love all the food or to be annoyed by the children sometimes or to just want to spend the day curled up writing letters home. That doesn't make you a bad volunteer - in fact, it probably makes you a more emotionally stable one. I'm sure you could make a list of dozens of things you don't like about America - why would another country suddenly be perfect? On the other hand, some of your thoughts may be better kept silent or at least artfully vague (sex and religion?) until you've formed relationships with people.

In much of the world, it's incredibly difficult to be a woman (especially a young one). Sexual harassment, endless discussions of your marital status, and general fascination at your independence will quickly get old for you, but not for your community. Chance are, in your country, women your age do not live alone, are not accepted in society unless married, and rarely have the kind of independence you take for granted. Male coworkers will probably find you intimidating or have a hard time treating you as an equal. Stand up for yourself, but be patient with them. On the bright side, women with whom you work will find you inspirational.

If you don't already find poop funny or feel comfortable talking about your bowel movements in detail, rent a few toilet comedies now or hang around a preschool and get over it. Poop will dominate much of your conversations with other volunteers (along with sex and foods you're craving). If you can't describe your excrement in vivid detail, how will the medical officer ever know what's wrong with you?

If, like most volunteers, you write letters home, you'll quickly learn some valuable lessons about your friendships. People will surprise you, both with their commitment to write and their lack thereof. It's okay to be angry, but try to focus on the positives and let people go when their silence demands it.

Be patient. The American work ethic is unlike anywhere else in the world. In your eyes, you only have two years to achieve as much as possible, but for the people with whom you work, other issues will often take priority. Keep at it and don't let false starts get you down. Pursue multiple projects so you always have a fallback when one inevitably stagnates for a time. In Africa, at least, nothing starts on time, so carry a book and it'll make the wait more bearable.

Don't be afraid to cry. Peace Corps is emotionally draining - let it out. Talk to other volunteers. Bake cookies together (or just eat the dough). You're all in the same boat, so find comfort in each other. Two years is a long time. It's overwhelming sometimes, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

People often ask if I'm having "fun" in Ethiopia. Most days, the experience is stressful and frustrating. It's not "fun" in a day-at-Disneyworld sense of the word, but in the "this is the most challenging thing I've ever done and I can see myself growing every day" sense. Life here is more extreme than anything I've known. The mountain is bigger, the rains more dramatic, the colors brighter, the sun hotter, and yes, the bugs are bigger and creepier. The disappointments hurt more, but the good moments take my breath away. Life is rarely neutral or 'okay,' and it can switch from heartbreaking to soaring in a second. I don't think you ever really get used to it, but you do come to enjoy the ride.

And for the practical...

1. Don't eat all the chocolate in your first care package in one sitting. You're going to anyway, but don't say I didn't warn you. Eventually you'll learn to savor.

2. Resist the urge to compare yourself to other volunteers. Someone will always be better at the language or bubblier and more loved by their host family or will be assigned a more motivated counterpart or prettier site. Someone's also jealous of you. Share things - ideas, advice, lessons, care packages. These people will be your strongest support network.

3. The need to refrigerate cheese is a purely Western fantasy. Sealed packages of cheese (like grocery store bricks of cheddar, mozzarella, etc), dried Parmesan, Baby Bell, Laughing Cow, Kraft singles, spray cheese, etc will all survive a trip through the mail. Some look a bit worse for the wear, but I promise, it's still edible.

4. If you don't look like your local community, the novelty will never wear off. Try to keep a sense of humor - it helps a lot.

5. Always carry toilet paper and a book. Duct tape is optional, but often helpful. A mountaineering friend taught me to wrap a foot or so around a pen so you always have a bit without having to carry an entire roll.

6. Give the local food some time to grow on you. It took me nine months to tolerate it, a year and a half to truly like it. I've been back a year and I still crave it now.

7. Two-thirds of your job is sharing cultures. Try to remember that when your projects are stalled or something falls apart.

8. Save the 'Cultural Adjustment Curve' handout you get in training. We all think we're going to be special and different, but no one ever is. Just as the low points are predictable, so are the highs. You'll bounce back.

Packing:
-Teflon fry pan - you'll probably have one burner to cook on, and it's convenient to be able to cook multiple things without having to stop and soak a crusty pan.
-A good pillow
-Sharp knife and vegetable peeler
-Music (with speakers! Nothing cures a rough day like a karaoke dance party in your living room)
-Measuring cups and spoons - even if you don't bake yet, this is a great time to learn
-Board games/sporting equipment - you'll develop a lot of pent-up energy during training, so it's nice to have a release, something to do on the weekends, and something to eventually teach the neighborhood children
-Headlamp with rechargeable batteries (and rechargeable batteries for everything - local ones will probably be weak, and it's unlikely your community has a safe way to dispose of them)
-DVDs or an external HD of movies and TV shows (with or without a laptop - if you don't have one, someone around you will, and movie sleepovers will bring you much joy)
-Half the clothes you think you'll need. Handwashing is a drag. You're going to wear the same outfit for days on end. Save the luggage space for books.

Survive this, and you're ready for anything. Good luck!

i guess it rains down in africa.

2008-06-02T07:48:00.001-04:00

Pardon the almost-certainly nauseatingly bubbly idealism...it's been a
good (couple of) weeks. I even had broccoli and a vegetable woman in
the market is now bringing cauliflower and lettuce to Assela, saving
us trips to Adama. On the downside, we seem to alternate days with
and without electricity, hence the long delay in posts.

Our current record-longest dry spell is approximately 12 hours. Two
hours away, in Welenchiti, is a desert that's seen two days of rain in
the last two weeks. A few thousand feet of altitude makes all the
difference. Speaking of altitude, I had my first "I live here and am
used to the lack of oxygen" moment during a tour of the Assela Biofarm
with a group of NGO and AU representatives. As we were hiking up a
steep hill of terraced gardens, a breathless American asked about the
altitude and I realized I'd stopped noticing. Well, only while
walking - I still can't run to save my life.

On the topic of that tour, Biofarm is an Ethiopian NGO that does
research in sustainable agriculture and trains farmers in low-cost,
eco-friendly, organic techniques. They have eight sites around
Ethiopia, including a massive one in Assela, all of which are powered
by biogas (derived from the fermenting excrement of a dozen cows or
so). I'm just bursting with excitement about working with them - they
espouse a well-rounded approach, adding some conservation, health
education, and family planning into farm training (because what's the
point of growing extra food for profit if you still have too many
mouths to feed?). They run a kindergarten and college (degrees in
natural resource management and environmental science) in Addis and
are basically my dream work partner. The director is a jolly
energetic man who is almost as excited as we are to work with Peace
Corps volunteers and is incredibly supportive of even our most
outlandish pipe dream proposals. It's so nice to feel productive and
useful at last!

I'm working with Biofarm Addis to develop a partnership with UF (the
Gator Nation is everywhere...) and create a eco-tourism branch of the
organization to increase publicity and provide some income to fund
start-up grants for farmers and other groups. In Assela, I'll be
working on a resource library and establishing an information-sharing
network with the other sites. Since their primary purpose in life is
training people in sustainable farming, I'll be trying to partner them
with a variety of groups for income generation - PLWHAs (see below),
commercial sex workers, and prisoners, for starters. So excited I
could soil myself.

When it rains, it pours (literally and metaphorically). The PLWHA
group I met with months ago about income generation has woken back up
and things are suddenly moving forward again. A group of commercial
sex workers has joined, but since giving up that work is a
prerequisite for membership, starting IG projects has become more
urgent. They were recently evicted from their office (since these
groups rarely have money, any land or facility they use is usually
gifted to them by the municipality, who can reclaim it at their
pleasure), so while a VSO volunteer and I attempt to guilt the local
government into donating some new, more permanent land, the members
are preparing budgets for start up costs so we can apply for grants.
I think we'll start with chicken-raising (eggs mainly, but also meat)
since it's low-risk and has been extremely successful with other
groups. If we can get the money and/or land, we want to expand to
cows and vegetable gardening (with help from Biofarm, naturally) for
both nutritional support and profit.

I just stumbled across a new English Language school in Assela that's
looking to start interactive teaching (as opposed to the strictly
lecture-based style prevalent in Ethiopia), so that'll be a fun
project too.

It's such a refreshing feeling to have enough going on in my work to
warrant scheduling in advance. I'd almost forgotten how to say, "No,
I can't, I already have something that day."

At long last, photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2480158&l=25661&id=2001205

Sarah and Mary Ann, thanks for the packages!

3500 miles away. what would you change if you could?

2008-05-11T03:33:00.001-04:00

Happy (belated) birthday to me...

Being white in small town Africa is like what I imagine it would be to
be born either stunningly beautiful or horribly disfigured. Everyone
makes no effort to disguise their blatant staring, whispering,
pointing, laughing in an unabashed way that suggests that, to
compensate for your striking appearance, you had been denied the
faculties of seeing and hearing. Some days this is ceaselessly
amusing, other days it makes you want to hide in your house and read
Russian literature.

In-service training was long, but it was fabulous to see the other
volunteers and swap stories. The hot showers were great, but we were
all excited to get back to site by the end - talking to other people
about work and life gave us new motivation to push past the
difficulties of working in a bureaucratic system and start the new
projects we all inspired in each other. I've been riding a new high
back at site trying to get projects off the ground. A group of us
also watched the first three seasons of Grey's Anatomy in their
entirety, and I'd like to extend my apologies for ridiculing fans of
the show - it's great. If anyone wanted to burn the fourth season and
mail it this way, I wouldn't object...

Over the course of a three-day weekend in Addis producing our new
volunteer newsletter, I managed to almost lose my camera, lose and
recover my flash drive (after a two week delay, hence the long hiatus
in blog posts), and permanently lose my sunglasses. But, I also
discovered great pizza and salads and went to the movie theater, so
all was not lost.

We (half the Rift Valley zone) spent Ethiopian Easter weekend in
Harar, the fourth holiest site in Islam, which seemed a fitting choice
for an Orthodox holiday weekend. Since I'm technically banned by
virtue of my gender and heathen status from the top two, I think this
is the best I can do for now. The actual site is a small shrine to a
famous imam, a bit disappointing visually if you lack faith, but we've
now made the pilgrimage popular among those who can't afford Mecca.
The city is very different from the rest of Ethiopia - it's
predominantly Muslim, and the historic walled section feels more like
Jerusalem or Chefchaoen (Morocco) than Africa proper. There's a
definite Arab flair to the town, most obviously seen in fetira, the
delicious Yemeni bread (and of course, the occasional 'salam alekum').

We spent the weekend posing as Slovakian missionaries (Slovakian to
account for the whiteness but avoid the rich American stereotype, and
missionaries to stave off the creepy men). Sinead and I had a
detailed conversation with a police officer about Bratislava
(fortunately I spent two days there once) and how the breakup of
Czechoslovakia was like Ethiopia and Eritrea. On our tour of the
Harar Brewery (the best of the Ethiopian beers), we discovered that
the factory had been built with help from the Czechoslovak government
under the Derg, which explains why everyone had heard of our adopted
country.

Harar's most famous tourist attraction (at least for infidels) is the
quasi-tame hyenas that gather on the edge of town every night for
feeding. A group of "hyena men" know each hyena by name and feed them
strips of raw meat from their mouths and hands. Of course, they
encourage the tourists to join in the fun. I've now communed with
hyenas, and I must say, for such an absurd-looking creature, they're
adorable.

One of the VSO volunteers left yesterday, so we combined my birthday
with her going away party for a gluttonous feast last week. We
introduced the teacher's college language department to the wonders of
chocolate fudge cake, American style. Eshetu, my tutor, was so
enamored of it that he scraped the pan clean. That's what I call
sharing cultures. The two-year-old girl at the party, however, wanted
nothing to do with the gummi worm garnish. She wouldn't even let it
touch her cake. I guess some things can't cross borders.

Fun Amharic fact: when you describe something pretty, small, or you
feel a fondness for, you use the feminine. If it's big, strong, or
anything else, you use the masculine. If something is both (like a
big, pretty house), masculine prevails. In Ethiopia, women are
expected to defer to men in all situations. I should have been a
psycholinguist. This fascinates me. On a related note, Ethiopia is
always feminine because Ethiopians love their country.

It seems the whispers of drought were premature (at least for Assela)
- it's been raining almost constantly for a week and the temperature
has dropped some twenty degrees. Good thing I've been knitting those
scarves. This is putting a strain on my supply of clean clothes,
however, since the rain hasn't stopped long enough for them to dry.
My living room (and by living room, I mean entire house) is covered in
wet clothes.

Photos: coming soon.

Matt, Will, Kimberly, Stephanie, J^2, Caitlin, Dad, Grandma, Mom, and
Rhonda, thanks for the recent influx of postal love. Nothing like
checking your PO box after a three week absence - I love you all!

Wishlist:
-Books (especially):
...Martin Amis, The Second Plane, other novels
...David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
...Gary Shteyngart, Absurdistan
...Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker
...Peter George, Red Alert
...Aldous Huxley, Eyeless in Gaza
-Yarn
-usual snacky foods

i really live in africa.

2008-04-12T05:38:00.001-04:00

I saw a hippo. In the wild, yawning in a river against the sunset. Wow.

they'll name a city after us (then say it's all our fault).

2008-04-03T04:45:00.000-04:00

On the bus home from Adama last weekend, I sat with this jolly old
Ethiopian man named Mesatu who works as an economist for a Texas A&M
research project. He had a pretty solid grasp of English, so we had
an interesting hour and a half discussion of Ethiopia, America, and
the world. He asked me who I supported in the election - Barack or
Hilary. This is a pretty standard question - for most Ethiopians,
McCain and the Republicans don't really come up. I suppose most of
their experience is with left-leaning development workers, but it's
still amusing to me. He was at least familiar with McCain and said he
would have supported him "because he's a hero" if not for his
continued support of the Iraq war.

Ethiopians I've talked to about the US election generally back Hilary,
which is interesting to me since I've read a lot of editorials about
how the third world would support a candidate who looks like them.
Not so here - they loved Bill and associate Hilary with his triumphant
return to the world stage.

Like most Ethiopians who speak English, it turns out he was taught by
a Peace Corps volunteer back in the 1960s. She was black, and he went
on for a while about how pretty she was and how it was the first time
he learned that Americans came in "black." It never fails to amaze me
how many people's lives were touched by PCVs and how many still
remember their volunteer vividly. They ask if we know "Bob" or
"Ashley" - usually forgetting that I'm at least twenty years younger
than them and their volunteer is probably older than my parents by
now. But still, it's exciting to be in a place where Peace Corps has
such a long and respected history. Certainly makes our job easier.

As befits any conversation with an Ethiopian, we eventually turned to
marriage and children, but unlike a lot of Ethiopians, he wasn't
appalled that I had reached the ripe old age of 22 without husband.
(He did, however, remain shocked that I shop, cook, and clean all by
myself.) He asked how many kids I wanted and was impressed with my
desire for two. He said he had five, but that it was too many because
he was old now and still had two at home. I told him my brother,
step-sister, and I were all in college (well, in a few more months) or
graduated, and my dad had retired since we were on our own and no
longer demanded constant feeding. He was impressed, and more than a
little jealous, I think. Chances are, however, his kids will learn
from him and cut back, so I suppose learning from experience is more
effective than lectures. Fond memories of Simret, my host mom in
Woliso, who said two was bakka (enough!).

