Market Day Quandaries

Today I am thinking of going to the market. I haven’t gone in months.

When I first got to site, I went every market day, 3 times a week. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday I would go with my plastic bag down the dusty road, through all the people and the shops to the place tucked back in the deep part of town. I’d follow the same path, stop for coffee at the same place. I’d greet the same people, and sometimes new ones. I’d buy carrots, tomatoes or onions, garlic, ginger, sometimes beans, once in awhile beets or potatoes. I’d always leave with a sack full of things and walk back through the crowded streets.
Women on the ground selling fruit from tarps would sometimes tempt me to stop and add something.

At home, I would experiment with cooking elaborate meals of stews and chili, or different stir fries.

After awhile I became exhausted of it. My appetite decreased, both for the food and the stimulation of all the people. I resorted to eating oatmeal and bananas, scrambled eggs… anything simple and available nearby.

Even now, I wonder if I’ll really go to market. It sounds daunting. At some point the novelty of being a novelty wears off. When you’re here long enough, you just want to live your own life, not under the guise that everyone projects of you. It can make you jaded, cynical I think. You begin to brush off a simple greeting, your mind so focused on being done and getting home. You question every hello as a possible request for money or sexual harassment. And deep down that part of you that really likes people, that loves to connect and socialize, gets stifled. It becomes lost and suppressed under your barrier of protection. I feel it. I feel it all the time. When I recognize it, I pull the barrier down, just a little. I smile at people. I take my time to crouch down and greet the kids. I look them in the eyes and ask how they are, what their name is. Then I repeat it back to them, as best I can, to show that I understand. They giggle at the sound of their name in my voice. Their laughter relaxes me, and I continue on a little lighter.

I realize that moments like those are passed every day. I just have to take the time. It’s about getting out of my head and letting others in. The requests for money, the lewd comments from guys who are high on khat… those will never go away. But I shouldn’t let them steal away all the moments of happiness that lurk inside the cracks.

A Stick in the Road

After a successful working weekend in Jimma, two volunteers and I caught a mini bus back to Agaro. It usually takes an hour, but this mini bus made an unusual stop. There was a giant branch-like contraption sticking out of the road and several people standing around staring. My gaze soon shifted to the left, where a giant power line was half tilted, ready to fall at any moment. I almost knew before I asked… is there power in Agaro?

No, they said. It disappeared.

There’s no telling how long a situation like this will take to fix. As an added surprise, both the water and phone network went down with it.

So Dave, Marissa and I arrived in Agaro with limited options. Our days went something like this:

√   Go to the market, come home and use the remaining water I have stored to wash and peel veggies for dinner. Slowly.

√  Pull down the small box of Christmas items from last year. Set up a mini tree, hang a few stockings. Stand back and admire.

√  Take quizzes from Oprah and Cosmo magazines. (Turns out we’re all romantics, and can keep our cool under pressure.)

√  Prepare dinner by headlamps and candlelight. (Part camping, part alluring ambiance?)

√  Explore Cosmo for all the new fashion, culture and beauty trends we’ll never be a part of.

√  Discover a million and one tricks to do with matches.

√  Visit the small local library… Read the Encyclopedia Britannica circa 1981, The Babysitters Club and several books on Karl Marx.

√  Find someone along the road selling coffee they made with a charcoal fire.

√  Do crossword puzzles from a book published sometime in the 1990’s.

√  Sit around listening to my iPod until the last of it’s battery is drained.

√  Read.

√  Read some more.

√  Discus options.

Agaro is really hot this time of year. We can buy bottled water for drinking, but as for washing our bodies, our clothes, our dishes… you begin to understand what a serious commodity water is. Going weeks without water, you feel hot and dirty. Your dishes pile up. You dream of cold showers and clean clothes.

So… our options: Stick around Agaro and go through the whole experience we’re all too familiar with. OR. Get on a mini bus back to Jimma, share a hotel and take a shower.

Call me a cheater, but that shower was amazing.

