Nobody Dies Until We've All Suffered

Happy Post Easter! Or otherwise: Melkam ka bwuhala Fasika!
(I realize that this email is quite long. If you want something quick
and entertaining, skip to paragraph 4.)

For all of you who have been desperately waiting for my next update of
my exciting life, I apologize for the delay. The Easter season has
turned out to be quite the unexpected stream of events.
Unfortunately, most of these I cannot recall because I’ve been
horribly sleep deprived and slightly hallucinatory, so I really
wouldn’t know how much was real and wasn’t anyways. But I do have
some wonderful anecdotes and cultural insights related to the Easter
holiday here in Ethiopia.
First, Easter is probably the biggest holiday countrywide. For 50
days before Easter (unlike our wimpy Western-40 days) the Ethiopians
fast. I know several of you probably have some good jokes on
“Ethiopians fasting” but I’ll refrain from making my comments. The
Orthodox form of fasting includes not eating any products of animals;
milk, eggs, and cheese included, and not eating before 3:00 p.m. This
results in much more church time and late night/early morning prayers.
I tried this fast for one week, and it actually went quite well, so I
continued it to one degree or another for the rest of Lent.
Holy Week, the week right before Easter, is something else here.
They call it “Mumar Semund” or “Suffering Week”. Everyone must
suffer, whether you believe or not. You are not allowed to greet
people with handshakes or kisses as normal, or utter the typical
greeting of peace. Many Orthodox go to church every day during the
week for long hours. Thursday, they kick it up a notch and can have
all day and into the night prayers. What I might have failed to
mention about the prayers, is that every Orthodox church has a
loudspeaker attached, so every within a 2 mile radius can hear them.
So, if you happen to be lucky enough to live near 2 Orthodox churches
(most people are) you not only have one incessant chant, but a
mutually ill-melodic, syncopated second chant.
Paragraph 4 --> Then Friday is the big day of Holy workouts. Both
Catholics and Orthodox alike go to church from 8:00 am to 3:00 pm or
longer and suffer for Christ. Every 15 seconds for thirty minutes at
a time (15 minute breaks allowed) we have synchronized bowing
exercises in time to chants. Then, once every three sessions, we like
to kick it up a notch to double-time to my favorite chant “Kyrie Isso”
– which roughly translates to “May God give you strength in suffering
for mercy.” This is no wimpy American bowing from the neck or even
the more dedicated bowing from the waist. This is full-on Ethiopian
athletic throwing yourself to the ground, bend from toes to knees,
hunch over, tap your forehead to the floor and then rise again in
squat-thrust manner. What makes this more interesting is that the
churches are so crowded that you have to keep your feet together and
when you move to go down you must place your hands directly in front
of your knees to catch yourself, and then put your head directly on
top of your hands, forming a nice egg-shape that’s not nearly as
relaxing as the more popular yoga “child-pose”. Then not shifting
from side-to-side or stepping backwards to stand-up is also key. And
if we don’t do this simultaneously, someone ends up with their head in
another’s butt. This is all a part of suffering for the mercy of God.
Most people don’t eat from Friday until Sunday at 3:00 a.m., when
they feast with their families, because that’s “when God got up.”
Usually starting around midnight and going until 7:00 a.m. all the
animals which have been getting fat for 50 days are consequently
slaughtered. Much akin to one of my favorite Muslim holidays, for the
next week the streets are filled with blood and animal carcasses. So
many animals are butchered in one day that the city actually becomes
quieter. That and all chanting finally ceases for a 3 hour hiatus
while the priests feast between 3:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. Sunday
morning.
On Sunday and Monday I feasted with some students of mine. The
Ethiopian notion of hospitality is so overwhelmingly giving that at
times it becomes uncomfortable. I was very late to my first student’s
house on Sunday because we had a mix-up about phone numbers. Her
family waited several hours for me to arrive, and then proceeded to
feed me with doro wat (chicken and egg in hot sauce) and kitfel (raw
meat in spices), but only the father of the family ate with me. They
wouldn’t let me stop eating until I looked like I was in pain. I also
had three cups before me: tella, tej, and bunna. Tella is an alcohol
made out of barley and can either taste like watered down Coke or
burning cigar. Tej is also an alcohol that’s made out of honey and is
usually quite strong (think a honey schnapp) but Ethiopian custom
demands that any glass be filled to the very top, and I was being
served in tall juice glasses. And bunna, of course, is traditional
Ethiopian coffee brewed carefully by the matriarch of the house.
I’m still not aware of many marks of respect or politeness in
Ethiopian households because I haven’t been to many that weren’t run
by children, so the day started off quite awkward. I decided to take
my cue from the fact that only the father was addressing me even
though his wife, three children, and sister were all sitting in the
same room. I spent most of the time awkwardly talking to him and all
of us watching television. In every house I’ve been in, if they have
a television, its on no matter what. He was explaining to me
different traditions, songs, and dances as they flashed across the
screen.
I ended up staying too late, and so it was after dark when I finally
got up to leave. It was only a 15 minute walk to my house, but the
family insisted that they needed to walk me home because it was
dangerous. I tried to insist otherwise, but it didn’t really work.
Apparently, this is the general thought here, so its best just to
leave some place before it gets dark and the family has to take
responsibility for you.
The next day, I had an appointment at a student’s home in the
morning, and being still full, even to the point of sickness, I was
comforted by the thought that I was going over in the morning and that
most likely meant we were only drinking bunna together. Unfortunately
I was wrong. Very, very wrong. The mother had spent the full morning
alternately cooking and working at her beauty salon just to feed
myself and the other American volunteer. Neither she nor her daughter
ate unless we fed them. And since all the food was just for us, we
were expected to finish it. Ughhhhh. Half a chicken and 3 glasses of
tella later, Erin and I were rolling home, keeping in mind the bushes
near the sidewalk to vomit behind.
I have been overwhelmed at the kindness and generosity the families
have shown while I have been here, and I’ve also been amazed at the
extremes at which the people will go through to please someone, show
their devoutness , dedicate themselves to a cause or belief, or
otherwise hurt someone. One thing I haven’t witnessed so much in
Ethiopia is moderation.
I hope this email finds you all well. For those who have written me
personally, I’m trying to write back as soon as possible but I hope
this email will tie you over for a short while.

