Hello Dear Friends and Family and Estranged Acquaintances,
I know its a little late, but Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Warm
Ground Hog Day, Lovely Valentine's Day, and any other holidays on
which I have neglected all of you. I apologize deeply for my literary
absence, and I hope only to ease the anguish by preparing a
correspondence of great length.
The Second Coming of Christmas
Christmas passed this year with much of the same hullabaloo as last
year. This year I was more prepared for the gluttony that is always
bound to happen on holidays. Visiting 5 houses in three days, I
probably put on a good 15 lbs in the same time. We experienced
several varieties of Christmas this year as one of the Austrian
volunteer's family was staying with us. They even packed a fully made
gingerbread house into their carry-on and a miniature Christmas tree
in their luggage. I call that dedication to the holiday.
New Year's in Sodo, Who Dropped the Ball
My American compatriot and I were able to steal ourselves away from
our hole here in Addis to the southern region of Wollaita to visit
another American volunteer. Poor Steven was nearly completely alone
during the holidays as he's the only volunteer from our organization
at the site and his site director (and only other community member)
was away to visit family for a month. He's been hosting other
Salesian priests who have been filling in as site director in the mean
time, but its been a pretty solitary life for him.
Feeling compassionate, we grabbed a backpack, hopped on public
transport, and rode for half a day into the countryside. Upon
arriving at the compound we found it had beautiful new buildings,
spacious comfortable guest rooms for twenty, and a wonderful view of
the surrounding areas. Of course, the only amenities lacking were
running water, electricity, and a road that you can drive down during
the rainy season. But I think that's asking too much for one place.
New Years' passed quietly by as we watched the news about floods in
Australia, and celebrated watching R. Kelly singing at the Sheraton in
Addis. We even pulled out sparklers to the amusement of the visiting
priest. We found out that Steven was still alive and enjoying his
quiet life, so we rolled on back to Addis to find out that everyone
(the children and teachers) that we had gone to stay at the Sheraton
for the weekend.
Temket Rolls out the Red Carpet
I believe I explained Temket last year, but as a refresher, its the
holiday celebrating the Baptism of Jesus. This happens the week after
Ethiopian Christmas and continues to be one of the baffling order of
events created by the mixture of the Orthodox and Catholic churches in
Ethiopia. I have realised that on any given day you could be
celebrating holidays from two weeks before or a month ahead according
to the European calendar. Or somedays, they just feel like
celebrating according to the European calendar. I feel like Forest
Gump when walking into the chapel in the morning, because I never know
what I'm going to get inside.
In any case, having experienced the holiday the year before, I knew
what to look forward to. Unfortunately, I had to finish a lot of work
at the school before I could join the procession with the Ark of the
Covenant, and I couldn't go directly with my students. The churches
always process to a body of water to place the Ark of the Covenant on
a river for 2 days before processing back. I decided to come from the
opposite direction hoping to catch the front of the procession sooner.
I'm not sure if I noticed this last year, but as the beating drums
and ululating voices echoed down the road, I saw men running forward
with large rolls of carpet. They were actually rolling out red carpet
for the priests to walk on for the entire 5 km walk!
Holiday to Harar
I was finally able to enjoy a somewhat longer vacation (4 days) during
midsemester break from school. I was desperate to finish grading and
get out of town, and I had gone back and forth about where I actually
wanted to go, but I decided to head East for the city of Harar. Harar
is the oldest Muslim city in Ethiopia and its known for the wall that
surrounds the entire old city. Inside the wall, aside from the main
streets, the rest of the city is built like a maze with all the doors
built into continuous white walls of rock that narrow cobbled walkways
through the city. The city is rather small, so its hard to get lost,
but you do have to have a good sense of direction as you cant know
where you're headed until its a few metres in front of you. The
streets wind up and down along the hilly terrain, and people pop out
mysteriously from unforeseen holes in the wall.
The outer perimeter can be circumnavigated in about an hour, and its
spotted with pretty gardens and large, knobby trees which are a rarity
in Addis. The markets are frenetic, as is common, but there are much
fewer people begging or taking notice of the foreigners. The wall also
has holes that are gated; these are opened at night to let the hyenas
in and eat the refuse.
The hyenas were by far the coolest part of Harar, even though I felt
cheated as my friend got a my intimate experience with fewer tourists
vying for a chance to feed them. But we had made friends with a guy
who knew how to get things down, and I was shoved forward and given my
chance to sit face to face with the beasts that cause so much terror
and heartache throughout the country. But when I met them, they just
seemed like big dogs. Their fur is really coarse, and they have an
odd looking face, but the hyenas were so used to human companionship
that it was easy to feed them raw meat off a stick. And the "Hyena
Man" was a character himself. He had a barking high-pitched laugh and
he did everything to play it up for the cameras, just like the hyenas
themselves.
Other than feeding hyenas and taking a walk around the city, my friend
and I mainly sat with our new acquaintances chewing chat. Chat is a
local bush that supposedly has a drug-like affect like a stimulant and
is also helpful for stomach problems and headaches (I think its close
to a coca leaf if you've been in South America). I don't know why
they call it a stimulant, because anyone who chews it regularly just
sits around all day. In any case, it goes best with Coke and
peanuts, but gives you very bad cotton mouth, and I guess its
something cheap and easy to do for the unemployed young men.
After visiting Harar, I went one day to a city an hour away to visit a
former student and her family. Dire Dawa is very organised and neatly
layed out which is a contrast to every other city here, and has
expansive parks and plenty of greenery despite being in a near desert
area. I guess these are the influences of so many foreigners for the
past 150 years. Many people are of Asian, Turkish, or Middle-eastern
decent here, like my students family. Its a very relaxed city, and we
enjoyed spending the Saturday afternoon eating camel meat and smoking
shisha (hukah) with her female family members. Unfortunately, I had a
wicked bad migraine and had to sleep for the afternoon so I couldn't
explore the city more, but what I did see was quite affluent, new, and
pleasant.
Mohammed's Birthday and the Mountain
This year the mountain did not come to Mohammed or to Donato, and so
we moved ourselves and 300 children for a picnicking holiday. With
only six responsible adults, this is much like trying to control a
hurricane, the only thing you can do is prepare for disaster. It took
us 2 hours to walk all the way to our mountain spot, and immediately
the children flew themselves over the cols in search of rabbits and
hyenas and other wild animals that they were surely too noisy to find.
