for the love

changing my glasses

2007-03-18T22:23:00.000+03:00

my cousin recently wrote and said that if you change your perspective, it changes your perception.

i don't enjoy being cheated. not many people do. so in a feeble attempt to ensure i only paid 65 cents instead of one birr, i explained to a woyala (taxi helper guy) that i was only going tinnish weudefit. did i still have to pay one birr like he was saying? he smiled and waved me in. when i got out, he told me "don't disappear". sure he was hopped up on chat but hey, i'll take what i can get. it made my week actually.

the other thing that made my week was being part of a radio program called Revolutions per Beat. every other wednesday from 10 to midnight, i will be your host of some kick ass moosic. every week night at that time is revolutions per beat albeit in amharic (perhaps gimash english) but i'm sure you'll enjoy listening to good tunes. so if you don't have a radio, get one.

i'm gonna post a bit of a schedule here because i think it's so exciting to hear familiar, good music. music is essential for the heart and the brain. especially any opportunity for air guitar.

so...
mondays - global fusion (world music)
tuesdays - the breeze (jazz and blues)
wednesdays - alternative wednesdays (rock, pop, some country)
thursdays - riddem and spice (reggae, roots)
fridays - beat connection (hip hop, funk, rap)

i hope with all the punctuation it didn't make it messy. it's been doing that lately.

there's a tentative website too.

cheers.

we're not going anywhere

2007-03-04T22:33:00.000+03:00

Ethiopia is a strange place. Sometimes I wonder if it’s this country that’s changed me or it’s my own reaction to unfamiliar circumstances. I’ve always pushed myself to be self-reliant but here I find myself hesitating or all out refraining from just stepping out the door. I’ll be home for hours on end – reading, washing dishes, watching a movie – and I think to myself that I should go for a walk, get some milk from the store, visit friends. But I don’t. I can’t. The second I step out from my house I know it won’t be easy. And just the fact that I want it to be easy makes me feel weak. The language barrier is tough but not impossible. The looks and comments from other people are annoying but not harmful. Ethiopia Ethiopia no. The constant struggle is in my head.

One of my work friends is getting married today. She’s been here a short while and found her love quickly. It’s strange being a grown up. People around me are getting married, having babies. By association, that means it can happen to me too. I never thought I would get married and have babies. But now with the boyfriend, I have no hesitation. If only I’d though of the concept earlier, then maybe it wouldn’t seem so…so (ha) foreign.

Maybe we should just do one of those two things. Help me in my strangeness.

just call me el nifto

2007-02-12T21:55:00.000+03:00

More than a week after I developed this snotty cold, I finally took something to help clear me up. And now I’m sitting here with a pounding heart full of anxiety. I have turned to the internet for a distraction (as opposed to choosing the more grown up options of washing my underwear or ironing clothes). But it’s not helping. Now I long for contact from the non-Africa world. I wonder what exactly is at the Erotic Arts and Crafts fair. I’d really like to see Magic Slim and the Teardrops…they sound fun but I hardly recognize any other band names. Walking down cold Bloor street in a puffy jacket and long scarf would be lovely right about now. Imagine – I could just leave the house, even if it’s dark out, on my own. Hear the crunch of snow under my feet. Pop in somewhere warm, have hot chocolate. Come home with pink cheeks, the cuffs of my jeans salty and stiff. And nobody in the street would notice me. Nobody would know of my secret bland adventure.

From one of my favourite books, Self by Yann Martel, after the main character has come back to Canada from traveling:

“I was amazed at how inconspicuous I was; by Turkish standards I was invisible. This played a good part in my high spirits. It was refreshing and liberating to walk down a street unnoticed, left alone with my day-dreams; to speak and be understood right away; to look around and feel a part of things.”

My comfort lately is the realization that if I had everything I wanted, including anonymity, this wouldn’t be Addis.

Of mouse and girl

2007-01-04T00:24:00.000+03:00

We've got a mice problem. I'm hoping it's just a mouse (singular) problem but it seems unlikely.