Cheers,
Virginia/Van/Va

Rules? There are no Rules

Hello wonderful people, some of whom are very nice to look at,

I know this is late, but happy 4th of July for all you Americans, and
everyone else you can just simmer in your envy of the Greatest Nation
on Earth. I think we should add that to our country name. Only seems
appropriate.

I’ve been racking my brain to figure out something interesting that I
can actually tell you in this update, but many things I must keep mum
about (sorry, I know that’s tantalizing) and I haven’t had any real
events. I didn’t get to go on holiday, and I’ve just been terribly
busy with all the kids’ activities. I think I’m turning into a soccer
mom.

But then I realized, unlike most of you, I’ve been living in a third
world country for some time (and visiting many others prior), so what
I now find mundane and ordinary is actually quite hilarious. This
will be quite long, so I’m numbering the sections so you can break up
your reading time appropriately.

1. Kushasha means dirty. I suppose one thing I haven’t mentioned as
of yet is that I live next to a garbage dump. Correction, Kushen, the
garbage dump for the city of Addis, population some 8-11 million
people. I can see it clearly from the window and most of the kids I
work with live directly behind it (within a few hundred metres) or
some, on it. Its not just a mountain of trash, but a living, fuming,
mountain range full of life and a culture of its own.

There’s the women who everyday dress in whatever plastic they can find
to protect their clothes and themselves from the liquids and ooze that
seep from the bags of rotten household refuse they collect and haul on
their backs to Kushen and then have the privilege to pick through
those bags for whatever discards they may find of use.

