Day 59: Catching up

Asni returned today and she made fresh banana bread! My period of seclusion is coming to an end. I realized after double checking the dates that I was actually going to go three weeks without any housemates and more critically: without Asni’s cooking. Her leftovers lasted the remainder of the first week and then I had to cook for myself. I am completely inept at cooking. As Molly Ringwald said in a movie, “I’m the type that burns water.” On my first night alone I realized that I was not the only one that was going to starve. Chilo intuitively became restless when the house emptied and for the first two days would not leave my side. He even ventured into the house which is a no no. Finally I think he realized that I was not going to be an adequate source of food and came to terms with a shrinking stomach. I haven’t starved. Hareg makes me join her family for lunch after class everyday and then dinner consists of soup and salad or a sandwich.

It would be tiresome to try to chronicle everything I’ve done over the last three weeks. Even though the time seems to have passed a lot slower with everyone gone, I have been quite busy. Before I was completely on my own I took the remainder of the group to Alert Hospital. Alert is a hospital for people with leprosy. From what I know of the disease it affects the nervous system to where people lose all feeling of their fingers and limbs. One sign of the disease is that men will have broad shoulders and women have wider hips. Apparently there is treatment for the disease that will completely heal a person in five years. But it is a very painful disease that many people in Addis suffer from. At the hospital there is a facility for craft making. The patients weave intricate rugs, linens, pillow cases, etc for sale at the hospital’s gift shop. Their work is all done by hand. One old man weaves rugs with just stubs for fingers. He’s living proof of our amazing capacity to endure and overcome. (For pictures click on the link on the right)

Watt’s last day at Destiny was sad of course. Rebecca and Abraham joined us that day. On the way, Watt worked the taxi one last time, but the fun was cut short by the near breakdown of our minibus shortly after we drove off. The vehicle was making the most awful grinding noise; I thought the thing was going to blow up as we screeched down the road. No one on the bus breathed for the next ten minutes until it somehow miraculously started to run again. I was praying so hard that it would come back to life knowing that the driver and his coworker’s livelihood depended on it. You could see them willing it back to operation every time it stalled. At school there was a celebration for Watt during recess and the kids circled around him singing songs and presenting gifts. His pursuit of “awesomeness” is contagious making every kid drawn to him. His departure put a noticeable hush over the school. One day after he had left Hareg said, “It’s amazing how quiet it is now that Watt’s gone!”

The day after Watt left I felt the void of not having his company on the taxis. In Mexico where we always battle to get a taxi I managed to find one without trouble. When I hopped on he said 1 birr. Sometimes the price is one other times it is only 65 cents. We always pay what Habeshas pay. I waited to confirm that he was charging everyone else 65 cents and said “habesha waga affeullegalo.” (I want the Ethiopian price) I was shocked I had remembered that line on my own. A few passengers chuckled in amazement, but the guy would not accept it. He insisted on one birr and I refused. Finally, after a few people talked to him he accepted the 65 cents and apologized in English. When we got to Tor Highloch I gave him the extra 35 cents and said, “ketelo gize Habesha waga affeullegalo. Geub bah? Deuna Deur.” Meaning, “Next time, I want the habesha price. Do you understand? Good night.” He smiled and nodded. I felt such a sense of accomplishment to have an exchange with someone in Amharic.

When I walked out of the airport after dropping off Rebecca I was prepared for my time of independence. I am not afraid to be on my own in this city. In fact, I have so much support from Ethiopian friends that I can’t say that I’m alone. During my four trips to the airport in five days I enjoyed conversing with Habtamu. He is very thoughtful and carries himself with dignity. His perspective on life in Ethiopia adds to my own thought process. He insisted that I call him anytime I was in need of anything or if I just wanted to talk I could call on him to join me for coffee. One morning when I was running late for work and the rain was pouring down I saw him at the bus stop. He had a customer in the car, but insisted that I get in. He took me halfway and explained to the lady in the car that I am like family. She told him in Amharic how impressed she is by Americans’ willingness to travel anywhere in the world to help others. She said we (Ethiopians) won’t even help the suffering in neighboring Somalia. I hadn’t looked at things that way, but she’s right.

Since the house has been under repair I moved to our “outhouse” (as I call it.) It’s separate from the main building and has its own bathroom and three bunk beds. It hasn’t been bad until something fell from the ceiling. I looked up saw a long tail hanging from an opening. Nope, not another mouse. This time it’s a rat. I don’t have words for my disgust, but what can I do? As long as he stays up there and doesn’t come down I’m going to let it be.

At the end of that first week Hareg and I sat down to discuss the to-do list she had made at my urging. So many things were hanging over her head that she was struggling to get anything done. We divided responsibilities and set deadlines. My responsibilities include writing and administering part of the placement exam for newly enrolled students, developing website content, and documenting the student sponsorship program. I am thrilled to be able to help in these areas. The placement exam was a challenge for me. I felt the pressure to develop a test that would accurately determine skill level. We tested in three areas: reading comprehension, grammar, and speaking in English. Only two kids were held back, but for the parents that is very disappointing news because that means paying for an additional year.

My first Sunday alone I went back to IEC. Afterwards, I met Hareg and went to Genet’s house for lunch and a coffee ceremony. Genet is a mother that I am tutoring three days a week. When you are a guest at someone’s house you are treated with the most generous hospitality. Before my plate was empty I was served more and when that was gone I was given another helping. When you run out of injera to scoop up the wat you are given more and if you have leftover injera you’re given more wat. So you have to judge exactly how much you need otherwise the food will keep coming! As we were eating, Genet’s husband’s brother and two sisters arrived and ate with us. Extended families are very close in that way and mealtime is always a family affair done around the table. The meal and coffee took up the entire afternoon, but that is the point.

