See what I see #1

As I left my compound this morning I was distracted by a new fixture propped up against a neighbor’s fence, cow patties! Later this morning when I was walking home from school, I saw another neighbor elbow deep in a pile of fresh cow dung forming flat patties to dry in the sun. In the U.S. parents tell their children “don’t play with your food”, in Ethiopia everyone plays with their food and the parents play with poop. For a good reason though because they burn it. Just follow a gharry with a bucket and get some free fuel!

I decided to start a weekly(ish) blog post called “see what I see” because many people have expressed that they wish they could see what I see everyday. I will post a picture and a short story or explanation of something I see everyday or something interesting that I would only see in Ethiopia. Thanks for reading #1 and keep an eye out for #2!

 

Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day has never been a holiday I celebrate very much because I consider it a “marketing” holiday. I received a care package with some Dove chocolates and thought it would be nice to share them with my amazing compound family. I was hesitant to do this because sometimes I share my food with an Ethiopian, they don’t like it! Who doesn’t like chocolate though? I made them a valentine with pink paper and wrote a nice message on the back of it saying I wanted to share my culture and chocolate with them, how happy I am living here and thankful for them. They LOVED the chocolate, so keep sending it in care packages!

I explained Valentine’s Day a little bit to them and how many couples celebrate it, but also that it is a day to tell the people you love that you love them. Later that afternoon the 13 year old daughter gave me a note (see picture). She is usually quiet and reserved, so I was so happy to get a sweet note from her! Later the 17 year old son told me Happy Valentine’s Day and thanked me for the delicious chocolate. That night, the parents knocked on my door and gave me a homemade Valentine’s card and some candy bars. The candy bars are my favorite ones too! How did they know?

After what I’d been through with the previous compound family, their kindness brought me to tears. I didn’t cry in front of them though because I didn’t want to scare them. In addition to their kindness, I successfully shared a piece of my culture and that made me happy. Valentine’s Day 2013 was unique in every way, but it turned out to be the best one I can remember!

The man with the ax

Now that I have a fabulous new house, I can tell you the story behind my move from the old house.

When I first moved into the old house I enjoyed the solitude and quiet afternoons when no one was on the compound. The parents worked all the time and the daughters were at school. After a few months I noticed the family rarely talked to me and didn’t have the usual welcoming spirit that is found in Ethiopians. I tried to make an effort to talk to them more, but the Dad always laughed at me when I said words in Amharic or Oromiffa. I began to avoid speaking anything but English around him, but he started asking me to say obvious words in Amharic. I fell for it once and said dabo, and he laughed because my accent was soooo funny. I’d been patiently waiting to find another house, but my patience ran out after U.S. Christmas.

I was returning to my compound after an afternoon on the town of checking the internet, buying eggs and turning down shaibunna offers. As I approached my gate a man came from the other direction and started talking to me in Amharic. I only understood “doctor alleh?” Which translates to “is the doctor here?” My old landlord was a pharmacist and I can see how they are one in the same in some Ethiopian’s eyes. I said he was not here, and he asked if he was at the hospital. I said yes so the man would go away. He walked away and I entered the gate. The compound was as usual, empty. Both of the parents were at work and the daughters were at school or friends’ houses.

The following morning I laid in bed much longer than I should have and was finally roused by incessant knocking on the gate. It was shaibunna break time at school and thought that my counterpart might have come over to see why I wasn’t at school yet. I went to the gate and saw it was the man who met me at the gate the day before, but now he was carrying an ax and a rope. For a moment I thought I was going to get murdered, but I realized if he were going to kill he probably wouldn’t have knocked. He would have just come in the compound because it was that easy to get in, I told him to wait in Amharic and ran to my room to get my phone and called the landlord. He answered, and I told him there was a man with an ax at the gate. I handed the phone through the gate so they could talk to each other, but my landlord hung up. A few seconds later I heard the man’s phone ring and it was my landlord. I opened the gate because it was now obvious he was not going to kill me, but instead of coming in, he handed me his ax and rope and walked away. I was thoroughly confused and angry. I put the tools in the walkway and went back to my room.

The landlord and the man entered a few minutes later and it turns out he was there to cut down a tree. I got ready for the day and watched in wonder as the man roped himself to the tree and began chopping the top of it. It looked like a perfect job for a chainsaw. I locked up my room and met the landlord as I was leaving the compound. He acted surprised that I was there and even more surprised that I put my shoes on the correct foot. He didn’t mention the man with the ax and the rope. I didn’t see my landlord again for a few days. The next morning the man with the ax came back and brought a friend who sat by the tree and stared at me through my kitchen door, again I was alone on the compound. The day after, the man with the ax came back and cut down the other tree that had provided shade to my side of the house. Throughout the week neither the landlord nor anyone in his family told me what was going on, or who the man with the ax was. Previously shaded by the two trees, my rooms became very hot during the daytime. The trees were left where they fell and the Mom and daughters would periodically cut pieces off for firewood. That was when I killed all the mice. Piles of branches and tree trunks surrounded my house.