When it came time to lunch, we sat them down in groups of 40, as we
packed the bags of sandwiches and handed out food. Of course, we came
to find out that the older boys, perhaps ten of them) had consumed a
tenth of the sandwiches on their way to the mountain. Since this is
typical, we were prepared with extra sandwiches and an oath that they
would never come out with us again. Lunch finished, the children
scattered again, and after another hour of romping on the mountain we
blew the whistle for everyone to come back home. Of course, they
didn't hear or heed the call and Donato and Teresa started walking
back. They said that the children would eventually get hungry and
find their way home. So, while the first group of children arrived
back at the compound around 3 PM, others didn't show until 6 PM or not
at all. I think all of them returned home eventually, but then again,
its hard to count 300 children when they're moving.
Carne Carnival
With the Easter fast approaching, the Gr. 12 students hurriedly put
together their annual carnival. They had the usual ping pong tables
and foosball tables, basketball and football tournaments, and the
beauty contest. Learning from last year, I became the enforcer and
let no boys stand underneath the stage and certainly not take pictures
from too close a distance as the girls paraded in skirts that showed
off too much. It worked pretty well, and I don't think there will be
any obscene pictures this year, but it did take 3 hours of standing in
a sweltering hot room with sweating teenagers to get through the whole
event. I am, um, proud to say that the top three girls were all
basketball players. We may not play well, but we're pretty.
Nonetheless, the event did inspire me to dress prettier, and I raided
the donated clothes closet to find some cute dresses that I'll be
wearing after two months of fasting. The girls told me I had to dress
nicer, and so I suppose I'll listen.
I hope this message finds you all in good spirits and fine health.
Also, if anyone would like to purchase any items from my kids
(baskets, bags, necklaces, such) let me know and I can give you more
information. Looking forward to hearing from and see you all.
Cheers,
Virginia/Van/Va
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Email that was Never Sent
Hello and Good Tidings Faithful Adventure Followers,
As many of you know, this email is very late in coming. I left Ethiopia over a month ago, and I've been cruising France and the South of US since then. For some reason, I couldnt get myself together to write this email. Maybe it was my reluctance to admit that it was over. Or maybe it was because I've drowned myself in activity since then, not stopping to actually reflect on what has happen. But just as watching the last Harry Potter film has cleared me of my sense of duty towards JK Rowling, this email signifies the end of a chapter in the book of Van.
A History of the World, Pt 2
This is a section which I would love to write, but I'm not feeling up to the challenge yet, and I'll never send this email if I wait for motivation. You can ask me personally if you want to hear about my trip to the historical circuit in the North of Ethiopia. Otherwise, you can simmer in the mystery.
As many of you know, this email is very late in coming. I left Ethiopia over a month ago, and I've been cruising France and the South of US since then. For some reason, I couldnt get myself together to write this email. Maybe it was my reluctance to admit that it was over. Or maybe it was because I've drowned myself in activity since then, not stopping to actually reflect on what has happen. But just as watching the last Harry Potter film has cleared me of my sense of duty towards JK Rowling, this email signifies the end of a chapter in the book of Van.
A History of the World, Pt 2
This is a section which I would love to write, but I'm not feeling up to the challenge yet, and I'll never send this email if I wait for motivation. You can ask me personally if you want to hear about my trip to the historical circuit in the North of Ethiopia. Otherwise, you can simmer in the mystery.
Leaving on a Jet Plane
My last days in Ethiopia were almost as to be expected. I didn't want to tell anyone that I was leaving until I had to so as not to drag out the grieving process. That's not me being sarcastic. Ethiopians truly have a way of emotions, and endlessly repeating a theme that I cannot grasp. If I told them the date I was leaving a year before, they'd start the crying and bemoaning then and not stop until I had left. So, I kept it short, and told most of my students just 4 or 5 days before I actually left. I even kept a mystery for the volunteers who only knew a week and a half before my departure. I ran from house to house of my students, saying goodbyes to parents, receiving wonderfully tacky gifts, on par with those you'd pick up at an Outer Banks "Under $5" store. Thankfully, the students I really got to know also knew I wasnt much of a crier, so there weren't so many tears. I left a horrible load of materials to be sorted by the other volunteers because I just didnt know what to do with anything with the collection of materials compiled over two years. I mean, I hadnt lived in any one place for that long in quite some time. With bags packed and room cleaned, I headed to the Addis airport, something I'd done countless times over the past two years. But this time, I learned what was on the other side of the gate. I boarded a sleepy, half-filled plane to take me a world away.
The Royal Wedding
I arrived in a city and I country I love on a sunny, afternoon. Nothing can take away the heart aches like a glance at the Eifel Tower and the prospects of a truly spectacular wedding. I had planned to stay in Paris for a night, but my friend--the bride--insisted I make my way straight down to her village outside of Lyon. An uneventful train ride later, and I was hugging and kissing a friend who I hadnt seen since her sister's wedding in the same place three years prior. It was still a fantasy to me to be able to hug someone I knew. I was a little out of sorts after such a long travel, and not being used to the Western world. I was mind-boggled by all the white people, and people kissing on the street, and exposing clothing. I felt more than awkward greeting her and her fiance's family at the dinner table. At least they were all well traveled and very kind about my reintegration into society. I spent the next few days helping the family transform their chateau into a wedding wonderland. It was an absolutely gorgeous affair with all the women donning hats (myself included) and plenty of good people and good champagne. I danced the night away with the Mexican groom's family, but as I took too liberally to the spirits, I ended up on the floor a few times. I also found some nice British friends to speak English with, and we had a good time comparing this to the actual royal wedding. We only lacked the priest doing a cartwheel in the church.
Le ciel du Paris
I didnt really have a plan after the wedding finished. I didnt even have a plane ticket. My friend's family were all amused by this, and her parents graciously took me in for a few days after all of their own children had left. I had a vague plan of traveling around until I was tired, and since it was so close, I started in Geneva. I carpooled with some strangers to the city and hefted my backpack to the only hostel I had read about in the city. As all things in Geneva, it was pristine with a formal air of gentleman stiffly waiting at the opera for his partner to arrive. The city was in all ways respectful, but seemed to lack character. I was spending my time sleeping in any outdoor venue I found. Park benches, mountain tops, etc. I was lost to my European dreaming when I was suddenly aware that I knew the girl standing beside me in the hostel. As it turned out, my old roommate's sister had also come to Geneva for a few days. What are the freakin' odds! It was fun to sit and chat and learn about american things (although she too had been an ex-pat for a little while). But we were both moving on the next morning and said our goodbyes as quickly as our hellos.
