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?

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.

Welcome to Agaro

There were tourists in my town yesterday! I was walking with a friend, when three farenjis stepped out of a jeep. I’m not used to seeing other white people in Agaro, so I was very Ethiopian-like in my curiousity.  I assumed they were from some NGO in Jimma, the next biggest town over. Nope! Turns out, they were French tourists. Tourists. Meaning they weren’t here to try and fix anything. They weren’t here for research. They were merely here to see the town, and the beautiful birthplace of coffee.

I found this video, randomly, while working on my Community Needs Assesment. I couldn’t quite get it all to load here with my speedy cdma internet, but thought it might be fun to post anyway. It’s centered on the main streets of town. The rural areas not shown are where the lush, green beauty is… but I love this town. All of it.

Connected!

This past weekend my former site mate finished his service, leaving me all alone in Agaro.. along with his CDMA internet device. So I’m online! I can’t promise this will mean more updates, but I’ll try. Thanks to everyone who has written so far. You’ve brightened my days, and insured a strong friendship with Agaro’s postal workers.

It’s been three months since I came to site. Hard to believe, it goes by so fast. Then again.. there were 2 weeks in there that involved no water. That time went by a little slower. But I’ve had a great time exploring the town and getting to know people. “You!” and “Farenji!” are starting to morph into various forms of my name. Kachi.. Kari.. Kateem. I enjoy their efforts. To be honest, the best thing about this town are the people. I can sit down at any one of a hundred coffee stands here and find interesting conversation. Most people are generous in their welcome and have given me a lot of insight. After only a few months, my perceptions continuously change, and I expect they’ll continue as I make myself at home.

A Letter Home

Tefash! I know, you lost me. I probably warned you, I’m pretty bad at keeping a blog. I’m good at writing letters though! Which is why I’ve decided to forgo the posta bet and post my latest letter home. (Mom, Dad, Cassie.. this was to you.) It’s the best update I can give you with limited time. I hope to have better internet access in November. Until then, please write! I have my very own P.O. Box (listed on the side) and I promise, I always write back.

Hi guys!
I’m sort of cheating on this letter and addressing it to all of you, since I find myself repeating a lot of stuff… or forgetting who I told what to. So… how is life? Fill me in. Please🙂

I’m still living and breathing here in Agaro, 8 degrees latitude and 37 degrees longitude. The most recent of news is that my Muslim family opened their brand new cafe. They now have two, but the new one is in the tall, modern building in town and serves food with a menu! It’s hard to paint an accurate picture of this without some sort of background to compare it to, but this is pretty novel for Agaro. Jafar, the brother, mainly runs it and I’m so proud of him. Plus, they treat me like family, so it’s fun to be a part of it all.

It’s been rainy here today, which means bizu ch’ika (a lot of mud). I get my big Keen kickers on and am grateful for them everyday. Actually, there’s a lot of gratitude going on here. For instance, for my bug net. Have I mentioned yet how grateful I am to have this beautiful white-netted aura protecting me from all things creepy and crawly? That goes in hand with my fly swatter, which allows me to conduct bug combat at a safe distance from leaping retaliation. Then of course there’s the third tier of my battle: roach spray. I’m pretty sure I’m subjecting myself to cancer with this stuff, but it’s keeping me sane. At least, mostly sane. I see moving things in the corner of my eyes now that I’ll chalk up to bug paranoia.

And from bug killing we move on to beg killing. (That’s sheep in Amharic.) A few mornings ago we got a sheep. I’ve been around long enough to know that sheep here are not pets. The question was really, when. I got my answer when I stepped out my door to no less than 11 vultures, hovering on the roof and chilling in our yard. I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a vulture, but they’re the size of a small child. Maybe even a large child. At first I was confused, thinking maybe they came for the dog who is quite literally on his last leg. Then I turned the corner and saw our skinless sheep hanging upside-down from the tree. (Dad, I’ll take your deer in the garage for that, any day.) But no worries, we’ve already got another bleating sheep to replace it, sitting on death row. I’m really glad I’m not a sheep in this world. (And there is another bit of gratitude for you.)

Something a little less Africa here, I’ve got five seasons of How I Met Your Mother on hard drive. Man that show is funny. It brings me back home for 20 minutes at a time. Except, have you ever noticed how much food they have on that show? I swear, Robin is eating ice cream every other episode. I hate her. Also Cass, I have a few seasons of Mad Men. I haven’t started them yet, but I’ll let you know when I do. To be honest, I read a lot more than anything. I’m getting through a lot of good books. Which reminds me, if you have any old magazines you want to send, I’d love to read them. I guarantee they’ll be news to me.

Alright, well that’s all I’ve got for now! I’m off to meet some friends for coffee. Love and miss you all!

XOXO Katie

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.