I fear mice beyond snakes and spiders. I could see myself having a snake as a pet. We've had spiders as pets (well, at least kept the "cool" ones in a jar). But mice are different. They're unpredictable and they run so fast. Squirmy is the word. And they're dirty. By far the worst clue with respect to a mouse problem is the poop. It's a further insult - I'm here and I've defecated on your counter multiple times. Be afraid, be very afraid.

I guess the mouse problem isn't really a surprise. We're the ones in the mouse's territory. Just because we live in a house doesn't exclude us from nocturnal visits. And our house is hardly hermetically sealed. There are always insects of various kinds - big mindless beetles, etc. But a mouse seems a bit more purposeful - seeking out a crumb of food, gnawing on your toes. They mean to frighten you running out from under the couch at 3 in the morning while you're reading sordid tales (hi Britney!). Good thing your feet were up or it could have been Toeless Sara.

And so of course, I want it dead.

Happy New Year everybody.

episode 76: the roommate

2006-11-05T22:45:00.000+03:00

It’s Sunday. I’m washing dishes to the tune of Wolf Parade. Forgive me hipsters for I know it’s old.

Each dish reminds me of the new roommate. He’s a friend of the boyfriend but someone I’ve gotten to know through various chats at Parisienne on hot afternoons such like today. He’s occupying the extra bedroom “just for 6 weeks or so”. He’s a doctor so he often has duty which means he’s gone for over 36 hours and has great ridiculous gory stories to tell.

Last night he came home and wanted to cook. This is someone who has never been inside a kitchen, and he is not exaggerating. He is set on making some sort of milk soup he saw on tv. It’s an improvement over his semi-regular showing up at 8:30 asking what’s for dinner? The milk goes into a frying pan along with oats. Then he adds some canned pineapple chunks and dates. It’s a take on something I had just before Ramadan but with the fruit, it actually tastes pretty good. I have a few bites and I consider making my oatmeal with hot milk. And possibly dates.

He was going to stir the hot milk with one of the various chop sticks we have. He stirred hesitantly for a bit before I got him a wooden spoon. He put the chopstick with milk on it back in the drawer. I took it out. I washed it this morning.

Once he “washed” the glasses from our morning smoothie breakfast. He rinsed them and went to put them back in the cupboard. I suggested he let them dry first. “Where?” he asked with the bright blue dry rack directly in front of him.

He and his wife were laughing because the other day they came home and tried to boil eggs. It took them an hour and they used five eggs in the process. I smiled but really I was thinking, “there goes our Sunday morning breakfast.” And really how could I not know? There were egg shells everywhere. And cleaning that pot was tough - full of formerly foamy cooked egg.

And with each dish, I think how long it’s been since I’ve lived with a roommate. How the boyfriend isn’t a roommate because we’re the same person. How much I love him.

snippets

2006-10-16T21:41:00.000+03:00

It’s been ups and downs for me. I was pretty excited to start school, meet the new teachers, meet my new kids. It all dissolved rather quickly when it became apparent the school is playing it tricksy. I’ve decided to renegotiate my contract in hopes I can stay. I always think things will get better. But in this case, it may be time to shift my loyalties elsewhere.

I’m pretty bummed to be a ferenj again. Today these kids bolted into a sprint towards me, only to ask for money. Not a “hello” or a “semesh manno”, just the cold hard truth. When I told them, “yellenym” and kept walking, they started making pig noises. At which point I called them, “baleuge”. And then I felt sorry for myself.

It was the first time I came home by myself after dark. I was definitely self conscious to the point that I took a contract taxi.

My mom is en route to China. I’m so happy she’s traveling to a place she never felt like visiting. Maybe next year, she’ll come here.

I had a kid go into a temper tantrum / meltdown today. Each day I vow never to have 28 children and that mine will be different.

