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.

2006-04-08T23:45:00.000+03:00

beeeeeeeep - clear!

2006-04-08T12:18:00.000+03:00

My roommates at one time called me 'stone face'. It was something that surprised me because I thought I was fairly transparent as far as those things called 'feelings' were concerned. I can't say I liked the name but it did make me wonder what exactly it was I projecting to the world.

I've generally thought of myself as a fairly level person. If you saw a graph of my feelings, it would look less like stock market trends and more like a dead person's cardiogram. Hm, no wonder they called me 'stone face'.

I'm not comfortable with being angry but this week I was less afraid of it. I'm not sure what it is. The more time you spend telling people what to do/not to do, the more you feel entitled to get angry. (I have to marinate on that some more.)

The boyfriend laughed when I told him I entered the classroom and they spontaneously started singing some sort of "welcome, welcome we're happy to see you" song, which I got angry about, which he found even more funny.

The kids talk and talk and talk and talk. Even if you look straight at them and tell them to stop talking, the second you turn away from them, they're back talking again. I'm still searching for a shock and awe method and have found that wearing a ring on my hand is helpful when I smack the desk (once) to get their attention. Until my hand spontaneously turned purple.

I felt myself wanting to yell "shut up!" but it came out sounding like "shbe quiet!"

It wasn't a great week and it timed itself nicely with PMS. On Friday, I asked each kid what they were doing on the weekend and getting to hear their quirky stories ("I'm going to America to eat a burger," "I'm driving to the barber, then to a cafe by myself") made me like them more.

I wanted to see what ol' stone face looked like angry so I took a peek in the mirror. It wasn't pretty. Scrunched face, wide eyes. I can't understand why the kids would be happy to see me let alone want to sing a song about it.

MIA

2006-04-02T10:26:00.000+03:00

The new chocolate-eating friend I made has left Addis suddenly. Her mobile is shut off. Rumour has it, it's a medical emergency and she's told the school she'll be gone for two weeks or more. Hope she's okay.

flailing

2006-03-30T19:30:00.000+03:00

The librarian and I had words today. This came after an episode where she shooshed several of us teachers and told us to "stop talking". Let's just say I told her she is disrespectful. She said she was a Christian and disliked no one. (Internal dialogue at that point: 'That's an odd angle to take.') We agreed to respect each other - I, her library rules, and she, that I'm an adult.

A parent asked me to hang out with his daughter on weekends. I thought he meant for tutoring. He meant as a buddy. He asked in front of his kid. Her mother died a few months back. It was impossible to say no. I think we agreed to one Saturday a month. I'm not really sure. He could have been hitting on me for all I know.

"We have this big house and it's just me and her. I'll invite you over sometime."

I came home and flailed from the kitchen to the living room to the tune of "Hounds of Love". There was a time when I knew who that song was by. I did my best air guitar. It was just what I needed.

can't wait for saturday

2006-03-25T15:28:00.000+03:00

My Saturday afternoon is quickly dwindling away while we spend time waiting for the car to be jimmied open by (my guess) a former car thief. The keys got locked inside. But no luck. Looks as if we might have to break a window.

I’ve been looking forward to today all week. I think I’ve made some lady friends. Yes, yes it’s all very exciting. It was confirmed last week when I went with a woman I work with to eat chocolate cake. It’s the sacred ritual shared between women when we tell each other of this place and that worthy of visiting to satisfy our base cravings. ~~(Mostly) all the kindygarten teachers are going out for dinner tonight to be followed by drinks~~(cancelled due to rain). I think there’s something similar about our ragtag group for all of us to be living in Addis, working and attempting to make a normal life for ourselves. Lady energy…it’s a good thing.

oldie

2006-03-25T15:20:00.000+03:00

This is a blog I wrote a while back when I first arrived, but never got around to publishing. Perhaps it explains the need for chocolate and cake that I still find compelling.

___________________________________

So I made it, for the love and all. The last five months have had their moments of feeling torturous with the typical ups and downs of being without your lovely love. But I’m here. I thought the moment I saw T at the airport would be super emotional (I really thought I’d be boohooing) but actually it was just as if we’d never been apart. It just felt normal to be with him. And after two weeks, it still feels normal but fantastic all at the same time.

The best way to describe being in Addis is akin to camping, camping with extras. Daily routines aren’t quite typical – different grocery stores, different process – comforts you normally enjoy aren’t quite the same – a whore’s bath instead of a shower – some things are slightly dulled down – ketchup is actually watered down tomato paste. And at the same time, I’ve been entirely spoiled. There’s a servant culture here that definitely feels strange. The first time I had dinner at T’s dad’s house, they pushed a buzzer for the maid to come and collect the dirty dishes when we finished dinner. And I’m sure my eyes bugged out a little. So anyways, I haven’t washed a dish since I’ve been here. It feels strange to not do simple things for yourself, like get a glass of water. Instead it’s turned into a process with someone you bringing you the bottled water with a glass on a tray. One of the ladies I’ve been hanging out with, Mimi (she’s also been teaching me some Amharic), is also the same woman who brings me sandwiches and tea in the afternoon. “Ah! Don’t do that! Can’t we make the sandwiches together? And why haven’t you brought a sandwich for yourself?”

I’m starting to feel a bit braver about cruising the streets of Addis by myself. Last week it felt normal to go to the grocery store by myself and get a few things like milk and eggs. I’m still nervous about taking a taxi somewhere, especially because I don’t know the city all too well. And it’s not as if you can tell the driver an intersection – the way it works is here is according to landmarks (hotels, etc.) of which I know few. So for me to get to the other side of the city, I’d have to know what sort of landmark everyone identifies as being a ‘stop’. The other thing about being out and about is the number of people who approach you asking for money, or just want to say hi, shake your hand, etc. It can feel overwhelming, especially for a girl like me who generally likes to disappear and not be noticed. It can feel immensely sad when a tiny three year old runs along side me “hello hello one birr one birr”. Walking for about 30 minutes, it’s possible for about five people to approach you in this way. And it’s just really fucking sad. Some days I’ve got the blues only chocolate and cake can cure. Maybe that seems insincere, but it’s how I’m dealing for now. Don’t really know what else to do?

la la la la la LA

2006-03-21T21:49:00.000+03:00

my fungus is gone. well, it was never mine really but ya, it's gone.

confirmation of crazy

2006-03-18T19:19:00.000+03:00

I feel I’ll forever be surrounded by strange/crazy people. And for the most part, I search out strangeness in my friends, but I like people who are randomly strange as in they blurt out strange things at strange times. To me, that’s funny. But there’s an assistant in my class who is beyond strange. Perhaps deranged? She’s the enforcer in my class. The kids listen to her because they pick up on the deranged factor. That’s my theory anyways. If they drop their ferfer, look out. It’s the death glare followed by ramblings in Amharic threatening to cut of their ears.