Then there are the gangs that proudly and viciously fight over
territory on Kushen. Anyone with sense does not walk the path behind
the cascading slopes of rubbish at night because they are likely to be
robbed, pummeled or worse. The gangs take ownership of territory on
the waste piles and will harass anyone without permission to rummage
through it.

And lastly there are the children. With no semblance of a parent or
guardian, the children take refuge on Kushen. As you walk or drive
past it, you can usually find at least one bathing in the pools that
collect on top. And you’ll certainly see the excitement as one child
makes a new discovery of some dilapidated piece of machinery or
furniture that some fool mistook for broken junk. It’s a playground
of used thingamabobs and whoswatsits.

2. Waaredg allah! The next joy I took to noticing lately was the
personality and sometimes comic nature of the public taxis, or
minibuses, I ride in nearly everyday. In a 12-passenger,
blue-and-white Toyota van are usually crammed 17 people plus driver
and, for lack of better words, cashier. Each van is owned by one
person but usually shared by a group who take turns driving with their
respective cashier partner. Always men, the driver stays silent and
uncommonly focused, while the cashier calls at rapid fire the
destination and places passengers on bench seats oil cans and the tire
humps.

For some reason, the vans are, as it seems, required to be decorated
in some bizarre fashion. Most have pictures of the Virgin Mary or
Jesus or some other favorite saint of the country. The rastas drive
with printouts of Bob Marley pasted to the windows while blaring
reggae on the radio. But every once in a while, you some van picks
you up that’s truly unique. Some of my favorites included a van with
the front seats covered in purple-black zebra striped fur and the rest
covered in some orange patterned plastic. One had a picture of the
Virgin Mary in plastic covering the entire ceiling of the van. It was
blurred as if the picture had been made too large on a computer, but
still, the mother of God was watching all of us.

Then, just today, I had one taxi which had a box of Kleenexes glued
upside down to the ceiling above the driver. I’m not sure who this
was suppose to convenience, but I think its an addition I’ll make to
my next vehicle. I didn’t understand why he also glued a perfectly
good CD to an otherwise bare ceiling. Maybe it’s a start to his
redecoration. By the time I get him again, perhaps I’ll understand
what he’s going for.

Even though I travel the same route 3-5 times a week, I hardly ever
remember getting the same taxi twice. This city is so crowded with
people and cars, that it would be difficult to find something familiar
other than the beggars who usually occupy the same piece of sidewalk
from one day to the next. And if I become something familiar in one
place, that’s when I might find myself in a bit of trouble. But no
worries so far.

3. Be jealous, Paris. I also forget that it’s not normal to
constantly hear farm animals in the middle of the city. Herds of
goats aren’t allowed within the inner limits of the city, but most
rest just outside, occupy any area or neighborhood where the can find
good feed. Luckily, I live in a construction site with almost no
vegetation, but I often run across the herds and their droppings on my
way to the other compound.

We do usually a small number of cows that roam in an out of our
compound. An extra one is made ready on feast days for either the
teachers or the security guards to share. Usually if you walk outside
at about 6:00 or 7:00 a.m. on that day you can watch the ritualistic
slaughter. As my student informed me, only men can do it, and usually
inebriation is involved. The dogs remove the carrion to various parts
of the compound, including our front porch. Its taken time, but I’ve
learned to step slowly out my front door.

The more usual chickens can be found on any street corner attached to
their peddler by a foot leash. On non-fasting days you can see any
number of people walking with their fresh live chicken either held
upside-down by its feet or under the arm like a small pet. This image
has become such a stereotype for us here that we now refer to the
chicken as the “Ethiopian Chihuahua”. We imagine carrying it around
in a cute bag and putting on a collar that matches our outfit.

4. Speak I Little. As for a more personal anecdote, I’ll recount my
recent adventures in language. As most of you know, I am not talented
in languages other than my mother tongue. For many reasons, I’ve
decided to take this as a challenge this year. Not only am I
desperately trying to grasp a vocalization of Amharic, but I’m also
taking on a well needed French course. C’est bien!