Seven Days, Seven Stops

This month has been a burst of activity, as I’m sure it is for everyone during the holiday season. Most recently, I went on a little trip. Here are the highlights:

First stop: Jimma University Preparation Camp… 167 female university students coming from all over rural Ethiopia to start college. The program is designed to help them with life skills, training on HIV/AIDS and to improve their English. A fellow volunteer and I led sessions on goal-setting, confidence building and English conversation. The girls started out shy, but ended up incredibly enthusiastic.
In the Question-and-Answer at the end, they asked us why we would come from so far away to do this training. The answer was simple: because they came. They were motivated to show up on their Saturday and Sunday evenings to learn. That’s the best reason for us to teach.

Second stop: Addis Ababa… it takes 7 hours by bus to get from Jimma to Addis. We stopped in the office to fill out some paperwork, said goodbye to a few volunteers who were closing service, then went out for a little fun. There was hardly anyone out, but the music was the best I’d heard in months. We were out until 3 A.M.

Third stop: Huruta… This is the town I trained in, and lived with a family for 10 weeks. It’s a small town and the cell phone network is pretty shoddy, so my visit was incidentally a surprise. I came home to my three sisters running the family shop while our parents were working at a nearby market. They were all so genuinely excited; the looks on their faces were priceless. Going back there really felt like going home. I forgot how much I missed them.

Fourth stop: Assela… This is where our friends Joe and Kelly live, and about 20 volunteers came to celebrate Thanksgiving. Turkey is not available here, but we had another plan. I went with Joe to his Health Office, and we took a truck over to the farm project they’re working on. The profits from this farm benefit people living with HIV/AIDS. The farm has a pack of sheep. A white one was chosen, with little horns, for the price of 1,000 ETB ($55). They loaded it in the truck and brought it to a friend’s house to stay the night.
Meanwhile, we rented out the large screen projector and watched Camel Spiders dubbed in Amharic. It was a horrible movie. We had beers and made up hilarious plot lines. Then we went to the local bar and had a traditional night-before-Thanksgiving evening.
The next day, those who were so inclined joined Joe and some Ethiopian friends in preparing the sheep. (It sounds better when I say preparing, doesn’t it?) The feast was amazing. The people were awesome. Everyone was grateful. Thanksgiving was a success.

Fifth stop: Back to Addis… You pretty much have to go through Addis to get to most places in Ethiopia. We use this as an opportunity to enjoy the food, drinks and rare high-end amenities like ice cubes and toilets. There were cocktails, good music and lots of dancing.
The next morning happened to be the bi-annual Diplomats Bazaar. Addis Ababa is a hub for almost every embassy you can think of, and each had their own booth at this bazaar. They were selling local foods, drinks and trademarks from their countries. It was like a mini travel vacation around the world.

Sixth stop: Jimma… It was night when we arrived, so I couldn’t make it home. We got a room and made the best of it. Dinner, drinks, good conversations. A little music and dancing.

Last stop: Home …I’m covered in bites from fleas and/or bed bugs, and I’m pretty sure I picked up a bacterial infection… the byproducts of travel. It feels good to be home! At least for the next four days, before it’s back to Jimma for a working weekend.

Along Came a Spider

I love holidays. And so, in the spirit of Halloween, eight of us volunteers gathered in Bonga to celebrate. Pumpkin-carving, pinatas, scary movies and Halloween cocktails made the weekend feel like a legit October celebration. I came home feeling fully fulfilled.

I unpacked my stuff and settled into bed with my netbook. As I was reading updates of all that I’d missed through the weekend, something caught the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw a large black body creeping across my floor.

My heart began racing. It wasn’t a mouse, although it looked like the size of one. A giant cricket? I  tried desperately to think of an explanation for something other than what I knew it was.

I set down my computer and got up to take a closer look. It stopped behind the leg of a chair, so I couldn’t quite see its whole body. But the long legs of a giant spider were in plain view. I yelled at myself, be brave, be brave, be brave… holy shit! What do I do?!

I thought quickly through my options… fly swatter.. roach spray. That’s all I had.
Roach spray. I could stay far enough away and not have to make any physical contact. I tip-toed to the table with the spray and hurried back to my room. The monster was still there. Ok, ok. Be brave. I crouched down as near as I dared and started spraying.