Fun fact about Assela - turns out there's a prison on the road behind
my house. Neat. Maybe I'll do some peer education and HIV talk with
the prisoners - starting over after prison is a great time to initiate
behavior change. Plus, I suppose it's always better to have prisoners
on your side in case they escape, right?

Strawberries magically came back into season, as did grapes. Of
course, they're not in Assela, but they are in Adama. Our fruit
selection has virtually doubled in a week. Strawberries and cream
oatmeal! Is it sad that Sarah and I attracted a crowd in Adama when
she yelped and spotted grapes across the road? The guy selling them
was excited that we noticed - otherwise, it looked like he hadn't had
any customers all day.

Sunday, Eshetu (my tutor) and I had a make up session that turned into
a hilarious discussion of cultural standards of beauty. We started
with the part of the body vocabulary lesson, which led into what those
features mean in Ethiopia. As it turns out, women try to bleach their
skin, draw their eyebrows thicker, and girls wear extra pants to make
their butt bigger. "Fat" is a compliment here (but only because thin
usually means sick). He was amazed to discover that American women
lay in tanning beds to darken their skin and will risk starvation to
lose weight. This led into a discussion of the phrase "the grass is
always greener" and more giggles.

In Ethiopia, if you want to hint to a man that he's probably not the
father of his kids, you tell him the baby has his shoulders - since
you can't really see your own shoulders, it's a subtle way of saying
there's no facial resemblance. Eshetu thought it was funny that
identifying bastard children is easier in the West since we have
recessive hair and eye colors that make it even more obvious. We also
swapped fables about the creation of man - Amharas (the dominant
ethnic group in Ethiopia) say that god first made white men, but
forgot to fire the clay, then made the Somalis and Sudanese but left
them in too long and burned them, and finally made the Ethiopians just
right. I responded with "you always make a rough draft before a
masterpiece, that's why men came before women." Amharic class is
always a good time - it's fun to swap cultural oddities with someone
who understands colloquialisms. He's also amused by the difference
between pants in the states and pants in England. We sometimes
regress towards a little toilet humor, but in general, we're learning
a lot. Plus, he appreciates my grammatical fanaticism, so we're
getting along splendidly.

This week, I started co-teaching English at the teacher's college. My
partner teacher is a blind woman named Freihewot (which in and of
itself is fascinating in a country with no ADA legislation and
treacherous streets for the sighted). I'll be leading
discussion/conversation sections with the students. For my first
class, I picked abstinence only vs. comprehensive sex education, based
on a US News article (thanks Stephanie!). I felt it was appropriate
for an HIV worker in Africa. They were a little shy to speak and not
used to an American accent (I think I'm the first American working at
the college in quite a few years), but those who came out of their
shells unanimously defended comprehensive sex-ed. Take that,
PEPFAR/Global Gag Rule! Now the rest of the department is clamoring
to get me into their classes too, so I'm feeling quite loved.

I'm off to Sodere (the hot springs town) for two weeks of in-service
training (and swimming!). Figures - just as I'm bombarded with people
wanting to work with me, I leave. We've got a few days in Addis for
dinner at the embassy, bingeing on good food, and partying for
Sinead's birthday. I'm not sure I'll have internet access while I'm
there, so you may not hear from me until I get back to Assela April
19. Then I'll be starting my garden, so that'll probably be amusing
as the neighbors stare at Sarah and I turning pink and sweating in the
sun. Not to mention my actually eating the strange vegetables that
come out of there.

Leah, you certainly know how to brighten an African day!
Mom/Grandma/Grandpa, I got the Easter boxes - thanks!

WIshlist:
-Green, yellow, and red yarn (Ethiopia's flag)
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Fritos
-Sour Jelly Bellys
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Gummi anything
-Frosting
-Popcorn salt
-Dry pesto seasoning
-***SPF 15 body lotion
-Any other yarn
-Books

the edge of your affection broke my skin.

2008-03-29T06:03:00.001-04:00

Happy belated Easter! We all rallied in Adama Saturday night at a
guest house owned by a friend of ours, but were kicked out for a last
minute meeting of the Ministry of Police (unannounced for security
reasons). Taking pity on us, they paid for four hotel rooms and
bought us dinner. The following morning, we went to Debre Zeit for
the delicious Mexican food. I may or may not have overdosed on
cheese, but it was worth every bloated minute.

Despite an alarming (but unsurprising) lack of coverage in the
international press, Ethiopia and Eritrea are at it again. Media
access being what it is here, I don't know more than a bus blew up
near the border last week. Speaking from the ground, however, we've
been hearing planes flying over and there's a sudden surplus of
soldiers and police roaming the towns. We haven't quite reached
Israeli levels of automatic weapons on the street, but I suppose I do
live in a podunk mountain town. On the bright side, I'm at least two
days from the border and rumor has it Eritrea doesn't have an air
force that can reach Addis.

If political instability get boring, it appears Ethiopia is headed for
a drought year. Hence the recent inflation across the country and
whispers of another famine in the rural areas. Water cut out across
Assela for a few days this week, and they brought in a water tanker,
which resulted in hours-long lines to fill buckets. The gari
(horsecart) drivers have been making a small fortune since everyone's
dragging twenty-liter cans across town. On top of that, it appears a
great deal of our electrical power comes from hydroelectric sources.
Since there's no water, the electricity has been cutting out for
longer and longer periods. I used to be without for maybe a few hours
each week, that's now becoming several hours per day (or just several
days in a row). Usually in the middle of the day when we'd like to do
something like use the internet or just after sunset, in prime reading
time. Convenient. I'm just glad I shelled out for the propane stove
instead of going the cheap route and trying to rely on electric hot
plates. It's funny how we were all mentally prepared for no
electricity or running water, but since we ended up with it, we
maintained our American indignation about outages and shortages.

Apologies to anyone I ever ridiculed for liking Harry Potter. I read
all 700 pages of book 4 in one night. It's addicting. I understand
now. I still maintain my respect for a woman who can get kids excited
enough to demand their parents take them to a book store at midnight.
In a related development, I've also finished the Lord of the Rings
trilogy. I'm feeling more in touch with pop culture. On the topic of
literature, everyone should go read Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi.
It's simply mind-blowing.

I am just nuts for the birds in this country! Seems like every day
there's some new species to amuse me, much to the amusement of the
Ethiopians. The postal service just released a new stamp featuring a
topless woman, so now would be a good time to write me if you want a
semi-risque stamp for your collection.

My shipments of coffee should be arriving soon-ish (some already
have). Let me know if it's good - if not, I'm sorry and you can just
blame it on the Ethiopian post, but if it's good, I'll do it again
sometime.

Nick and Claire, got your mail - you guys are the best!

WIshlist:
-Green, yellow, and red yarn (Ethiopia's flag)
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Fritos
-Sour Jelly Bellys
-Those big marshmallow eggs with a thick sugary shell (not Peeps)
-Other rejected post-easter candy
-Twizzlers pull and peel
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Chocolate covered gummi bears
-Gummi anything
-Frosting
-Garlic salt
-Popcorn salt
-Dry pesto seasoning
-***SPF 15 body lotion
-Any other yarn
-Books

not all those who wander are lost.

2008-03-18T06:24:00.001-04:00

Mefloquin is a hell of a drug. Weird dream updates - Candace and I
were robbing a pastry shop and tried to hide in the bathroom, only to
be caught by another PCV who was working as a janitor. Candace had
one where we were at a buffet and started a fist fight with one
another over which variety of spring rolls to get. I also had one
about a team of cheese super heroes - you know, brie could change
shape, cheddar had knife powers, limburger had chemical warfare, and
mozzarella could be launched as a cannon. Then I had one about
shopping in Publix and buying out their stock of candy apples. Who
needs hallucinogenics?

So, at long last, I've started Amharic tutoring. Candace doesn't want
to learn to read and write, so we're doing separate classes. There
are 35 letters, each with seven forms, for a total of 245. Plus an
extra variation on 30 of the letters. And the widespread illiteracy
in this country is a mystery? This is like the early days of Arabic,
trying to sound out words like house and table. At least this is
following a more logical pattern - I haven't learned "United Nations"
yet but I can spell my colors.

On Friday afternoon, we did a training session with some commercial
sex workers. AfD put on a two day workshop for them, including family
planning, STIs, safe v. unsafe abortion, etc and we handled the HIV
and proper condom use section. I did my first condom demonstration in
Africa (well, besides during training), and not to be too culturally
observant/stereotypical, the Ethiopian penis model was significantly
darker than the Caucasian varieties I used in college. We had some of
the women practice afterwards, and at least one woman used her very
first condom. We had a great discussion with them about standing up
for their health in the face of reluctant partners. One woman's
husband had moved to another city but tried to come back to her for
sex. He refused to be tested, so she refused to put out. Damn
straight. For everyone who's never seen a condom or considered being
tested, there's another one who'll get riled up and launch into a
passionate defense of teaching children. Day-to-day frustrations
aside, that's why I'm here.

Then I remodeled my kitchen. My landlord wanted the kitchen cabinet
back, so I found a cheap table and bookshelf. Candace melted a hole
in my linoleum floor covering with a dutch oven our first week here,
so I also picked up some new stuff (Negash was very excited about my
replacing it on my own - he used to look at the hole in the floor with
disdain every time he was in my house). It took an hour to get the
old cabinet out of the house. I'm glad I passed high school geometry
- they were very impressed with my techniques of using the window
(wider than the walls) and turning the cabinet on end. He still
didn't trust me to measure and cut the linoleum, though - he looked
shocked every time the piece fit. Oh well. Now I have a shiny new
kitchen floor and a bigger countertop. We had to saw down the legs of
the table and take the door off the hinges to make it all happen, but
it's something to pass the time, right?

While attempting to remove the cabinet, Negash noticed the thyme on my
windowsill and asked, "Do you think that's a flower?" (he likes to
grow flowers outside). I tried to explain seasoning and herbs to him,
but he didn't believe that I really ate it. The basil was even more
confusing since it doesn't even have the sad little flowers thyme
does. He also doesn't understand why I would bother to bring
pineapples, zucchini, cucumbers, or broccoli (well, just that one
glorious time) back from Adama either - it's just a cultural aversion
to new fruits and vegetables.

Despite the missing rains, spring has sprung in Assela. Those famed
indigenous birds are chirping in greater number and there's a surplus
of baby animals running around. Mainly donkeys and goats, but also
the occasional kitten or puppy. I'm especially excited about the
birds - we have some crazy ones in town: electric blue finch-like
birds, mohawk-ed woodpeckers, and penguin-looking crows, to name a
few. To top it all off, my tortoise friend came back.

My compound temporarily adopted a cat last week. In a possibly
related incident, there are no longer rats living in my ceiling.
We're down to 38 volunteers in Ethiopia with two weeks until
in-service training. Easter's coming, which means all that delicious
Easter candy will be on sale in a few short days. I love Easter
candy.

A couple of photos from coffee roasting, plus my tortoise friend:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2480158&l=a6e98&id=2001205

Wishlist:
-Letters!!
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Sour cream and onion pringles
-Fritos
-Sour Jelly Bellys
-Those big marshmallow eggs with a thick sugary shell (not Peeps)
-Other rejected easter candy
-Twizzlers pull and peel
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Chocolate covered gummi bears
-Gummi anything
-Frosting
-Garlic salt
-Popcorn salt
-***SPF 15 body lotion
-Yarn
-Books

it's going to be a glorious day.

2008-03-11T05:51:00.001-04:00

Inflation is a bitch. I guess I never followed price increases that
closely in the US - when they're a few cents at a time, it's less
dramatic. But here, centimes are virtually worthless and everything
is measured in birr, so it's more noticeable. Or living on four
dollars a day has made me more observant (and still wealthier than
half the world, I might add). With gas prices on the increase (I'm so
glad I don't have a car!), everything has gone up - sugar, flour,
salt, bus rides... even cookies. I'm guessing stamps are next. Let's
hope our living allowance increases accordingly. Hint, hint to any
Peace Corps staff monitoring this blog.

I've noticed that much of my writing is tongue-in-cheek descriptions
of the less cheerful aspects of life here, and I promise I'm not
unhappy, just witty. Last Tuesday was a fabulous day, however. We
went down to the Assela Teacher's College to meet the dean, offer our
services, and find a tutor. It was a thoroughly satisfying meeting,
although we didn't secure a tutor until the following day. Since I
have almost complete freedom in my job (or lack thereof), he was very
excited about the prospect of two years of free labor. He introduced
me to the coordinator for the anti-AIDS club on campus, who's going to
set me up with an office on campus (about the size of my
living/bed/dining room, but with more windows) to start, and then
basically give me the run of the place. English teaching, HIV/AIDS
and health seminars, and whatever else tickles my fancy. I'm excited.
The office is next door to Andre, the VSO volunteer teaching computer
classes and currently attempting to wire the campus for internet.
That may be a pipe dream, but it could mean free internet. At this
point, I'll take not-expensive.

Sidebar: I don't know a whole lot about game theory, but I have vivid
recollections of the prisoner's dilemma. Essentially, life is easier
and more profitable if you work with other people (say soft drink
companies or internet cafes conspiring to keep prices artificially
inflated) instead of allowing competition to drive you into a price
battle, thus lowering everyone's profits. Ethiopians are still
grasping the finer points of capitalist business principles (showing
up on time, keeping regular hours, etc), but Assela internet cafes
(all three of them) have this one down to a science. They charge 40
centimes a minute, which works out to 24 birr/hour. That's
approximately USD 2.75, obscene by any standards (even in Europe it's
rarely more than a euro), but especially for Africa. In Adama, it's 6
birr/hour, meaning even with the fuel increases, I can ride a bus
three hours round trip and use the internet for an hour for four birr
more than it costs me to walk ten minutes down the road in my own
city. To quote a wise man, that just doesn't make sense. Well, it
makes perfect sense, but you see my point.

Returning to my happy day, on the way home, I had my first run in with
a real, live African wild animal (I'm not counting the semi-tame
monkeys at Negash, or the birds, of which there are many varieties).
Crawling through the gutter in front of my house was a giant tortoise,
three feet long and I'd guess in the 100lbs range. What's the point
of living in Africa if you don't get to see crazy animals sometimes,
right? On top of the close encounter, the bank received our monthly
allowance transfer, setting a new speed record for Peace Corps
bureaucracy. Finally, I went to the post office and got a delicious
package (thanks Dad!) and Candace and I discovered how to make
teriyaki sauce, thus broadening our culinary horizons. When you're
dealing with three vegetables, sauces become vital. All in all, a
lovely day.