I decided very quickly that all I wanted was sleep and I shouldnt have to pay for it. So, instead of an extended European adventure, I had purchased a ticket home for the following week. But there were still some surprises left. I called my friend in Paris and she said she was leaving the city for the weekend with her friends and I was free to join them. And so, not knowing anyone save my friend, I did. I carpooled again to France, then metro, bus, and once again I was in a car with 8 strangers. It was only after 4 hours of driving that I decided to ask where we were going. Apparently, my friend's family owned a house on the coast beyond Nantes. I was excited to see the ocean again, and even more excited when I realised her family home had 14 bedrooms. I woke up early the next morning to waves crashing on the shore and salt in the air. It was great getting to know everyone, and we had a great time going on a very spirited run, then cracking oysters off the rocks, and I cooked a nice mexican dinner for the french. We stayed up half the night dancing "le roc" and singing traditional french songs. (They were singing, I was laughing at all the varieties of drinking songs) One of the girls was firm on repeating that she was "a real american girl" with a very thick french accent. In true french fashion, we rolled out of bed early the next morning to walk to mass, and listen to perhaps the worst cantor ever. It was one of those churches where you weren't sure if you had accidentally stumbled upon a funeral because everyone was old and decript and the priest has a slightly mournful look.
We returned to Paris, I with a few more Parisien friends, and they with a good earful of an American accent. I stayed with my friend a few more days in her cozy apartment under the shadow of the Eifel Tower. As some of you might know, I requested a scavenger hunt for my short time in Paris, since I had no real objective. This forced me to talk to people and encouraged such strange behavior as a headstand at Sacre-Coeur, chasing pigeons in Le Jardin de Tullieries, or drinking a Heineken on the Pont Alexandre III at 10 am. I did most of these on the morning before I left and was literally running from place to place. My last destination was the Maison de Balzac to sit in the writer's chair. I talked my way into the house for free, and then found some lovely American women to take my picture. At that point, I was unwilling to cross the velvet rope, and they were discouraging the idea as well.
Home Again, home again
My last days in Ethiopia were almost as to be expected. I didn't want to tell anyone that I was leaving until I had to so as not to drag out the grieving process. That's not me being sarcastic. Ethiopians truly have a way of emotions, and endlessly repeating a theme that I cannot grasp. If I told them the date I was leaving a year before, they'd start the crying and bemoaning then and not stop until I had left. So, I kept it short, and told most of my students just 4 or 5 days before I actually left. I even kept a mystery for the volunteers who only knew a week and a half before my departure. I ran from house to house of my students, saying goodbyes to parents, receiving wonderfully tacky gifts, on par with those you'd pick up at an Outer Banks "Under $5" store. Thankfully, the students I really got to know also knew I wasnt much of a crier, so there weren't so many tears. I left a horrible load of materials to be sorted by the other volunteers because I just didnt know what to do with anything with the collection of materials compiled over two years. I mean, I hadnt lived in any one place for that long in quite some time. With bags packed and room cleaned, I headed to the Addis airport, something I'd done countless times over the past two years. But this time, I learned what was on the other side of the gate. I boarded a sleepy, half-filled plane to take me a world away.
The Royal Wedding
I arrived in a city and I country I love on a sunny, afternoon. Nothing can take away the heart aches like a glance at the Eifel Tower and the prospects of a truly spectacular wedding. I had planned to stay in Paris for a night, but my friend--the bride--insisted I make my way straight down to her village outside of Lyon. An uneventful train ride later, and I was hugging and kissing a friend who I hadnt seen since her sister's wedding in the same place three years prior. It was still a fantasy to me to be able to hug someone I knew. I was a little out of sorts after such a long travel, and not being used to the Western world. I was mind-boggled by all the white people, and people kissing on the street, and exposing clothing. I felt more than awkward greeting her and her fiance's family at the dinner table. At least they were all well traveled and very kind about my reintegration into society. I spent the next few days helping the family transform their chateau into a wedding wonderland. It was an absolutely gorgeous affair with all the women donning hats (myself included) and plenty of good people and good champagne. I danced the night away with the Mexican groom's family, but as I took too liberally to the spirits, I ended up on the floor a few times. I also found some nice British friends to speak English with, and we had a good time comparing this to the actual royal wedding. We only lacked the priest doing a cartwheel in the church.
Le ciel du Paris
I didnt really have a plan after the wedding finished. I didnt even have a plane ticket. My friend's family were all amused by this, and her parents graciously took me in for a few days after all of their own children had left. I had a vague plan of traveling around until I was tired, and since it was so close, I started in Geneva. I carpooled with some strangers to the city and hefted my backpack to the only hostel I had read about in the city. As all things in Geneva, it was pristine with a formal air of gentleman stiffly waiting at the opera for his partner to arrive. The city was in all ways respectful, but seemed to lack character. I was spending my time sleeping in any outdoor venue I found. Park benches, mountain tops, etc. I was lost to my European dreaming when I was suddenly aware that I knew the girl standing beside me in the hostel. As it turned out, my old roommate's sister had also come to Geneva for a few days. What are the freakin' odds! It was fun to sit and chat and learn about american things (although she too had been an ex-pat for a little while). But we were both moving on the next morning and said our goodbyes as quickly as our hellos.
I decided very quickly that all I wanted was sleep and I shouldnt have to pay for it. So, instead of an extended European adventure, I had purchased a ticket home for the following week. But there were still some surprises left. I called my friend in Paris and she said she was leaving the city for the weekend with her friends and I was free to join them. And so, not knowing anyone save my friend, I did. I carpooled again to France, then metro, bus, and once again I was in a car with 8 strangers. It was only after 4 hours of driving that I decided to ask where we were going. Apparently, my friend's family owned a house on the coast beyond Nantes. I was excited to see the ocean again, and even more excited when I realised her family home had 14 bedrooms. I woke up early the next morning to waves crashing on the shore and salt in the air. It was great getting to know everyone, and we had a great time going on a very spirited run, then cracking oysters off the rocks, and I cooked a nice mexican dinner for the french. We stayed up half the night dancing "le roc" and singing traditional french songs. (They were singing, I was laughing at all the varieties of drinking songs) One of the girls was firm on repeating that she was "a real american girl" with a very thick french accent. In true french fashion, we rolled out of bed early the next morning to walk to mass, and listen to perhaps the worst cantor ever. It was one of those churches where you weren't sure if you had accidentally stumbled upon a funeral because everyone was old and decript and the priest has a slightly mournful look.
We returned to Paris, I with a few more Parisien friends, and they with a good earful of an American accent. I stayed with my friend a few more days in her cozy apartment under the shadow of the Eifel Tower. As some of you might know, I requested a scavenger hunt for my short time in Paris, since I had no real objective. This forced me to talk to people and encouraged such strange behavior as a headstand at Sacre-Coeur, chasing pigeons in Le Jardin de Tullieries, or drinking a Heineken on the Pont Alexandre III at 10 am. I did most of these on the morning before I left and was literally running from place to place. My last destination was the Maison de Balzac to sit in the writer's chair. I talked my way into the house for free, and then found some lovely American women to take my picture. At that point, I was unwilling to cross the velvet rope, and they were discouraging the idea as well.