And the boyfriend? Lovely.

oh i hardly ever get sick here (me, two days ago)

2006-09-17T22:46:00.000+03:00

"Salmonella poisoning is usually caused by eating eggs, milk, raw or undercooked meat, poultry and fish. The symptoms include; abdominal cramps, diarrhea, fever, chill, headache, vomiting, weakness. The symptoms usually appears from 4 to 14 hours."

welcome back

2006-09-09T09:25:00.000+03:00

It’s a return to the same. Somehow I expected things to be different but only the prices seem to have changed. I’ve quickly gone back to eating ferfer and fuell. We’ve brought so many luxuries back from out trip – things like new white sheets and fluffy towels - that I feel as if my house is somewhat ostentatious. And now I have to worry about keeping the sheets clean because it’s raining constantly and mud seems to be everywhere. And I have to worry about somehow keeping the towels fluffy. They’re ridiculous things to consider when you look outside and know that people who were getting by on nothing now have even less. It’s as if living here means continuing to sleep on a saggy mattress with the springs poking into my hip. I actually had to choose to make my bed comfortable and in my brain, I feel like I’ve let myself acquire some grown up things. I haven’t gone as far as buying high heels or anything but did get some dangly earrings. And fluffy towels. And white sheets. What was I thinking?

sight and sound from toronto

2006-08-17T21:51:00.000+03:00

Sight No. 1
- I see a homeless man walking down a trendy street in Toronto. I have my eye on him, just curious to see what he'll do as he's obviously chewing on something but has no teeth. He bends down near a garbage can and picks up a couple pieces of stringy hot gum off of the sidewalk and does what I think he absolutely is not going to do, but fear he might - puts it in his mouth and keeps on chewing.

Sound No. 1
- I heard the bass pumping before I saw the vehicle it was coming from. The tune took me right back to dancing in my cousin's living room to an old record with funny costumed people on the cover...Boney M. The tune? "Night Flight to Venus". And that bass was killer today. Especially coming from a souped up black truck with four exhaust pipes.

stuff

2006-07-22T12:34:00.000+03:00

Being back in Canada is underwhelming. My life is currently consumed with thoughts of stuff. Stuff to buy, stuff to deal with, kid's stuff, stuffed chicken. You see, I'm on a working holiday - a ridiculous term. I'm sure every waitress thinks, "I'm beyond this. I'm special." I'm thinking, "Eff you guys. You think this is my life, serving you your 'my tuna's not done right, pinot grigio, I'll just have water, here's a $1.17 tip'. But that's in my head and it stays there. I'm doing this hateful job because I need cash. I resent that I need cash. I resent being in a place where you're constanly marketed to. I hardly shopped in Addis. But here, everything's made out to be a deal. Where and when did that start? A ploy - as if only a sucker passes up a perceived deal. It's garbage and life is garbage. And I had a horrible table tonight who stiffed me out a tip because they were nearly impossible even though I was so pleasant. Because I'm nice and I need that money because I don't live here, I live elsewhere and it's a crazy life when you stop to think about it or someone asks you what are you doing after the summer? Going back to school? No, I live "abroad", well in Africa really, Ethiopia to be more specific. And how did I end up there? The love. So I'm beyond this. I'm special.

finger pointing

2006-06-10T11:29:00.000+03:00

No one can deny the EPRDF is hard working. They’ve been busy blocking websites and denying the blockages. They’ve been directing the trials of the CUD leaders and creating interesting “facts” submitted as evidence. One of the most amusing parts of my day is picking up the Ethiopian Herald to read what these crazy kids will come up with next.

The EPRDF has been doing a lot of finger pointing. And the thing with pointing a finger is there are three fingers pointing back at you. The harder the EPRDF works to prove that both bloggers and CUD members aren’t with ’em, the more they establish their own government as a farce.

Some simple points on democracy:

1. The right to speak out against the government.

Previously this year, journalists were beaten and/or arrested. Now the EPRDF is censoring the internet by blocking certain websites and blogs; we’re waiting to see if bloggers will actually be targeted next.