Friday afternoon, we did a training/discussion session with Alliance
for Development's "community-based reproductive health agents,"
basically door-to-door sex educators. This was our first time with
people with actual heath training, as opposed to just basic prevention
education. We delved into more of the details of how the virus and
ARVs work, which was interesting. This being a group of more or less
health professionals, I finally abandoned possible cultural
insensitivity and asked how many of the group had been tested and knew
their status. Cultural values aside, it's an important question -
this virus will only be squelched if people lead by example. Imagine
my excitement when the entire group raised their hand without
hesitation. I love AfD. One guy also talked about his own CD4 count
before and after ART as a means of encouraging testing and treatment.
That takes courage, but what better place to end stigma than in a
group of educators?

The following day, Gizaw called me to come back to AfD because the
group wanted another Q&A about HIV. Candace was at the next town up
the road for an event with some orphans, so I had my first discussion
session flying solo. It was fun. Since she's older and has done this
before, I found myself deferring to her in joint sessions, making this
a great opportunity to step up and answer the strange, difficult, or
just flat-out ridiculous questions. (Does eating garlic cure AIDS?)
I was feeling good about myself, handling some hard questions and
knowing that they liked us enough to want us to come back. They even
asked me to hand out the certificates when they completed their
training, and invited me to come to their bimonthly coffee ceremonies
to answer questions from community members about HIV and general
reproductive health. Then Gizaw took me out to see the gardens at two
local elementary schools, where AfD is teaching kids to grow
vegetables and indigenous trees (for fun and profit!). When the
saplings are big enough, they're going to do a big tree planting day
in the deforested areas outside Assela. Sadly, I think that'll be
after my tenure, but the notion that it will happen is heartwarming
enough.

The maid on my compound was fired - I've been warned to not let her in
if she knocks on the gate. Not sure what happened, but I liked her.
She was always sweet to me and taught me random Amharic words. Like
tortoise. But, on the bright side, Negash said I can have the little
fenced in area in front of our wall for a garden. The ground is in
serious disrepair, so it'll be a big project, but the fence is intact,
which is a plus. Not like Ethiopians would want my strange
vegetables, but I'm confident the goats don't discriminate. I'm going
to start planting in mid-April, after we get back from our inservice
training. Apparently the little rainy season has been nonexistent, so
I don't want everything to die while I'm gone for two weeks. But, the
prospect of broccoli reentering my life is almost emotionally more
than I can handle.

On Sunday, Candace and I went with Children Aid to Dera, the dusty,
burning hot bump in the road on the way to Adama for an orphan
program. OVCs and their caregivers had graduated from a training
program, so there was a lengthy event with speeches, skits, songs, the
works. But, the high point for us (and I imagine everyone else) was
our presentation about HIV. Using a stuffed white blood cell and some
paper drawings of scary viruses and diseases, we illustrated how the
immune system works and how HIV affects it. We were so inspired by
this (and, let's admit, had a fabulous time acting out the battle
scenes - so what if we're four-year-olds at heart?) that we've decided
to create some more permanent HIV and disease models from yarn and
clay so we can improve the act.

I finally read CS Lewis's Mere Christianity. I'm thinking about
converting. And quitting Peace Corps to work on Mike Huckabee's
campaign. Dedicated readers of this blog may remember last year's
adventures in Jordan with al-Majali's fabulous textbook. While Lewis
has a far sturdier grasp of English (as well he should, being an
Englishman), I can't help but notice a startling resemblance in his
readiness to dismiss challenges as silly and unfounded, distort
opposing arguments in order to dismiss them in as smug and patronizing
a manner as possible, and make wild logical leaps. Even some of the
ideas presented are similar - homosexuality is a perversion, start
people on the easy parts of the religion before revealing the hard
stuff, sexual desire is detrimental to society, the importance of
accepting the religion in its totality. It lacks the blatant
anti-Semitism, fanaticism, and grammatical atrocities of Majali, but I
did laugh out loud at points. It's so silly to think I might not want
my husband to be the final authority. Me and that nutty notion that I
can be a complete person without a man looking out for me! I suppose
I'm just destined for hell. I think I'm okay with that. I'll take
the Chronicles of Narnia any day.

Speaking of hell and those who are going there - WIll, I got the next
installment. You're awesome. Ashley and Gordon, got your letters as
well. Love you guys!

Wishlist:
-Letters!!
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Sour cream and onion pringles
-Fritos
-Jelly beans
-Sour Jelly Bellys
-Those big marshmallow eggs with a thick sugary shell (not Peeps)
-Cadbury eggs
-Malted milk balls
-Twizzlers pull and peel
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Chocolate covered gummi bears
-Gummi anything
-Frosting
-Yarn
-Books

it's gonna take a lifetime to take me away from you.

2008-03-03T03:41:00.001-05:00

Um...it's March already? Five months ago today I got on a plane,
landed in DC, and signed my life away to the Peace Corps. That feels
like it was yesterday, yet I feel like I've lived here forever.

Last Friday, we went to a HIV/health/hygiene program for OVCs and
their caregivers, put on by Youth 2 Youth, an anti-AIDS club (not
affiliated with a high school or college, a sort of AIDS-focused YMCA
or scout troop). Our friends at Child Aid Ethiopia, a local NGO,
invited us so we could meet the organizers, health department
officials who were there, etc. If this sounds like precisely the sort
of organization I should be working with, then you've been paying
attention for the last few months. Who should we run into at the
event but my boss, in the flesh? He seemed shocked to see me there,
probably because he realized this was the sort of thing he should have
told me about. Whoops. Thanks goodness for Child Aid and the other
NGOs, or I'd have even less to do.

Y2Y meets weekly, so we went back on Thursday afternoon for a coffee
ceremony/discussion (is anyone seeing a pattern here?) with a couple
dozen students aged 11-18. En route, I forgot I lived in Africa and
showed up early, so I got to talk to the organizers for a while as
they set up and prepared the coffee. It brought back fond memories of
Vox meetings in college - the group members are obviously all friends,
which makes for a more relaxed group dynamic. All our old roles were
filled - the token guy, organized leader, and even the shameless girl
who was singing and dancing, but probably would have worn the gator or
condom costume if that was an option. Ahh, memories.

Unfortunately, the english speaker was "late" (I spent 3 and a half
hours there, so I'm of the opinion that the "late" ship had sailed in
favor of the "not showing up" one), so I had only a vague idea of what
was happening, but the discussion seemed quite spirited. That fact
that kids were willing to sit for what turned out to be two hours of
discussion about HIV and sex with no giggling kept me interested, even
if I missed the salient details. The organization is doing some great
work - they have little compound with an office (someone's there every
day, manning the phone and office for clients), storage room, and a
garden/courtyard where they have meetings and events. It may be made
from straw and mud, but it's far nicer (and bigger!) than anything Vox
ever had at the Reitz. Ya'll should be jealous.

I had a dream about being in a grocery store marveling at the array of
broccoli in the produce section and trying to decide how many heads I
could conceivably buy and eat before they would rot in my kitchen.
The following night, I dreamt I was on a yacht making donuts with a
tall, dark haired, handsome stranger while sailing to Australia. I
also dreamt I joined the Army, but I think that was prompted by
watching Lions for Lambs. Speaking of food, it turns out you can use
unripe papaya in place of apples, but only if you cook them. We make
turnovers, saving a small fortune since papayas are 5 birr/kilo and
widely available, and apples are 8 birr each and only available
sporadically in Adama.

While splurging on some cornflakes at a local souk, the guy asked me
where I came from. Feeling spunky, I told him I was habesha
(Ethiopian) with a straight face. I had him going for a few rounds
before I lost it. He was amused.

Fun fact about American gluttony. La Vache qui rit (Laughing Cow)
cheese spread is available in Ethiopia, and since it doesn't have to
be refrigerated, it's been a lifesaver in keeping my cheese habit at
bay. The Ethiopian version (which is actually an imported European
one) is a 120g package, while the American version I got in the mail
is closer to 160g. Either way, it's delicious.

Not to reinforce stereotypes or anything, but a diatribe on the
resiliency of Ethiopian flies is necessary. In cartoons about
Ethiopia (most memorably, Starvin' Marvin in Southpark), people are
depicted with enormous flies crawling all over them. That's not a
Hollywood theatrical device. The flies here are bigger, louder, and
hardier than anything I've ever encountered. They don't respond to a
simple twitch or wave of the hand, either. They'll continue to crawl
over your skin until you actually make an effort to swat them. As a
result, Ethiopians have grown immune to the tickling sensation, and
the little bastards don't know when to quit. The only option is to
get used to them or go insane trying to fight them. The
probably-carcinogenic bug murdering aerosol spray is effective in the
home, but then they just wait outside the door and follow me around
town. At least there aren't mosquitoes in Assela.

How long would you guess it takes to clean, roast, and grind a kilo of
raw coffee beans? If it was a movie, it'd need a potty break in the
middle. Just over 3 hours. In a peace offering to my landlord, since
I usually refuse his food in the name of gastrointestinal tranquility,
I asked him and his wife to teach me how to roast coffee, Ethiopian
style, so I could send it to people back home. First you rinse the
beans several times, then roast them over a charcoal fire. The
charcoal burners are maybe 10 inches in diameter, so you can only do a
handful at a time, hence the long process. We roasted them with a
mysterious spice that I'm almost certain is cardamom, but may well be
something I've never heard of. The grinding is the most satisfying -
no electric grinders here, just a giant mortar-and-pestle. There will
be photos on facebook at some point in the not-so-distant future. If
you'd like some coffee next time I do this, write me a letter and
request some.

I went to the post office in Assela to attempt to mail my coffee
presents, where they were weighed, stamped, and on their way to the
mail bin when he caught a whiff of the envelopes. I tried to pretend
they were letters, but I think the pungent odor gave me away. Since
there's no customs official in Assela, all non-letters have to be
mailed from Adama. I sort of knew this in the back of my mind, but I
was trying to beat the system. I failed. But, I love my post office,
since he put up with my failed cunning and peeled off all of the
stamps without charging me for them. Then I signed for a registered
letter in Candace's name and picked up boxes for me (thanks
Stephanie!), Jolene, and Nod. He just thinks I have many names. And
even more friends, I suppose. TIA.

Wishlist:
-Letters!!
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Sour cream and onion pringles
-Jelly beans
-Sour Jelly Bellys
-Those big marshmallow eggs with a thick sugary shell (not Peeps)
-Cadbury eggs
-Malted milk balls
-Twizzlers pull and peel
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Chocolate covered gummi bears
-Gummi anything
-Yarn
-Books

you're exactly the kind of trouble i need.

2008-02-22T03:01:00.001-05:00

Last Thursday, we did an HIV discussion with the Ethiopian Red Cross
staff. They weren't as eager to open a dialog as our previous
community groups of women, but we managed to get them going on the
topic of how to bridge the gap between the plethora of information
available in Ethiopia and actual behavior change. When they all
admitted that they'd never been tested for HIV and many didn't use
condoms, they realized they were the problem. We had a great
discussion about "leading by example," and afterwards, they made plans
to go get tested together. Heartwarming, eh? The slow days aside,
that's what makes this rewarding.

Happy belated Valentine's day - I saw two unsolicited naked penises
from crazy men in 24 hours. One was the town exhibitionist, having a
snack on the side of the road with his pants around his ankles and the
other purposefully whipped it out when he saw me approaching. Didn't
I feel special. For the weekend, we all met up in Debre Zeit for an
Arsi/East Showa zone Peace Corps party. Turns out there's a Mexican
restaurant there, open only on Sundays when the owners come down from
Addis. Whoever's doing the cooking has had some training in the
states. Delicious.

Monday morning, a few of us met with the owner of a string of thirteen
private colleges (Rift Valley University) in our region. He's looking
to bring us on board teaching health classes, running seminars about
HIV/AIDS, and working with the student groups. The Assela campus
doesn't have a formal health program, so we won't be teaching those
classes, but we're going to put together a series of lectures about
different aspects of HIV - biology, social impact, prevention, etc -
to be combined with VCT on campus. I may also be able to teach some
English classes, where I can slide a little education in on the side.
I'm excited. Even better, he also owns a massive guest house in
Adama, which he invited us to use for planning sessions and parties.
It has an oven and hot water. It's the little things.

It's still 85 degrees here, every day. A couple of rain storms, so
sometimes the temperature drops in the mornings, but still warm all
the time. I miss cold weather. Snow would be lovely. I think I've
gone round the bend. I think it's related to the mefloquin (malaria
drugs) - my dreams are getting weirder by the day. I've been
entertaining the notion of a second round in the Peace Corps if I can
get central Asia. I think it's a combination of losing my mind and
hanging out with Candace, who served in Swaziland before this. I've
got a lot of time before that's even a serious consideration, so no
one panic yet.

With Easter coming, I've stuck with my traditional Lent plan and given
up going to church. So far, so good. I'm too much of a heathen for
this holiday, but I certainly do love the candy (see below). Speaking
of heathens and blasphemy, I've been reading The Satanic Verses, and
while it's interesting, I'm not seeing how it warrants a fatwa calling
for Rushdie's death. I suppose my standards for apostasy are higher
than most.

Dan and Nick, I got your letters. Thanks! Matt and Mary, I loved the
books - you guys are the best! Mom, your box made it too.

Wishlist:
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Sour cream and onion pringles
-Jelly beans
-Sour jelly bellys
-Those big marshmallow eggs with a thick sugary shell (not Peeps)
-Cadbury eggs
-Malted milk balls
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Chocolate covered gummi bears
-Gummi anything
-Yarn
-Books

i am the stuff of happy endings.

2008-02-12T01:07:00.001-05:00

It's funny the random little things you're reminded of when you're
this far from everything you know. Sure, I miss ice cream and
twenty-four hour news access, but I'm more nostalgic for quirky
mannerisms, couches in familiar living rooms, and solving the world's
problems over cheap whiskey until ungodly hours of the morning. I
miss you all. Write a girl a letter sometime.

Although my boss has made a cursory effort to bring me to work,
Candace and I took matters into our own hands and cold-called
(visited?) the other NGOs in town, resulting in a series of gigs
teaching health education to caregivers of orphans and vulnerable
children for Child Aid Ethiopia, an indigenous NGO. They're excited
about having us, although they seemed a bit disappointed about having
to translate for us. If nothing else, I want to learn Amharic so I
can astound people by no longer requiring a translator. The schools
are on break this week (for reasons beyond me), but VSO will set us up
with a tutor next week. It's about time, and the delay is entirely
our fault, but at least we're taking responsibility, right? Okay,
we're failures. What we lacked in initiative we'll make up for in
dedication.

Thanks to middle school years playing pool after school for hours, I
was able to teach some Ethiopian men a valuable lesson about gender
equality. We spent Saturday evening at a pool hall with Michael and
Eric, and the sight of me in the building was probably shocking
enough, but imagine their surprise when it turned out I could, in
fact, nail a bank shot.

I've been on a reading kick of late, and everyone should read
Confessions of an Economic Hitman (John Perkens) and Infidel (Ayaan
Hirsi Ali). Seriously. Two of the most thought-provoking books I've
ever read. I see a frightening amount of myself in Perkins and hope
that's not the road I end up taking. If you only read one of them,
however, read Infidel. The entire last third of the book is
breathtakingly honest - agree or not, the woman has some incredible
courage to put her name on some of those ideas.