Today was the parent/teacher conferences. (Side note: very interesting that only the parents of the smarter kids come.) I spent three hours with said deranged assistant interspersed by visiting parents (thank god for distractions). I feared how much she might reveal when she told me the following…

At a former school, there was a little girl about 4 years old who used to kiss a boy in her class. On his penis. The boy complained he didn’t want to go to school because of this girl and his penis was ‘dirty’ somehow so his parents were worried. The girl also used to put her hand down her pants, then smell her fingers (something freakily akin to Mary Katherine Gallagher I guess). I attempted to explain that this little girl was probably being abused and had learned this from a grownup in some inappropriate way. The girl wasn’t even in her class but this assistant had actually seen the girl put her hand down her pants and was just really disturbed by her behaviour. As a result, the assistant used to have dreams about the girl and in her somewhat halting English, told me that one time she woke up from sleeping with her own hand down her pants. Of course, she went straight to a priest. From what I know, they’re good at dealing with all matters sexual. The priest told her the girl was dark inside and to do some holy water chanting/screaming ritual thing.

And at that point, I figured it was time to go home.

The nazi librarian (who has yet another new hairdo) and I seem to have come to an unspoken truce. I asked to borrow her scissors. She said yes. It’s been smooth library excursions ever since.

I have daydreams of having a whole day where I tell people exactly what I think at the exact moment I think it. The concept seems frighteningly freeing.

doctors and clinics and fungus, oh my

2006-03-15T19:13:00.000+03:00

I hate going to the doctor here, which is why I put off going in the first place. I thought WebMD could tell me everything I wanted to know – like I don’t actually have a fungus…it’s just something that will go away.

But alas, I have a fungus. I also have a cold or flu and I’m guessing that when I start zapping the fungus with my new cream, I’ll be able to kick the cold too.

Doctors here seem eager to hand out antibiotics like they’re candy. They also like to throw in the odd chest x-ray and blood test. If anything, I get to keep a souvenir of my inner workings. I’m going to put it on display in the living room for all to see.

When you go to reception, people avoid looking in your direction. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to be forced into attempting to speak English. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a guy eager to practice his language skills. He’ll help you out. Then you’re off to the waiting room with uncomfortable chairs (sans magazines) where women stare in your direction, are obviously speaking about you beu amaranya and you’d like to give them the finger but then, how would that reflect on your representation of all the nech in town. Good thing your name is also an Ethiopian name. People can pronounce it and you can hear when it’s called – time to see the doctor. Your skeptical because you know doctors tell people if they have chest problems, they’re allergic to cold. Cold weather, cold drinks, cold food. And that’s just crazy because people endure cold weather all the time. You tell your story and he asks to listen to your lungs. He asks to undo your bra which you don’t think is necessary because it can easily be moved out of the way. But he’s a doctor, a scientist, not a thinking/feeling being. He moves to the front and his hand brushes your breast; he listens just to the side of your chest but it’s all a bit creepy. He goes to the extreme in asking if there are kids at the school with TB. TB? He orders a blood test and chest x-ray. The blood test is quick. You worry about complete sterilization. You have to wait for the x-ray to be done because it’s now lunch time. Time to break out the book you’ve brought. An hour passes but everyone who has been waiting rushes to the x-ray room and hands in their slips before you. You don’t want to push and shove so yours is last to be handed in. For some reason, they hand your slip back. When you know it’s your turn, you again turn in your slip. She says “take a seat”. I insist I’ve been waiting already and it’s now my turn. I go inside where a second man that day sees my breasts. He says I must have the flu because I look stiff. It could also be because I’m uncomfortable. The x-ray will be processed later that day but you have yet to see the doctor return from lunch. When will he get back? you ask. 3 o’clock. Two and a half hours for lunch. You can’t wait till he dillydallies back so you decide to come back the next day. The next day is rather smooth and all your results are ready. You still don’t think the doctor knows what he’s talking about so you don’t fulfill all the prescriptions. Only the one that will get rid of the fungus in 5 to 7 days.

too cute

2006-03-15T18:47:00.000+03:00

There are some kids you just wanna eat. This is one of them.

what kind of girl are you?

2006-03-15T18:39:00.000+03:00

Before the time of the boyfriend, I had lady friends. Back in Canada, there’s a whole range to choose from: hipster girls, arty girls, man-ish girls, bubble gum girls. My friends were/are a mixture of any of these, of the laid back variety.

There seems to be only one type here: the girly girls. It’s all about going to hair salons weekly for up to 3 hours at a time. It’s about tight, revealing (and often) skanky clothes. It’s about playing up supposedly unbearably painful cramps. While all these are not to be ruled out completely, I’m a believer in moderation in any of the above situations.

Where are the laid back ladies of Ethiopia? And how do you go about making friends with them?

The difference between girly girls here versus Canada is they’re actually friendly. You don’t feel the competition vibe or the hateful stares like you do in Canada. Maybe it’s because women here can be intensely beautiful so they have nothing to worry about. Perhaps it’s me who is being too selective. After all, beggars can’t be choosers. But I just can’t see myself dwelling over make up, hair and clothing for hours on end. I can’t even pretend to get excited about that stuff when I have more important things, like chocolate and treats, to think about. The boyfriend doesn’t get excited about things I like (chocolate, for instance) unlike all girls I know. He claims he’s perfect, but not quite. If only he knew how easy it is to be my perfect lady friend.

what the fun-gus?

2006-03-09T22:51:00.000+03:00

So after a couple of weeks of feeling ill (tired, coughing, sore throat, headache, menamen) and having this ever-increasing red spot appear on my neck, a woman at work yesterday said, “it’s a fungus.” She said it simply as if she pointed at the sky and remarked, “there are clouds”.

“FUNGUS!?” I asked, very much alarmed. “What do I do? How did I get it? It’s from those walking diseases we call children, isn’t it?”

“It’s probably from some child that kissed you and they had a fungus on their lips. Just put some nech shinkurt on it when you get home.”

Suddenly this red spot that had been mildly annoying made me feel like I was disgusting.

I got home, walked straight to the fridge, sliced open a piece of garlic and applied it directly to my hideousness. Take that, fungi!

Ironically, my favourite joke has to do with fungus.

A mushroom walks into a bar.

The bartender says, “hey, you can’t come in here.”

“Why not? I’m a fun guy.”

The garlic hasn’t worked. I have an appointment with a dermatologist tomorrow.

self

2006-03-06T20:07:00.000+03:00

If you’ve ever read Self by Yann Martel (and I suggest you do), you’ll know that he uses different languages in a way that indicates both familiarity and disconnect at the same time. When I hear “not English”, my ears attempt to pick out similar English sounding cousins. It’s possible for me with some languages like French, Spanish, Italian and German. But with Amharic, particularly when I first got here, I couldn’t even identify any long lost, twice-removed cousins.

Martel splits the page in to columns. On one side is the continued English dialogue/narrative familiar to the reader while the other column switches to another simultaneous dialogue in Hungarian, Spanish or French. As I read the English half, I continually glance over, looking for familiar characters sometimes understanding (if it’s French), sometimes not (Hungarian).

Being constantly surrounded by a foreign (although slowly more customary) language makes me feel like a split page from Self. I am the page. I am a whole person but...

My own English dialogue runs continually through my brain but I am sometimes able to tune into the other continuous dialogue that constantly flows around me. The sounds and intonations of Amharic are familiar and almost comforting so much so that when I was in Dubai alone, I purposefully walked close enough to Ethiopians to hear those distinct lilts and tones.

I can feel disconnected. After some time alone at home – reading or watching a movie – I leave the house and there’s a distinct, almost audible click in my brain that reminds me of where I am and that my ever-developing Amharic may be required. Sitting at a table full of Amharic-speaking friends, knowing they’re speaking and so therefore I should somehow understand but only managing to blink at the joke can instantly induce loneliness.

