Ten Bits of Traveling Fun

This is Dave, waiting for our bus (way back there on the right) to be fixed.

1. Hotel beds have bugs. (Fleas? Mosquitoes? I don’t know!) They itch.

2. Sometimes you have to be up at 5 a.m. to fight for a bus, and sometimes you have to wait hours for it to leave. And sometimes when you’re 20 minutes outside your destination, it will break down for 2 and a half hours.

3. People throw up on the buses. If you’re lucky, they’ll ask for a bag.

4. Drivers like to pack the bus as full as possible, often past the legal limit. When traffic cops stop them, they’ll argue over the ticket for hours. Everyone waits.

5. Windows only open to buy things off the road.

6. Headphones are good in theory. In reality the loudspeaker of Ethiopian bus music will always win.

7. There are no rest stops. There are multiple stops to rest. It’s best to find a nice bush, and never be in a hurry.

8. Personal space is a western concept.  Here: Laps, arms and shoulders are fair game.

9. If someone next to you has fruit, snacks or gum, they’ll offer to share. As should you.

10. Even when you’re traveling alone, you’re never alone. People will always be there talking to you, offering you help and inviting you to lunch with them.

A (mis)Adventure in Addis

I had a meeting in the capital this weekend, so I caught a mini bus out of Jimma on Saturday at 5 a.m.  It was still pretty dark out, and I saw my first hyenas in country. They looked like a cross between a cat, a dog and a monkey. And bigger than I thought. Anyway, it was also raining and the driver had a serious need for speed, so I closed my eyes and prayed for most of the way. I got to Addis 3 hours earlier than usual.

In the city, I line taxied my way over to the hotel. Actually…I line taxied myself over to some ice cream, then started walking toward the hotel. On the way, a man in front of me turned around and hocked spit at me.

I stood, stunned, completely grossed out. I actually kept repeating, “gross.. gross.. gross.”  He apologized and asked if I had any tissues to wipe it off. No. I lied. I don’t know why I lied.

He had a shirt in his hand and I wanted to wipe myself off with that. Instead he grabbed a small piece of tissue from his pocket and started wiping my stomach. The spit was mostly on my arm. I pushed him away and took the tissue to start wiping my arm. He took his shirt and started wiping my stomach again. I pushed him away again and he turned around, apologizing, and jumped in a car 20 feet behind us.

I don’t think you have to guess what that was all about. I checked my purse and found I still had my phone, my money, my camera. It was really confusing and I was still stunned from having his gross spit all over me. I re-checked my bag and couldn’t find anything missing. Some girls behind me caught up and asked if I was Ok. I told them I couldn’t find anything missing. Then I realized a magazine I had on top of all my stuff was gone. I don’t think he could reach any of the important stuff below it.

The girls told me I was lucky, and that God loves me. I think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever been spit on and felt lucky.

How to Save a Life

I’m pretty sure my previous posts have updated y’all on how fanatic I am about my mosquito net. It’s my little wall of protection from all that goes buzz in the night. Unfortunately not everyone realizes the awe-inspiring power that it is. People here die every day from malaria; it’s the number one killer in Africa. The President’s Malaria Initiative (PMI) and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) work continuously to distribute nets, but the number of people actually using them is still too low. And that’s unfortunate, because one child dies every 45 seconds from a disease that could be prevented.

I did a training yesterday with a group of students about malaria and bed net usage. All of the students reported having bed nets, but less than half raised their hands to say they use them. We made a poster both in English and Amharic to highlight six important facts about malaria, and read them each aloud.

1. Malaria is a preventable disease that can kill you.
2. Malaria is transmitted by a specific type of mosquito that primarily bites at night.
3. Malaria symptoms are: fever, headache, chills, vomiting and other flu-like symptoms.
4. Malaria should be treated at the health center immediately.
5. Mosquito nets prevent malaria.
6. Everyone should sleep under a mosquito net, every night, all year long.

Afterwards we had a discussion and answered questions. One girl asked me about malaria in America. I told her–with the utmost encouragement–that malaria used to be a problem there, but it was eliminated through the use of bed nets, medicines and insecticides. We can do the same in Africa, if everyone takes part.

I asked them again how many will use their bed nets and almost everyone raised their hands. (The others requested help, and we planned a follow-up training on how to hang a net.) Wiping out malaria is a large and overwhelming ambition. But if even one of these kids decides to sleep under a mosquito net tonight, we’re making progress.

April 25 is World Malaria Day. Celebrate. Spread the word.

Ready, Aim, Go

Yesterday we bid farewell to a Swedish student who’s been doing research in Agaro. It’s the first time I’ve really “gone out” at site. I’ve actually been on rehydration salts for a couple of days (we all know what that means), so I’m not sure it was the best idea. My Ethiopian friend assured me it was. (Alcohol kills bacteria, no?) Anyway, it was fun. We stayed out way past my bedtime. (That means midnight.) The entertainment: A game that reminded me of dropping clothes pins into jars as a kid. Bend a bottle top, try to drop it into an empty bottle. Believe it or not, it entertained for hours.