We've also branched into Ethiopia's blossoming bootleg film industry -
go watch Charlie Wilson's War. Philip Seamour Hoffman is a riot, and
there's a not-so-subtly educational twist at the end.

My guitar is on its way home from Addis. I'm sure my neighbors are as
excited as I am about my impending attempts to learn to play it.
Anyone (little bro...hint hint) wants to send some tabs (no actual
sheet music, I'm not even aspiring to that level) my way, I'll learn a
song for you.

On the topic of music - after several rounds of music-swapping among
the volunteers, I've been inspired to broaden my music horizons. If
you've felt the urge to write to me but packages are outside your
budget, I'd be eternally grateful for some CDs of new music. I'd
especially like the following artists, but I'm open to anything.
Please, please, please include a list with titles and artists so I can
satisfy my anal-retentive urge to keep iTunes organized! Much love!

Aimee Mann (except Lost in Space album)
Ben Lee (except Awake is the New Sleep album)
Hotel Lights
Kings of Leon
Mirah
Peter, Bjorn, and John
Regina Spektor
Rufus Wainwright
Ruth
Sun Kil Moon

Happy birthday, favorite cousin! Behave yourself in India!

gamble everything for love.

2008-02-05T06:11:00.001-05:00

Happy Super Tuesday! Sorry for the long delay - the African Union met
last week, wreaking havoc on the phone and internet networks across
the country.

Last Friday afternoon, Andre (VSO) and I went to a local PLWHA meeting
to introduce ourselves and start forming relationships with the people
with whom we're supposed to work. Due to some misunderstandings of
everyone's ability with the languages, we didn't bring a translator,
but were able to garner that they are looking for sources of income
generation. We're going to the next meeting with a translator to
facilitate some brainstorming sessions and get some projects started,
maybe helping with grant proposals for start-up capital. Of course,
that will all end up taking several months, but I'm optimistic
nonetheless. The more projects and organizations with which I can
work, the less frustrated I'll be when one or another shifts into TIA
mode and doesn't move forward for a while. The meeting, awkward
language barrier aside, was quite touching. The entire group
applauded when we walked into the room, and was very excited by our
broken Amharic introductions. I really need to learn this language.

Saturday morning, we went with Michael and his visiting brother Eric
up to the top of Mount Chilalo (4100ish meters). Their father plays
for the Assela polo team, so we were able to go with a few of the
players and the horses (beats the pants off walking). I almost died
towards the top when it got too steep for the horses and we had to
climb (the downsides to a life spent at sea level), but the view was
absolutely stunning. My butt still aches, but Candace and I are
committed to learning to ride horses. These being polo horses,
they've a penchant for suddenly running, so I was able to gallop for
the first time on the road back into Assela. Candace and I are hoping
to make this a quasi regular thing - seems like a good skill to have,
just in case we ever become fabulously wealthy.

Walking home from the post office on Monday, a little girl walking by
pointed and yelled firenji as I passed, and her mother stopped to
spank her and chastise her behavior. I'm still no advocate for
corporal punishment, but if it gets one more kid to treat me like a
person, then so be it.

Thursday morning, Peace Corps staff came into Assela for a "town hall
meeting" to introduce us to the community. Yes, we've been here for
six weeks. Considering we had five days to organize the meeting, we
had a surprisingly good turnout - some fifty people (most of whom went
un-introduced, so we don't actually know who they were. TIA.) - and
everyone seemed immensely excited about our arrival. Illustrating our
biggest frustration with PC training, when PC staff asked the crowd
what language they preferred, the virtually unanimous vote was for
Amharic. I'm realizing that we were taught Afan Oromo to appease the
government because we're technically in the Oromiya region, but the
Communist regime was frighteningly effective at instilling Amharic as
the language of the wealthy, educated, and urban classes. I suppose
that'll be the lasting legacy of the Derg regime.

Politics aside, the visit meant a meeting with Daniel (my MIA
supervisor), who has apparently been covering for his boss while he's
been out of town, and hence has been too busy to start working with
me. I'm just glad to know he still wants a PCV - I was excited about
working with him in the beginning and I'm glad I still get to. There
are anti-AIDS clubs at the two high schools who want to work with me
(much to the chagrin of the architects of the global gag rule...), so
hopefully I can get them paired up with the college versions and get
some community-wide programming going when the schools start up again
in a few weeks. I'm feeling completely reenergized about my job.
Even the old man who tried to fondle me on the walk home couldn't
bring me down. But he did inspire me to turn my extra pillowcase into
a punching bag - anything's better than push-ups for an arm workout.

In the meantime, Gizaw at the Alliance for Development has already
recruited me to help with some proposal and report editing, and over
the course of reading the yearly report, I was able to stake my claim
on precisely the projects in which I want to be involved. Gardens and
conservation projects in schools, education and income generation with
commercial sex workers, and rural family planning outreach. Plus,
there's a woman at the health center (currently on vacation) who's
working on indoor air quality and general sanitation in poor/rural
communities. All these projects in the outskirts of Assela means I'll
probably have to be able to speak both Amharic and Oromiffa, skills I
probably wouldn't have had the motivation to learn without this sort
of incentive.

The Friday after our community meeting, Sinead came into town for the
weekend and the three of us spent the afternoon at an Alliance for
Development community "buna tota" (traditional Ethiopian coffee
ceremony) discussion. Forty women from a Savings and Credit
Cooperative (who work together to pool money for small business
start-up capital) showed up, and the three of us facilitated (via
translators, sadly) a discussion about HIV/AIDS. It was inspiring to
hear these women talk about teaching their children and identifying
the problems facing their community (stigma, fear of testing,
resistance to condoms and prevention education, etc). One older woman
became our new hero. She's not a community leader, technically, but
when we told her she should be, she blushed (well, probably - doesn't
really show up on Ethiopian complexions) and said she was just an old
lady. Some summarized quotes from her, "I'm an old woman, but I went
to the VCT and got tested so I could show my daughters how important
it was to know. We have to set the example and teach our children so
we can stop the epidemic." My hero!

A rat has apparently taken up residence in the crawl space between my
ceiling and the corrugated iron roof. Well, judging from the
squeaking, it's probably a family of rats since a solitary rat would
have no need for vocal communication. TIA. As long as they stay up
there, we can coexist peacefully.

Assuming Sunday was the Superbowl, we rallied some of the expats for
an American-style feast to celebrate. Lacking satellite TV, we
couldn't actually watch the game, but no one knew who was playing,
half the party doesn't watch American football, and we weren't
entirely sure we even had the right weekend, so it was a minor
setback. I am a bit sad about missing the commercials, however. We
had fried chicken ("Dubya" - we've taken to naming all purchased
chickens, and I've become increasingly adept at handling live
poultry), cornbread, fries, and onion rings, plus apple crisp and
cranberry-white chocolate-oatmeal cookies (see below) for dessert. A
rousingly successful celebration of American gluttony, if I do say so
myself. We finished the evening with some no-stakes Texas Hold'em
while Phil schooled us in the finer points of the Welsh rugby team's
history . He wants to start a (touch) team with the kids in Assela -
any exercise that's not running sounds glorious in my book.

We're in Addis today for our second round of HPV vaccines, which means
we have two days at the good restaurants. Chinese, Thai, and Indian
are topping the priority list since sushi seems to be a pipe dream.
Plus, we have access to ice cream, free internet at the PC office, and
a cornucopia of goodies at the grocery stores. Mozzarella, here I
come. I'm also on the hunt for a cheap used guitar so I can finally
start that project.

Will, I got your box - you're fabulous! While at the post office that
day, our mailbox was actually empty, but my friend who organizes the
mail saw me and brought me into the back, where a bag of mail had just
been dumped on a table for sorting. He helped me paw through it to
find our mail (and, I suppose, save him the trouble of doing it
later). Probably a legally-questionable practice, but very convenient
for me.

Christine, we made the blueberry muffins and they were delicious.
We're hooked (see below). I also suggest everyone go buy a six-ounce
bag of Craisins and make the oatmeal-white chocolate-cranberry cookies
on the back. Delicious.

Wishlist:
Muffin mix (anything not nutty)
Kraft mac and cheese
Dried fruit

i'm a believer, i just need a moment.

2008-01-24T03:27:00.001-05:00

Buying eggs in Assela is like buying drugs (or what I imagine buying
drugs would have been like had I not spent my formative years
anticipating a career in law enforcement). I go to the grain section
of the market, off in the corner of an open clearing, and a woman
selling corn whispers "enkolal?" (egg in Amharic). I walk over to
her, and she either digs in the bottom of her corn sack or walks into
the dingy building behind her and comes out with a handful of eggs. I
pay, slip them into my purse, and walk away before anyone notices.
Scallions are even worse, since there's only one dealer in town, and
she hides in the shadow of a row of booths on the edge of the market.

Friday night, we finally met up with the VSO volunteers in town. It
was refreshing to bond with other foreigners, venting about the
frustrations of living in small town Africa. There are four VSOs in
Assela, plus Phil at the Red Cross and MIchael at the UN. Phil has a
Red Cross truck of his own, so this feels a lot like high school when
having a friend with a car opened a whole new world of possibilities.
Like staying out after dark. Saturday, we drove out to Sodere, a
small town with a hot springs resort an hour outside of Assela.
There's an Olympic-sized heated (well, hot spring-ed) pool with two
diving boards and, like the Negash Lodge in Wolisso, feisty monkeys.
We entertained the Ethiopians with races, dives, and flips, and
cheered on the few Ethiopian men who dared go off the high dive (and
by high, I mean max three meters). This could well end up being a
frequent weekend excursion for us.

That night, we went over to Phil's palatial house and watched movies
on the projector he'd borrowed from work while not-so-silently envying
his refrigerator, oven, and water heater. He let us have a hot
shower, which worked out splendidly since the water at my house shut
off Friday afternoon. Seems Candace and I have chosen the wrong
development organization. Phil oversees the Red Cross's orthopedic
department, designing and building prosthetics (mainly for people
injured by land mines, but also those disabled from birth or by
childhood polio). He has a pretty impressive photo gallery of before
and after shots of their patients. Rewarding work AND luxurious
accommodations? Sign me up.

Sunday was Timket, the celebration of the Ethiopian epiphany, so we
went with some of Phil's coworkers down to Ardu, the next village
south of Assela, where four area churches combined for a massive
outdoor service. As with all things Ethiopian, it wasn't starting on
time, so we ended up taking a two-hour stroll through the biopark down
the road and made plans for future barbecues under the thatched
gazebos around the lake before heading back at noon, just in time for
the start of the 9 AM service. TIA. But the scenery around here is
breathtaking, even (especially?) in the misty gray clouds that hover
all morning until the afternoon rains, so the delay was less
frustrating than usual.

We attracted massive crowds of children anytime we stopped moving, as
usual, so we headed back in the car to beat the parade/processional
that would be coming down the main road to the church at the bottom of
Assela. We stopped for a leisurely lunch, and two hours later, the
processional started. In general, it was calmer than most massive
religious demonstrations, but there was some mild singing and dancing
en route to the church. Still no water at my house that night,
bringing us to 48 hours and a rapidly accumulating pile of dishes in
the sink. (update: it returned briefly Monday afternoon, vanished
again, and made sporadic reappearances Tuesday and Wednesday. The
neighbors are digging up the yard - perhaps they're to blame?)

One of the VSOs, Andre, works at the teacher's college at the bottom
of the hill, and when I joked about never working, he said I could
help him get the Anti-AIDS club at the college up and running if my
boss remained MIA. That's right along the lines of the things I
should be doing anyway, so we're talking to the PLWHA association and
trying to set up a meeting in the next couple of weeks. They want to
create a workplace HIV/AIDS poster and organize some testing sessions
at the college. I'm excited. Fiona, another VSO, is going to help us
find an Amharic tutor so we can avoid the potential disaster of
posting a flyer with our phone number. Sometimes I wonder why there
are even government agencies and large organizations here - the entire
country seems to function on knowing a guy who knows a guy.

Candace had to go into Addis for a dentist appointment, so we took
advantage of the situation to procure some hot dogs and cheese,
setting us up for an Arrested Development-inspired feast of corn dogs,
Bluth bananas, and (unrelated) onion rings Wednesday night and French
onion soup and white chocolate cranberry cookies for the weekend.
Very exciting.

My absentee ballot also arrived in Addis, and although it's highly
unlikely it'll make it in time to be counted in Florida's 29 January
primary, I mailed it back like the good patriot I am. Those of you in
America have no excuse. Get your ass to the polls!

Grandma, got your package and letter, and Grandpa, I got your letter
as well. Dad and Co, I got the post-Christmas box. Jenna, I love the
calendar! It's already on my wall. Stephanie, thanks for another
excellent edition of leisure reading!

places look the same, we're the only difference.

2008-01-17T04:26:00.001-05:00

It seems the little rainy season is upon us. My royal blue rain
jacket is almost as exciting as the sight of me carrying a chicken
down the street. I've never lived under corrugated iron before, but I
could get used to falling asleep to the sound of rain falling on the
roof. Certainly does a lot to drown out the roosters! It also helps
make the hot cocoa more appropriate. The ensuing humidity is doing
wonders for my hair, however. I think I'm on my way to a charming
mullet-afro combination. Sexy. John the dog tried to come into
Candace's house to get out of the rain. I guess you can spot a sucker
in any language. However, our recent bouts with bedbugs have made us
reluctant to let a cute, but likely flea-infested, animal into the
house.

I finally started working, sort of. On Saturday, the health center
sponsored HIV testing (Voluntary Counseling and Testing - henceforth
VCT) at the health post outside of town. I sat in on the morning
sessions and did my best to follow along with the Amharic. It was
quite inspiring to see people come in for testing. A twenty-something
couple came in together, and after they got their results, the man
thanked me for coming to Ethiopia as a health educator.

There were also a bunch of early-twenties guys who got tested, a
demographic that is usually virtually impossible to convince to find
out their status. It's encouraging to see the community rally behind
the cause - whenever I mention that I'm here for HIV education, people
are excited. Everyone seems to know the importance of prevention.
The epidemic in Ethiopia hasn't reached near the levels of other
nations, and the population seems hell bent on keeping it that way.
This is the kind of climate where it's possible to actually make a
difference, not just feel like you're standing in front of the damn
with a finger in the hole, hoping for the best.

At the bus stop in Adama, trying to find the minibus to Welenchiti, we
nearly sparked a riot. Apparently my wanting to go there was almost
as exciting as me with a chicken. A thoroughly intoxicated man who,
thankfully, wasn't our driver, showed us to the bus and promptly
plopped himself down next to us, picked up Candace's discarded juice
can, and began licking it. He then demanded a tip, but since he
hadn't done a service, we refused. His other, slighly more sober,
friend came to join us, and our drunk companion burst into peals of
laughter at his turban, calling him bin Laden, then showing us his
cross necklace, and cracking up again at the thought of a Christian
al-Qaeda leader. We didn't find it as funny as he did, but then, we
were still sober at 1230 in the afternoon. Silly us.