2. A certain amount of faith in the population to make their own choices.

By censuring and censoring the media, the government denies the public the ability to make their own decisions as to what to read and what to believe. If the government is concerned about the slanted views expressed on the internet or elsewhere, have faith that ETV and the Herald offset this bias.

3. An opposition party is necessary.

The CUD leaders were arrested on charges of treason, await their fate in prison and are now being subjected to circus trials.

4. Respect for due process and rule of law.

Circus trials. Need I say more?

Mr. EPRDF, you claim you are part of democracy. If you block information, you are not part of democracy. If you view your public as an incapable mass, you are not part of democracy. If you charge the opposition with treason, you are not part of democracy. If you use the opposition’s campaign as evidence of treason, you are not part of democracy.

Dissent is a healthy part of democracy. The harder the EPRDF works to show who the dissenters are, the more it distances itself from democracy. There are many of us, Ethiopian or otherwise, who believe the actions and/or inactions of the EPRDF will be its own downfall. It’s a slippery slope and we hope the slide is fast.

getting things done

2006-06-06T18:42:00.000+03:00

In the movie Office Space, the main character complains about the lack of motivation in working harder. He doesn’t see any extra money if the company does better. He decides he only works hard enough not to get fired. That, and not wanting to get hassled by other employees. It’s a rather cynical view of work and it’s meant to be.

For a lot of other people, you could add your own intrinsic value placed on doing a good job as motivation.

Getting things done is about the request and the follow up. The request is made (e.g., get me that file) and the other person’s follow up (e.g., getting the file). Ethiopia appears as some strange vortex where the link between A and B can vanish for various reasons.

The response to “get me that file” could be any of the following:

- "The file cabinet has been moved and I don’t know where.”

- "We’ve run out of paper for that particular file.”

- "Zzzzzzzz”

- "I was talking with So-and-so and they claim that Another-so-and-so took the file home to secretly copy information to leak to another company.”

- "Oh I thought you said to make a copy of the entire file so I’ve been doing that instead.”

- "Sure no problem, here’s the file.”

Frustrating? Yes. Joking? No.

My theory is a “top-down” one. Let’s take a look at Meles. The request was made by the World Bank (among others) for Meles to engage in a true democratic process or suffer donation cuts. Meles’ follow up involved shuffling paper. The result? Money and lots of it. What lesson can we learn here? There is little or no accountability in Ethiopia.

What does this mean for the average worker?

If you’re caught sleeping on the job, will you get fired? No.

If you have lots of three hour lunches, will you get fired? No.

If you steal from the company, will you get fired? No.

If you punch a fellow employee, will you get fired? No.

If your negligence causes someone else to be hurt, will you get fired? No.

If you do only 15 minutes of work in a day, will you get fired? No.

If you’re “absent” for one month, will you get fired? No.

Motivation here is lost in a mess of disorganization, gossip, unhealthy competition, mismanagement and shuffling of papers.

In response to Tobian, yes. Ethiopia needs Ethiopians with a positive work ethic to be an example for all those that get away with so much. Opportunities can be created. Things can get done.

question for the diaspora and updates

2006-05-21T18:49:00.000+03:00

Obviously you all have your different stories for being elsewhere besides here. And I can\'t really blame you. It\'s not \'easy living\' here and there are more comforts and opportunities outside of Ethiopia. But I want to know, why? Why, when you are educated and needed here, are you elsewhere?

Updates:

Blogger has seemingly been blocked - whether it\'s permanent or temporary, who knows?

The boyfriend and I are currently making plans for a vacation from life here. He got his visa, despite being a wanted man.

There have been no more bombings since last Friday. If bombs had gone off in Canada, you could bet all remnants would be immediately cleaned up and flowers left in its place. Here, people continue to walk passed the sprayed glass and broken concrete. I have to wonder if there\'s some blood still in places that never got washed away.

a day in the life, 12 months on (a la Things We Should Have…)

2006-05-13T00:59:00.000+03:00

I woke up at the usual 7 am but felt unusually awake. I had a quick bit of toast and tea, banged open the big gate and we were off to work. The boyfriend dropped me off and as I walked down the hill to the school, I was greeted with a “ferenj!” from a little girl in passing.

