Baking and Plumbers

It’s about Christmastime… Two weeks, right? You could have fooled me. (Where does the time go?!) In my bright and sunny Muslim town, very few things say “Christmas” around here. I do have a little tree that helps, and some occasional iPod jams to invoke the spirit. I also made a grand attempt at baking yesterday. Mind you, we have no ovens. This endeavor was dutch oven-esque, using a big pot, some rocks and a smaller pot. I’m happy to say the event was a success. The best part was giving it away. Common as it may seem, banana bread is a novel treat here.

And speaking of cooking endeavors, I also made my first burgers yesterday. This is big for me. I’m not really a meat person in general, and especially not when you have to see the hanging carcass as you buy it. But I did it. And I’m not going to lie, it was an experiment. But I think they were OK. Peace Corps goal #3 is sharing American culture with Ethiopia, so I invited a habesha friend over to try them. And… he may or may not have eaten them to appease me.

The other fun news going on here is that I moved to a new house. Still in Agaro, just down the hill. The place is cute and cozy and I love it. Except for the plumbing. I was really excited to get an actual bathroom with a toilet, but I’ve learned to be careful what I wish for. After five appointments with the plumber (a term I use loosely), my toilet is still quite broken. The original problem was flushing… the new problem is leaking. A constant drip fills buckets on the hour. Guess I can’t complain about no water.

T.I.A.

Initially, it’s all a little overwhelming. Agaro is a deep green town filled with coffee, mango, papaya, bananas, guavas and other fruit trees. This green landscape requires water. Mosquitoes love this. I’ve spent an unreasonable amount of time this morning hunting my 8 by 8 foot room for the source of that skin-crawling, high-pitched hum. I did however, sleep very soundly last night. Mosquito nets are the shit. I can’t believe part of my job is promoting them. These things sell themselves.

I arrived yesterday in Agaro, which was chosen to be my site of 2-year service. The bus ride was 9 hours from Addis. Having heard enough horrific Ethiopian bus experiences, I was sufficiently terrified. We rose at 3 a.m. to start the journey and loaded the bus at Mercado station around 7. I was nestled tightly between an older woman and my counterpart. It wasn’t luxuriously comfortable, but my bags were safely loaded and I felt confident my experience had defied the norm. Half-way through our high-speed winding adventure, the woman next to me realized her undisclosed motion sickness. She inevitably vomited her injera breakfast on the floor in front of us. The bus got hotter, the people got sweatier. I was officially inducted into the Ethiopian bus experience.

Now that I’m here, I get 3 days to check out the town, open a bank account and set up my P.O. Box. Then it’s back to my training site (and yes, back on the bus) for six weeks. I’m training in Huruta with a host family, who takes care of me like I’m their own. Shito, Gemechu and their 3 daughters have already secured a permanent place in my heart. During training, language classes run 8 hours a day. Simultaneously, we immerse ourselves in culture and Ethiopian life. This means walking the dirt roads amongst donkeys, sheep and goats, washing our clothes by hand, and never forgetting to bring our toilet paper with us to the shint bet.  T.his I.s A.frica.

Let’s Talk

I got a message from the Peace Corps office today, making this adventure all the more real. In addition to training information, there’s a section they wrote up especially for you. Here’s the gist of it:

Letters
The mail service in Ethiopia is not as efficient as the U.S. Postal Service.  It can take 3-4 weeks for letters from Ethiopia to get to the States.  And if I’m assigned to a small faraway village, it could take 1-2 months to reach you. If you date your letters to me (and number them) I can let you know how long it takes for me to get them.

Packages
These are not guaranteed to reach me, but current volunteers have said they haven’t had a problem. Don’t send anything too expensive. Electronics have extremely high custom taxes, so please don’t send any. Padded envelopes are often taxed less than boxes, if you can opt for those. Care packages will probably be a little piece of heaven, so thanks ahead of time. Here’s the address again:

Katie Olean, PCV
U.S. Peace Corps
P.O. Box 7788
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Also they said cash and checks are not recommended through the mail. (bummer.) If you send a postcard, please put it in an envelope. If you don’t, some postal worker will likely have a new picture for their wall. 

Phone Calls
To get some actual voice conversations, it’s possible to call my cell phone (number to come). However, there’s a part about how difficult it is to get through and you may need to call 5-10 times in a row, even if it says I’m “out of the service area.” There’s always Skype… although I haven’t given it a practice run yet. And who knows how internet will be.

The Fun Stuff
Then there was a little section on my possible “war stories,” by which they mean illness , lack of good food, isolation, etc. They assure you it’s never as bad as it sounds, and we have a doctor and physician’s assistant on staff in Addis Ababa. If it’s really bad, we’ll be medically evacuated to Kenya, South Africa or the United States. (Let’s not hope for that.)

So that’s about it. I love you all forever for reading this and sending me letters when I get there. I promise, I’ll write you all back. Two weeks to go!

Wait… you’re what?!

In case this comes as a surprise, I’ve joined the Peace Corps. Many of you are wondering (several of you out loud) if I’ve lost my mind. I promise you, this was all well thought out.

Perhaps sometime during the hundreds of application questions, I may have had my doubts. But as I contacted my references and worked on my essay questions, I was incredibly certain. I was so certain, that I didn’t waste a minute getting my fingers printed by the sheriff or filling out the requested background check. I was eager to hop on the train and travel an hour into New York City for an interview.  I shrieked with excitement when I was nominated for Central/South America. I showed equal enthusiasm when my nomination was changed to the Caribbean. I opened wide for my dental exams as each tooth was measured and each x-ray was taken. I dutifully researched and tracked down a VA to do my medical exams. When my car was not allowed on the military premise, I parked in the lot and marched all the way across the base to see a doctor. (Three times.) I was poked with 4 needles and gave 10 viles of blood. I cried when the doctor told me I was HIV positive. A week later, I confidently shouted when she said it was a mistake. I came back to Minnesota and sat across from a psychologist to prove my sanity. (Everything was clear.) I mailed in forms and sat in an abyss of waiting. And waiting. And waiting. My heart dropped when I discovered my medical clearance had taken too long for a Caribbean invitation. I waited longer. I made more phone calls. I felt a surge of excitement as I learned my medical was finally clear. And I practiced more waiting.

I was standing with my mom in the isle of Wal-mart when the Peace Corps called. The woman asked very few questions. Quite abruptly I was told I’d be receiving an invitation to serve as an HIV/AIDS volunteer for sub-Saharan Africa. (“sub-Saharn where??”)

It was 2 weeks later when I finally opened the envelope and held in my hands the piece of gold I had waited an entire gestation period for:  An invitation to serve in Ethiopia.

So, I assure you I’ve had plenty of time to think this over. I’ve had plenty of time to research, and plenty of time to back out. (Not an ounce of my soul wants to.) As my dad has says, the Peace Corps is just me. And I couldn’t think of doing anything else.