Home Again, home again
And then I was on a plane home, back to the US, and I didnt know what to do with myself. My first thought was drinking, but that was dampened by the fact that my airlines of choice no longer offered free booze on international flights. It wasnt a good time to sleep, and I soon finished the book my mother had sent me in Africa. A poorly thought out choice of stories from children in Africa from the Oprah Book Club list. Nothing makes you want to cut your heart out faster, and certainly not a healthy read while in the reality of itall. But thanks for the present anyway mom. So I lost myself to that little video screen in front of my face and caught up on 7 hours of movies that I had never heard of. And soon enough, with a speedy tail wind, the plane touched down in DC. As anyone is welcomed to America, I stood in a long line waiting for the hopeful first words spoken to me on US soil--"Next".
I was embraced by my teary eyed parents and bombarded with questions, as to be expected. And after a short delay in the hometown, I have been traveling the East Coast since. So, I am glad to be seeing everyone again and hearing about all those delightful points of life which I have missed over these two years. So, in conclusion, thank you for your support--letters, prayers, music, and whatnot--while I was away, and I hope to see you soon.
Best regards,
Virginia/Va/Van
Gather Round the Stone
Dearly Beloved,
We are gathered here, today, in this email, to celebrate a momentous
occasion. What that occasion may be, I have yet to discern, other
than to congratulate myself on not spending another four months
without writing you all. I hope this correspondence finds you all
healthy, happy, and with a sense of twitterpation in the on-coming
Spring (well, for most of you).
As for events that have happened in my life over the past months, you
can read the break down of the stories.
For the Love of Basketball
I've been coaching girls at the high school in basketball for the past
year. There are several things wrong with me being a high school
basketball coach here. First, I've pretty much hated playing the game
since I quit the team almost 10 years ago. Secondly, I take sports
very--very seriously. Thirdly, I like to win. What this adds up to
is that in a place where everything is compromised by what one wants
to do in the moment rather than a long term dedication, and the basics
of working with teenage girls, I become very angry.
It turns out that I have no idea how to coach girls, especially here,
because I go too easy and they do whatever they want and no one shows
up, or I get tough and they get scared and no one shows up. So for
the past month before our first real game, no one has showed up.
Finally, the city sports authority gets its act together and on
Wednesday they tell me that we have a game on Saturday which leaves 2
days for practice. No one showed up.
We went to the game and half the girls didn't even know the rules. My
assistant coach who was supposed to translate my directions decided
that she knew more about basketball than I did and would tell them
something completely different. We lost---horribly. I was angry
enough not to say a word to any of them.
And then the boys played. The boys have been pretty much coaching
themselves because I told them that I had to help the girls. The boys
put themselves together in a team, worked out how to substitute
themselves, and led themselves to an awesome victory.
So all of this brought to my mind what everyone says here: girls are
just silly. Which makes me more mad. So I spent a few days thinking
about it and decided that I had to be mad at the girls or else I would
agree with what everyone else chooses to believe implicitly.
Thankfully, I have a very thoughtful student who is able to explain
the complexities of Ethiopian social dynamics and teaches me not to
give up hope. Then that very same student bombed her oral
presentation in my class. Grrrr
And the Fight
After the girls got bumped out of the citywide tournament, I started
to help the boys at their games. Their championship game for the
sub-city was a very tough loss going into double overtime and losing
by 2 points. There were many other students who came to the game to
support them, and as always in these kinds of games, emotions run very
high. So while I was at the scoring table clearing up the end-of-game
paperwork, I see one of my male students shouting his head off in a
rage at a student from another school. Mind you, he's not a player.
Then I see him pick up a random 2 by 4 that happens to be laying
around. Then I step in. I yell at him to put down the wood. He
does. Still angry. He picks up a large rock. This time I grab his
hand. He yells "get off." I pull his around so its crossed over his
neck and I'm now at his back. He, standing several centimeters taller
than me, leans over so my feet are off the ground. Some how I get
them back on the ground and the coach from the other team shouts to me
"Miss, let me handle it." I burst back "He's my student." I put the
kid in a headlock and drag him out of the school compound. After 10
minutes of cooling off, my student comes back to me and apologizes.
Fortunately or unfortunately, there were several other students who
were witnesses to this. As if I didn't have a reputation in the
school before, now its certainly gone around that I know how to fight.
I think the rumours that I'm ex-military or CIA have sprung back up.
It Ain't Easy Being Vegan
For almost two months now, I have adhered to the Ethiopian Orthodox
Lenten fast. Now, those of you educated in the practices of Lent may
question: 2 months? Yes, for some reason the Orthodox church has
decided that a measly 40 days is not good enough to satisfy the Lord
and his stint in the desert, and so they command that all good
Christians must pay penance since some time in early February. This
fasting is no weak Western-ideology fasting in which we only give up
meat on Fridays and think about some other vice or indulgence that we
take on too much at other times of the year. No, no. Here, this is
God's country and here we do God's fasting. As the rules go:
1) No eating before 3 PM. (the hour Jesus died) Monday- Friday
2) No drinking before 3 PM. Monday- Friday
3) Saturday and Sunday no eating or drinking before 10 am. (Don't know why)
4) No alcohol.
5) No cursing.
6) No sex ( I don't think there are so many children born between the
months of November and January and yet the population growth is still
soaring)
7) And absolutely no eating of products of animals.
The last one seems to be the hard one for me. As it goes, we get
pretty much a monthly donation of cheese. Like nice cheese. Good
cheddar, Havarti, Smoked Gouda, and various others, so our fridge
pretty much looks like a cheese box. We don't eat meat very often,
but we do have several volunteers who like to bake as well as make
nice creamy soups and other items delicious in nature.
Now I've fought my way through all of this, but currently there is a
sugar shortage. As in, I cant find any d*** sugar. Anywhere. Even
off-market stuff is really hard to find. I spent 2 freakin hours last
week to get 2 kilos. So, at the end of the day, when I'm exhausted, I
can barely keep my eyes open and I still have to grade papers, I can't
even put honey in my tea or coffee. And so it is bitter. And so am
I.
But these are frustrations I'm letting out in an email so you get the
picture. I've tried to give up complaining as well and not talk about
the fasting too much because that's not the point and I realise its my
own choice. But to give you a further idea, I now understand why no
one does anything here. It is really hard to move, to think, or to
feel proper in any sense when you don't eat for most of the day, for
weeks on end. And these are just the standard rules. For the "real
Christians" they eat almost nothing. And so they do almost nothing.
I would not include this fast in any country that wants to be
productive in any way. Good thing that's not a concern here.