I recently realized I no longer casually overhear conversations. It’s become mere words that I catch, which means I’m almost continually in my own head. I know this place is changing me, changing my synapses in other ways but language-wise, I’m waiting for my brain to adapt. It will force itself to catch up.

On a random street, I recognized my name in Amharic script. It’s those little gleeful moments that I hope will string together to create a woven page.

look what my friend made!

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

I think we all need to pupate once in a while.

look what i made!

2006-03-02T08:42:00.000+03:00

My current addictions (which include some obsessive compulsive like behaviours. I’m a little afraid for myself):

sewing
that damn snake game on the boyfriend’s mobile
chocolate
dabo ferfer

I’ve never sewn before. Well, I’ve never had a sewing project. On the odd occasion I attempted to reattach a button but without success. I learned to sew through osmosis actually. You’re thinking from my mother. But you’d be wrong.

It was a roommate who sewed for a living. We always had an odd collection of wedding dresses around (I was always tempted to try one on…the first and last time I’d ever wear a proper wedding dress…but never did) because she did the beadwork at all hours of the night. So while I was watching tv, reading, making dinner she was sewing. The two years I lived with her, I never got a lesson. It always seemed like a mysterious process to me. A process that I knew could change people. This knowledge was passed to me from my mom. She became a different person once the sewing basket came out from the closet. She always asked me to get it for her. It was a very 70’s olive green colour with a soft cushiony bit under the lid where all the pins were stuck. There were trays loaded with thread and different coloured buttons so much so it couldn’t close properly. She could reattach buttons although with the odd frustrated sigh. If the sewing machine had to come out, it was best to leave the room and play outside. Generally a project never got finished because it ended with screams of “oh! this STU-pid machine!” I still don’t know if it was the machine or the user but for me the act of sewing was forever combined with an aura of fear and mystery that I thought best to leave alone.

So why start sewing now, you ask? Boredom is a great motivator. Not too long ago, I tried to fulfill my wifely duty by fixing one of the boyfriend’s shirts and it wasn’t that painful. I’ve wanted to make odd looking/disfigured dolls since seeing them at a craft fair in Toronto last winter and now I have plenty of time on my hands and my hands want to be busy. One trip to Merkato was all it took to acquire the necessities.

for the love is proud to present the newly formed “Imperfections” label (slogan: cause who’s perfect?) with malformed dolls of various sizes, colours, shapes and limbs.

I think the roommate would be proud.

fasting? yes, please!

2006-03-01T20:45:00.000+03:00

As a former vegetarian, I can’t tell you how excited I am about not eating meat. Or rather, I can tell you. In Ethiopia, there’s a whole culture that revolves around eating.

Holidays mean a lot of eating. A whole sheep is bought (depending on income, sometimes two with a maybe a goat thrown in there). Also on an everyday level, as part of being a good host (which Ethiopians are incredibly good at), food is piled and piled on your plate. Third helpings even. And if you refuse, they implore you with sad eyes and “please”. I’ve developed necessary tricks when visiting the boyfriend’s father to avoid being stuffed to the point of bursting.

There’s a phrase “eneu bela” which is (I think) essentially “we eat” but is said as an invitation to eat. When it happens to me, I often feel uncomfortable. I was at the immigration office extending my visa and one of the employees was eating and he invited me to have some of his lunch. That’s just really odd by Canadian standards. I get the feeling it’s rude to refuse and it’s also rude not to invite people to eat your food (guilty as charged).

There’s also “gursha” which is essentially feeding someone a mouthful of food by hand. It’s supposed to be affectionate but again can make me uncomfortable. (oh us Canadians! we’re so uptight!)

Ethiopians are big on meat. Raw meat is savoured, which can testify to this fact. So for me, instituted fasting means I don’t have to eat meat, but more importantly, I don’t have to refuse meat offered to me in any of the above situations. Saying no to meat seemed offensive but now it’s a whole array of veggietables I can choose from and I don’t even have to stress that meat will be presented to me in any form. So yes, I’m excited.

Just last weekend, we had lunch at the boyfriend’s father’s house. Because it was the last few days before fasting began, all there was to eat were meat dishes. The father in law offered a bowl of said meat. I could see vertebrae. I could see gleaming fat. Then I saw a jaw bone complete with the browning teeth. Face meat…that’s where I draw the line.

the future of ethiopia

2006-02-26T12:21:00.000+03:00

As Whitney once said, "children are our future / teach them well and let them lead the way". If the older kids at the private school where I teach are any indication of the future - be afraid, be very afraid. And when I say 'older kids' I mean those older than my kindergarten class. My interactions with other students includes a grade one class for 6 forty minute periods per week. These kids are frighteningly disrespectful and careless. They are absolutely clueless about what rules mean and are unafraid of any punishments that may come their way. (I gave out one hundred lines to a student that is consistently problematic and she hardly blinked an eye.)

There are most likely a lot of contributing factors here - a disorganized school which has several different teachers for one class meaning a lot of different rules and tolerance levels from teachers. Another factor could be inconsistency at home - these are spoiled kids, no doubt about it. (I overheard a conversation some teenage students had asking each other how many cars their family owned, what kind of cars, etc.) Rich kids often have parents who work long hours. For these parents, it's easier to buy their kids things rather than spend time with them. When they doll out punishments, they don't understand their children and/or the context so perhaps the punishment is overally harsh. (The director of the school mentioned to me that giving out lines can be viewed by the students as 'easy' compared to getting beaten at home.)

I'm generalizing of course. When I think about teenagers (shiver), I realize all those hormones create appalling behaviours that will disappear once the surge of hormones fades. So there's hope these kids will develop into relatively normal, productive, functioning people. But if they lack notions of consequence and respect at key stages of development like my grade one class, what will that create at age 13, 18, 25, etc.? These are privileged children who will go on to inherit this country but I'm afraid of what they will do with it.

the rain is here and the flies are still here

2006-02-23T20:33:00.000+03:00

but I'm still smiling

more reasons to love this country

2006-02-19T11:37:00.000+03:00

16. combination butchery bars – while I myself have yet to try raw meat, I hear that going to a butchery bar is quite the experience with people fighting over which cut of meat they want, etc. I imagine it’s heightened by the fact you can drink there as well.

17. Bruno’s – the best ice cream anywhere

18. grocery stores – it’s always a surprise because what you found last week, might not be there again this week. Or they might have something newly imported you haven’t seen before.

19. a surprising range of different tasty restaurants – so far I’ve been out for Indian food several times, Korean, Lebanese, Chinese, Italian and, of course, Habesha. I have yet to try the Georgian restaurant, the French place or the Armenian one. When one Canadian dollar is worth about seven birr, it makes eating out semi-regularly affordable. Of course, I’m not making dollars here but somehow when calculated, it feels less guilt inducing to eat out here.

20. bootlegged movies – the great thing about being in a country where the government is too busy doing damage control is there are less regulations for other things…like movies. I’ve been able to see Brokeback Mountain, The 40 year old Virgin, Kinsey, Crash, etc. even though at the time they were barely out of theatres in other parts of the world. Granted sometimes it’s a crappy copy poorly shot in the cinema but still, a girl’s gotta be entertained.