On another day Hareg asked me to help her interview a new teacher. He’s an older guy with a lot of passion for teaching. He had pushed the interview up because he had already received an acceptance at another school and needed to make a decision. To her joy and surprise he told her what they offered him for a salary and it was half of what she had expected but the right amount she was able to offer. We kind of laughed at his honesty because he probably could have leveraged us for more if he hadn’t told us. Hareg offered him the job and he chose Destiny. Afterwards I went with Mastewal to a Youth With a Mission (YWAM) orphanage in Gofa. The director’s name is Abdissa. He lives at the compound with the orphans. It is a great program. It’s called Mercy Development and it is home to twenty-two street kids. They structure it as a family setting instilling values, communities, and life skills. I’m hoping to be able to spend time with them during free afternoons.

Even on days that I anticipate being relatively uneventful something worth noting happens. For instance, one rainy morning when I didn’t have the time or the energy to fight for a taxi four guys took the initiative to get me a spot. While waiting another man recognized me and asked, “Where are your friends?” I told him, “They all went back to the States.” “But I just saw them last week,” he exclaimed. I was comforted by the fact that someone had noticed. Then sensing that I was growing weary and sick with a cold Hareg took me to a restaurant she had found near the school. It is run by a woman that had lived in the US with her husband for seven years. They decided to come back and try to make a living here. The service and food is outstanding and the price is shockingly low. For drinks, two entrees, bread, and tea the bill was 27 birr the equivalent of $3. Hareg and I were both thrilled to have discovered a new place to eat at a reasonable price.

Last Friday I finally mustered up the energy to face the marcato. Maste went with me of course. Our mission was to find the tire shoe makers that Matt had befriended. I had forgotten the piece of paper that I had written the names and cell numbers and Maste had never been there so it was like searching for a needle in a hay stack. The marcato is so massive and chaotic that you constantly have to keep your bearings and belongings. The only clue I had was a picture on my camera that Matt had taken when we had accidentally swapped memory cards. I was reluctant to pull out my camera because there are thieves lurking everywhere, but it was our only hope. We managed to find someone that recognized the guys and within minutes we were talking to Getachu the tire dealer and Tareeku the tire shoe maker. Theirs is an amazing trade. They make hundreds of pairs of sandals by hand all from used tires and tiny nails. I bought a pair of all five styles for 100 birr which is actually a lot, but I wanted to pay extra since they worked overtime. My feet are so small they didn’t really have a model to work with. They gladly made adjustments until we had a perfect fit. I enjoyed sitting in the alley talking to them; had I seen them without any prior knowledge or introduction I wouldn’t have given them a second thought. In fact, I would have considered them dangerous, but looking past their rugged surface you find friendly, hard-working people. The shoes have different names depending on where you buy them, but they most commonly go by berbasso or moga. I have gotten quite a bit of attention wearing them around town. I’ll hear people go, “berbassos!” as they point and smile. I’m not sure what is spurring this kind of reaction: shock or excitement. Either way, I like them!

Saturday was a beautiful day so I decided to go for a jog. I was hounded by kids on the street. At one point some teenage girls grabbed my arm mid stride. Their grip was so strong and unexpected that it literally swung me around. For a few seconds I couldn’t get them to let go and all they would say is “money, money, give me, give me.” It was really frustrating. Later, I met up with a lady I had met a few weeks earlier named Alice. She is new to Addis here on a Fullbright scholarship to teach journalism at Unity College. She has had a difficult time (as one would imagine) crossing the language barrier to secure a place to live for the next year. It was nice to have a day of sightseeing. We met at Meskel Square and walked to an art gallery called St. George. It probably contains the most expensive pieces in the city and they proudly display a picture of the owner with President Clinton. Afterwards we walked up the hill toward the Sheraton Hotel. It was my first up- close encounter. Here the hotel is the symbol of wealth. This monstrosity sits like a lion on an ant hill. I could barely stand to look at it with its guarded gates and manicured lawns. We continued our walk across the city to an Indian restaurant called Jewel of India. I had been craving Indian food. By the time dinner was over it was dark outside. Being across town I had to brave the taxi system at night for the first time. In Mexico the crowd was so big I succumbed to my apprehensions and contracted a taxi. He charged me 20 birr and then let two other guys tag along for 5 birr. I refused to accept that kind of treatment and told him as I pointed to each guy and then myself, “amist, amist, asser...haya” Roughly meaning 5, 5, and 10 equals 20. He was not happy about this at all, but I insisted and only paid the ten. In the end he still got what he asked for so I think it was fair.

On Sunday I went with Maste to Asco Orphanage. I spent the hours holding the babies giving each one some attention. I adore them; it hurts to see them suffer from HIV. Their bodies are not soft and plump like normal babies. They are stiff and weary. Their breathing is heavy and raspy and many of them are covered with sores and itchy skin. There is one baby I have become attached to because he was described to me as the one that always cries. You can see the sadness in his eyes even when there aren’t tears; my heart breaks for him. Last time I visited he wasn’t in the nursery. I knew it meant he was in the sick room. I prayed and worried over him knowing an illness could end his life. Sunday when I returned he was back. I confirmed that he had been in the sick room. But if he is back in the nursery it means he is better, and even his temperament seems to have improved. For that, I am thankful.