Madame Van
And for the final story, I get to tell of a little indiscretion on the
part of some of my favorite female students. The other volunteers
joke that I have a "Van Club." There are some number of students who
hang around a lot, have come to the house, and I've taken out to
places around the city. The majority are girls. I am very proud that
these girls are the more assertive, self-confident, and determined
girls in the school. What this also means is they stand out a bit
more. And perhaps to some in authority, have a bit too much
confidence, especially when it comes to the male students.
Last week I was called down to talk with the coordinator of the
school. He had a list of students in front of him. A list of couples
to be exact, that were supposedly dating. Mind you, dating is
strictly not allowed in the school. Very strictly. Of the six
couples listed, 5 of the girls he knew were particularly close to me.
And so, I was told to "straighten them out." This list came about
because a teacher supposedly caught one of the girls and a boy kissing
in the hallway. *Shocking*
So I went on my fact finding mission. One by one, I pulled the girls
aside to talk to them about their alleged relationship. Of course, I
had already talked to a few of them before. Being American, I don't
care about dating in high school. I just care that they don't get in
trouble shortly before the Grade 12 National Exams. The conversation
ended up going something like this:
Me: So, you're on a list.
Student: What list?
Me: The bad list.
Student: I didn't do it.
Me: What didn't you do?
Student: Whatever that list says I did.
Me: Are you dating?
Student: *laughs* No.
Me: Are you sure?
Student: Why would I not be sure?
Me: Are you interested in dating?
Student: No.
Me: What about kissing?
Student: Van, stop it.
Me: So you havent been kissing, touching, talking, or doing anything
else inappropriately with a boy?
Student: That's a bad list.
So this was probably the most PG relationship conversation I'll ever
have with an 18 year old. They all said they just are friends, find
better friends in the guys, or sit next to a guy in class and for some
reason have been found guilty. No relationships. Even the girl
supposedly kissing said the guy leaned down to kiss her on the cheek
(acceptable greeting) and because he is very tall and she is very
short it could have looked otherwise. The guy said this as well and
got very upset at the accusation.
My talk with these girls ended up being enlightening in another way.
I might have expressed this before, but there are no female teachers
at the high school. In fact, for the older students who have been at
Don Bosco their entire school career, they have never had a female
teacher, save one foreigner who showed up last year. Apparently, the
all male administration doesn't find a problem with this, but it comes
to light that there is a problem when a situation like this occurs,
and the female students have been overtly blamed for inappropriate
relationships and the male students are just pawns to their games. I'm
still very proud of these girls, maybe even moreso now.
Conclusion
I hope in some way this has been entertaining and not just clutter in
your inbox. As my dad says, "I'm short," which means I'm on a
countable number of days now in Ethiopia. I'll try to press out a few
more emails in that time to round of the experience for you as well as
myself.
Best,
Virginia/Van/Va
We are gathered here, today, in this email, to celebrate a momentous
occasion. What that occasion may be, I have yet to discern, other
than to congratulate myself on not spending another four months
without writing you all. I hope this correspondence finds you all
healthy, happy, and with a sense of twitterpation in the on-coming
Spring (well, for most of you).
As for events that have happened in my life over the past months, you
can read the break down of the stories.
For the Love of Basketball
I've been coaching girls at the high school in basketball for the past
year. There are several things wrong with me being a high school
basketball coach here. First, I've pretty much hated playing the game
since I quit the team almost 10 years ago. Secondly, I take sports
very--very seriously. Thirdly, I like to win. What this adds up to
is that in a place where everything is compromised by what one wants
to do in the moment rather than a long term dedication, and the basics
of working with teenage girls, I become very angry.
It turns out that I have no idea how to coach girls, especially here,
because I go too easy and they do whatever they want and no one shows
up, or I get tough and they get scared and no one shows up. So for
the past month before our first real game, no one has showed up.
Finally, the city sports authority gets its act together and on
Wednesday they tell me that we have a game on Saturday which leaves 2
days for practice. No one showed up.
We went to the game and half the girls didn't even know the rules. My
assistant coach who was supposed to translate my directions decided
that she knew more about basketball than I did and would tell them
something completely different. We lost---horribly. I was angry
enough not to say a word to any of them.
And then the boys played. The boys have been pretty much coaching
themselves because I told them that I had to help the girls. The boys
put themselves together in a team, worked out how to substitute
themselves, and led themselves to an awesome victory.
So all of this brought to my mind what everyone says here: girls are
just silly. Which makes me more mad. So I spent a few days thinking
about it and decided that I had to be mad at the girls or else I would
agree with what everyone else chooses to believe implicitly.
Thankfully, I have a very thoughtful student who is able to explain
the complexities of Ethiopian social dynamics and teaches me not to
give up hope. Then that very same student bombed her oral
presentation in my class. Grrrr
And the Fight
After the girls got bumped out of the citywide tournament, I started
to help the boys at their games. Their championship game for the
sub-city was a very tough loss going into double overtime and losing
by 2 points. There were many other students who came to the game to
support them, and as always in these kinds of games, emotions run very
high. So while I was at the scoring table clearing up the end-of-game
paperwork, I see one of my male students shouting his head off in a
rage at a student from another school. Mind you, he's not a player.
Then I see him pick up a random 2 by 4 that happens to be laying
around. Then I step in. I yell at him to put down the wood. He
does. Still angry. He picks up a large rock. This time I grab his
hand. He yells "get off." I pull his around so its crossed over his
neck and I'm now at his back. He, standing several centimeters taller
than me, leans over so my feet are off the ground. Some how I get
them back on the ground and the coach from the other team shouts to me
"Miss, let me handle it." I burst back "He's my student." I put the
kid in a headlock and drag him out of the school compound. After 10
minutes of cooling off, my student comes back to me and apologizes.
Fortunately or unfortunately, there were several other students who
were witnesses to this. As if I didn't have a reputation in the
school before, now its certainly gone around that I know how to fight.
I think the rumours that I'm ex-military or CIA have sprung back up.
It Ain't Easy Being Vegan
For almost two months now, I have adhered to the Ethiopian Orthodox
Lenten fast. Now, those of you educated in the practices of Lent may
question: 2 months? Yes, for some reason the Orthodox church has
decided that a measly 40 days is not good enough to satisfy the Lord
and his stint in the desert, and so they command that all good
Christians must pay penance since some time in early February. This
fasting is no weak Western-ideology fasting in which we only give up
meat on Fridays and think about some other vice or indulgence that we
take on too much at other times of the year. No, no. Here, this is
God's country and here we do God's fasting. As the rules go:
1) No eating before 3 PM. (the hour Jesus died) Monday- Friday
2) No drinking before 3 PM. Monday- Friday
3) Saturday and Sunday no eating or drinking before 10 am. (Don't know why)
4) No alcohol.
5) No cursing.