21. compound livin’ – practically every house is part of a small compound which includes the surrounding yard, the main house and servant quarters. Our landlord and her sister live in the servant quarters area behind the house creating a horrible noise tunnel which filters all their yelling at the neighbour’s kids and their dirty talk straight through our windows. But the benefit of compound livin’ for a fereng is the privacy from staring eyes, which I relish (sometimes too much).

22. an interesting re-usage of materials – for instance, our compound walls have been imbedded with broken upside down glass pop bottles as a security measure. I hear there are neighbourhoods where a plastic bag doubles as a ready made toilet complete for throwing/disposing of elsewhere as far away as you can wing it.

other reasons found here

flies season

2006-02-18T16:00:00.000+03:00

My little brother once wrote me an email telling me “it has been hot as of late” and mentioning “the cherry season is upon us”.

So it’s been hot here as of late. But it’s not cherry season. No, no, it’s time for flies. Flies of different sizes. The big ones that fly around the house all day in the same path and make a rather loud noise when they bump into the windows but never seem to find the open window to escape. The small flies that hover in the centre of the room doing the same odd square-like path over and over and over. The flies that like to land near your ears, mouth, nose, on your legs and arms and proceed to walk across your skin even though they can fly. I hate them and it annoys me to no end. There seem to be a lot at the school which maybe makes sense because of all the kids. Or maybe there’s a farm nearby where they originate from heaps of manure, dead carcass, or dirty eyha skin. I feel like I’ll turn into some crazed woman, constantly swatting and putting my mouth at awkward angles to blow the flies away. This is one of the few times when I’ve thought having a tail might be advantageous, which may or may not look better than ‘crazy’. There is talk that another rainy season is coming so I’m hoping that will end my torture.

a stressful pastry experience

2006-02-12T12:49:00.002+03:00

famous pastry shop in Piassa - famous for baklava

with Kenny Rogers overseeing it, how could it be bad?

can you see the bee having a drink off the edge of the knife? i can't say that i enjoyed the baklava - there was so much honey it turned into a wet dessert. but evidently the place gets packed with people, despite the bees. for a girl with a serious bee sting allergy, it was enough to get my outta there.

if you haven't been listening, you've been missing

2006-02-12T12:27:00.000+03:00

It's the Theory of Everything and if you haven't been listening, well then, you've been neglecting your synapses. Benjamen Walker has some mind bending radio essays and just recently he's posted one on the Ethiopiques music series. So for the love of everything, start listening.

home

2006-02-09T20:27:00.000+03:00

I’ve always determined ‘home’ by the forever familiar route required to get there. Our little house in Kera is home in that sense as determined by the dusty, sketchy path leading here. Sometimes I travel by car (a la boyfriend) or sometimes I take a blue devil (aka minibus taxi). The (often stinky) taxi helper guy (i.e., not the driver, but the guy who takes the money) will yell out “Kera Kera, Mexico”. And I think “Kera, that’s me”. Kera has a bad reputation – mostly known for thieves (leba) and the smell of rot and burning that, if the wind blows in the wrong direction, we can detect on occasion from the local huge stock yard. I find it interesting that the big bone piles always remain the same size, no matter the amount of traffic entering or the size of the oxen, thanks to the ever swarming vultures. When we drive directly passed it, I always enter the dilemma of breathing through my nose (but then I smell it) or breathing through my mouth (no smell but then those stinky particles are in my mouth).

Once I’m home, as I turn the key, I wonder what awaits me – could be a flood of some sort (not unwarranted considering the plumbing problems we’ve had), all our things are just gone (not unwarranted – I mentioned the leba, yes?) or …nope, those are the big two. I’m always mildly surprised when everything is fine. First thing I want to do, depending on footwear, is wash my feet if I’ve been trudging around in flip flops. While not the most practical shoes, I lo-oove my flip flops considering they’ve lasted this long all the way over in Aaaaafrica. Then once the feet are washed, it’s all craziness. Or as crazy as you can get without a TV.

So, Addis and our little place are home. It’s not easy livin’ but I’m used to it. My brain is still somehow my brain no matter where I am although sometimes in alternating forms.

swagger, ethiopia, DDT and durkheim

2006-01-28T11:34:00.000+03:00

I realized today that I've lost my Toronto rush and acquired an Ethiopian swagger when I walk. There's hardly reason for rushing and there's a lot of tolerance for lateness here when you consider the difficulties with respect to transportation. Most people don't drive and either opt for walking and/or taxi service. The taxi system is far superior to anything in Canada. The majority of taxis are shared so the price depends on the distance to your destination. For a trip in a van which carries up to 12 people at once, the minimum is 60 cents per person. For a car, which carries up to 4 people at once, the minimum is 75 cents. (I don't know maximum prices because I generally don't stray to far from home by taxi.) It's convenient because you just need to say "this is my stop" (aka woradj alleu) and they let you off anywhere. To get picked up, it's just a slight wave of the hand. I've only taken the giant red and orange bus once (from Shiro Meda to Bole) with the help of friends. The bus is better for longer cross-city trips. The bad thing about the bus is that it's packed and more people always squeeze on. People literally tumble out at their stop. I hardly doubt there are safety regulations and the doors are capable of removing limbs as they close.

I think the other swagger factor is the sun. It's too hot at certain times of the day to move quickly. And while this is highland country, it's still very hot, dry, dusty and dirty. Which brings me to another point - you have to walk carefully to watch for rusty nails, gobs of spit/snot, zig zag bull pee and goat poop pellets.

Things are slower here but considering the country is still developing, I think there's such a great opportunity to learn from the mistakes the rest of the world made in their own stages of development. The best example I can think of to relate this is the use of DDT as a pesticide in North America. While somewhat controversial, DDT was banned over 20 years ago for possibly causing harmful side effects and yet it's being widely used here. Why, why, why? The poor economy means Ethiopia can mostly afford the West's cast-offs but in all good conscience, how can anyone act out the role akin to a tobacco company - we know you don't really need it, and we know it's harmful (maaaaaybe deadly) to you and your children and your children's children but...that's business. Essentially of course, it comes down to money. You don't have to read that much into it to realize that when it comes to money, the lives of Africans aren't considered valuable.

All of the world, including the West, spawned from Ethiopia. If anything, the development of Africa should be an ideas exchange rather than a dictatorship or fiduciary approach. Who's to say the West knows best? Because we have stuff and technology and technology that gives up more stuff? It hasn't brought us happiness yet. We seem to think if we hold out a little longer, this same technology will click, spark or shine and happiness will appear. It won't. Are the people of Ethiopia happy? No. But I think it's the disappointment of seeing the gap between their lifestyle (something akin to Durkheim's theory perhaps) and that of the West. When perhaps they were perfectly fine in the first place.

As an update, the book to change our generation is "Ishmael" by Daniel Quinn. It's a mind bender in the best sense. It says everything I can't possibly say here.

my untimely (follow up) letter to pettigrew who is no longer foreign affairs minister

2006-01-24T20:56:00.000+03:00

Of course I blame hideous Stephen Harper. I think I speak for the un-minority of Canadians when I say "nooooooooo, no no no, noooooooooo".

an attempt at an update

2006-01-22T18:19:00.001+03:00

As follow up to my previous email requesting Canadian assistance for the people of Ethiopia, I am writing to express my disappointment at receiving no further response from Foreign Affairs. As you indicated (Canada's Ambassador to Ethiopia met with the Ethiopian Minister of Foreign Affairs on November 2nd) there was a meeting between these two groups. I am now wondering what steps the Canadian government has taken, if any, in this regard. I have not heard of any sanctions (or other measures) but if I am mistaken, I would appreciate being informed. Additionally, the Canadian embassy is having a barbeque this coming Saturday. Beyond warnings during particular violent times in the city, we have not been well informed about Canada's stand on the issue.