The Welenchiti Anti-AIDS Club carnival was more of a talent show, but
hilariously entertaining nonetheless. A handful of skits addressing
some AIDS issues (well, as near as we could figure from the Amharic),
dancers, singers, and some fierce gymnastics. The gymnasts were more
impressive considering they performed on rocky dirt and probably
learned there as well. During the freestyle dance portions, Candace,
Sinead, and I earned ourselves much admiration for spirited dancing.
After the show, the organizers passed out pamphlets on HIV prevention
and testing. All in all, quite inspirational, especially considering
the massive turnout. I'll post pictures in a few weeks if I can.
Candace and I are hoping to organize one of our own in Assela.

We spent the night at Sinead's, with Chachi the monkey quaintly
chained up next to her little house and hordes of children and people
stopping by just to peek in the door at the firenji gang. She's the
first white person to live in Welenchiti in recorded history, so the
sight of six of us was nearly mentally overwhelming. On the ride back
from Welenchiti to Adama, via deathtrap mini bus, we had a
stereotypically African bus ride. Twenty-three people crammed onto a
16 passenger van, and we denied entry to two women with chickens and a
man with a goat. We passed a white cow who'd been painted with a
diagram of the cuts of meat under his skin. We passed trucks on the
left around blind two lane curves, people hung out the sides, and we
prayed for our lives. You know, the usual.

Jess, I got your package - I forgot I knew someone in Spain - the
stories are great. Joey, you're the best!

soberly, without regret.

2008-01-10T06:58:00.001-05:00

Ethiopian Christmas came and went. After weeks without Ethiopian food
(read: happiness and independence), our digestive tracts were
ill-prepared for berbere reentry. Thankfully I'd already laid down
the no-meat clause, so I was able to avoid the kitfo (raw beef).
Unlike many of its western cousins, Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity
apparently has no qualms about alcohol. Tella (moonshine) is a huge
part of any holiday, and they take immense pleasure in pushing it on
firenji. I graduated from the University of Florida, so I can hold my
liquor, but that's only fun if it tastes palatable. Tella tastes (and
looks, for that matter) like unsweet tea (blasphemous in its own
right) spiked with cheap grain alcohol and a hint of vomit. After
Candace and I went home to lay down after the meal, my landlord
brought me my very own pitcher to drink later. Yum. During the
course of the meal, my landlord's visiting son stealthily took
pictures of Candace and I with his camera phone. Well, not so much
stealthily since he neglected to turn off the fake camera clicking
noise effect. It was a bit creepy. We started posing for them to
make the situation less awkward.

Speaking of creepy, the bajaj (glorified golf cart used for short
distance public transport) driver with whom we had the chair-transport
fight a few weeks ago apologized to Candace, gave her a free ride
home, and has now taken to offering more free rides and lunches.
Sadly, I wasn't with her for this little adventure, but the driver's
friend took a liking to Candace and gave her a Christmas card that
said "Merry Christmas I love you." They tried to take her to Adama on
Christmas morning. Not by bajaj, although I'm sure that would have
been an amusing twelve hour journey.

I also missed the afternoon where Candace's compound family fed lunch
to the village idiot (of the Jew blood sucking fame). Turns out, he
used to be a high school teacher in town and actually did his master's
degree in the States (hence explaining the shockingly good english).
He went crazy a few years back, and mental health facilities being
what they are here (truthfully, nonexistent), now just roams the
streets ranting and raving. The family fed him, but locked the kids
away first and threw him out as soon as he was finished. It's
heartbreaking to see the fate of the mentally ill here, but the man
still scares the crap out of me( and Candace's family encouraged us to
avoid him), so I'll continue avoiding him at all costs.

Tuesday was a slow day of gastrointestinal recovery, but the laziness
did enable me to finish five books. I'm never trying heroin after
Naked Lunch. I probably wasn't ever going to try it, given my fiscal
conservatism and lack of knowledge as to how to obtain it, but now I'm
even more resolved. Yikes. Entertaining read, though. I recommend
Elliot Smith for the background soundtrack.

I finally started running here. Well, intervals of downhill jogging
interspersed with uphill power walking. There's no oxygen here, so
this'll be a slow acclimation process. Anyone wants to race when I
get back, just say the word. But, it turns out that me running is
even more exciting than me carrying a chicken through the streets of
Assela. Kids chasing me, crowds of men applauding as I ran by
(probably having more to do with the shortcomings of my sports bra
than my athletic prowess), and the usual shouts of firenji and
nonsensical english phrases as I run past. It certainly encourages me
to go faster, but also makes me want to carry (and use frequently)
pepper spray or just a large stick. Still waiting for the day when I
can walk down the street and be treated like a person by a majority of
people. Or just a statistically significant small percentage. I'll
take what I can get. At some point the sight of me has to get old,
right?

John, the dog at Candace's compound, is now squarely in our corner and
ready to viciously defend us. Not sure the dog is capable of being
vicious, but he'd try for us. Candace bought some beef for Mexican
night (well, as Mexican as tortillas and empanadas can be without
cheese) over the weekend and gave a few scraps to the dog. He now
waits patiently outside the door, wagging his tail with a sad
expression on his face, whenever we're both there for dinner, since he
knows we're probably making something good. The family finds it
ridiculous that we not only feed the dog, we also talk to him. Often,
and in the "good dog" baby voice. He's golden and fluffy with big
brown puppy-dog eyes. How could we not?

I had a nostalgic afternoon reading through these old entries while
recovering from Christmas on Tuesday, and found a handful of
embarrassing spelling and grammatical errors. For shame. Forgive me!

I'm still not working...my counterpart appears to have gone MIA. I'm
about to stroll into the local NGOs and volunteer my services. Gizaw,
our pick-up driving friend at the Alliance for Development, already
wants to bring me next time he goes out into the rural areas with the
family planning outreach counselors. That's precisely the sort of
thing I want to be doing anyway, so I'm going as soon as he gets back
from Addis. There's an FGAE branch here too, so I'll probably just
stick my head in, introduce myself, and see what sort of excitement
they have going on there.

On Wednesday, I'm going to visit Sinead in sunny Welenchiti (pop.
5,000) for some sort of "carnival." I suppose kettle corn and candy
apples are probably too much to hope for in a town where you can only
get carrots on market day, but I'm sure the event will be absurd, as
always.

Seems the mailman quit working for a few days, but when he finally
came back, it was an exciting day. Mary and Mike, you two are
fabulous and the Sharrow family Christmas card cracks me up. Dad,
your pre-Christmas box made it, and mom, the two missing boxes finally
arrived as well. Leah and Cassie, got your Christmas cards too. Love
you all!

Jenna got pictures up on photobucket.com. The link should be on the
side panel, but if not, go to the website and search for
"jessinethiopia" and that should bring you to the main album page.
There are plenty, so enjoy yourselves! I'm also trying to get a few
on facebook, but no promises.

Wishlist:
-Books (Justine, Marquis de Sade [don't judge, we watched Quills
recently], any novel by Mark Leyner)
-Yarn
-Sticky tack
-Trivial Pursuit
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Sour cream and onion Pringles
-Kraft mac and cheese
-Cream of tarter (snickerdoodles, anyone?)
-Gummi anything
-Hershey's cookies and cream chocolate bars
-Non-refrigerated cheese products (anything!)

democracy in action.

2008-01-04T05:06:00.001-05:00

Well, not in Ethiopia, but Iowa voted. I knew my boy could do it.

Florida lost. Kelly P and I will be wearing Michigan colors at in-service training. Don't know what those are yet, but I'm confident Shaun will brief us. Let's hope Gator basketball season goes better.

My landlord can't seem to get his mind around the concept that in America, I am, in fact, an adult who's been living alone for several years now and was selected by her government to work in Africa partially on the basis of that independence. He keeps trying to feed me (injera, nonetheless) and woke me up at 7 AM for tea. I declined. The final straw came when he refused to let Candace leave my house after sunset on New Year's (although she stayed with me that night, we still didn't make it to midnight).

As the workman was fixing my kitchen sink Tuesday, my landlord continued to linger and make conversation about how I was his daughter. I tried to explain that I'm not a child but the message wasn't getting across. Ethiopians live at home until marriage, but I'm already strange here, so why can't my insistence on sweeping my own floor and cooking my own food be one of those eccentric quirks too?

Earlier that day, I found broccoli in Adama (hallelujah!) and was in the process of preparing it during said conversation (Christine, that hollandaise sauce was a godsend!). He turned to discussions of Americans' diets and was utterly appalled by the notion of vegetarianism (last weekend's organic, locally-raised chicken aside, the amount of labor involved in meat is incentive enough to avoid it). Ethiopians have three vegetables widely available here (potatoes, carrots, onions) and availability doesn't necessarily entail eating. The shopkeeper in Adama was bewildered as to why the sight of broccoli, zucchini, and bell peppers sent us into a frenzy of excitement. Think getting kids to eat their vegetables is hard - try Ethiopians?

But I digress. It's hard enough to explain the environmental ramifications of meat production to Americans, let alone non-native speakers of English. I think I at least got the message across that very few Americans are vegetarians. It's funny - every balks at any inadvertent stereotypes of Ethiopians on our part, but seems shocked to discover that all Americans don't think, eat, dress, or even look alike. Candace and I walking together is enough to provoke utter amazement.

Moving entirely off the topic of food, I received not one, but two, anonymous notes in the last three days. On Tuesday's visit to the post office, the nice man who handles the packages gave me a note from a mysterious woman with a phone number. Turns out there are four VSO (Volunteer Service Organization - the British Peace Corps) volunteers in Assela. One of them saw my name in the package ledger and assumed I was probably a foreigner. We're meeting with them next week - new friends! Jolly British ones. We're very excited.

The second anonymous note was a bit more absurd. The servant girl on my compound brought me a card and note someone left at the front door for me. This means they know where I live. It was from a 14-year-old 9th grader who is a clever student and whose favorite subject is math. They left their phone number and nothing more. Except a musical birthday card, re-gifted from the mystery student. If one of you is lucky, you may get it in the coming months. Every move I make seems to attract a crowd, so I suppose this was only a matter of time.

Returning to the topic of food, we've discovered how to get cornmeal in this town. And ground anything else we see fit. Took an hour and a few dozen observers, but it cost a whopping 15 centimes (1.5 cents) to grind a kilo of corn. I picked up a tail in the market - a little girl followed me while I waited for my corn, stopped to pick up a mug, purchase a small stool, and check every souk between the market and my house for powdered milk (only sold in limited stores, it seems). I feel like a celebrity all the time. I see why people snap and start fights with paparazzi. We made cornbread and ate our feelings while hiding in the sanctuary of my new couch.

I killed two enormous spiders after Candace left last night. Electricity and running water aside, this is starting to feel like Africa. I may asphyxiate myself on the insect killing spray I bought, but I will win this war.

Strolling through the market in search of eggs Friday morning, the little old lady who sells grain and sometimes hoards eggs under her bags called me over because she knew the white girl usually wants eggs. The souk on the corner by my house, which rarely sells eggs, also knows that I typically want them. She's still never had them, but when I approach looking for something else, she always asks. It's nice to be remembered for something besides looking funny.

Monday is Ethiopian Christmas. We'll be having dinner with my landlord and his wife. Should be an evening to remember. Well, since Candace will have to be let out before dark, an afternoon.

Grandma, I got your package - thanks so much! J^2, the religious tracts made it through the watchful eyes of Ethiopian customs. You two crack me up. Dad, got your letter as well - great to hear from you.

i may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you're looking for.

2007-12-27T07:40:00.002-05:00

Hope everyone's Christmas was exciting. Candace and I made homemade
french onion soup (with the provolone cheese we procured on a trip to
Addis for which we paid dearly). Delicious, if not very Christmasy.
Then we watched Southpark. I feel like all I ever talk about is food,
but that's really all we do here since I don't start working until
next week. I promise I'll soon start discussions about things more
interesting than what I eat each day.

I don't remember if I ever talked about the tissue Mafia in Jordan,
but they definitely have an active branch here in Ethiopia. For those
unaware, the tissue Mafia is a gang of street children who make their
money by shoving little packs of tissues in your face until you buy
them to make them go away. I, fortunately, have no soul and rarely
cave unless I'm in the throes of a GI emergency, but it appears to be
a pretty lucrative business. The Ethiopia branch has diversified
their product, also offering gum, and in the larger bus stops around
Addis, cigarettes. In Jordan, the tissue brand was Fine, but here
it's called Soft, hence giving us great pleasure when the kids run up
saying "Soft, Soft," and we respond with, "No, but do you have rough?
I'm looking for something to scratch my rectum." They don't speak
that much english, but it amuses us and that's all that matters. For
the record, Soft isn't appropriately named.

Four altercations on four different busses yesterday. Fortunately, we
weren't involved in any of them. TIA. The whole gang's coming in on
Saturday for a massive twenty four-hour feast with fun and games and
movies. We'll probably traumatize the neighbors, but they're already
used to the town freaks.

On the way to the internet today, I stopped to buy bananas and the guy
in the fruit stand asked me to marry him. He was very insistent. My
first Ethiopian marriage proposal - how special.

Merry belated Christmas! Joey, you made my day. Thank you SOOO much
for calling! Andy, sorry if I made little sense when we talked, but
it was equally wonderful to hear from you. It's business time. Nick,
I got your letter on Christmas Day (there are perks to Christmas not
being a real holiday here) - thanks! Jas and Jules and Grandma, got
your letters as well. Mom, box 3 of 3 made it, but boxes 1 and 2 are
still MIA. TIA. Letters are en route to all of you!

you gotta bleed it first.

2007-12-24T06:46:00.001-05:00

On Saturday, to practice for our Christmas feast, Candace and I
purchased, carried home, helped kill (okay, watched), cleaned,
prepared, battered, and fried our very first chicken. Well, my first,
since she'd done it in Swaziland, but our first in Ethiopia. I
carried him home, a sight which brought great amusement to the people
of Assela. The lone white girl in town is exciting enough, but the
lone white girl carrying a live chicken by its feet (which is how the
Ethiopians do it) was almost more than they could handle.

We were fully prepared to kill him (and by we I mean Candace), but
women don't do that in Ethiopia, so the older brother of Candace's
compound family did it for us, then we de-feathered and prepared him.
Real American-style fried chicken. And let me tell you, we certainly
know how to pick a bird - he was enormous and delicious. We made some
seasoned potatoes as a side dish and has ourselves a delicious
organic, farm-raised meal. If we only could find cornmeal in this
town, we would have had ourselves a southern feast. Alas, we had
banana bread instead, which was equally delicious if a slightly
inappropriate food pairing.

Keeping with our established weekend tradition of extravagant
breakfasts, on Sunday morning we made banana pancakes and hash browns.
Not the same as Dad's waffles, but quite delicious under the
circumstances. We'd open a diner here if not for Peace Corps' "no
outside income" policy. Cinnamon buns next weekend for the Christmas
party. Thank god the entire town is situated on a steep hill and
there's no oxygen here, otherwise we'd be bulking up appallingly fast.
There's little else to do in your free time besides cook or read, and
we don't want to run out of books too quickly.

