Settling in

The Running Across Border (RAB) house

After 2 long flights and a lovely layover in London with Jamie, I was met at the airport by the coach, Mersha, and the driver, Dani (Thurs). We left the airport to a bright Ethiopian morning (11pm on the east coast of the US). I was exhausted and all that I wanted to do was sleep, which I did after a haphazard ride through the city, to the rapidly growing Ayat village on the outskirts. When I woke, Meseret, Gudisa, and Joanna were waiting in the kitchen. I felt bad that they had all been sitting around, waiting for me to get up. As I’ve learned over the past few days, a lot of sitting, doing nothing, occupies the days, possibly because getting anything done in Ethiopia is very slow going, or possibly, getting something accomplished goes against this culture of stoop sitting, something I’m trying to acclimatize to. My concern of keeping others waiting was entirely unfounded.

                                          the backyard of the RAB house

After more sitting, Gudisa, Joanna and I went to buy injera bread for our lunch of firfir. Injera is like a fermented crepe. It is sour, thin, and has lots of bubbles in it. Firfir consists of ripped apart injera in a sauce on top of an injera that takes up the totality of an oversized plate. Meseret placed a daunting pile of firfir on the table. Thankfully, it was for Joanna and I to share. They taught me to eat with my right hand, scooping the firfir with my fingers. I’m sorry to report that we only made a small dent in the pile. I didn’t like the sour taste very much, but Joanna said that it would grow on me. A few days later (Sat), Joanna and I had curry firfir at a restaurant and I enjoyed it. The curry cut the sour a bit.

With each item that I buy, I’m surprised anew by how inexpensive most things are here. A restaurant meal split between two (Joanna and my firfir) is 40birr~$2.35. I was able to buy 1 kilo of beets, ½ kilo of garlic, ¼ kilo of ginger root, and a large bunch of kale for only 26birr~$1.50 (and garlic and ginger are considered expensive).

Gudisa (translator, guide, RAB athlete) and Meseret (cook) are hospitable and loving hosts. Gudisa’s favorite English word is “crazy,” often calling himself “crazy boy” and me, “crazy ferengi.” He often asks me how much ferengi I am and I say, “99%,” and he says, “no, maybe 60% ferengi, 40% Habasha (Ethiopian).” Gudisa calls me “killer” in because he has heard of Helen Keller, but pronounces it “killer” and there is no correcting him. Meseret says that I have “two mommies,” my American mom and my mama Messy, although I am four years older than her. When I wake up or arrive back to the house, she calls to me, “Helen baretu?” (beautiful Helen) and I respond “Messy baretu, ow?” (beautiful Messy, yes?). This is how most of our conversations go, or at least start. With much pantomiming, I told her that my mother teaches piano and she lit up, asking if my mom would teach her if she ever came to America. The dream of living in America is common here. Although there is much Ethiopian pride, Gudisa says that most want to escape to richer nations. This general sentiment is working against him in trying to obtain a visa to compete in international races, where he is sure he can win. Because Gudisa is an orphan, without any real estate, car, wife, children or internationally competitive race time (though he would deny this), he appears to the American embassy as too risky a visa candidate. All athletes believe that if they just had the chance, they would win an international race, although for many, that is not a feasible goal. This is the strength of Team Tesfa, another team that I will soon be working with more that places a greater emphasis upon education than training.

                                              Meseret cooking;  Gudisa doing his laundry

Visitors

Wherever I go, I get a lot of attention, even at home. A neighbor girl heard me speaking English and brought her English homework over for me to do. (English is part of the curriculum in Ethiopian schools, which makes getting around and interacting with everyone easier for me.) Because it was far too difficult for her, but a good level for Gudisa (who speaks very good English), Gudisa and I worked on it together.  

As I was sitting at the table in the RAB house (on Tues), a neighbor boy, probably about two and a half, came to visit. He was a little apprehensive about my whiteness, and Gudisa tells him that I am a ferengi. With a little peek-a-boo and some of my breakfast, he warms up to me quickly. He gets into the sugar (segwar) and walks around the apartments with two fistfuls. His mother asked him where he got it and he responded, ennat (my mother). Then the six years old brother of the first came to join the fun. He wiggled in beside me, curious about my computer. I gave the boys paper and pens and the older boy made up math problems and then picked up my English/Ahmaric phrasebook to write while the younger scribbled and threw pens.

On the street, there is no way for me to blend in. I’ve started wearing a scarf over my head and shoulders, as many women do, to gain a smidgen of anonymity. Trucks honk, children yell “ferengi, ferengi…” and giggle, and many ask, “ouw arrr yooo?” They are ecstatic when I respond. Ferengi are rare here.

Getting Around

To get to the market, we took a “taxi” from the front of our building (I usually elect to walk. You’ll see why shortly). It was a tiny mobile—not even a car, more like a gas-powered tricycle with a blue shell of slaughtered metal around it, one small wheel in front and two in the back—and already had the driver and two passengers in it. We all piled in, now with six of us in a child-sized clown car; you can always fit one more—or three, or twenty—in Ethiopia.

This is particularly true on the higers, larger buses that quickly fill and become sardine cans. Only very wealthy Ethiopians have cars; because so many rely upon buses, taxis and higers, public transportation in amazingly reliable, though you may have someone in your lap or be standing in a very tight mass on the higer, clutching onto others’ arms to balance. Once, when I was sitting and another woman was standing, she gave me her purse to hold. The idea of a personal bubble is an outlandish concept here.