The verdict on bacteria… pretty sure they’re still alive in there. I foresee a non work-related visit to my health center very soon. It’s probably my least favorite thing to do here. Even worse than laundry. You get a cup, a toothpick and directions to a little room (think outhouse-sized) with a hole in the floor. There’s an overall lack of aim from previous guests, so I roll my pant legs up. I pray for cooperation from my digestive system, but it doesn’t always work. Sometimes I’m in this room for many minutes. These minutes feel like hours. When I finally have something to show, I get to strut through the clinic holding a cup of my own poo. Don’t forget, I also work at this health center. (If you think you’re having a bad day at work, now’s the time to cheer up.)

As you can guess, I usually wait several days before I go through this routine. Am I really sick? Maybe it will just go away. (It never does.) …Wish me luck.

Sunday Dinner

Earlier this week I was approached by someone in town who wanted to talk. We had coffee, and by the end of the week I had met half his extended family and spent an entire Sunday having dinner at their house. I realize from an American standpoint, this seems rather strange. Maybe downright creepy. Here, it’s a part of life. Ethiopians have an amazing knack for hospitality and I’m consistently touched by their generosity. Though we’re separated by race, religion, language and ethnicity, I’ve never felt so close to family.
(And yep.. that’s a fridge in the background. Some families have it made!)

All before noon…

1. Woke up to a mosque’s call to prayer

2. Convinced 2 guys that discussing my weight is not an appropriate topic of conversation

3. Picked mangoes from a tree in my yard

4. Shook some eggs at market to see if they’re rotten

5. Ran from a crazy (or drunk?) guy asking for money

6. Recieved two limes as a gift from a farmer

7. Sat down with locals for a cup of fresh-roasted coffee

8. Planned a life skills training for a local Anti-AIDS club

9. Shooed a cow out of my yard

10. Wrote a blog entry on the craziness of life here

Sleeping with the enemy

I tried to convince myself these itchy bumps were mosquito bites. I really hoped mosquitoes were somehow infiltrating my net.  I can kid myself no more. Two days ago I spotted a leaping little speck on my bed. Later on I found another on my leg. Closer inspection confirmed my fears: I have fleas. I don’t know how these unwelcome little house guests made their way in, but they’re officially ruining my night’s sleep. Every little tickle sends me scrambling to the flashlight for inspection. Of course it’s futile since they’re almost microscopic and can leap over a foot. The only proof that I’m not going crazy are the tiny little bumps all over my feet and ankles. Their size is misleading: They itch like a bitch. Naturally I turned straight to Google for more information. The leading advice: Get an exterminator. I can say with straight certainty I won’t be finding one of those anywhere around here. So.. I guess I’m feeding a family of fleas for awhile. And another little fun bit of info:  They carry Typhus. I know a few volunteers in my group who have already had it. If the itching doesn’t keep me up at night, the thought of contracting Typhus will. I’m almost positive this will be one of those funny Peace Corps stories to look back on… almost.

Growing

I have no urgent desire to be a parent or have kids. (Sorry Mom.) And my recent effort to adopt a kitten lasted one day. Here’s my last attempt at being responsible for a living thing. Since they won’t be peeing in my house or dragging raw meat under my bed, I’m feeling optimistic. 

Be grateful your laundry day doesn’t look like this…

When my clothes get dirty (which inevitably happens here quickly) I have 2 options. One: Go around town in search of someone who wants to make a few extra birr, set an appointment for them to come to my house, and wait for that person who may or may not show up. Possibly repeat.  Or two: Get out the buckets and start scrubbing.

I’m sure you’re probably thinking option two sounds simpler. My guess is, you’ve never had to wash a whole load of clothes by hand before. This is my most loathed chore, and if nothing else, has taught me what a miraculous invention washing machines are.

A Carnivore’s Dilemma

The dish of choice for fasting season.

It’s been awhile, so I’m trying to resist a lengthy 3 month update and instead fill you in on a current issue.

As most of you know it’s Lent right now… meatless Fridays for practicing Catholics. Here, the Ethiopian Orthodox Christians take Lent a bit further by making every day Friday. No meat, no animal products… strictly vegan for two months. I’m not Orthodox, but my lack of veil means everyone generally assumes or accepts that I’m Christian. Being a non-Orthodox Christian, I don’t need to fast. Apparently though, I do need to pay attention to the symbols outside of restaurants. A look of shock and hurt came over my poor Orthodox friend’s face when I told him where I had my lunch. I guess I missed the crescent moon and star outside. It was a Muslim place, and Christians do not eat Muslim meat.

I feel bad for disappointing my friend, and for the confusion that I probably sent around town. At the same time, I feel unfairly held to their religious expectations. Meat is meat in my religion. Should I pretend that it’s not? Boycott all the Muslim restaurants in town for some fake display of Christianity? I respect their culture in every way possible (just check out the farmer’s tan on these shoulders!) but this is one issue I’m drawn on. Rumors fly here faster than Hollywood. Do I apologize for my oversight and refrain from Muslim restaurants? Or do I follow my own heart in not pretending?

Honestly, I’ll probably avoid Muslim meat from now on; I don’t like it enough to face the drama. But it’s got me thinking: Where do we draw the line between adapting to culture and following our own beliefs? Isn’t pretending, in a way, also a lie?