6) No sex ( I don't think there are so many children born between the
months of November and January and yet the population growth is still
soaring)
7) And absolutely no eating of products of animals.
The last one seems to be the hard one for me. As it goes, we get
pretty much a monthly donation of cheese. Like nice cheese. Good
cheddar, Havarti, Smoked Gouda, and various others, so our fridge
pretty much looks like a cheese box. We don't eat meat very often,
but we do have several volunteers who like to bake as well as make
nice creamy soups and other items delicious in nature.
Now I've fought my way through all of this, but currently there is a
sugar shortage. As in, I cant find any d*** sugar. Anywhere. Even
off-market stuff is really hard to find. I spent 2 freakin hours last
week to get 2 kilos. So, at the end of the day, when I'm exhausted, I
can barely keep my eyes open and I still have to grade papers, I can't
even put honey in my tea or coffee. And so it is bitter. And so am
I.
But these are frustrations I'm letting out in an email so you get the
picture. I've tried to give up complaining as well and not talk about
the fasting too much because that's not the point and I realise its my
own choice. But to give you a further idea, I now understand why no
one does anything here. It is really hard to move, to think, or to
feel proper in any sense when you don't eat for most of the day, for
weeks on end. And these are just the standard rules. For the "real
Christians" they eat almost nothing. And so they do almost nothing.
I would not include this fast in any country that wants to be
productive in any way. Good thing that's not a concern here.
Madame Van
And for the final story, I get to tell of a little indiscretion on the
part of some of my favorite female students. The other volunteers
joke that I have a "Van Club." There are some number of students who
hang around a lot, have come to the house, and I've taken out to
places around the city. The majority are girls. I am very proud that
these girls are the more assertive, self-confident, and determined
girls in the school. What this also means is they stand out a bit
more. And perhaps to some in authority, have a bit too much
confidence, especially when it comes to the male students.
Last week I was called down to talk with the coordinator of the
school. He had a list of students in front of him. A list of couples
to be exact, that were supposedly dating. Mind you, dating is
strictly not allowed in the school. Very strictly. Of the six
couples listed, 5 of the girls he knew were particularly close to me.
And so, I was told to "straighten them out." This list came about
because a teacher supposedly caught one of the girls and a boy kissing
in the hallway. *Shocking*
So I went on my fact finding mission. One by one, I pulled the girls
aside to talk to them about their alleged relationship. Of course, I
had already talked to a few of them before. Being American, I don't
care about dating in high school. I just care that they don't get in
trouble shortly before the Grade 12 National Exams. The conversation
ended up going something like this:
Me: So, you're on a list.
Student: What list?
Me: The bad list.
Student: I didn't do it.
Me: What didn't you do?
Student: Whatever that list says I did.
Me: Are you dating?
Student: *laughs* No.
Me: Are you sure?
Student: Why would I not be sure?
Me: Are you interested in dating?
Student: No.
Me: What about kissing?
Student: Van, stop it.
Me: So you havent been kissing, touching, talking, or doing anything
else inappropriately with a boy?
Student: That's a bad list.
So this was probably the most PG relationship conversation I'll ever
have with an 18 year old. They all said they just are friends, find
better friends in the guys, or sit next to a guy in class and for some
reason have been found guilty. No relationships. Even the girl
supposedly kissing said the guy leaned down to kiss her on the cheek
(acceptable greeting) and because he is very tall and she is very
short it could have looked otherwise. The guy said this as well and
got very upset at the accusation.
My talk with these girls ended up being enlightening in another way.
I might have expressed this before, but there are no female teachers
at the high school. In fact, for the older students who have been at
Don Bosco their entire school career, they have never had a female
teacher, save one foreigner who showed up last year. Apparently, the
all male administration doesn't find a problem with this, but it comes
to light that there is a problem when a situation like this occurs,
and the female students have been overtly blamed for inappropriate
relationships and the male students are just pawns to their games. I'm
still very proud of these girls, maybe even moreso now.
Conclusion
I hope in some way this has been entertaining and not just clutter in
your inbox. As my dad says, "I'm short," which means I'm on a
countable number of days now in Ethiopia. I'll try to press out a few
more emails in that time to round of the experience for you as well as
myself.
Best,
Virginia/Van/Va
Nardos's Don't Cry
Dear People I Love, Admire, and Owe Money
Sorry its been so long since I've written you all together. Since
there are quite a few stories, once again, I've divided them into
sections, so you can pick and choose which ones you'd like to read
instead of going through all of them at once. I've attached the
stories as a document if that's easier for some, and I've attached a
news article from a local newspaper about the current situation here
in Ethiopia.
Also, I'm trying to do a little fundraising to help support me here.
The idea is to send boxes of goods that the children make here back to
various people in the States who can sell the items in church, at
work, to friends, etc. I've contacted a few people, but if this
sounds like something interesting you would like to help me with,
please get in touch with me. Also, you can just be on the lookout for
someone in your area who'll be handling the goods. A small brochure
is attached that briefly explains my projects (I work in three
associated with the Salesians) and also includes some pictures.
The Wedding
Along with many other Ethiopian traditions I've had the pleasure of
participating in, I recently was invited to the wedding of our driver
here at the project. Thinking that a driver doesn't exactly earn much
here, I thought this was a modest affair. What I should learn by now
is that any time you have an event here, there is nothing but
over-indulgence.
Over 500 guests were in attendance, and a full feast to make us all
drunk on food, let alone the actual drunkeness on the honey wine
(tella) and barley home-brew beer (tej). Im not actually sure what
happened as a part of the wedding ceremony as only the few close
family and friends could fit themselves into the house where I assume
the groom and his bride were married. The one part of the ceremony I
could see was when Teriku along with his party of men came bounding
and dancing through the tent, then all of a sudden, a fight broke out,
and just as quickly stopped. It was later explained to me that as a
part of the tradition the groom has to fight the males of the brides
family in order to prove that he's strong enough and dedicated enough
to marry. But the fight stops so quickly because the groom sprays
perfume in their eyes.
After eating, we danced traditional dances like eskista (shoulder
dancing) and had a generally good time. Definitely one of the more
exciting ceremonies I've participated in.
The Funeral
I also had the experience of one of the sadder ceremonies here when
one of my students' mother died leaving him and his brother as
orphans. Accompanying his classmates to his house after Saturday
class, I spent time on our walk talking with them about these sad
moments in our lives. My students are rather lucky, but still half
only have one living parent. There is no proper funeral service as in
the States, rather there is a continuous flow of people in and out of
the house to mourn with the family. People sit under a tent, and
women wail, moan, and beat their chests in a dramatic display of
sorrow that could bring the coldest soul to tears. I watched my
students sit rather meekly reflecting on what if they were the one
sitting in white with more of the burden of an adult life and less of
a future in front of them. Food is brought to comfort, but, as I've
been told, it is not in the tradition to be distracted from the death
of a loved one. Unlike in the States where it is acceptable to watch
television and busy ourselves with something else, in Ethiopia, for
months, you are to remind yourself of what's been lost.