The situation continues in Ethiopia. Soon the opposition leaders and members will be subject to trial for treason. Please ensure this issue does not slip in priority. To quote Stockwell Day (something few Canadians would indeed do), "The Liberal Government should have already been working to broker peace between the Ethiopian Government and Opposition Parties and supporters."

Thank you and I look forward to your response.

several mishaps leading to a nearly disastrous day at school that turns into a rant

2006-01-22T18:19:00.000+03:00

ugly kid in class gets bad headache, starts crying, sees the nurse, calls her mom and goes home (she was actually sort of endearing at this point until the next day when i heard her whiney voice say "miiiiisssssss"),
cute girl falls down while running, takes chunk out of knee, refuses to see nurse, I bring nurse to her and she squirms while she gets bandaged up,
cute girl #2 eats lots of ferfer at lunch, proceeds to throw her lunch up while one of the assistants berates her for doing said deed.

I'm not one who is big on confrontation. There are several things I need to speak with the above mentioned assistant about including insulting a child's parent in front of the child, making her cry. I always wait on these sorts of things and then when I do work up the courage (or the situation becomes intolerable) it seems untimely.

Time for the librarian story: the jist is she speaks to me like I'm one of the students, which in turn makes me want to act like a kid - forgetting 'important' library rules like leaving my bag at the door and not eating in the sacred room of books.

"Sara! there's no eating in the library."

"Oh, there isn't? I didn't know." Ha.

It was all slightly annoying until I picked up that her tone implied I was also a kid. Then I thought about what would happen if I spoke to her like she was a five year old. I don't think she would be impressed, especially considering I've never seen her even crack a smile (except when she was laughing at one of the Korean students speaking...Korean). On top of her nazi tendencies, she's incompetent. And this really boils down to my issue(s?) with confrontation, because the woman has no reason - none, zip, menem - to be a jerk. I could list a whole list of things she does that point to total incompetency:

1. To take out or return a single book means waiting for a good five mintues while she searches through her drawer of a thousand cards to find my name. One word, lady: alphabetize.

2. She likes her mobile. For a woman who is constantly saying "the library means quiet", she does a lot of yappin'.

3. The kicker: I've seen her eating the exact same thing as me while in the library. (Side note: Rocklets are a close approximation to Smarties and come in better, more 70's basement kinda colours. When the orange, brown and green end up in my hand together, it makes me smile.)

Having to go to the library has turned anxiety ridden. And mostly, I have no one to blame but me - the most bitter part of this lesson. But really, I swear that wherever I go in the world, I'm destined to encounter some effen freaky people. They all have names. I've told their stories, which are sadly my stories, to you before. This one will do down as the "nazi librarian". I will, as they say, keep you posted.

two day weekend - cruel and unusual

2006-01-15T12:44:00.000+03:00

My days at school have been filled with insane amounts of repetition on my part (abc’s, 1-2-3’s) and their part (Miss! She hit me. Miss! Rubber!) With all of the holidays lately, it means I’ve only been doing 3- or 4-day work weeks. So when the 5-day weeks start, it’s going to feel abnormally long…and painful. I thought I was doing so well – being patient, caring, creative. And then the cramps and headaches started and it felt like the best solution might be to knock some small heads together. I didn’t. But I wanted to. So on Monday when I get to see them all again, I’m hoping that feeling disappears.

Adding to the mayhem is that the school has asked me to teach two classes for grade one. My first attempt was this past Friday. It’s oddly serene watching a classroom of 32 kids just disintegrate. Suddenly everyone asks to ‘go to toilet’, the worksheets end up on the floor. When I was six years old and a teacher told me to do something, I listened out of fear. I almost admire these kids for being anti-authoritative in their own way. But then another way to describe them is ‘brats’. I need some sort of shock n’ awe method.

The boyfriend and I are contemplating getting a dog. And for anyone who knows me, you’re jaw just dropped so feel free to close it. I don’t like pets but I like the boyfriend; he’s generally good at following through with what he says and so I trust him when he says he’ll be the one to wash the dog, train the dog, love the dog. I still want to help out with the training because I think a better behaved dog will be one that I can tolerate (and maybe enjoy?) so I’ve been reading up on training tips. And (not so) oddly enough, it sounds very similar to dealing with children. Perhaps these two aspects of my life will pleasantly intertwine. The children will stop digging holes in the yard and the dog will count to 20. Or something like that.

fa la la la wha?

2006-01-08T20:17:00.000+03:00

Christmas came and went with much ado about nothing. Christmas eve: nice dinner, went out to clubs. (Oh, before dinner I managed to whip up some cinnamon buns while the boyfriend tidied and put up the Christmas lights and transformed a sad looking cactus into a sad looking Christmas tree.) Christmas morning the boyfriend was hungover but still excited about opening plenty of presents courtesy of Dubai. They all looked odd wrapped in Amharic laden newspaper. Mao-ish perhaps. There’s a joke in there somewhere about the boyfriend hoping for mao presents. wawawa.

Then we did the typical Christmas day activities: napping and movie watching. The napping didn’t work out so well because we ate too much chocolate to come down from and unfortunately we didn’t have any Christmas-themed movies but squeezed in Finding Nemo “the seamonkey stole my money” and Gladiator “bang bang death” for good measure.

For the new year, we were in the Guragee area. The boyfriend and father-in-law were checking out a water drilling site and I was along to see new sites. There were huts lining the ‘street’ and kids would coming running out excited to see a car and then quickly run away – afraid of the car. We turned old people and went to bed at 11. I’m never excited for any kind of new year celebrations. It’s always a disappointment no matter what plans you make. Sleep – I know what to expect there.

Right now it’s the second round of Christmas celebrations – habesha style. Although really it’s just eating. Same as in Canada – you get together with lots of people; there’s too much eating; there are too many kids running around making too much noise. It’s all about excess. And, believe it or not, even a poor country is still about excess. I’ve never seen so many sheep for the purpose of eating rather than for mutton bustin’. And if you don’t know what mutton bustin’ is, well… “it’s kinda wei-rud”.

The best part so far about this time of year is all the time off from work. Teaching has been a lot more demanding than I thought. More and more I feel like I am the establishment. “Hey kids, x is good and y is bad.” How do you explain to 5 year olds who are just learning more English about the grey zone? I’ve been trying out yoga breathing and shakin’ out the sillies and other nonsense and it seems to be going well. I actually admire the kids who don’t listen very well. I definitely wasn’t like that when I was small. And really for me, the most they are is slightly trying. Every day is a new one and I treat each kid that way…there’s nothing they could have done the day before that will effect how I treat them today. Kids are insanely forgiving anyways. Even if I’ve told them they couldn’t play on the swings earlier and they fall down crying, they still give me a kiss goodbye at the end of the day.