I finally have a house - I started moving in on Christmas Eve. It's
actually at the first homestay I visited, but they're partitioning the
hallway and giving me the bigger room, kitchen, and bathroom and I'll
use the back door as my private entrance while they have the front
door to the other half of the house. The main room is large enough
for a bed and couch, so it'll function as a bedroom/living room/eating
area in the spirit of the tiny studio apartment I'll one day have in a
bad neighborhood of Washington, DC. Making up for the odd common room
arrangement, the kitchen is fabulous - it even has a sink, which is a
far bigger deal than you'd imagine. It doesn't function yet, but I've
been assured that'll be fixed soon. They're leaving the cabinet in
there, so I'll have a counter and storage space. Indoor flushing
western toilet and shower too, so life is good. There's a nice corner
out back where I envision my chickens and a healthy looking section of
soil for my garden. The kitchen even has a quaint windowsill for my
herbs. The layout is a bit strange and disjointed, but the perks make
up for it and I have a lot of ideas to liven the place up. I'm
excited. Now I get to start work next week, which is even more
exciting.

Wishlist:
-Books
-The usual
-Hot cocoa mix (with marshmallows!)
-Post-Christmas baking/food sale items (frosting, cake mixes, candy,
etc - all the stuff that goes on sale after Christmas)

get behind the wheel, stay in front of the storm.

2007-12-22T04:35:00.001-05:00

While balanced precariously in the back of a gari (park bench on wheels pulled by a horse) with our mattresses, Candace and I noticed that the bells on the horse's harness made a pleasant jingly sound. To distract ourselves from the fact that I was slowly falling off the side of the cart, we sang "Jingle Bells" at the top of our lungs, since that was probably the closest we'd ever get to a one horse open sleigh. The neighbors stared, but they do anyway, so it wasn't new. And people thought I didn't have the Christmas spirit. We listen to Christmas carols all day when we're home and I'm starting to really like them. I even sing and dance. When no one else cares about your holiday, you're suddenly quite proud of it. Sinead's even going to draw a chalk tree on the wall for our party. Maybe even a fireplace.

Speaking of one horse open sleighs, transportation in Africa just might be what hell is like. We went into Adama on Tuesday to shop for kitchen supplies and the many foodstuffs that can't be had in Assela. Little did we know, but Wednesday was a major Muslim holiday (one with which I am not familiar, but Ethiopians don't skimp on holidays), hence the entire town of Assela had traveled to Adama to buy supplies for the festivities. Come 4 PM, we went to the bus stop to catch a ride back to Assela. So did the rest of the town, resulting in a 100+ person line-esque mob snaking through the parking lot. Ethiopians have no problems waiting in lines, but when the bus arrives, all hell breaks loose and they stampede the doors, much to the chagrin of the poor old man in the puff ball hat trying to maintain a semblance of order. After an hour of this mess, we were at the end of our rope. In the meantime, we watched a bus pull away with four goats (loosely) tied to the roof. They were swaying and stumbling around the top with a look of sheer terror on their faces. I suppose they have to get from town to town somehow, and better there than inside the bus. I wish I could have gotten a picture, but it's a common enough occurrence, so I'm sure I'll have another opportunity in the next two years.

When the next bus arrived, we were towards the front of the line, but when we got there, the bus was already full of line-cutters. Fortunately, the puff ball-hatted man runs a tight ship and reorganized the line, putting me, Candace, and the nine others who'd been screwed at the front. When the next bus came. a gang of men tried to bum rush it. Led by a feisty young Ethiopian woman, Candace and I (and the rest of the line, I might add) fought the revolution and scored a victory for the rule of law. Someone got a bag of metal pots to the family jewels. Whoops. Watching the woman lead us was great - for living a life as a second-class citizen, she certainly took nicely to her moment of glory, standing up to the men. Just outside of town, an old woman boarded with a chicken. An angry chicken (given that it was probably going to become dinner, I think its anger was justified). It got loose and ran around the dark bus for a while before her kid caught it and cradled it the rest of the way. TIA.

Thursday I went to Adama again to pick up some chairs so we could have a semblance of order in the house (still no tables, beds, etc, but it's the little things). I bought six bamboo chairs and paid a nice kid with a wheelbarrow to help me get them to the bus station. At the gate, a man accosted me and insisted he carry the chairs the twenty feet to the bus, only so I'd have to pay two people instead of just the kid. Irritating, but bearable. I paid twenty birr (it's ten birr per person for the bus) to have them tied to the roof, which is too much but I was in a "pick your battles" sort of mood, so I let it slide. When we got to Assela, a man tried to convince me he was owed 180 birr for getting the chairs down (they cost 150 birr for all six) while a horde of twenty men clamored for the opportunity to rip me off while carrying the chairs to the house. I may be white, but that doesn't mean I'm a stupid walking ATM who spits out money. I'm probbaly growing a bit bitter about the firenji treatment, but they say journaling and humor are good coping mechanisms, so just enjoy the tongue-in-cheek sarcastic renditions of transport adventures.

As I shooed them all off, a handful tried to be my "savior" by telling the others to leave, then plopping their happy asses into my chairs to claim the labor. Candace arrived just as I was ready to take a chair to the ringleader's head, and the two of us waddled out of the bus station laden with chairs to catch a gari. That proved more difficult than we thought, and the guy we finally found also decided to rip us off by demanding 20 birr for the ride (standard gari rides are 1 birr), even though we loaded and unloaded our own chairs. He called us thieves, we uttered some choice obscenities that he may or may not have understood, but I think our tone conveyed our meaning just fine. But Candace's landlord family son helped us dust them off and carry them into the house and didn't even ask for candy, so that was uplifting. And John, the compound dog, is starting to like us too, so that's even better. I think it's the food we're giving him, but I've never claimed to be above bribery.

Hellish transport experiences aside, the sight of a lone tree silhouetted against the sunset is consistently one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

Say what you want about the suburban-ization of America, but there's something to be said for the convenience of having everything you need in every town. Sure, you can drive to the coast for fresh shrimp or something and some fruits are seasonal, but it doesn't take three days and two towns to find something like baking soda. Still looking for brown sugar. TIA.

If your Christmas is white, I hope you enjoy it. Throw a snowball or two for me. Everyone else, revel in the pretty lights and desserts - try not to get caught up in the commercialism.

dreaming of a white christmas.

2007-12-17T02:27:00.001-05:00

It's official - training is over and we're Peace Corps volunteers. All 42 of us made it. The swearing-in ceremony, held in the garden outside the Ambassador's house, was actually quite nice, despite the blinding sun. There's a picture of us somewhere on the Peace Corps website and probably an article. Internet being what it is, we're taking the staff's word for it on that one. We spent the evening after swearing in at a dance club in Addis, enjoying the strange feeling of being not only awake, but out of the house, until 1 AM. Friday we roamed the city in search of things we can't buy at site (a not-hard pillow and a cheaper kerosene stove), binged on good food, and splurged at the firenji grocery stores (mmm...olive oil!). Since we were leaving at the butt crack of dawn on Saturday, we spent Friday evening at the hotel, swapping music and watching Blood Diamond. Probably not the best choice as we prepare to move to random small towns, but the film strikes much closer to home now that we actually live in Africa. TIA.

We've now spent two nights in Assela. I'm living the squatter life in Candace's living room, which makes cooking more fun but I think we're both looking forward to independence. We christened our new electric hot plate with some Ramen noodles, seasoned french fries, and popcorn while watching Tommy Boy. Candace, like myself, has a penchant for toilet humor, so life is grand. Sunday morning, since nothing is open in Assela (well, Ethiopia), we slept late and made hash browns and cinnamon french toast since there's little else to do besides peel and grate potatoes. Then the power promptly cut out for the remainder of the afternoon, along with the running water. We wondered the streets and bought a few more things for our kitchens - like cups so we wouldn't have to drink from cut off water bottles - from the few shops that were open. It's a classy life we're living. We're hoarding water in buckets so we can flush during the day, since it appears we only have water at night. But two days of hot delicious food is more than we've had in all of the last ten weeks, so there's really nothing to complain about. Plus, there's no malaria and it's cold at night.

While wandering the town, we had the good fortune to meet the village idiot who was apparently on vacation during our previous site visit. Upon the sight of a pasty firenji like myself, he launched into a screaming tirade and followed us for a good twenty minutes. He started by telling me he wanted to suck my blood because he can tell I'm a Jew and they're the best sex. I can't make this stuff up. The rest of his ranting isn't really fit for print. How he learned this much English is a mystery for another day. He apparently hangs out only on the asphalt road, so he's easy enough to avoid, but I hope he gets committed soon because I'm not sure I have the patience to ignore him on a daily basis without resorting to violence.

My counterpart has been tasked with the urgent goal of finding me a house, so while Candace met with her boss to discuss work, I continued the search for vital household goods. And went to the bank, which was an hour of my life that I can never get back. I also visited the post office, opening our Assela PO box for the very first time. It was exciting. Rita, I got your letter - thanks!

Dad, the CD of pictures is on its way to you. I'm sure you'll be impressed with my wrap job. Careful cutting through all the duct tape! Everyone else, pictures will be posted online as soon as that CD reaches Orlando and Jenna/Christine has the free time to upload them all. There are a lot, so be patient and prepare to be amused. Sinead likes to take photos of people making awkward faces. You'll love it, I promise.

Jessica Ducey
PO Box 986
Assela, Ethiopia

Wishlist:
-Books!
-Apricot face scrub
-Clothespins
-Bobby pins
-Margaret Atwood's new book of poetry
-Trivial Pursuit (we can MacGuyver a board and pieces if necessary, so even just the cards will suffice if that's all that fits)
-Usual edible goodies

freedom's just another word.

2007-12-12T08:21:00.000-05:00

In less than 24 hours, we'll officially be Peace Corps Volunteers! I've spoken my last Afan Oromo in one of the most excruciatingly time-wasting exams I've ever taken. Parroting back a random assortment of phrases hardly counts as learning. As it turns out, our language instructors aren't certified, so we can't even receive proficiency scores. It's all so much clearer now. But PC Director Tsetter (spelling? pronounced like "cheddar") is coming to swear us in, which is apparently quite a big deal among the Peace Corps. To any prospective applicants out there, try to get into a reentry program - you get some nice perks. Afterwards, we're heading out to a dance club in Addis for our first night of real freedom in more than two months. It's going to be ridiculous. I'm mailing home a CD a pictures the next morning, so hopefully they'll be online by the new year. Prepare to be amused by visual evidence of how we've all let ourselves go while here - shaggy hair, increasingly sparse make-up, saggy pants. Sinead has a penchant for awkward and/or ridiculous photos, so that should make everyone laugh.

Language woes aside, I couldn't be happier to be out of training. Everyone says training is the hardest (worst?) part of Peace Corps service, and they're absolutely right. With the perks of reentry also comes unorganized training and inexperienced staff, two factors that have combined to make much of the last ten weeks unnecessarily painful. But, 42 of the original 43 are still here, an attrition rate unheard of across the Peace Corps, so apparently someone put some extra time into selecting us. I think I'll look back on training and Wolisso the way I do Jordan - a valuable experience with some amazing people in a place for which I'll hold little nostalgia.

I was so excited for my own place in Assela - cooking my own meals, dancing in my underwear, sleeping in a larger-than-twin-sized bed - but, as it turns out, I'm back to being homeless. My landlord, most likely upon discovering that I was a pale white foreigner, tripled my rent from 500 to 1500 birr per month, which is obscene considering the Peace Corps' already-lofty upper limit is 600 birr. He may also have decided he didn't want to rent the place anymore, but I think it would be easier to turn someone down than price gouge the rent to drive them out. So, instead of spending my first week shopping, moving in, decorating, and compulsively baking Christmas cookies to send to other volunteers, I'll be trying to prod my counterpart into taking me to every remotely available house in Assela. My goal is to have something by New Year's, preferably Christmas. I was really looking forward to hosting our region's Christmas party, too. On the upside, I'll be able to crash in Candace's living room, hence saving the money Peace Corps will be giving me for a hotel room in the interim. Kayaking in Madagascar, anyone?

We had ourselves a little party at Negash last night to celebrate the end of training, which meant an extra edible meal in our lives and some last-minute firenji company. Anna and I, competitors for the title of nerdiest PCV in Ethiopia, played yet another game of Scrabble before the food came. I'm currently leading the tournament 3-1, but unfortunately, she'll be up in Bahir Dar, so we have to put the games on hold until April's in service training. We were also supposed to have an American government trivia contest at the party, but due to food delays, we postponed until this morning. Anna, Chris, Aly, Straw, and I made a valiant effort but finished second when we got an inordinate amount of colonial America trivia instead of the twentieth century I know and love. I guess Peace Corps leaves out the Cold War questions in order to reinforce its independence from the intelligence community.

At the end of the party, Yohannes brought the mail, which is always the most exciting part of our week. Caitlin, your letter made my day and I'm very excited to have something not-depressing to read! Jas and Jules, the soup will be an excellent belated Hanukkah celebration. Michael and Dan, did you two go to the post office together? Getting packages from both of you on the same day was adorable. Everyone's jealous that I have friends in England who love me enough to send me mail (Will, that goes for you too!). Letters are on their way to all of you! Thank you so much!

New Address:

Jessica Ducey

PO Box 986

Assela, Ethiopia

West Wing quote of the day: "They're not wearing wooden shoes."

Wishlist:

-Usual edible goodies

-Books!

-Clothespins

-Bobby pins

-Margaret Atwood's new book of poetry

-Trivial Pursuit (we can MacGuyver a board and pieces if necessary, so even just the cards will suffice if that's all that fits)

gobez or go home.

2007-12-09T09:17:00.001-05:00

We're in the home stretch (and not a moment too soon!)- Thursday morning at the butt crack of dawn we load up the bus for the last time and head to Addis for the swearing in ceremony at the Embassy. The PC Director is coming, as are a host of local and international media, so look for us in the news! Technical training is over, as is language training. Our final language exams are tomorrow, so in 24 hours I'll be done with Afan Oromo and free to go back to Amharic, the language I originally wanted to learn and the one spoken in my town. I know I sound bitter, but with so little of our lives within our control, figuring out what language is spoken in a town seems like a relatively simple way to make one aspect of training less painful.

We finally made our attempt to play football after Saturday's goodbye lunch with our host families, but instead Nod, Levi, and I ended up in an hour-long game of catch waiting for other firenji to not show up. Quitters. The local stadium kids were enthralled by the funny-shaped ball and our constant use of our hands. We tried to show them how to throw and/or catch a football, but you would have had better luck teaching a company of ballerinas. Speaking as a former ballerina, I'm glad Dad also taught me how to throw a football as a child so I didn't have to embarrass myself.

I've been reading a lot in the past few weeks and feel compelled to offer my reviews. Robert Kaplan's Surrender or Starve is an excellent look at the intersection between famine, politics, and international aid in the Horn of Africa. It's a bit dated, but like most things involving this part of the world, history tends to repeat itself. Living in a nation that doesn't value the First Amendment as much as I do, I won't express my reactions in detail, but read it and let me know who you're cheering for in the region's current mounting situation.