Meskal
One of the biggest celebrations here in Ethiopia is Meskal, the
finding of the True Cross of Jesus. The story goes that Queen Saba of
Abyssinia (Ethiopia in ancient times) had a dream that she must find
the True Cross of Jesus. God told her where to find it, and she found
a fire burning on the place where she should dig. Meskal celebrates
the start of her digging. After 3-6 months (depending on the version
of the story), she found the Cross. It is now divided in four parts
and resides in 4 different Orthodox churches in Ethiopia. Just like
the Ark of the Covenant, ordinary people are not allowed to see the
True Cross and it is only protected by priests and monks who are
allowed to enter the Holy of Holies in the church. (You can believe
what you will about this story)
The celebration nowadays consists of having large bonfires, singing,
praying and eating. Going to Meskal Square in Addis, you'll find
thousands of people gathered to watch the main bonfire for the city.
I've got to say, its definitely the biggest fire I've seen. As the
sunlight faded, people slowly lit their t'waff (candles) to illuminate
the square. Too bad you need a really nice camera to catch this
spectacle on film.
Adventures in Teaching
As for the everyday part of my life, I've been going strong as a
veteran English teacher of 1 year. Thankfully, I learned quite a lot
in that first year. For some reason, this year they assigned to me
grades 9, 11, and 12 (not 10). As Grade 9 students are small and
annoying, I wasn't thrilled. I'm still not, but at least they fear
me, so they keep pretty well behaved. There was a nice rumour that
I'm a former American soldier.
This year I've learned how to adapt my material better for the kids to
be encouraged to use English as well as try to force them to work on
time schedules and be responsible for work. Its still a hit-and-miss
operation sometimes. For Grade 11, we're doing a unit on cultures,
and as a part of that we played an adapted version of BaFa BaFa. (A
game where two groups with completely different cultural rules are
asked to complete a task together.) This resulted in one of the
groups enslaving another to build a “Tower of Peace”, the slaves
revolting, and an all-out-war ensued with plenty of throwing of paper
balls, pens and the like. I'm sorry I didnt catch this on video.
Inevitably, the teams got the best scores in the class.
Simien Mountains
I realise that this is rather old now, so the stories aren't as good,
but I did go trekking with my friends Chris and Mitchell who were
volunteers in Rwanda for the past year. This was my first time
traveling north, and the Simien Mountains are known for hosting the
highest peak in Ethiopia (Ras Dashen) and troupes of baboons for which
the mountains are named. If you're a fan of the “Planet Earth”
series, then you'll recognize these mountains from the opening of the
“Mountains” episode. And they look even more awesome in real life.
It was a regular backpacking trip filled with animals (domestic and
wild), cold nights of camping, long hours by the fire, and the like.
But the most memorable part of the trip had to be our scout, Mahabo.
He was more than a scout, he was darn near our servant. He never let
us cross a river without holding our hands, he always ran to get water
for us, tend our fire all evening, and even sang us songs to entertain
us. This cleraly wasn't the normal behavior of scouts, as most of the
others at the campsites would just chew chat and sleep and basically
ignore their tourists until they had to make them move to the next
site.
I don't think I've done Mahabo justice here. He was so dedicated,
that even before we started trekking, we had to spend one night in
this small town. He saw us walking the streets and made sure no one
bothered us. He walked us back to our hotel to protect us from
thieves and told us to stay in our hotel (and told the hotel clerk
this too) until the morning because it was dangerous. This was 4
o'clock in the afternoon. We didn't listen, but it was a nice effort.
Sometimes it got to be a bit much, but we understood the sentiment,
and gave him a tip that was probably twice what he was actually hired
for.
Medical Mysteries
This story is a little gross, in case you want to skip it. So, for
months I've had a small lump on my shoulder. I thought nothing of it
because it didn't hurt, wasn't changing colours, and generally I
didn't notice it. Well, apparently it got irritated after carrying a
backpack for a week. It started to get bigger (as in big enough to
notice it through two shirts) and really red and irritated. I kept
thinking I needed to do something about it, but it was at a bad angle
for me to lance it myself, and the volunteer who I'm sure would have
done it for me had already went back home to Austria.
Fortunately, after only a few weeks of this, I had another reason to
visit the hospital with another person. Since I'm getting to know the
doctor at this particular hospital quite well through my visits with
other patients, I asked him to just take a look at it. He looked a
bit concern and asked me to come back the next morning so his director
could take care of it. The director saw me, and said he could take
care of it right away with minor surgery. The abscess was so swollen
that even when he shot me with local anaesthetic, a large amount of
fluid surged out. But while he was draining it and cutting away my
insides, we were discussing all the people we knew in common, which
was definitely helpful, because local anaesthetic doesnt actually take
away much pain. Also, since he knew my project and that I was a
volunteer, after he sewed me back up, he said I could just walk out of
the hospital without paying. I just couldn't lift my arm to shake his
hand.
Conclusion
Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I'm looking forward to my next
several months here, but I'm also happily pondering the days when I go
forth to other countries. I have tentative plans so far, but I should
be attending World Youth Day in Madrid in August, and then I'll
probably return to the East Coast of the US at the end of next August.
Keep me up to date with your own stories, and I'll try to create more
entertaining moments here to recount to you.
Sorry its been so long since I've written you all together. Since
there are quite a few stories, once again, I've divided them into
sections, so you can pick and choose which ones you'd like to read
instead of going through all of them at once. I've attached the
stories as a document if that's easier for some, and I've attached a
news article from a local newspaper about the current situation here
in Ethiopia.
Also, I'm trying to do a little fundraising to help support me here.
The idea is to send boxes of goods that the children make here back to
various people in the States who can sell the items in church, at
work, to friends, etc. I've contacted a few people, but if this
sounds like something interesting you would like to help me with,
please get in touch with me. Also, you can just be on the lookout for
someone in your area who'll be handling the goods. A small brochure
is attached that briefly explains my projects (I work in three
associated with the Salesians) and also includes some pictures.
The Wedding
Along with many other Ethiopian traditions I've had the pleasure of
participating in, I recently was invited to the wedding of our driver
here at the project. Thinking that a driver doesn't exactly earn much
here, I thought this was a modest affair. What I should learn by now
is that any time you have an event here, there is nothing but
over-indulgence.