We’re having a holiday barbeque tomorrow. The barbeque will actually be an old tire well. The beef will be beef. But it’ll be a full on barbeque in the middle of winter. Good ol’ Africa.

ferengi/white girl factor

2005-12-15T22:42:00.000+03:00

The Ethiopian government is atypical when it comes to baggage checks I find. As soon as you enter the airport, all your baggage (large and otherwise) is checked via xray. Every person I saw was asked to remove their shoes when they went through the metal detector, except your's truly - evidently the white girl could never be a terrorist. Once you enter into the gate area to wait (further) for your flight, there's another carry-on luggage/shoe check. This time, I even offered to remove my shoes but they waved me aside.

On the return, their concern is not so much to do with bombs and such but whether you're bringing something into the country that you can sell and more importantly, they can tax. So your luggage is xrayed again as you leave the airport. I brought some definitely suspicious items in (or at least I thought they were) and a couple of mobile phones (something they could've easily taxed me on) but as my ridiculously giant black bag rolled by, they chatted to themselves instead of inspecting. Fine by me.

I'm very aware of other people's experiences...

at school the week before

2005-12-12T12:10:00.000+03:00

kid 1: loud sneeze causes two abnormally long snot strings

kid 2: looks over at kid 1 and says “wooooow!”

more on dubai

2005-12-12T12:02:00.000+03:00

Dubai – I expected streets paved with gold. My first few hours there I saw a giant rat crawling along a drainpipe outside a building. Nothing like a rat (and the odd cockroach) to signal the normality of a place. Dubai is definitely moneycentric but it is possible to avoid the ostentatious places.

For a woman traveling alone in Dubai, the attention from men can be somewhat daunting; granted I was showing more skin than just an ankle but nothing overly brazen. I heard the odd harsh whisper when I passed by some men. I was asked if I was Russian (later I saw a whole bar full of Russian women looking for ‘dates’). Some men were polite when they asked me to go for coffee. Generally men were very friendly but nothing too creepy. (Although the official from Ethiopian consulate did contact me at my hotel on a Friday night because he ‘was in the area and wanted to talk’. I thought something was wrong with my visa but he probably wanted to be thorough in other ways I care not to think about.)

There were not a lot of local women out and about. Evidently they have there own private clubs which leaves the men to wander the streets. When you did see women shopping, some had their heads covered; others had their entire faces covered with only their eyes showing. I really began to wonder what it was they could possibly buy with a wardrobe limited to only black and long dresses of the same style but many shops are filled with higher quality all-black items. The big question for me was how does a woman with her face covered eat in public, especially ice cream?

I have issues with eating ice cream cones in public myself. Opening one’s mouth only to stick your tongue out wide and lick is just plain obnoxious. It was hot enough and I’d been without ice cream long enough to temporarily ignore my difficulty however.

Mine was a steady diet of ice cream and chicken shwarma. I’d never had meat from a giant log before and it was much tastier than I thought it would be. (In another life, the sight of juices emanating from formed log meat once made me gag and I had to turn the sight into a giant blur just to order my vegetarian falafel.) It was comforting actually to know it was halal. Of the umpteen different shwarma huts around my hotel, they all made it differently. Some places even gave you super sour pickled vegetables, the closest approximation to healthy food I ate.

I did finally manage to get my brain into shopping mode (much to my bank accounts detriment) and picked up some presents for the boyfriend. And I knew this day would come at some point but had always refused to accept it…I bought a mobile. I hate mobile phone culture – people oblivious of their surroundings, ignoring their friends seated in front of them for the one on the phone; other people having access to you at all times; having private conversations in public. I’d always relied on public phones if I was ever required to coordinate with people. The problem in Addis is that you rarely see public phones (I noticed in Toronto too that public phones seemed to be disappearing). People are reluctant to let you use private telephones here because they are charged per outgoing call made. Anyways all this justification resulted in me buying a mobile. It’s not operational yet because I still need to buy the SIM card. But very soon, I’ll be just like you and you and you.

My favourite part about Dubai was the water. There was a large channel running through part of town. There were water taxis ferrying people to the other side constantly and for only 50 cents, you could have a mini tour and feel exotic for about 7 minutes. And then there was the beach. It was amazing…white sand and warm azure water. The only trouble that comes with going to the beach by yourself is trying to swim carefree when you’re constantly looking back to see no one is going through/walking away with your things. I can now say I’ve peed in several bodies of water.

Now it’s back to work. This week there are no students in school but the teachers are meeting for ‘development’. You remember when you were a kid and you got time off from school and the teachers had a ‘development day’? And you were thinking, ya right they probably don’t even come to school. Well, evidently they do. My brain has been consumed with trying to figure out some sort of teaching style that’s firm, fair and friendly for four year olds. And something that won’t mess them up for the rest of their lives. If I think about it too much though, the pressure won’t allow me to do anything so I’m trying to take it easy. I figure I’ll be a teacher that’s constantly learning. I just have to make it appear like I know what I’m doing…a familiar feeling.

sittin in my basement...girl gettin on my nerves

2005-12-06T14:36:00.000+03:00

I'm not exactly in a basement. It's more like the upstairs of the Golden Fork - an internet cafe to be exact. In Dubai.

And it's not a girl gettin on my nerves. It's more like a smoker boy with a headset on chatting in Arabic.

I'm hiding out via the internet because I am an overwhelmed shopper. Before I left for Ethiopia, I was all 'save save save'. I was in Ethiopia and I was all 'save save save'. And now I'm forced to shop. What's a girl to do? I can't decide on anything and spending money now feels impossibly wrong. There's supposed to be deals to be found here (everyone kept telling me things were so cheap) but I can't part with my durham all that easily.

Gotta get back to that muggy mug mug. It's sort of like I'm making up for missing the summer in Toronto.

tis the season

2005-12-03T15:31:00.000+03:00

( on my list)

I’m vaguely aware the Christmas season is upon us. There’s no snow here, no marketing frenzy and no tangible contact with family to remind me that Christmas is less than a month away. I was excited about going to a German Christmas bizarre that happened – but our Sunday was wasted supervising the worker dudes who put a closet in our bedroom. (The closet is exciting though. Our clothes have been piled in my giant luggage for the past six months and it’s hard to feel permanent somewhere if the luggage is in sight.) The boyfriend doesn’t like Christmas so I was going to entice him into going to the bizarre with promises of bratwurst and schnitzel.

This will be my first Christmas sans family. It’s hard to think about this year just because I know they’ll be getting together like the days of yore for movie watching, good food eating (mmm chocolate logs), “Blue Christmas” (oo-oo-oo-oo-oo) fun.

If anyone has ideas for super simple Chirstmas ornaments, please let me know. I will make Christmas happen. Christmas is forced upon us in Canada, why not do it here?

uma, oprah. oprah, uma.

2005-12-03T15:19:00.000+03:00

I heard the big O was on Letterman. If anyone can make fun of Oprah properly, it's my Dave.

The big O is supposed to make an appearance in Ethiopia again for the fistula hospital. Write her and tell her to not to endorse Meles in any way.

You'll get an overly fake thank you! in response but it could be worth a try.

tired but can’t sleep

2005-11-23T00:50:00.001+03:00

I blame the copious amounts of Early Grey. One of the joys here is attaching excessive excitement to things like overpriced teas and bonbons. Usually I end up buying something that seems cheap but yummy and full of hydrogenated something or rather completely knowing “there’s no nutritional value in this”. But a girl needs treats!