Somehow I passed my placement exam to put me in the highest level
currently offered at the Alliance Francaise. This also makes me the
dunce of the class. The entire class is conducted in French and even
in our break time we’re required to form stiff lips and speak through
our nose. While I’m quite good in grammar, I’ve forgotten (or never
learned) much vocabulary and I’ve hardly practiced speaking. So today
I had to argue with the professor about a particular grammatical point
which, thanks to another brighter classmate, I knew I was right about.
However, when trying to argue my point my command of the language
only led my argument to include “Future of the phrase is need, but say
you us from before. Why?” I didn’t win this debate.

My Amharic is also struggling but I trying to enact my own “Shock and
Awe” on the language. I took some teenage girls to go see an Amharic
movie about a foreigner who is making a movie and he falls in love
with an Ethiopian girl. It’s a comedy where most of the hilarity
comes the translator Samson who doesn’t actually know English. I had
my own translation problems on the way to the movie which made the
entire event all the more comical. On my way out with the girls, I
was explaining to them my rules of outings. It came out something
like this. First, what I meant to say, then the Ahmaric, and then
what I later learned I actually said.

“Rule no. 1. Do not die.” - “Hedg undenya. Al-motachum” – “Rule
first. She not die”
“Rule no. 2. Do not run away.” -“Hedg huletenya. Al-shishushum”
–“Rule second. Do not pee.”
“Rule no. 3. Don’t argue with me.” “Hedg sostenya.
Al-chikachi-kachem” – “Rule third. Do not ----(incomprehensible)”

5. Conclusion. I hope I’ve written enough to entertain some of you
and not bore the others. As always, I appreciate you writing back,
and also as always, I apologize for being slow on responses. I should
have 1-2 weeks break in August where I’ll make an effort to reply
more. Take care of yourselves and I look forward to many stories from
you.

My best,

Virginia/Van/Va

Hola Espana

!Hola Readers!
So this might come as a surprise to many of you, but I have never been to Spain before. I know. Sun-soaked beaches, towering mountains, and plenty of partying across the pays: why haven't I visited? Well, its mostly been an overlooked part of Europe for me. I supposed that since I spent so much time with Latinos and in Latin American countries that the feel would be the same. Oh, how little did I know.

First, I wasnt so excited to come to Spain. I spent some vacation time in France, a country that is very close to my heart, after two years in Ethiopia. So, I felt that Spain wasn't exotic enough for my taste. Upon arrival, I just went through the motions of muttering through the local language to find my way to my destination. Very easily, my friend picked me up at the train station in Zaragoza and we headed towards her small town of Huesca. I was entirely underwhelmed and a little disappointed to part from Boston on top. But spending the next hour in a car ride, I started to notice the cultural differences as well as the unexpected landscape. Perhaps it was because I have down absolutely no research on Spain that I found all of these things intriguing. The unfortunate coincidence to my arrival was the death of a my Spanish guide's family friend. So, after a quick clean up, we headed to the reception of the deceased's relatives. But that was sandwiched by drinks at local pubs, which I could handle easily. The Spanish, so far, haven't seemed so out of context of my expectations, but to actually experience the wine-throwing, body-throbbing festival is an entirely different concept.

I've been bar hopping since 10 am, and I'm only half-way through. I have a hiatus since my friend has gone to the funeral, but we expect to be pulling at least a 12-hour day. And then there's the concerts, bullfights, etc planned for the rest of the week. I only hope that I have the stamina to keep up with the Spanish constitution. However, a healthy Spanish breakfast of fried eggs, ham, and chorizo is paving the way. I'll relate more after my buzz wears off.

Hasta luego,
Virginia/Van/Va

Keeping Up with the Tesfayes

Dear Wonderful People of Whom Many are Far Away,

Selamno from Ethiopia! My apologies for such a delay in writing, but
while I have many comforts here, a fast internet connection is not one
of them.