Over 500 guests were in attendance, and a full feast to make us all
drunk on food, let alone the actual drunkeness on the honey wine
(tella) and barley home-brew beer (tej). Im not actually sure what
happened as a part of the wedding ceremony as only the few close
family and friends could fit themselves into the house where I assume
the groom and his bride were married. The one part of the ceremony I
could see was when Teriku along with his party of men came bounding
and dancing through the tent, then all of a sudden, a fight broke out,
and just as quickly stopped. It was later explained to me that as a
part of the tradition the groom has to fight the males of the brides
family in order to prove that he's strong enough and dedicated enough
to marry. But the fight stops so quickly because the groom sprays
perfume in their eyes.
After eating, we danced traditional dances like eskista (shoulder
dancing) and had a generally good time. Definitely one of the more
exciting ceremonies I've participated in.
The Funeral
I also had the experience of one of the sadder ceremonies here when
one of my students' mother died leaving him and his brother as
orphans. Accompanying his classmates to his house after Saturday
class, I spent time on our walk talking with them about these sad
moments in our lives. My students are rather lucky, but still half
only have one living parent. There is no proper funeral service as in
the States, rather there is a continuous flow of people in and out of
the house to mourn with the family. People sit under a tent, and
women wail, moan, and beat their chests in a dramatic display of
sorrow that could bring the coldest soul to tears. I watched my
students sit rather meekly reflecting on what if they were the one
sitting in white with more of the burden of an adult life and less of
a future in front of them. Food is brought to comfort, but, as I've
been told, it is not in the tradition to be distracted from the death
of a loved one. Unlike in the States where it is acceptable to watch
television and busy ourselves with something else, in Ethiopia, for
months, you are to remind yourself of what's been lost.
Meskal
One of the biggest celebrations here in Ethiopia is Meskal, the
finding of the True Cross of Jesus. The story goes that Queen Saba of
Abyssinia (Ethiopia in ancient times) had a dream that she must find
the True Cross of Jesus. God told her where to find it, and she found
a fire burning on the place where she should dig. Meskal celebrates
the start of her digging. After 3-6 months (depending on the version
of the story), she found the Cross. It is now divided in four parts
and resides in 4 different Orthodox churches in Ethiopia. Just like
the Ark of the Covenant, ordinary people are not allowed to see the
True Cross and it is only protected by priests and monks who are
allowed to enter the Holy of Holies in the church. (You can believe
what you will about this story)
The celebration nowadays consists of having large bonfires, singing,
praying and eating. Going to Meskal Square in Addis, you'll find
thousands of people gathered to watch the main bonfire for the city.
I've got to say, its definitely the biggest fire I've seen. As the
sunlight faded, people slowly lit their t'waff (candles) to illuminate
the square. Too bad you need a really nice camera to catch this
spectacle on film.
Adventures in Teaching
As for the everyday part of my life, I've been going strong as a
veteran English teacher of 1 year. Thankfully, I learned quite a lot
in that first year. For some reason, this year they assigned to me
grades 9, 11, and 12 (not 10). As Grade 9 students are small and
annoying, I wasn't thrilled. I'm still not, but at least they fear
me, so they keep pretty well behaved. There was a nice rumour that
I'm a former American soldier.
This year I've learned how to adapt my material better for the kids to
be encouraged to use English as well as try to force them to work on
time schedules and be responsible for work. Its still a hit-and-miss
operation sometimes. For Grade 11, we're doing a unit on cultures,
and as a part of that we played an adapted version of BaFa BaFa. (A
game where two groups with completely different cultural rules are
asked to complete a task together.) This resulted in one of the
groups enslaving another to build a “Tower of Peace”, the slaves
revolting, and an all-out-war ensued with plenty of throwing of paper
balls, pens and the like. I'm sorry I didnt catch this on video.
Inevitably, the teams got the best scores in the class.
Simien Mountains
I realise that this is rather old now, so the stories aren't as good,
but I did go trekking with my friends Chris and Mitchell who were
volunteers in Rwanda for the past year. This was my first time
traveling north, and the Simien Mountains are known for hosting the
highest peak in Ethiopia (Ras Dashen) and troupes of baboons for which
the mountains are named. If you're a fan of the “Planet Earth”
series, then you'll recognize these mountains from the opening of the
“Mountains” episode. And they look even more awesome in real life.
It was a regular backpacking trip filled with animals (domestic and
wild), cold nights of camping, long hours by the fire, and the like.
But the most memorable part of the trip had to be our scout, Mahabo.
He was more than a scout, he was darn near our servant. He never let
us cross a river without holding our hands, he always ran to get water
for us, tend our fire all evening, and even sang us songs to entertain
us. This cleraly wasn't the normal behavior of scouts, as most of the
others at the campsites would just chew chat and sleep and basically
ignore their tourists until they had to make them move to the next
site.
I don't think I've done Mahabo justice here. He was so dedicated,
that even before we started trekking, we had to spend one night in
this small town. He saw us walking the streets and made sure no one
bothered us. He walked us back to our hotel to protect us from
thieves and told us to stay in our hotel (and told the hotel clerk
this too) until the morning because it was dangerous. This was 4
o'clock in the afternoon. We didn't listen, but it was a nice effort.
Sometimes it got to be a bit much, but we understood the sentiment,
and gave him a tip that was probably twice what he was actually hired
for.
Medical Mysteries
This story is a little gross, in case you want to skip it. So, for
months I've had a small lump on my shoulder. I thought nothing of it
because it didn't hurt, wasn't changing colours, and generally I
didn't notice it. Well, apparently it got irritated after carrying a
backpack for a week. It started to get bigger (as in big enough to
notice it through two shirts) and really red and irritated. I kept
thinking I needed to do something about it, but it was at a bad angle
for me to lance it myself, and the volunteer who I'm sure would have
done it for me had already went back home to Austria.
Fortunately, after only a few weeks of this, I had another reason to
visit the hospital with another person. Since I'm getting to know the
doctor at this particular hospital quite well through my visits with
other patients, I asked him to just take a look at it. He looked a
bit concern and asked me to come back the next morning so his director
could take care of it. The director saw me, and said he could take
care of it right away with minor surgery. The abscess was so swollen
that even when he shot me with local anaesthetic, a large amount of
fluid surged out. But while he was draining it and cutting away my
insides, we were discussing all the people we knew in common, which
was definitely helpful, because local anaesthetic doesnt actually take
away much pain. Also, since he knew my project and that I was a
volunteer, after he sewed me back up, he said I could just walk out of
the hospital without paying. I just couldn't lift my arm to shake his
hand.
Conclusion
Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I'm looking forward to my next
several months here, but I'm also happily pondering the days when I go
forth to other countries. I have tentative plans so far, but I should
be attending World Youth Day in Madrid in August, and then I'll
probably return to the East Coast of the US at the end of next August.
Keep me up to date with your own stories, and I'll try to create more
entertaining moments here to recount to you.
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