(Good or bad) life resembles normalcy but it’s strange to know that a few weeks ago the country was in crisis and people were hoping for a revolution of some colour. There are no independent newspapers anymore so any information generally is by word of mouth. The CUD leaders are being charged with treason in one mass trial. Barring outside intervention, it’s quite likely they’ll be found guilty and considering it’s a crime punishable by death, the country could explode once more.

I had a frighteningly interesting conversation with an EPRDF supporter who is seemingly swallowing anything the government and/or ETV feeds him. He claims soldiers killed a 7 year old boy because the boy threw a Molotov cocktail at them; Meles is a wonderful prime minister because he’s built roads throughout the country; the CUD leader has never given any money to poor people on the streets and his worst crime - he’s fat. The rhetoric he repeats is beyond believable but he is sincere in his attempts to explain to this fereng the “real” politics in Ethiopia. The man doesn’t even blink when he talks. There’s a strange mentality that only one party is needed in government. I tried to explain that an opposition keeps the ruling party accountable. He doesn’t think it’s necessary. Perhaps he’ll get his wish.

baaaa

2005-11-09T23:40:00.000+03:00

After the mayhem, the sinisterness (not a word, I know) and the doldrums of last week, it’s back to work. It was supposed to be a week long strike in support of the arrested CUD leaders but this morning I swallowed my guilt and spent 8 hours behind my desk. It’s difficult to call a strike for people who absolutely depend on their daily wage for necessities. Plus there is government pressure – revoking of businesses and taxi licenses – to force people back to work. So the more people you see on the streets back to their normal routine, the less you feel like a warrior and the more you feel like just another sheep.

On my walk to work, I felt ashamed this morning. My skin colour probably signals many things to people: money, privilege, and especially at this time, I’d say hypocrisy is high on the list. And so when people called me ‘niche’ or ‘ferengwa’ today, there was an extra sting of my own creation. It's enough to bring a girl (or boy) to tears.

oh stockwell!

2005-11-06T18:02:00.000+03:00

Looks as if the foreign affairs critic is doing his job. No one here knows who Stockwell really is (the image of him beaching himself and hopping off the seadoo comes to mind) so let's not tell them.

GOVERNMENT IGNORING ETHIOPIAN CRISIS

For Immediate Release November 3, 2005

Ottawa – Ethiopia is on the brink of civil war, their democratic system has been called into question, and the Canadian Government has not issued so much as a statement of their concern, said Stockwell Day, Official Opposition Foreign Affairs Critic.

“We need to be responsible as a developed democratic nation for aiding young democracies like Ethiopia,” remarked Day. “Our Government has watched this happen without doing anything.”

“The Liberal Government should have already been working to broker peace between the Ethiopian Government and Opposition Parties and supporters, said Stockwell Day, Official Opposition Foreign Affairs Critic,” said Day. “Many Ethiopian citizens have been killed or injured amidst clashes with the Government Police in Addis Ababa, the Ethiopian capital, over the last two days.”

“First the Liberals ignored the pleas to send monitors to the election, then they gave over a million dollars in unaccountable aid that was never used to stabilize the electoral process,” said Day. “Now, as social cohesiveness unravels, our Government ignores the cry for help and turns away as the post election problems move towards crisis.”

It has been widely recognized that Ethiopia’s ability to flourish democratically is paramount to the stabilization of the entire Horn of Africa.

It is imperative to the democratic process and to the safety of the Ethiopian people that the killing be stopped and that all those imprisoned after the May election for political reasons be freed,” remarked Day. “It is time the Government acted on its historic past relations with Ethiopia and listened to the desperate appeals for Canada to be a peace broker before the situation spills over affecting the entire region."

for the westerners

2005-11-05T15:46:00.000+03:00

A good example of the overall feeling in Addis especially regarding the politics. From what I've been reading, most media have said the opposition incited the protests and resulting violence. I can tell you it is not true. What began as a simple call to ask people to honk in support of the opposition has now turned into a bloodbath at Meles' instruction. Meles stinks and it ain't the dog.

10 million dune buggys comin down the mountain

2005-11-04T21:24:00.000+03:00

It’s a sit in. We are without a television. Currently the boyfriend is attempting to take zombie-like pictures of himself. Reading is a chore. We made pizza today including the dough. We…are…bored. In general we’ve been consumed with getting more information and considering there are no newspapers right now, it’s the internet. We’re hoping for a revolution. But we’ve got the revolution blues.

for pettigrew, foreign affairs minister

2005-11-04T21:18:00.000+03:00

Dear Minister Pettigrew,

I am forwarding to you a letter from Ana Gomes, chief EU election observer involved in the elections in Ethiopia earlier this year. As indicated, Ms. Gomes strongly denounces the current Prime Minister Meles Zenawi’s actions with respect to the fraudulent electoral process engaged in by his party as well as the murdering of Ethiopian citizens, which has taken place last June and once again as I write you this letter.

As a Canadian living in Addis Ababa for the last six months, I can tell you the Ethiopian people hunger for democracy in its true form and now in their attempt to rightfully protest against Zenawi, they are being gunned down in the streets and arrested without warrants. I read your statement presented to the Ethiopian Prime Minister earlier today. Respectfully, I urge you to make a stronger and more effective stand against PM Zenawi. Certainly, urging a man such as Zenawi (who has obviously ordered his troops “shoot to kill”) to use independent investigations and due process is futile.

Please be a hero to the Ethiopian people.

Yours sincerely,
Sara Xxxxxx

no fate

2005-11-02T19:39:00.000+03:00

Forget plain Sara. I want to be Sarah Connor (yes I'm even willing to acquire an 'h' for this occasion). She's got a stockpile of hidden weapons. She dodges bullets - oh no wait, she got hit in the shoulder that time. She's got a philosophy even if she learned it from her ex-husband. NO FATE. I want to gun down some evil before they change the future of this country forever.

In reality I stayed home today and baked banana bread. A warrior I am not.

The people protesting and those that have died in the last two days are warriors. They believe there is no fate but what they make for themselves. They are brave, they are desperate, they are amazing.

Reference: T2 - Judgment Day

the scene

2005-10-30T15:14:00.000+03:00

So from a foreigner’s point of view, here’s what I can tell you about the politics and the current scene in Ethiopia right now.

1. Meles the Assumer. He assumes he’s still in power by assuming he won the election thereby assuming to know about democracy. Inherent in democracy is the voice of the people and this is something Meles has chosen to ignore. The people do not accept Meles as their leader and you can feel it walking down the street.

The CUD aka Kinijit. Most of the time, the CUD are described as the opposition however given what the EU observers have said about the electoral process, the CUD are actually supposed to be the ruling party. The CUD has been very smart and timely in strategizing their next moves. As of Monday, they have asked that people honk from 8 to 830 a.m. to signal to the visiting African Union delegates that the people do not consider Meles a legitimate leader and neither should the AU. Following the Muslim Ramadan (the beginning of November), there will be a five day strike.

Questions remain: What will happen after the strike? How will Meles react - with reason or with guns? Will the CUD gain power? What will this mean for the country? Is this the revolution the people have been waiting for?

reasons to love this country cont...