My kids were surprisingly alert when I said “good morning” and all responded with a robotic “Goooood mooooorrrrning Miiiiiiss Saaaaaara”. The next 45 minutes were divided between getting the morning lesson ready, resolving minor scuffles, and marking homework.

The very redundant revision of all of our vocabulary words was interrupted by the not-so-triumphant return of the crazy appendix-less assistant. She dawdled around the class taking time to kiss each child, each of whom looked like they could care less but didn’t want to make any sudden movements less they set her off. [She informed me she’ll be coming in half days to help out although she didn’t so much as pick up a crayon today.]

Usually during snack time I like to eat too but today I was doing last minute preparations for the kids so they could make Mother’s Day cards. I decided to sit outside to fold and cut paper which drew a small crowd of kids asking “Miss! What eez dees?” I don’t really understand why the kindergarten coordinator insists on celebrating these Hallmark created “days”. We never sent out a Happy Adwa Day card.

I called the boyfriend to check what had happened with his visitor visa application to Canada. As it turns out, we’re celebrating my one year here by making plans to leave. It’s only for the summer though. My cousin is getting married and it’s a good time for the boyfriend to meet the clan all in one go.

I had ferfer for lunch. The waitresses have stopped being surprised.

I did some marking quickly and gathered my mental strength to teach grade one. This week I’ve managed to get a small hold over them: they now sit quietly for 30 second intervals. It doesn’t sound like a major victory but it is. Class went reasonably well and no chaos erupted. I left not hating all small children (this time).

I had to make a couple of photocopies but ended up so frustrated with the inept photocopy lady who is incapable of multi tasking that when she turned her back to shuffle some paper, I pushed the big green button myself. A few times.

I went back to my class to get my stuff to leave but the boyfriend called, “a bomb went off so stay at the school.” It was a bit nerve wracking especially because it was at Gotera (I learned later that about 8 other bombs went off around different parts of the city. If they were actual terrorists, they would have planted them at the Hilton, not in a café or a local bus.)

So I did some cutting and gluing, and I waited. Kids grabbed at the paper, at the scissors, at the glue. “Don’t touch!” I figured the boyfriend would come and get me soon so I sat outside. I began to feel like one of the neglected kids whose parents temporarily forgot about them. I called him but he had gotten busy but supposedly all the soldiers had cleared out. I decided to walk in his direction. A handful of not-from-my-school kids caught up to me. One said hello and shook my hand, giggled and ran back to her friends. Others strung together all the English words they knew. They didn’t ask me for money which was a pleasant surprise.

The ugly white car appeared and it was him. I got in and we went for coffee on Bole where plenty of blue camouflaged soldiers were on the streets or in the backs of trucks. It wasn’t a surprise and I felt less disturbed by them than the time before.

We forgot to return a video but did visit with his dad and little sister. A friend left for Canada today so we briefly saw him while we ate some chicken masala and saag paneer. I want to sleep now but I’m dreading going to bed because of the mosquitoes. My legs are covered in bites as it is and it’ll be weeks before I can wear a skirt again. (It's not that I love wearing skirts. It's that I only have one pair of jeans.) It’s definitely a coordinated attack when they manage to leave bites on both knee caps.

Deuna deuru.

Things We Should Have Written Down

rundown of Fassika (late but oh well)

2006-05-07T16:14:00.000+03:00

Friday – spent it with friends including a Fassika (seen here driving) and a brief trip to the Concord Hotel. Veeeeery interesting.

Saturday – woke up to the sound of a goat (seen here patiently awaiting imminent death). Went to a meeting at the school, came back home to find the boyfriend wishing for imminent death: “I wish the lord would take me.”

Sunday – More animals heading to my neighbourhood/death. I wore my habesha libs for the first time ever to father in law’s house where we ate breakfast, went for a short drive to have a break from the fam, came back and also ate lunch. Changed out of skirt into jeans. Went to mother in law’s for dinner where my small stomach was a further disappointment to her.