I finally read Guns, Germs, and Steel, and while it hasn't changed my life, it's definitely thought provoking. Dry as all hell and a bit dense at times, but meticulously researched. As I sat on the couch reading it and my family stared in wonder every day for a week, I understand the argument. Coming from a society with the agricultural package suited to the development of sedentary agriculture, I have both the time and inclination to read for pleasure, while my host family can't even begin to wrap their heads around the concept that I am, in fact, relaxing with a six-hundred page treatise on the history of the world. Although Diamond's fundamental point is convincing, I still have too much faith in the individual to believe that we don't matter. Maybe we don't matter that much, but I believe one well-placed person can make an impact.

For some lighter (?) reading, I just finished Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, about the 24-year-old from the DC suburbs who hitchhiked to Alaska, went out into the woods, and was found dead of starvation four months later. I think it's a movie back in the free world? A few of us have read it here and we all found some striking parallels between his life and our own. I suppose there's only a fine line between finding yourself in rural Africa or the Alaskan wilderness. Everything is just a matter of degree, after all.

Also read, but less provoking: The Hobbit, Ape and Essence (in fact, excellent, although I now realize I'd read it before), and two Agatha Christie mysteries. Also, Salinger's Franny and Zooey. In progress: Naked Lunch (stressful) and The Human Stain. I'm about to run out of books. Please send more!

On the topic of reading, I had an evening that illustrated why I hesitate to call myself a feminist. I was reading Ms. magazine for the first time (Thanks Ruby!), and while I found some interesting articles, particularly one about women in Gaza under Hamas, there's an underlying combative tone that rubs me the wrong way. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for equality, but I like men. In fact, I love them and don't believe blaming them gets us anywhere. After Ms., I picked up Cosmo for some mindless advice and hot bachelors, realizing that the staff of Ms. would probably not approve while the Cosmo editors would applaud my liberated tastes. Hence, my beliefs in a nutshell.

Thanks Rhonda for the Christmas package! There's a letter in the mail for you!

Ruby, now that I've read The Hotline, I'm wondering where it's been all my life. Thank you so much!

Word on the street is Tim Tebow was the Heisman front runner - anyone care to offer a quick update on the outcome? Ditto some Presidential primary polling data - Iowa and New Hampshire are coming up mighty quick!

Mail note: For those not yet aware (both my readers and the friends and parents of other volunteers who've stumbled across this blog), the US Postal Service offers a nifty international service in the form of flat-rate envelopes and boxes. Envelopes are $11 for up to four pounds, and boxes are $36 for as much as you can fill them with. Seriously, you can send bricks if you want (although I'm sure most of us would prefer chocolate). Seeing the postage on the boxes that have arrived here thus far, most everyone would be saving a bundle with flat rate boxes. Just a helpful hint!

New Address:
Jessica Ducey
PO Box 986
Assela, Ethiopia

Wishlist:
-Margaret Atwood's new book of poetry. I don't know the name, but it'll be the one with a 2007 publishing date. I think it's been out long enough to be in paperback, but if not, I can wait.
-Books!
-The usual edible requests

letting off the happiness.

2007-12-04T04:20:00.001-05:00

En route back from my visit to Assela, we decided to stop in Addis for the day to get some not-nauseating food and have an extra few hours of freedom. Candace and I got to Adama in a record hour and 15 minutes and changed busses for Addis. That's when it all went wrong. Before we left, the driver got off to get a wrench from someone, which is never a good sign. We broke down a few kilometers outside Adama, and the driver and money guy spend a few minutes smearing paint into the engine (perhaps for lubrication? We weren't sure) and tightening things before we got back on the road.

A side note on public transportation in this country: Ethiopians have a pathological fear of any sort of fresh air entering a moving vehicle. Hence, all windows are sealed tight on public busses, and any effort to crack them for even a brief second garners angry stares and slammed windows. Compounding this problem, deodorant is an unknown concept. The women in the seat in front of me took advantage of the ride to paint their nails, adding the smell of nail polish to the general perfume of burning paint, exhaust, and unwashed flesh. Thank god there was no livestock on board. There is a near constant cool breeze blowing in much of the country, but you wouldn't know it on a bus. The siding of our particular bus was rotting away, so occasionally the breeze would enter through a hole in the metal and slip into the back of the bus through the flapping paneling. Not often enough. I never experienced motion sickness until I came to this country.

We broke down again a half hour later, this time for longer, and Candace left the bus to try to hail a passing minibus. Unfortunately, all were full, so we got back on our original bus when they finally fixed it. We broke down for a third time within sight of the city limits of Addis Ababa. Frustrations mounting, we collected our bags and started walking towards Addis, trying to hail a ride. We finally found a minibus, who took us closer, instructed us to get off and take another minibus to another destination. This continued for no less than seven minibusses to get us to the main bus station, where we were meeting Sinead for lunch. All of this with our giant hiking backpacks, which don't really fit well into vans already crammed to the brim with people.

The two hour, 175 km trip ended up taking about 4 and a half, which is actually quite good by African standards. We originally intended to grab lunch in Addis and hit the road to Wolisso that night, but the thought of getting on another bus made Candace and I want to cry, so we crashed at the house of four of Sinead's friends who are teaching in Addis. We sat around watching movies and eating popcorn all night, then devoured a box of cereal for breakfast. It was a lovely evening after a hellish bus ride.

We were going to leave the next morning, but instead decided to get one last good meal at Blue Tops and raid a firenji grocery store, finally making it back to Wolisso at 7 PM, in time to collect the massive amounts of mail that had accumulated in our absence. My family had gone on a mission to repair the television and didn't get back until 10 PM, so I had a few hours of peace and quiet to decompress and write some letters. Then the kids came home and all semblance of silence was shattered. Two more weeks of screaming and bad food, and I can live independently again! Sadly, our television has been repaired, so no more peaceful nights of reading.

We're in the home stretch here in Wolisso - a few more days of (useless) language training since PC is insisting on testing us in our original language, not the one actually spoken in our towns, last minute training sessions, goodbye party with the community, and we're out. We have a swearing in ceremony and reception at the embassy next Thursday, then we hit the road for our sites on Saturday.

After ten days of no mail, it was an exciting welcome back to Wolisso. J^2, I got your letter and am anxiously awaiting the Hanukkah package. Grandma, I got your letter as well. Responses are in the mail. Dad and Mom, got packages from both of you - firenji football game this weekend! Ruby, your package was made even better because it was a complete and utter surprise (and Rose, the Rice Krispy treats were delicious - excellent packing job, they still tasted fresh after two weeks)! You have excellent taste in candy and reading materials - a letter is on its way back to you! Thank you so much!

Happy birthday little bro! Write your sister.

Extra-special Christmas edition wishlist:

-Cheddar goldfish crackers

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-Butter-flavored popcorn salt

-Marshmallow fluff

-Peanut butter

-Buillion cubes

-Apple cider mix (does this even exist?)

-Matzo ball soup mix

-Ramen noodles (oriental)

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Reese's peanut butter cups

-Butterfingers

-Baby Ruths

-Brownie mix

-Chocolate-covered gummi bears

Non-food items:

-Books!

-Yarn (variegated bright blue and any other colors)

-Right Guard Xtreme invisible solid deodorant

-Gillette Venus razor blades

-Zip-loc bags

-Whitening toothpaste

-Home waxing strips (non-microwaveable)

-Body lotion with sunscreen

-Pantene shampoo/conditioner combo

life is how it is, not how it was.

2007-11-30T02:29:00.002-05:00

The current road asphalt paving project seems to have Assela in a
tizzy. I walked out of the internet cafe on Monday to the sight of
hordes of people crowded along the side of the road and the median
watching the bulldozer creep down the street. The project, in true
bureaucratic third world form, appears to involve virtually every
remotely able-bodied man in the town. A contingent of men sweeps the
dirt and rocks off the road, then another group crawls on their hands
and knees with steel brushes, scrubbing the animal dung off the old
layer of rocky asphalt, before the bulldozer goes through with the
actual asphalt. The purpose of the poo-scrubbers escapes me, but I'm
still impressed with the efficiency of the project. Almost an entire
direction of the road is done already - we may see the completion of
this project before we move in permanently in December.

Tuesday morning we visited a handful of the NGOs around Assela that
work on HIV-related issues. The health center has tested some 12,000
people in the last two years (total population 75,000) with a
prevalence rate around 11-12%, which is frightening considering the
national prevalence is around 2.1%, but the number tested is
impressive. Other organizations have what appear to be some excellent
programs in progress (including some education and income generation
projects for commercial sex workers), but how effective they actually
are remains to be seen. Either way, it's exciting to begin to see
what we'll be doing. Our actual jobs are still quite vaguely defined,
but meeting people is a step in the right direction.

After two days of excruciating attempts to communicate our desire for
housing with our counterparts, we finally called Lisa, the assistant
PC director. Apparently PC has paid a deposit for the homestay that I
visited on Saturday and fully intended for me to live there until we
told them otherwise. I wanted to cry. Okay, I did a little. The one
good house we visited has been secured for Candace, which is great for
her but I find insulting since I was probably placed in the homestay
because I'm younger. I'm so sick of being treated like an animal
and/or a child here. I was selected for this job for a reason and I
wish someone (anyone!) would believe that I might actually be
competent and capable of living my life unsupervised. For the love of
all that's good and holy, I can wash clothes and cook food! Is that
so hard to believe? I can come home to an empty house and be safe. I
have parents. I moved out of their house(s). I'm not looking for new
ones and I certainly don't need a babysitter.

PC is communicating with my counterpart since I can't, and hopefully I
can see some more options this week and find housing that will enable
me to maintain some semblance of my sanity during the next two years.
I can shit in a hole as long as it's my hole, but I can't handle being
a trick-performing monkey who has to hide in a bedroom in order to
remember what it feels like to be a person. Everyone has a breaking
point and I know full well exactly where mine lies. I adjusted and
internalized near-constant sexual harassment and assault in Jordan,
but this is so much harder. I guess if I had to choose, it's easier
to be a sex object than a freak. (NB: This isn't a solicitation for
advice or consolation, it's my way of expressing my emotions. There's
no right or wrong, there's just the way I feel. Please don't confuse
frustration with unhappiness or regret.)

To move onto more amusing aspects of my life, the best food we've had
thus far in Assela has been a day-old chocolate donut. I've been
eating egg sandwiches for lunch and dinner for four days now. I
really like eggs and all, but the prospect of cooking my own food is
the most appealing idea I've heard in two months. We're quitting my
hotel's restaurant and switching to bread and fruit tomorrow. Without
a Negash Lodge to distract us, we're realizing just how terribly most
Ethiopians cook. My kingdom for some cheese. Or really, just
anything prepared without a foundation of a half gallon of vegetable
oil. Candace and I already have elaborate plans for Christmas dinner
(see wishlist below, please contribute!) at our house(s).

My counterpart abandoned us all day Wednesday, so we didn't get to
visit the other housing options. The suspense is killing me.
However, Candace and I spent the day exploring the town and pricing
various items we'll eventually have to buy. This being an
Amharic-speaking town, we struggled a bit at the furniture stores, but
I think we got decent price quotes. We don't know what kind of space
we'll be dealing with, so we can't actually purchase things yet, but
knowing is half the battle, right?

We also found the market and the decent souqs selling firenji food.
There are, in fact, vegetables in this town, something our restaurant
doesn't seem to know, but in two weeks we're breaking in the new
stoves with french onion soup (sans provolone, sadly) and homemade
bagels (not related to vegetables, but related to not-nauseating
food). We also found ketchup, black currant jam, vanilla extract,
cinnamon (apple pie for Christmas if we can find apples!), tuna, and a
grater, all things we thought we were going to have to find in Addis.
No olive oil, cocoa, yeast, cheese, or syrup, so we still have an
excuse to occasionally venture into civilization. Housing issues
aside, we're growing to really like Assela. It's beautiful here, both
weather and scenery, and once the road paving project is finished,
there will be significantly less dust in the air, so the prospects
look good for the next two years. Although the sun is blindingly hot,
there is a constant cool breeze running through the town and the
nights are downright chilly. I love it!

Reading over this, I'm realizing why people keep journals. It's
entertaining to track my emotions over the last few days. On Thursday
morning, we decided to take the plunge and negotiate for our beds.
Good thing we did, since the carpenter said it'd take a month to make
them, which will put us sleeping on mattresses on the floor for our
first two weeks. We also ventured back into the market since Thursday
is an official market day, and were we ever glad we did. The
selection widened considerably when everyone showed up. We found
scallions, which improves our plans for a Chinese (thanks Will for
that sweet and sour sauce!)-and tapas-themed Christmas feast and,
better yet, guavas. Considering the only other fruit here is bananas
and (green) oranges, we nearly peed with excitement when we smelled
them and realized what they were. Better yet, they cost 10 birr cents
each, which is slightly more than a penny. Life gets better and
better.

I also further explored my plans to keep chickens for eggs, and
discovered that each hen will cost me approximately four dollars, plus
a few more birr to feed them and build a coop and nests. Yes. We
were surrounded and accosted by a horde of men who were fascinated by
an obvious firenji and a vaguely-Ethiopian-looking firenji who wanted
to buy chickens. They also like to touch, usually inappropriately.
White skin feels just like black skin, I promise. I'm thinking four
chickens so I can slowly build a surplus of eggs for baking. Two have
already been named Ducky and Piggy (long stories), but any suggestions
for the other two?

After lunch, Daniel took us to the Assela hospital to meet a few
people, then we visited what will become my new house. Apparently I
got the "no homestay" message across, and I now have a cozy baby blue
private house inside a family's compound. It's a 2 room + bathroom
house with a little porch that looks onto the back of the family's
house. I think the chicken coop will go in the corner of the porch so
they stay out of the way and I can easily get the eggs. My bathroom
(when finished) will have an indoor shower, sink, and western toilet,
something I'm no longer ashamed to be happy about. I can't wait to
move in and decorate! The compound already has a pretty lush garden
in the front, which means the soil is fertile. The corn on the cob is
terrible here, so I can't wait to grow sweet corn. We won't even
discuss how excited Candace and I are for broccoli and zucchini. I
can't believe I spelled both of those right on the first try.

After the housing adventure, with both of our houses finalized, we
went back to the furniture stores to order the rest so they could get
started on production. We went with Daniel, my counterpart, but soon
discovered that our inability to communicate with him wasn't helping
us get better prices. He noticed too, and used the opportunity to
ditch us again. It worked out in our favor since we now have the
satisfaction of knowing we obtained our furniture entirely on our own
with our dozen words of Amharic. We're feeling pretty good about
ourselves, not going to lie. We should have fully furnished places by
New Year's, if not Christmas.