Up until the day the man with ax knocked on the gate I was trying to make the best of my living situation. It could have been much worse Thanks to the man with the ax I realized how easily someone could come in the compound and harm me. The lack of communication with the landlord was frustrating, so I told everyone about the man with the ax and that I needed to move. I was also fed up with cleaning slug slime out of my mousetrap.

With impeccable timing, the house I originally was to move into opened up. On moving day I came to the new compound, stood in my room and felt like this was where I was supposed to live. After I was moved in, the landlord gave me a key to the front gate. It actually locks and they are tenacious in keeping it locked! My new compound family has three children at home, ages 17, 13 and 11. The Mom and Dad are teachers at my school and she regularly attends my English Club for Teachers. With varying daily schedules at school, someone is always home. My new room is about 11×15.5 feet and is perfect! Recently I put up my Magic Mesh screen door and cut up a 2^nd one to make screens for the two windows. It makes all the difference in the world! My new room features baseboards, which means the mice cannot gnaw through the wall and make a nest in a box on my floor. Some nights I can hear the mice crawling around under the floor, but the two cats on the compound are proven mouse hunters.

The cats are Winky and her Mom Wurresh. Winky is two years old and Wurresh is 13 years old. They are dirty cats because they like to sleep in the injera oven to keep warm. I don’t pet them much, but my compound family obviously loves Winky and gives her milk and lots of attention. Before I had my screens, I heard Winky meowing, then she jumped through my back window and ran out the front door to meet her Mom who just caught a mouse. I laughed because I couldn’t get mad at a cat doing its job. I did block the kitty cat short cut with the installation of my screens, but I think they can adapt.

 

On a different note

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Things to think about…

In spite of the uplift that moving into a great house gave me, I’ve been struggling the last few weeks. I liked the routine of going to school everyday and feeling productive. Even if my productivity for the day was sitting in my office for a couple hours and talking to the few students who came in to visit. School was supposed to start on Monday, but the rural kids aren’t showing up yet, so now it’s supposed to start on Monday. Just as Peace Corps predicted, I’m struggling with accepting the small changes I am able to make, while knowing big changes are needed to help the education system.

While at regional training last week I realized I really like being at my site because of the routine and familiarity. I much prefer the same Ethiopians staring at me as I walk by than “stranger” Ethiopians in another town! I am just another ferenj in other towns, but in Dodola I am a teacher, Paula, or Chaltu. I get called many things, but only names I answer to are Paula, Chaltu, teacher, astamari, barsistuu, or Gitu. There are kids on my new walking route who call me you, china and ferenj. I acknowledge them but also tell them “maquaan koo “you” mitti, maquaan koo Chaltu dha, tole?” That means, my name is not you, my name is Chaltu, ok? During site visit I was given an Oromiffa name, it’s Chaltu. Gitu is my site mate Theresa’s Oromiffa name, and I answer to that as well.

Since I arrived in Ethiopia I’ve thought of home every day, but in recent weeks I’ve been thinking of going home. I mulled over all the reasons why I would want to leave the land of shint bets to return to the land of porcelain thrones. The answer came to me in two parts. The first part was from lots of thinking while staring at my yellow walls: I need to feel productive, and during the school break I was not productive. The second part has to do with my Valentine’s Day entry (to be posted): I need to interact with people whom I know and who appreciate me. I wish it were as simple as that, but there are many challenges and realizations that cause my emotions to rollercoaster. Here’s a perfect specimen of Peace Corps life taken from my friend Laura’s blog who took it from a PCV in Cambodia. Many things in Laura’s blog ring true for me as well, so please read it when you have time!

http://9000milesfromnormal.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

An Open Letter

The following is taken from a Peace Corps Volunteer’s blog who is currently serving in Cambodia. For those without a map (or who were educated in the US and thus have no concept of geography [me]), Ethiopia and Cambodia are thousands of kilometers apart. In reality, they may as well be a world apart because they are so different in just about every aspect: culture, food, religion, people, etc.Yet when I read this, I instantly felt jealous that I did not write it. The following blog entry is not only beautiful, but it is probably the most accurate description of PC service I have ever read. It was too good to not share. Hope you enjoy it half as much as I did.

“Dear Person Contemplating Joining Peace Corps,

I imagine that you’re at a transition point in your life. Perhaps you’ve just graduated, perhaps you’re going through a career change, perhaps you have an itch for something more that can’t be scratched. Whatever the reason, here you are: contemplating joining Peace Corps.