Monday – attempted to use my day off productively and went to the embassy where the boyfriend left my passport. The important passport holder lady was not in so I was advised to come another day. Hard to do when you work all week and the embassy closes at noon. Spent some time at Kaldi’s reading and drinking coffee and feeling like I was almost in Canada.

In summation – ate too much. I ate part of that goat later in the week and it was rather tasty if I didn’t let myself make any connections.

a ferenjwa on ferenji (or ferenjoch, however you want to put it)

2006-05-05T16:13:00.000+03:00

Information is coveted. It feels the most acute when you see something out of place, something that doesn’t belong. There was once a segment on Sesame Street where they grouped objects and asked with a catchy tune, “which one of these things doesn’t belong?” I can say without hesitation that it’s ferenji in Ethiopia.

I am out of place here and I don’t belong. So the question becomes, why? Why is she here? I wonder the same about other ferenji I see.

One the things that’s most difficult about being here is being obvious and having attention called to it. I’m a nonchalant kind of girl and I use nonchalance regularly to try and avoid detection. It doesn’t work (I still get comments and I still get stared at) but I’m still trying. I attempt to look like a normal person walking down the street. I attempt to look super casual crossing Gotera on foot, but at the same time I wonder, do any other ferenj cross here regularly like me? I saw a girl “of my kind” (as my Ethiopian friends like to joke) yesterday near Gotera. I wondered where she was coming from. Did she just cross Gotera? What is she doing in Ethiopia anyways? Despite wanting to know all these things, despite having “not belonging” in common, we never made eye contact and ignored each other completely. It’s a funny fact that ferenji seem to ignore each other in a mutual attempt at nonchalance.

Ferenji don’t want to cause a scene. We get stared at. Two ferenji crossing paths feels more like a social experiment in a closed room with people standing around ready to take notes. People are watching to see what will happen. And so we ignore each other. Observations are made but at least we can be sure the conclusion is not “all ferenji know each other.” The other part of it is the message that ferenji in Ethiopia are no big deal. “We don’t make a big deal about each other so please don’t make a big deal about us.”

I like to think it’s humility that motivates us in this respect but in all actuality, it’s ignorance. We’re all asking a lot of questions, but there are no answers. We’re not even trying to find the answers. Being here has been very isolating for me. I need to share experiences with people who understand, who may have better ways of coping and ideas to share. It can’t happen when we can’t even make eye contact. What kind of a message is that to send anyways?

things i never thought i’d do but have done since being here

2006-05-01T12:04:00.000+03:00

drink tap water
eat sheep/goat semi regularly
be purposefully rude to people (I’m Canadian so that’s a big deal)
have weekly shitting issues (my system used to run like clockwork)
think I was going crazy (those were a tough first three months)
worry about no water coming out when you turn on the tap
miss my personal space (and realizing personal space is a product of the developed-world)
see the inside of a third world prison
eat organ meat (I had no idea dulett was what it was)
have a job I enjoy

are you out there?

2006-04-30T18:10:00.000+03:00

I met an Ethoipian guy who lives in Calgary who supposedly met a woman in Langano who is from my hometown (if he/I aren't mistaken). So if you're from PG, BC (and you know what that means), lemme know.

bimbi manifesto

2006-04-25T18:14:00.000+03:00

We will not stop our continuing bombardment. What do we want? Blood! Our tactics can include (but are not limited to) the inducing of auditory and visual hallucinations and sleep deprivation.

That constant hum you here is not really us. We prefer dive bombing and coming as close as possible to your ears. Swatting, flailing and rolling around are no use. We will be successful in our objective – sucking your blood.

It is useless to perform ‘checks’ before bedtime. We will emerge from hidden corners. We are one and we are many. In the precise moment you fall asleep, we abound and are persistent in our mission.