Immediately it sprang from its hiding place and crawled across my floor to the other chair. I jumped back screaming, still holding down the button. I can’t honestly remember what came out of my mouth, but  I couldn’t stop screaming.

Soon I heard my neighbor’s voice from the next room. “Kay-tee?”  I tried in my best Amharic to explain: Huge insect! Spider. Huge!

At this point the giant was perched steady on my chair, somewhat stunned from the spray but certainly not dead. I thought in thirty different directions. I reached for my camera and turned it on, took a few steps near it, then threw it down and ran away screaming. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit… it’s all I remember thinking. I grabbed my phone and unlocked the keys, stared at it, then threw that down because who the hell am I going to call?

I got my fly swatter from the wall and stepped slowly towards it. Nope! Nope, nope, nope, nope. Holy shit! Be brave. I was sweating and my heart was pounding and I felt myself shaking. I could barely breathe, which was probably good because the room was filled with roach spray. It felt like hours as I stared at it, tried to get close, then ran away cursing.

Finally my neighbor and another man came to my door. I pointed to the cause of my commotion and she looked around for more. “No, there!” I told her. She pointed her light at it, then continued looking. “There, there, there!” I yelled. I realize now that she just didn’t believe a spider was the cause of all my panic. The guy she brought with chuckled, walked up to it with my fly swatter and slapped it, scooped it up and walked out.

Ten minutes later I was still shaking, trying to get the image out of my mind and trying even harder not to question whether there were more. I wrapped my mosquito net around my bed and sat under it. Dear God, don’t let there be more.

There was no going to the bathroom that night. There was no leaving my bed. Every time I woke up, I saw the image of it creeping across my floor. Was it really that big? Where did it come from? What if there’s more? I try to tell myself I’ve faced the fear, it’s over.
I guess that’s Happy Halloween.

Ballots, Bananas and Buna Season

I voted today! It was a weird experience, walking the dirt path to my little post office to participate in American democracy. I sat in a chair and filled in the little bubbles, then sealed it in three different envelopes and handed it over to a smiling Ethiopian postal worker. That’s it. One small gesture, and I felt American again. (Also, I noticed my uncle’s name under re-election for County Commissioner. Go Uncle Robert (Bob) Olean!)

The rest of my day was very much Ethiopian. I went to market. On the way, I passed the school. Passing the school is like setting off an alarm system. “You, you, you! Katie! Farenj!” The kids all yell. Anyone within a kilometer radius can tell when I’m coming, so I stop several times for greetings. And twice for coffee.

At the market, I found carrots, ginger, tomatoes and a few friendly faces I hadn’t seen in a while. “Tefash!” they say. You’ve been lost. “Allow,” I tell them. I’m here.

I walk back home, stopping for bananas along the way. “You!” a man says. “Give me one banana.” His broken English makes the request sound demanding. “You!” I reply back. “Buy one yourself.” And I laugh, because if you don’t laugh sometimes, it just feels irritating.

At home, our compound guard is laying the big tarp out for drying coffee. The green berries are just starting to turn red on the trees, which means it’s almost time for buna season. People will soon flock from all over the rural areas to make money picking coffee. The town fills with people heavy in the pockets with birr. Prices for everything go up and transportation gets crowded. Such is life in a cash-crop area.

 

What time?

Last night I was feeling cozy in my bed with a book, and I decided to have a glass of local wine. Gouder, it’s called. Sometimes it can be almost pleasant, and sometimes it’s sort of like a purple acid. Not the hallucinating kind. The kind that makes you wake up at 1 in the morning with a burning stomach ache and a strong desire to take it all back.

I laid there awhile listening to the chants of the local mosque. 2 a.m… 3 a.m… it’s still going.  Who is praying right now?

I put in my earplugs, which only slightly muffles the sound. At some point I fall back asleep, and wake up again at 8. The mosque is still going. Something in me today does not feel like getting up. Two years feels like an eternity.

In a few days I’ll be leaving to Addis for our mid-service conference. Our group of health volunteers are getting together to reflect on the year of service already behind us. All of the training, teaching, traveling, holidays… We’ve been here for over a year now.

Two years will be over so fast.