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirit. I cannot
believe that I have been in Ethiopia nearly a month. I’m an still
very much settling in, and every time I try to talk to the children, I
remember how very little I know, especially in language. I am living
with the Salesian community in a compound with my own bedroom and
bathroom (hot shower included!). There is a volunteer house on site,
but it is currently filled with an Italian family, a Spanish
volunteer, and two Austrian volunteers. Besides the husband of the
Italian family and his son, we are all female volunteers. I have a
beautiful courtyard outside my door, palm tree included, and a burning
trash heap outside my window.

For those of you who were in India and otherwise heard my tales, Addis
is a much cleaner city. Since we are on a plateau, the air is much
cleaner, and I expect once I get into the country more I’ll find even
healthier air. I am living on the very outskirts of the city, so it
takes nearly an hour to get to city centre and the markets. Every
night us single volunteers cook and eat dinner together, so we’re
getting plenty of vegetables and I occasionally get to throw in a
southern recipe. For Thanksgiving I’ll be making veggie pot pie,
zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie. Since there’s only one other
American volunteer and she’s not big on celebrating American holidays,
we won’t make a big fuss about everything.

As for my work, I jumped in as soon as I arrived. I started teaching
my Spoken English classes four days after I arrived. I teach at Don
Bosco High School, which is actually a very good high school for the
area. While some of my students come through the Bosco’s Children
program (a home for street boys) and others through Donato’s children
(an oratory for impoverished children) many of my students come from
middle class families. I don’t think I’m a very good teacher because
I don’t like to plan my lessons, but now that the first quarter has
ended, I think I will have to change my ways. My seniors would like
real grades instead of happy faces and frowny faces.

With my seniors, I am working with many of them to help them go to
college abroad. This is a very difficult task because they are very
late to start applying to schools in the US, and anywhere they would
want to go they would need full scholarships. I am hoping to be able
to send at least one this year, and I will start working with my
Juniors in the spring to prep them for the SAT and the TOEFL.

Altogether I have 500 students, so I’ve only learned about 6 names so
far. Since I live in the compound with Donato’s children, I also see
all 400 of those children every afternoon and weekend. I have just
started tutoring at Bosco’s Children which is a compound about 15
minutes away walking. I am working with boys/men from 16-25 years old
to teach them English. Its different working with them since they’ve
spent most of their lives on the street and when I ask a question like
“How old are you?” they honestly reply “I don’t know.” I’m hoping to
improve my Amharic enough to go with other volunteers to start meeting
boys on the street and encourage them to join the program.

My other responsibilities include sports coach for the girls and IT
person for the compound. Its scary to think that out of all the
volunteers and workers here, I know the most about computers.

Life is comfortable here, and I’m enjoying getting to know my students
and the other children. I’m sure once I get some grasp of the
language, I’ll be able to tell you much more about them. Thank you
for all your messages and words of support after my first email. I
wish I could address everyone individually, but this is the best I can
do for now. For the Americans, Happy Thanksgiving! And for everyone
else, I hope you have a wonderful non-holiday week!

Much love,
Virginia (Van)

Maybe We Should Have Taken the Nyala

Endemna Arderachu, Endemna Wallu, weyass Deunah Deru!

So I decided to go ahead and write my next exciting update from the
Cradle of Humanity (I'm sure there's a pun I could make on that)
before my life got extraordinarily busy again with school and other
work. In fact, I'm supposed to be at a teacher's meeting right now,
but since the entire meeting is in Amharic and I'm still limited to
about 30 words, I decided you all were more important.

My fellow American, Erin, and I took our first real retreat this past
week during our end of semester break. We decided to head to the Bale
Mountains in the south for one of my favorite activities, a good ol'
bit of hiking and backpacking. Before we can get to the exciting
part, I have to lament about work. We had to give exams to finish out
the semester, and between reviewing other teacher's exams for English
mistakes, writing and grading my own exams, and invigilating
(--proctoring exams, for anyone else who is confused by this word) I
got very little sleep the week before my vacation. Unfortunately, I
had to fail most of my Grade 12 students because for some reason they
think I'm an easy teacher and clearly did not take notes or even try
in my class. Hopefully, they'll get the message and try a bit harder
next semester so they can pass. It does come with a bit of
satisfaction to fail some students because they are very lazy, but I
also wonder what I can do to be a better teacher to them. I decided
they need to do a lot more work next semester to force some knowledge
into their head. They're going to hate me.