2005-10-30T15:05:00.001+03:00

Axumite Sweet Red Wine - every bottle is different.

endaaaaaay! (fun to hear and fun to say…try it)

ferfer – who knew spicy breakfast could be this good

mini buses – I think Dufferin could definitely use a few.

fake label clothes – my personal favourite: Chanef

dances involving plenty of shoulder shimmies and shakes – quite possibly the origin of break dancing

eating with your hands

coffee and cafes

a language full of commands. sema! (listen) cooch bal (sit down) tenniss (stand up) na (come). Forget “would you mind coming over here for a moment”. It’s ‘na’. Na na na na.

Other reasons

missing: one cousin

2005-10-25T19:11:00.000+03:00

Blonde, blue eyes. Age: 26. Last seen in Vancity probably. She emailed me at one time or another. But her emails have become less frequent and so I am concerned. If you have heard from her or are, in fact, her but are too buuuuusy to send a note or three to your cousin, get on it.

the art of handwashing

2005-10-23T14:00:00.000+03:00

You’re probably wondering how we do laundry here in ol’ Ethiopia. There is no laundromat to spend countless hours in watching the clothes go round and round. And there are very few people who have washing machines. Generally, people have lovely servant girls to wash the dirty, the semi-clean and the dainties. We take our laundry to T’s dad’s house (they said it was okay). It was a big deal when they got a washing machine recently. It’s an interesting contraption and requires you to switch the clothes to a new twirly compartment when it’s time for the spin cycle.

It was all fine and good until one day my underwear began to be rejected. I took this personally of course. I can’t see my dirty underwear being any different from anyone else’s. I’m not willing to experiment with this theory in the streets though so I began to remove my underwear from the laundry pile. Occasionally the odd pair would be hidden amongst the jeans and I’d go to pick up our clean stuff and there would be an embarrassing little pile of my (yes, dirty) underwear. Needless to say, I’ve become vigilant in the sorting. And very good at handwashing.

I realize there are multiple ways for you to think I’m koshasha. I’m willing to take that risk.

i was just walking along, minding my own business when...

2005-10-21T20:50:00.000+03:00

The things I hear/have heard when walking down the street:

§ hey

§ ugh, ugh

§ you

§ I love you

§ I love you America

§ beautiful

§ How are you? Are you fine?

§ (slap on shoulder from a drunk man) Russia!

§ fereng (foreigner)

§ ferengwa (girl foreigner)

§ deuna neush? (are you good?)

§ neuċh (white)

§ what time is it?

§ what is your name?

§ hello

§ hi (sometimes with a thumbs up)

§ money money money

§ one birr

§ tissue madame tissue madame

§ sister

§ you are gorgeous

§ ebakesh (please)

§ dabo (bread)

§ seulam no? (it’s peaceful?)

hee haw

2005-10-20T19:06:00.000+03:00

One of my favourite animals here is...the donkey. In Amharic "eye-ya". Not only are they cute, but they're useful too...

I saw one yesterday with a bloodied swollen hoof. I don't know what happens to the injured ones. Hopefully one of the soldiers wandering the city will put it out of its misery with a gun of some sort.

on the road

2005-10-18T18:47:00.000+03:00

I'm reading On The Road again. If there were some sort of revolutionary generation-defining book to come out right now for our disillusioned time and space, it could change everything.

A career? Not even close to possible for Paradise.

Does spontaneity happen anymore? Is it possible? Has everything been done already?

Where is our violet night?

mmm baby

2005-10-13T18:31:00.000+03:00

baby on enjera

the curse of the greener grass

2005-10-13T18:20:00.000+03:00

For a long time, I was searching for something to occupy my days. At certain times, I was at peace with my housewifely status of making lunches, cleaning and baking. Other times, I felt a bit nutty. Now it’s Week 3 of work and the curse has set in. I’m not longing for the days of staying home. But this job! This is a retail store that doesn’t even write a receipt when a sale is made. The owner actually pockets the money from some sales. And the worst part: somehow I care enough to make it better. I don’t know what compels me to stay when all I want to do during the day is slowly jab a finger-sized hole in my eye.

Some of the characters:

the stealer: this was a woman who was very ingratiating when I first arrived (shoulda seen it coming). Then I find out she’s stolen money more than once from the company – even being as ballsy as telling customers a higher price for an item and then pocketing the difference. She’s on the verge of being fired. We’ve issued her a letter so one more mistake and she’s a goner.
the brown tooth guy: he’s a very nice man who has ingested too much fluoride.
the talk talk girl: chubby, funny, not shy, demands I learn Amharic.

I want the stoner guy back. He was the glue in this disaster of a business. I miss his jokes – the one about the too much yellow and feeling like you’re in an egg. Probably had to be there.

I have to compare this job to the others I’ve had. Of course, I’m idealizing all those other jobs. Eldorado – got to be outside on the lake all day. What could be better than that?
Young + Wright – they had a supply of pens for whenever you needed them. What could be better than that?
KFC – one word: poutine. What could be better than that?
The Gap – the ever expanding wardrobe. What could be better than that?
The Daily Express – getting up at 5 in the morning to see the sunrise. What could be better than that?
Andreen's Pharmacy where I worked when I was 14 – having to do a price check on condoms. What could be better than that?

Oh to be happy with less. Here, people’s destinies are pretty much set. A baby born to a homeless mother doesn’t have a lot of options. Someone who works at a café might still be working there 10 years from now. Are they happy? I don’t know. But why do I keep wanting more, more, more when others do with less?

bimbi

2005-10-11T22:12:00.000+03:00

i have 42 mosquito bites.

what's in a job?

2005-09-17T17:27:00.000+03:00

And so the days of our lives continue. This past week we’ve had to fire our guard for, well, not guarding. Granted he was the night guard and granted he brought a bed so we should’ve known his intention was to sleep but he would be out cold! When we came to the gate and honked at 10 p.m., he didn’t make it outta bed. And it happened more than once. It’s one thing to not open the gate and another entirely if he slept through someone breaking into the compound. Which seemed probable. So he got the boot.

For the four months I’ve been here, I’ve been wishin and hopin for a job while at the same time not entirely excited about the actual pounding of the foreign pavement. So I kept wishin and hopin. And suddenly I have a job. It happened through the connection we made when we ordered our furniture from ‘the stoner guy’ whose name is actually Daniel. And he’s dynamic beyond the stoner factor – very intelligent, business savvy and all that. He’s off to the US to do some promotion work for a side project and needs a manager for the furniture store in his absence. T and I happened to stop in while this was evidently plaguing his brain and I was offered as a somewhat temporary solution. The next day I brought in my resume (they said I was ‘overqualified’ something I’ve never heard in my life and will probably never hear again. In actual fact, I’m unsure of how to manage a retail store but regardless, it’s a job) and we agreed on a salary in birr. I’m trying not to do the math of how many hours I’ll be putting in and how much that will be in dollars because it’ll induce wincing. Daniel did offer me “a bonus to restructure the company” (again, not sure how exactly that’s done but I’m sure I’ll have some ideas anyways). While I’m not terribly excited about the learning curve for this particular position, I am intrigued to be around the ‘can do’ energy of Daniel and his brother (the general manager). As an added bonus, maybe we can finally get those side tables we’ve been waiting on.

is this thing on?

2005-09-13T23:20:00.000+03:00

i just wanted to see how i like this set up. i'm not sure of the blogger ethic as far as changing hosts - but do i care?

hope you'll follow along...