I was still on a nice high from knowing I had a place to live, so
while fighting with one guy over the cost of a simple kitchen table, I
decided to dash across the street and ask another carpenter. I
sketched out what we wanted and he quoted half of what the other guy
was asking, which resulted in a fun battle for other pieces and better
prices for us. The word "sofa" here means any sort of living room
seat, from chair to loveseat to three- or four-person couches, so I
scored amusing foreigner points when I explained that I wanted a sofa
for "sost koot" (three butts) since I didn't know the word for person.
Explaining a bookshelf was a difficult process in a country where
most people don't read for pleasure, but thanks to my artistic skills,
we got that covered as well. We're picking out fabric for curtains
tomorrow. I feel like a newlywed, except I'll be living alone. Well,
I guess the chickens will be like roommates.

We're stopping off in Addis on Saturday for a decent lunch before the
return to Wolisso for two more weeks of greasy homestay food. More
homemade pasta and pesto for me! Maybe even a banana split. Eating
to live is decidedly depressing (the satisfaction of increasingly
saggy pants aside), but no matter how bad the food gets, we still have
that American love for good food. Candace and I have plans to start
running in Assela, which will probably leave me ready for a marathon
by the time I move back to the oxygen-rich paradise that is the
eastern seaboard of the United States. We haven't had mail since
before Thanksgiving in Addis, so our return to Wolisso should be
thrilling.

New Address (hint hint):
Jessica Ducey
PO Box 986
Assela, Ethiopia

assela: part one.

2007-11-26T06:35:00.001-05:00

I'm keeping this entry as a journal of sorts during my site visit, so
pardon the lack of logical transitions.

Thanks-mas dinner was a rousing success. Peter, our country director,
lives in a beautifully un-integrated compound mansion, where we were
able to have a proper binge, albeit sadly lacking apple pie and
cornbread. For having never actually lived in the United States,
Peter puts on a pretty fabulous holiday party. Six gallons of
Breyer's chocolate chip ice cream was the highlight of my evening, but
the turkey and mashed potatoes were also delicious. Yes, I ate mashed
potatoes - amazing what life in the third world does to you.

Before dinner, we had a hilarious white elephant gift exchange - given
the lack of stores and wrapping paper in Wolisso, there was a
disproportionate amount of toilet paper, odd snack foods, and duct
tape. Plus some uber-stylish fashion accessories. Just wait for the
pictures, they'll be up sometime around real Christmas. After dinner,
we skipped the one month between Thanksgiving and Christmas and went
straight to Elf on a television of such enormity and modernity that it
took a dozen of us a good ten minutes to remember how to turn it on.
God bless America.

The next morning, we took off with our counterparts for our site
visits. Daniel, my supervisor, is a delightfully jolly man with
limited english but full knowledge of all development buzzwords -
capacity building, social mobilization, monitoring and evaluation. I
visited one of my potential homes on Saturday afternoon. It's a room
in a house with satellite TV, a fridge, and a western toilet, but I'd
give anything to be living somewhere else. Is that strange? I just
can't imagine myself remotely happy living as a zoo animal for another
two years. My potential landlord doesn't have kids, but I'd still be
sharing a house with a family and hence only have a bedroom as a
sanctuary. The first thing she said (in Amharic) was "she's just a
child," which doesn't bode well for my independent streak. I just
want the freedom to come home and make dinner while dancing around in
my underwear if I so desire. I want to be able to sit on my couch and
laugh at immature toilet humor and not put on a happy face or perform
tricks or make conversation night after night. It's not finalized
yet, so I'm going to do everything I can to not live there. I just
want to have a place of my own to go home to at night. If it's a
one-room mud hut with a pit latrine out back, that's fine.

Ethiopians remind me a lot of Floridians. It's probably 75-80 degrees
during the day here and perhaps down to 60 at night here in Assela,
and everyone is bundled up in coats and the traditional shawls that
function as blankets. I'm so excited to be living in a temperate
climate for the first time in my life!

The entire town of Assela is an enormous construction site. It's in
the midst of a massive project to asphalt the main road and
build/update gutters and sewer systems, so currently, the main road is
a rocky mess with four-foot-deep gullies on the sides and precariously
balanced logs or concrete slabs functioning as deathtrap bridges
leading to the various shops. It'll be extremely convenient when it's
finally finished, but currently, I've lost count of the number of
shattered ankles we've narrowly avoided.

On Sunday, Daniel and I teamed up with Candace and her supervisor for
continued housing tours. At dinner Saturday night, I explained that I
did not, under any circumstances, want to live with a family, and
thankfully, Candace backed me up Sunday morning. As a returned
volunteer, I think her opinion carries more weight than mine, but I'm
just glad my feelings were validated. We visited a second possibility
that was a private home within a compound - a bedroom, indoor
bathroom, and living room/kitchen area, all with its own private
entrance and currently under renovation, so it'll be a nice place when
it's done. The host family in the compound was very nice and hands
off, so that's a significant improvement.

There's another private home, no other family on the compound, off the
main road that we're going to see later in the week. Daniel seems to
think that the no family part is a problem, but Candace and I are
doing our best to make it clear that Americans love their privacy and
are, in fact, quite capable of washing our own laundry unsupervised.
He also thinks it's on the expensive side and potentially un-secure
since it's on the road with no family, but we're prepared to live
together and squelch both of those problems with one blow. Plus,
being able to furnish one home with two settling-in allowances will
result in one fabulous party house in a gorgeous city. I'm trying not
to get my hopes up in case the house isn't as nice as it appears from
the outside, but it'd be great to have my/our own garden and chickens
and privacy.

After the housing visits, Candace, her counterpart, and I went on a
tour of the market area, but since Sunday is generally a day off and
specifically a holiday this weekend, most of it was boarded up. We
also found a handful of internet cafes along the main drag, and have
located the bank and post office, although they're closed for the
weekend so we haven't actually been in them yet. We got dinner at my
hotel since Candace got food poisoning from hers, and then a
contingent of Ethiopian men cornered us as we were leaving, telling us
"we want to invite you." Not sure to what or where, but we erred on
the side of caution and beat it out of there. At least our town is
lively!

Monday morning we opened our PO box with surprisingly little
difficulty. Copying the key however, has proven a far more difficult
feat. We decided to save money and share a box, so if you know
Candace and have stumbled on this blog, go ahead and mail to the same
box. If you haven't written to me yet, now would be a great time
considering I'll arrive just in time to spend Christmas moving in. My
new address:

Jessica Ducey
PO Box 986
Assela, Ethiopia

Perhaps as punishment for the rapidity with which we were able to open
a PO box, we then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to open
our bank accounts. After handing over residency permits and passport
photos, we waited while they hand wrote our files. Then, they
demanded our father and grandfather's names, just in case. We
explained the paternal nature of surnames in America, but the teller
couldn't grasp the concept. My paternal grandfather being dead didn't
faze them, but Candace was adopted. Incidentally, by two women, thus
leaving her fatherless, a fact that completely bewildered the teller.
She invented ancestors to pacify them, and then we waited again while
they dealt with this new information.

As we actually opened the accounts, he asked if I had had problems
with immigration (um, no?) and warned me that because of problems in
Ethiopia, I shouldn't try to withdraw more than 10,000 birr.
Considering we opened the accounts with 500 birr, I didn't forsee that
being a problem, but he insisted that 10,000 birr wasn't that much. I
assured him I'd never even have that much in the account. Candace,
being half-African American, got no such warning, but my milky
whiteness apparently meant I was likely to have massive influxes of
cash. He didn't grasp the "volunteer" concept and couldn't move past
"firenji give me money" assumptions. TIA.

Tomorrow we get to meet the police and maybe some of the people with
whom we'll actually be working. We're also holding out for visiting
the lonely house and reinforcing that bizarrely American desire for
privacy. Perhaps putting some down payments on furniture, too? It's
an exciting life we lead here in Ethiopia.

what's the meeting about? farting, i think.

2007-11-21T03:03:00.001-05:00

Firenji movie night was a success, although I think our counterparts may have been a bit scarred by some of the choicer examples of stoner-toilet humor (see post title). Such is American culture - high and low. The staff even gave us permission notes to take home to our families the day before explaining that we would be with PC staff until 830 PM. That was the latest most of us had ever been allowed out, so when the movie ended at 730, a group of us stuck around and had a dance party at the hotel to take advantage of the unprecedented level of freedom. Probably frightened the hotel staff, but we're already stared at like freaks anyway, so it's about time we started earning the whispers and stares.

On Saturday we all went into Addis to learn how to use public transportation. They bussed us all into the city en masse and turned us loose in small groups to explore. Addis reminds me of Amman in a lot of ways, although significantly less developed. It's dotted with small enclaves where foreigners can go and not be treated like zoo monkeys on holiday from their cage. Steph, Levi, and I, under the expert guidance of the hilarious Ato Mokonen (choice quotes: "That dog is ferocious. He will devour us" and "It's so windy today you should put rocks in your pockets so you don't blow away."), went to a firenji restaurant called The Blue Tops where we had delicious homemade pasta and banana splits (plus a milkshake appetizer...don't judge). As I learned in Amman, the true marker of a good firenji establishment is a menu entirely in English with no traces of the native language. Better still if the name is in English - the Blue Tops meets all these criteria. Since we discovered this place via Lonely Planet, we also ran into approximately half of our PC group during the course of our meal. The promise of ice cream sundaes is hard to resist - we're easy, what can we say?

After lunch, Mokonen led us on a whirlwind tour of the city, of which we remember precious little, but perhaps it'll come back to us when we're abandoned there alone. We rode public transport, better known as blue donkeys or service taxis - they're little death trap blue and white vans that careen through the streets of the city, stopping only to unload or cram in a few more people at quasi-designated stops. We visited a firenji grocery store, which leaves much to be desired after the Safeway and Cozmo of Amman, but at least carries peanut butter and cereal, if lacking a refrigerated section and hence cheese. Supposedly there are others around the city, so I trust that in time, I'll find a way to MacGuyver some mozzarella cheese sticks.

Since we were told to be at the bus station no later than 4 to catch public transport back to Wolisso, you can imagine that all of us clung to every second of freedom and bombarded the bus station precisely at 4 PM. As a result, we were able to pack an entire bus full of firenji, thus losing much of the experience of public transport (chickens and goats, anyone?), but giving us a fun end to a day of freedom. Levi and I frightened my former Amharic teacher by (not-so?) silently rocking out to an iPod mix featuring such classics as Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" and Buckcherry's "Crazy Bitch." Guess she thought I was a bit more sweet and lovable than that. Funny how people make that mistake.

I gave Zacharas and Sarah (plus a random neighbor kid wearing an Orlando Magic sweatshirt - cue "It's a Small World") a small squishy ball to play with the other night. Myself being an American kid raised on football and baseball (I've been a St. Louis Cardinals fan since birth - ask Dad for pictures), my instinct when thrown a ball is to catch it and throw it back. Not so with Ethiopian children. Granted, my two are a bit young to be expected to have the hand-eye coordination to consistently catch a ball, but the ten-year-old was just as inept. I suppose spending your childhood watching a game where you're not allowed to touch the ball with your hands really ruins the instinct to catch. I still don't like little children, but I'm making an effort.

Burdette, our medical officer (and perhaps the greatest member of Peace Corps/Ethiopia staff, and not just for the candy she always brings) came into town on Monday for an entertaining presentation about sex in Peace Corps and thankfully fewer shots than anticipated. Seems our influenza and HPV vaccines are held up in customs. A side bar - although Peace Corps may seem illogical and disorganized at time, I salute their HPV vaccine policy. They're paying for the vaccine for volunteers through next spring since it wasn't approved recently enough for most of us to have been in country long enough to receive the series (and save the money since most insurance companies won't pay for it). Hooray for Peace Corps medical services!

Parents entertaining naive notions about your little babies' innocence may want to skip this paragraph. Speaking of sex in PC, apparently only 30% of sexually active volunteers always use condoms. Since most of us work in fields at least indirectly related to health education, that's more than a little frightening. I hope the married couples are skewing that statistic. Forty percent of PCVs will have sexual relationships with host country nationals, and 90% are sexually active by the first 20 months of service. I'll leave that for your pondering.

After a day's delay for the ultimately non-existent shots, we finally discovered our site placements in an elaborate afternoon "Price is Right"-themed ceremony involving a map and pushpins designed solely for the purpose of torturing poor volunteers with little else to do in the past weeks besides wonder about our placements. They did throw in a celebratory party at the lodge (with an 830 curfew again!) to pacify us, so life isn't all bad. Anna accidently stepped on a cat, who retaliated with a small nip on the ankle, which means she gets to go to Addis for rabies boosters, just in case. Nice to know they're looking out for us.

I'm going to Asela (the town I mentioned a few posts ago with the FGAE branch!), along with the lovely Candice (who loves children and will hence spare me all of the OVC projects). It's about 3-4 hours south of Addis Ababa, up the mountains lining the Great Rift Valley and chain of lakes region. Candice and I will both be paired with the local HAPCO (HIV/AIDS Prevention and Control Office), the federal agency overseeing all HIV/AIDS work in Ethiopia. We don't have a lot of specifics yet, but there are quite a few local NGOs operating in the area, so I imagine we'll be doing a lot of networking between different programs. Candice is a returned PCV who served in Swaziland before this, so I'm excited about having someone with a ton of experience with which to work. Apparently Amharic is widely spoken in Asela, which isn't doing much to help my complete lack of interest in Oromiffa. Three more weeks and I can hire a tutor to learn the language I wanted to learn anyway, and as it turns out, will be using.

Sinead's about two hours north of me in Welenchiti, a small town that doesn't appear to make it into any of the guidebooks but is quite close to Addis. Levi's up in Bahir Dar and Steph is in a small town about an hour around Lake Tana from it, so at least it'll be easy to visit my favorite Amhara region volunteers (well, easy in the sense that Ethiopian Airlines has cheap domestic flights - 15 hours by Ethiopian bus is pretty much everyone's definition of hell). A couple of people are way out in the sticks - two days by bus from Addis and several hours from internet or cell service in the case of Tikil Dingay (the only consolation is the sheer fun-ness of saying "Tikil Dingay"), so I'm pretty content with my site. Can't wait to see what I'll actually be doing!

After Friday night's Thanksgiving/Christmas party at our country director's house in Addis, we leave on Saturday for a week at our new sites. Most of us should have our housing arranged, so we'll be able to start setting up our new homes. Our future supervisors will babysit us as we explore the town to set up banking services, PO boxes, furniture, utilities, etc. We'll all be having electricity and some form of running water - if not pipes in the house, than a spigot on property. A far cry from the rural mud huts most of us were expecting (hoping for, perhaps?). The verdict's still out on whether or not we're actually disappointed. I'll have a new PO box next week - I'll post the address here, but the Addis one will still get to me (eventually) as staff make visits to our sites during the first few months. Feel free to send to Addis in the meantime, but then switch to the new one.

I'm not sure how much time we'll have for internet during site visits, so don't expect an update from me for a while. I'll do what I can, but you'll probably not hear from me again until the first week of December. Mom, I got the box - not sure at what point you got the impression I liked pumpkin pie, but several others were excited! Thanks for the UF news!

Hi Anna's mom! Hi Straw's mom!

Wishlist:
-Cheddar goldfish crackers
-Cashews
-Sourdough pretzel nuggets
-Crystal light packets
-Books!