Though a higer may seem already overloaded to my American eyes, the man that shuffles people on and off and collects money, bangs on the windows at each stop to encourage everyone in the aisle to push back more. Sometimes, arguments between passengers and the sardine-can packer when passengers feel that no one else can fit and they stubbornly refuse to crowd themselves further (as if that is possible). Although the higer may be fully loaded with ticked off passengers, the higer attendant will ride along with his torso and head sticking out of the window, advertising the higer’s route. Once, the higer was so full that the attendant rode on the outside of the higer with his arm coming into the sliding door’s window, clinging to inside roof! Traffic lanes are an abstract concept here. There may be enough room on a given road to drive two abreast in one direction, but only single file in the other. However, if two cars are approaching from the formerly single lane, the other lane must adjust quickly and merge to become a single lane.

Mom, know that I walk and avoid getting into the line of traffic as much as possible. My preference for walking shocks Gudisa and Meseret.

Home visit

Sunday was a long, fun day! Joanna, Gudisa and I went to Gudisa’s family’s house a little ways away. Families here are very large; most people have around ten children. When Meseret learned that I have one brother, she tilted her head, puckered her lips and said “oooo, no sisters?” in sympathy. Although Gudisa grew up as an orphan, he has family that lives close to the RAB house. When we arrived, five children and Gudisa’s uncle were sitting around the TV in their mud house. Socializing here is all about sitting around together, not necessarily talking or doing anything, especially if a TV is present. We chatted with Gudisa’s uncle a bit and he lit up every time that I said something in Ahmaric (my go to words: “ishy” (okay), “amaseganarlo” (thank you), and “salamno” (how are you). They were all particularly delighted when I counted for them. He said that I was a fast learner and Gudisa told me again that night that his uncle was impressed with how much I was speaking in only three days. As I watched the entrance door and the passageway to the kitchen, people came in and out, bustling to prepare out lunch and I was unable to keep track of how many were actually in the house. I told Gudisa that he has a big family and he said that they were not all relatives of his. It is common for people to raise other people’s children. On a similar note, beggers seem well respected and cared for by most; people are quick to pass a birr through the window to a woman begging outside (usually with an infant in her hands). Possibly, because the majority are close to poverty themselves, they help today because that may be them tomorrow. There is a general sense of responsibility in caring for those around you.

Joanna warned me that because hospitality is highly valued and because food is all that many have to offer, when you visit a home, you will undoubtedly become uncomfortably full. We were given sodas and injera to lay cross-wise across the plate, covering the entire plate. Gudisa’s aunt came in with a pot of dorowit with eggs (dorowit is a spicy red stew) and ladled it onto our injera. Next came kikili (lamb in a green sauce) and then the highlight (as chicken is very expensive) dorowit with chicken. Whenever I took a break from eating, Gudisa and his uncle encouraged me on, “be, be!” (eat, eat!). I thought that I was gonna pop! Quincy Sunday brunch, you got nothing on this. I was relieved when Gudisa subtly helped me with my serving.

Since we arrived, one of Gudisa’s cousins had been roasting coffee. Making coffee is a long process and is generally done only on special occasions. They roast the beans over a small stove on the floor and always burn incense as it cooks. Gudisa’s cousin brought the smoking beans over to Joanna and I to breath in, which is believed to have medicinal qualities. The coffee was brought to us in demi cups with lots of sugar. (Excessive amounts of sugar are also added to tea). Although I don’t usually like coffee, this was delicious! Instant coffee would be a sin to an Ethiopian. As we drank our coffee, sugared popcorn was passed around.

Bez, Joanna’s host mom (my host-mom-to-be in a week!), works at a government building in Addis Ababa, is well educated, well-off, and well connected. She told Joanna about an exhibition of Ethiopian-made technologies, products, clothing, shoes, and crafts that was taking place in the city yesterday. We were lucky to have somewhere to go following the home visit, because otherwise the feeding could continue for hours! Popular singers and musicians also performed on stage at the exhibition. Two men in costume as oversized robots danced to the music. They sang songs in Ahmaric and then American songs in English. We took a series of overcrowded higers back to Ayat village.

It was dark by the time that we returned to Ayat and Gudisa and I walked Joanna back to Bez’s house. Time, as usual, seemed of no concern to Gudisa. We visited Bez’s neighbor to check in on their progress in establishing an orphanage. She said that the children should arrive Wed or Thurs. However, they have been saying that the children will arrive in a few days for months. Joanna and I are anxious to play with and meet the children! As Gudisa and I finally made our way home, four dogs followed us. They knew Gudisa from when the RAB athletes were living on the same street as Bez. As they followed us, Gudisa shoed them away. When we reached the main road that leads to the current RAB house, only one was still tailing us and Gudisa changed his mind and began calling the dog, insistent that the dog become his. We called “butch, butch, butch” to keep him close to us. Gudisa named him “Jacob,” after an American visitor with puffy, blond, matted hair that resembled the dog’s coat. Jacob seemed to know his name and although he cowered every time that a truck drove by, he caught up to us after lagging behind. When we reached the house after the forty minute walk, luring Jacob up to the apartment (not to enter, but to sleep outside) proved to be another time intensive task. However, Gudisa was insistent and we finally succeeded! This morning (Mon), much to Gudisa’s dismay, the dog was nowhere to be found, but as Meseret prepared breakfast, Jacob must have smelled it in the air and returned to our door.

                                            Gudisa and Jacob