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.

Teaching Girls to GLOW

Camp GLOW, Nekemte, Ethiopia

Last week, 34 girls came together from seven different communities for a life-changing experience I will never forget.Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) is a camp for girls organized by Peace Corps volunteers  all over the world. This year, I worked with 10 other volunteers to create a Camp GLOW in  Nekemte, Ethiopia. This camp comprised of 9th and 10th grade girls from the southwest regions of the country. For most of them, it was their first time ever leaving home.

The camp started Sunday when we all gathered at the university. It took many of us several hours by bus to arrive. As the girls began meeting, they were mostly silent. They simply stared, uncertain and shy.

The first day, we organized them all into rooms and assigned each an animal group: Eagles, Elephants, Lions and Monkeys. A few counslers were assigned to each group and the process of getting to know each other began.

Sunday night was a lot of figuring out logistics and setting the ground rules. The girls got pink tote bags with journals and a few toiletries. They were given journal prompts every night and wrote in them just before bed.

During journal time, counslers met to discuss the upcoming day. We had programming all planned out weeks ahead of time. Still, life throws out obstacles and plans change. We hung giant charts on the wall for each day and had cards with each session taped on. Cards were switched around like a puzzle as we discussed what was working, what wasn’t, and what the realities of our time were. Contingincies were planned on top of contingincies. And even those changed.

Camp days started early and ended late, and each was filled with different events. There were skits on peer pressure, “girl talk” about sexual health, games to teach about HIV and some games just for fun. We had sessions to practice leadership and how to build teamwork. We taught about fuel-efficient cooking methods and learned how to plant trees. We had crafts to make useful items, and crafts that were just for fun. We had a day to visualize the future, created goals and planned out how to take lessons from camp back home. The last night was a giant bonfire, where the girls had their first taste of s’mores and wrote inspiring messages to each other in their journals. We sang songs, gave awards and recognized everyone for their hard work.

There is so much that can be said about this camp. The girls who started out so silent and shy were raising their hands to be leaders by the end. Girls who could mindlessly recite the use of condoms in HIV prevention actually saw one for the first time, and learned how to properly use it. They discovered first-hand the power of believing in yourself and had an opportunity to ask questions they never could before. It was overwhelming to see the transformation in every single one of them.

With all of the great things that came out of this camp, you’d think it went off without a hitch. That, however, could not be further from the truth. The latrines we had to use were up a muddy hill and covered in filth, our meal plans fell through, it rained at all the wrong times and we were out of running water for three days. I fell in the mud, twice, and got locked in a room for over an hour.  There were three different languages being spoken and time was consistantly misjudged.

Yet despite the setbacks, every counsler remained calm, optomistic and helpful. Problem-solving was an ongoing skill and everyone pulled together with enthusiasm. Honestly, the patient teamwork of every counsler was inspiring. And we couldn’t have done alone. Four Ethiopian counterparts, as well as three junior counslers, were indespensible. It was one miraculous team putting on one miraculous event. And it was truely unforgettable.

If you’d like to see the camp in action, here’s a link to some photos:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100298431338561.2388771.56008677&type=1&l=e3b11fe1cb

Bless the rains

Rainy season has been in full force for a few weeks now. After a few months of non-stop travel, I finally made it back to site long enough to do some laundry. The thing about rainy season is though, it rains. And rains. And rains. So it took a few good days of hanging my clothes out, watching the clouds, bringing them in, waiting for the rain to stop, hanging them out, etc. before I eventually had clean clothes to wear.

The other thing about rainy season is mud. Lucky for me, Agaro has a paved road through town that makes walking less of a slip-and-slide goo fest. The dirt road to the market, however, requires my giant mud boots and a patience for getting dirty.

Aside from wet clothes and mud, I kind of like this season. The sun cools down behind the clouds and I actually feel kind of cold. (Fully realizing I’m screwed if I ever plan on re-visiting a Minnesota winter.)

I also love that the rain brings fresh everything. Almost everything is in season right now. Most abundantly are the mangoes that drip from every tree. The trees are rather huge, so the people on my compound have fashioned a giant wooden pole with a nail sticking from the end. Every morning the compound guard and a neighbor take turns finding the ripe mangoes and  leaving  them in my window. They certainly make me smile.

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.

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.

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.