But should you? Is it right for you?

Honestly, you might not know that until you’ve arrived. You can research by reading books and official publications or by talking with current/returned volunteers, but everything you read and hear will probably tell you the same thing: every person’s experience is different. Your Peace Corps life will be uniquely shaped by your country, program, and site.

I’d like to think, though, that there are a few things that are universal throughout the Peace Corps world, and those things tend all to revolve around how you yourself will change – for the better and for the worse – because of your time in Peace Corps.

‘Sanitary’ will become an obsolete concept. You will eat on mats that you know are saturated in urine. You will prepare food on counters that also serve as chicken roosts. You will not have consistent/frequent access to soap. You will eat street food that is undoubtedly questionable. You will be dirty, dusty, and sweaty at all times. You will have mind over body battles to force yourself to bucket shower in the winter. Bugs, lizards, chickens, ducks, and mice will crap on everything. These things will be ok. You’ll adjust. The sterile environment of the States will become a distant odd memory or a constant fantasy.

Your body, though, might not adjust as quickly. You will have parasites and infections and illnesses that you had never heard of before training. You will be constantly constipated. Or go the opposite extreme. I hate to say it, but you will probably poop in your pants at least once. You will learn to vomit over a squat toilet and into a plastic bag during a bus ride. You will discuss your bodily functions openly and enthusiastically with other volunteers. No topic will be taboo.

The way you communicate will completely transform. Learning a language from scratch through immersion is a powerful experience. You will learn to have complex communications though expressions, gestures, and basic vocabulary. You will learn to bond with another human being through silence. You will answer the same basic questions over and over and over again. You may never achieve the ability to discuss ideas and concepts. You will develop a new English language which consists of pared down vocabulary and grammatical structures. You will actively think of each word before you speak. Your speech patterns will slow. You will have to define words whose meanings you had always taken for granted. You will learn to listen.

Your concept of money will entirely alter. Paying more than $1 for anything will cause you to pause and question your purchase. You will understand value in the context of a different economic system. You will learn to barter, even on cheaper items. You will consistently feel as though you have been cheated on the price. You will be enraged by all prices upon returning to the States.

You will embrace the thrilling dichotomies of thrift versus splurge and ration versus binge. No one knows how to budget like a Peace Corps volunteer. And no one can binge like one.

You will be discontented with your work. You will wonder – and scream to the heavens – about the benefit of your presence. You will feel lost in unstructured expectations and crushed by promising ideas fallen to the side. Your expectations will fade into an unexpected reality. You will learn to celebrate small victories. You will look at mountains and see mole hills. You will try to tackle the impossible. Maybe you’ll succeed. Maybe you’ll just pick yourself up and take aim at another impossibility.

You will learn to do all of this through pure self-motivation. You will be the one to drag yourself out of bed and out the door. You won’t have anyone holding your hand or pushing your forward. Just you. You will become a stronger person for yourself, by yourself.

You will be a celebrity in your community. That status comes will hardships and benefits that will ineradicably change you. You will be the exception to the societal rules. You will be the foreigner, the one set apart. You will receive privileges and have special attention/status because of your nationality. You will always have eyes on you. You will have joined as an agent of culture exchange and understanding, but you will still find yourself falling into an ‘us versus them’ mentality. Use it. Consider it. Contemplate the value we place on people because of arbitrary characteristics. You will come away from your experience more attune to your own merits, to those that are deserved and to those that are given.

Your culture of personal space, one that maybe you have always taken for granted, will be challenged. You will wonder why you need an entire room to yourself while no one else even has a bed to himself. You still won’t want to give your room up. Privacy will be a privilege or a rarity, not a right.

You will lose all control of your emotions and be on an unpredictable roller coaster of extreme ups and downs. You will go from happy and confident to sullen and tearful by things as simple as ants in your candy or yet another child saying ‘Hello!’ Your highs will be high, but they will be fragile. Your lows will feel inescapable. Your family and friends in the States probably won’t understand this. Your isolation will force you to become your own support system. You will become aware of yourself in the context of solely being yourself.

Your government-issued friends will be your reprieve. The love and closeness you share with people back in the States won’t change, but it will be your fellow volunteers who understand. They will be friendships forged from necessity, and they will be deep and fervent.

You will witness a whole new way of life, and you will question your notion of necessity. You will consider your personal wealth, and people will constantly remind you of it. You will discover what your ‘needs’ are to live a productive, satisfied life. I hope you will remember that when you return to a culture of plenty.

You will be the biggest product of your Peace Corps work. You will change. And you will bring that change back with you.”

Enjoy!