Be sure we will make our presence known whether it is that buzzing in your ear or that soft touch of our wings as we make our way past your nose. It promises to be a fitful night of sleep for you. Your state of being will swing from conscious to semi conscious but we will not allow you the pleasure of sleep. Get angry, be annoyed…it is of no use. You will not win.

And while we prefer larger expanses of skin (legs, backs, arms), we have no problem planting ourselves in between toes, on your chin, the side of your finger. We want to be remembered and thus you are left with red itchy bumps – a memento of our manifesto.

We are one and we are many. We are bimbi. Submit!

Debra Zeit

2006-04-21T14:47:00.000+03:00

Oh that Debra. She’s not another woman but she might as well be. She’s stolen the boyfriend from me. He’s with her while I’m at home. Maybe I can plead with her like Dolly pleaded with Jolene.

He talks about you in his sleep and there’s nothing I can do to keep from crying when he calls your name “Debra”.
And I can easily understand how you could easily take my man but you don’t know what he means to me, Debra.

Or not.

It’s a glorious extra long weekend thanks to the Orthodox Christian’s devoutness to Fassika aka Easter. But with no boyfriend to enjoy it with and a serious lacking of friends, I find myself cruising the internet bitterly reading music reviews while longing for my typical weekend morning routine of a mug of tea and some downloading. Instead I’m replacing the need with burned cds my little brother sent me.

This weekend will prove to be an all weekend his-family extravaganza. Fasting is over and here comes the sheep. I’m sure there will be the running joke with his dad about me eating raw meat, which will never happen. His mom will be asking “mino?” when I don’t pile up my plate three times. “Bi eubakesh, eubakesh.”

Ethiopian hospitality is beyond amazing and requires me to think up new and different ways of politely saying no. I’ve never eaten this much in my life and I’m doing it in Ethiopia of all places. Ethiopian hospitality is the equivalent of having an Italian grandmother who wonders if you’re on a diet because you only took two giant helpings. If only it was all yummy pasta.

There’s a slight breeze. Time to move this one lady party outside.

our trip to Nazaret

2006-04-21T13:29:00.000+03:00

Akaki River, the most polluted river in Africa they tell me

Ladies selling kolo on the side of the road

Nazaret has a lot of conventions and some of these red trees

On the other side of Nazaret

frustrations as of late:

2006-04-19T19:24:00.000+03:00

No steady assistants in my class. The crazy one had some mysterious surgery that turned out to be an appendectomy. She’s been gone for about three weeks but came hobbling in yesterday looking for sympathy in a most pathetic way and toting her removed appendix in a baggy. Not kidding.

No water at home. There’s been some revamping of the water system in our area making the water sporadic. Then just recently we’ve had no water at all from about 7 am to 7 pm. The neighbours have water though. We have to wait until 11 pm before the water reaches a somewhat decent flow level to be able to have a shower.

Baby, it’s hot outside. I swear the temperature has gone up about 10 degrees. The sun burns down on your head making everything dry. My lungs feel dry. My eyes feel dry. My eyebrows are, in fact, dry.

General paranoia about germs and more fungus. By the way, if you ever have a fungus, you have to keep applying the cream. It doesn’t just go away like *that*, silly people.

And the ever present – what am I doing with my life? Some days you just want to bang your head against the keyboard hoping that will transport you to another time and place where happiness is easy. Forget happy, how about content. How about decided.

post for post

2006-04-13T20:57:00.001+03:00

Because I promised the cousin a view from my kitchen window. Which merely looks out toward the loud sisters' place. Hence the faux stained glass attempt at some privacy.

So I included a view from the front of our house. The place across the street is a haphazard monstrosity.

Wind chime a la boyfriend.

my meager kitchen

2006-04-13T20:28:00.000+03:00

Welcome to the first installment of My Meager Kitchen. Admittedly I am in Ethiopia and terror abounds but I hope you’ll find these recipes to be terror-free. Instead, I’ll show you what you can do with a double hot plate, large-ish toaster oven, limited ingredients, limited utensils and budget au birr.