Onto the more exciting bits--Bale Mountains were beautiful and Erin
and I were able to see so many indigenous and endangered animals at
very close distance. We camped for 3 nights and hiked for two days.
The first night we had a warthog we nicknamed Pumba running through
our campsite. I kept on thinking about bacon, but the people in the
region are mainly Muslim or Orthodox and both religions consider pigs
unclean and wont eat them. Just pepper the hog and throw it in a
frying pan and I think I can change their minds. We also saw the
elusive Mountain Nyala. This is like a big deer and apparently its
rarely photographed which is strange because herds of them were all
over the place. Maybe the animals think Erin is Snow White and she
just attracts all the animals with her forest prancing.
Our guide seemed to be extremely experienced and he helped us
identify different species of eagles by markings and informed us about
the Afro-Alpine terrain which we were hiking in. To us, it looked
like a high rocky desert because it was the dry season, but he told us
for 8 months of the year its actually pretty green. Daniel The Guide
also told us that he had just led a 48 day trek for National
Geographic to search for the endangered Ethiopian Cabbarro (Wolf). We
love National Geographic here because its something easy to read and
Erin got about a dozen of them in a Christmas package. I think he
could tell we were excited, so we met with his friend who works with
the researchers and tracks the wolves. He's self-taught and can
probably identify all 200 wolves in the region by sight. So after a
night of frost, we packed and went wolf tracking. We saw seven wolves
altogether including a mother and her two cubs. They're smaller than
the American wolf, I think, and they're a reddish-light brown to blend
into the sandy grasses and light colored rocks of the terrain. One
even started posing for our camera.
Unfortunately, our guide turned an unsavory side on us, and we
decided not to continue with him for a third day of hiking as planned.
Instead of helping the two firengi women anymore, he told us to stand
by the side of the only road for a hundred kilometres and wait for
someone to pick us up to head back north. In addition, he and his
cohorts tried to compete with us for a ride for all passing vehicles.
Erin and I decided to start walking the road north to get away from
them and we eventually got picked up by a bus and stayed for a lovely
night in Dodolla and then met up with other volunteers in Ziway. They
were traveling south with 30 teenagers from the oratory to another
compound in Dilla for the feast weekend. I joined the group to Dilla
and Erin, who was a bit travel worn by then, continued north to Addis.
On the bus to Dilla, 5 of our 30 leggosch (children) did not vomit.
We were very proud of the the five. In Dilla, they took as many
showers in the house as they could, climbed the mango trees and got
sick off of unripe mangoes, and nearly drowned trying to swim. I was
lifeguard on duty at the pool, and I encouraged the drowning by making
the boys who couldn't swim (nearly all of them) do cannonballs at the
deep end of the pool and I promised I would bring them up from the
bottom. That part was fine. I did forget to tell them not to breathe
in once they were in the water, so quite a few became water-logged.
But saving peoples' lives appears to be a really good bonding method,
unless you are the one to have caused the near-death experience. Oh,
the things I learn as a missioner.
I also ran my very first race in Ethiopia. It was only a 5km race,
but I had 14 year-old-girls kick my butt so hard, my friend was
embarrassed to say hello to me. My excuse is that I was holding hands
and pulling along two other little girls the entire way, but really I
wouldn't have done much better without them. No doubt, Ethiopians are
fast. And none of the girls were wearing shoes. I'm such an
embarrassment.
Sorry if this is a bit long, but I feel I won't have time to write an
email for a while. Being a good teacher takes a lot of time and
effort, and hopefully I'll also start Amharic lessons soon so I
understand more than "Anchi. Gobez." ("You. Good") Please keep on
sending letters as its a bit easier for me to respond to those.
Anyone who is inspired to send a package (don't feel pressured), I
have most common goods here, but new music, especially hiphop and good
Christian music for the kids is always appreciated as well as spare
flash drives (filled with music might be nice), pictures are good, and
of course, chocolate. Since Orthodox Lent has started, I think I've
decided to give up kolo (roasted and spiced barley), which is
basically my crack here. Chocolate is too rare to actually be given
up. Love and good thoughts to all of you. Hope you're thawing out
from the shell of winter and your Spring looks as bright as everyday
here. Jealous? I thought so.

Warmest regards,

Virginia/Va/Van

Beauty, School, Drop Out

Hello Friends, Family, and Far Away Loved Ones,

Spring is rolling nicely into summer for many of you, and I hope
everything is coming up roses. The summer season here in Ethiopia is
actually known as the “Big Rainy Season,” so we have a lot more mud
and desperate attempts to ford giant waterways that form in the
construction site that is our compound. Since the rain really hasn’t
stopped all year (unusual), no one knows what to expect from this
season. I hope it means less rain, but that may mean trouble for
farmers and food production for a country that is the poster child for
food aid.
We had elections in this country a few weeks ago, all went very
peacefully, and we are happy to celebrate another 5 years with the
current government with hardly a change in any area. After 19 years
of ruling, why change now?
My work has been steadily changing away from teaching as my Grade 10
and Grade 12 classes have been freed from regular lessons to study and
take their national exams. In Ethiopia, the system is much more akin
to most of Europe where students have to prove sufficient knowledge in
Grade 10 to move onto preparatory school, or they will go onto
vocational school. In Grade 12 they must get high scores to get into
the university education program they want because almost all the
universities are free government universities and they’re all
competing for top spots. As a student explained to me 1 million
students take the Grade 10 exam and only 100,000 pass onto preparatory
school. Then of those students, only 75,000 places are available in
universities. More students drop out after their first semester of
university because the exams are too difficult, so about 50,000
students a year continue a university education in Ethiopia. In a
country of 80 million people where more than half are under the age of
18, it proves to be some staggering numbers.
As Ive stepped away more from teaching, Ive started to be more of a
mentor/ counsellor. I have groups of teens that I do different
activities with, and concentrating on the girls, we talk about
different issues that are important to them (religion, family, boys,
etc). Im using my awesomeness to try to lead them to some better
ideas about women, relationships and how to be strong. We also have
some pretty interesting discussions on religion, homosexuality, and
race, most of which would be utterly horrifying to the average
American listener. But as is most things, its cultural.
Unfortunately, for a country that most of us would see as pretty
homogenous, there is a damaging racist mentality.
Speaking of which, a few weeks ago there was a carnival held by the
Grade 12 students in which we had a beauty contest. The girls from
mostly grades 9 and 10 took both Western and traditional clothing and
strutted up and down a stage to waiting boys with their cell phones
out ready to take pictures from a more than exposed angle. The
dresses were short, the comments from the crowd were derogatory, and
basically it was something you wouldn’t even expect to see in an
American high school (or be allowed to). I was pretty disappointed
with the students and one student in particular I was shocked with.
It gave me an opportunity to talk to her about her, um, performance,
and many other things. Shes unique in the school as her parents are
descendants from Turks and Pakistanis respectively and shes very light
skinned. Daily she has to deal with being called a firengi
(foreigner) and most people wont talk to her because she looks
different, and even more because shes Musulim. No wonder shes trying
to get out.
Im looking forward to a trip to the West and North this summer to
visit some more historic Ethiopian cities and ruins. Hopefully I’ll
have more interesting stories after those experiences and maybe I wont
lose my camera this time so you all can see pictures. It may be a
while before I see most of you again, but you all are in my thoughts
and prayers.

Cheers,
Virginia/Van/Va

Tere Linda, Van Bastard

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