Today’s dish: Ferengi Dabbo Ferfer

Description: Essentially it’s like an odd variation of stuffing. But not cooked inside a bird. And it has tomatoes in it.

Listening suggestion: Dolly Parton

Serves two or one hungry person

Ingredients:
one onion
zucchini (optional)
vegetable oil
three tomatoes
berbere
cumin
water
vegetable stock
dabbo

First peel a purple onion (if there’s a slight dusting of mould, don’t worry – the inside should be fine) and chop only half of it. Also chop up a bit of zucchini while you’re at it. Next, add some cheap worrisome vegetable oil to a large pot, enough to cover the bottom. Turn your hotplate to Max. While that heats up, take out three medium sized tomatoes and cut them into pieces the size of asser sentim. Add your onions to the pot, stirring until they become vaguely translucent and not quite so purple. Then add the zucchini.

Next dump in some of that berbere your mother-in-law gave you (careful, it’s hot) and some cumin. Stir until the spices are nicely bubbling with the onion and zucchini.

It’s time for the tomatoes. Add them and watch ‘em sizzle. Stir quickly for about 10 seconds, then add some water. Not too much! Just a bit so the tomatoes can get soft. Essentially you want them to mush up and come apart from the skin. Keep the setting on Max and add more water if it’s disappearing. At some point, throw in a bit of veggie stock to make it tastier. If you don’t have any, just use some salt. Stir occasionally.

In the meantime, break apart some bread into a bowl (or two, depending on how many you’re serving). The choice of dabbo is key because if it’s too much like a baguette, it’ll go disgustingly mushy on you. I’ve found ambasha is best (like these cute ones from Fantu). If you don’t readily have ambasha on hand, try a nice heavy bread like sourdough.

In the end, you want the tomato mixture it to be slightly thick but not too lumpy because the tomatoes should have already broken apart. Some of the oil should be seen on the top. Add the bread to the mix and stir until everything’s covered nicely.

Eneu bela.

what do you do for a living?

2006-04-10T15:40:00.000+03:00

Piassa

One of the first things that struck me when I arrived here was the massive amounts of people. People walking, people standing, people sitting, people talking, people staring. And people working. There seems to be a job – no matter the task – for almost everyone.

Take the job of being a guard for instance. A lot of decent sized stores, hotels, banks restaurants, etc. have at least one guard on duty. A general job description seems to be: watch parked cars, keep out the riffraff, assist driver with parking maneuvering, do pat downs (aka searches). It’s hardly required in some instances (take Abrico on Bole for instance) but it’s mostly a courtesy to the customer. And it creates a job where otherwise there wouldn’t be one. The general age of guards tends to be on the older side and being fairly self sufficient is better than naught. The average wage for a guard is probably about 100 Birr per month which works out to a measly $14 Canadian. Even with prices on the rise, it’s probably never covered the rent but it’s something.

At the school where I work, there are assistants and assistant’s assistants. My biggest frustration comes when it’s time to photocopy. Only the photocopy lady can touch the big green button. Even though I know what I want and, in fact, I’ve operated one of those machines several times in the past, I have to stay outside the invisible perimeter that separates this woman from machine.

The jobs become too defined (i.e., the photocopy lady only photocopies) and there’s no room for someone to move ‘up’ or even ‘over’ for that matter. Jobs are also very gender specific. You would never see a man cleaning a classroom. There are female guards but they’re only employed at places where a pat down is required and only they can touch the lady customers.

Ethiopia is a country lacking options. For the average person, they don’t have the luxury to even entertain the thought of “hm, perhaps I’ll change careers”. Day in, day out they do the same mindless job. They’re stuck and I’m not even sure that if someone came along and offered them a challenging job with responsibility they would take it. It’s like they’ve been labeled by some hidden hand as “guard” and that’s all they know how to do, it’s all they can do. Being poor means you can’t afford to take risks. Until the time the government believes in the people enough to create a roomy economy, people will continue to walk. And stand. And sit. And talk. And stare. And work.