A Thanksgiving Feast

I had bought a ticket to Kenya for October but then I stumbled upon a training in DC, so I had to change my ticket. I have a friend/ co-worker who works for the same organization in Kenya, Jane Walker Black, so I decided to visit her for Thanksgiving. I was initially under the impression that it was just going to be a small dinner with her immediate family. When I arrived at her house at 2:30 in the morning on Thanksgiving Day, however, she informed me that she was expecting a little under 50 people. Uh. Okay. I wanted to pull my weight and help cook, so I offered to make a pecan pie and sweet potato something. Sweet potatoes are my specialty. No, seriously. If there's one thing I can make, it's a sweet potato something. Biscuit, pie, casserole...you name it, I can probably do it.

JWB has an awesome yard so she had tables set up outside under a tent (see below). She had several people helping her (remember..a feast for 50) and it really just reminded me of home, sitting in the kitchen with my Mom and my sisters with my niece and nephew asking if they can help. So even though I wasn't at home, I was.

The feast turned out wonderfully. We had ham, turkey, two types of stuffing, sweet potato casserole with pecans on top, cornbread, two types of greens, green beans, broccoli cheddar rice, mashed potatoes, and corn pudding. I’m sure there was more but I literally could not keep up with all of the food. And then people brought desserts (JWB put it out there that she doesn’t do desserts—fair enough). Oh, sweet Jesus, there were so many desserts. She did have about 40 people at her house but there were still leftovers. We were eating those leftovers all weekend…and they were delicious every time. I met a lot of really nice people AND I got to see one of the members of my work cohort who I hadn’t seen in a while and meet his family. Some of my colleagues were trying to convince me to do a short term assignment in Kenya but I'm not quite ready to give up on Ethiopia yet ;) I’m used to large, loud Thanksgivings and that’s exactly what I got in Kenya. I was happy to know that my casserole and pies were successful. There were none left by the end of the weekend.


Say that doesn't look delicious...don't worry, you don't have to. It was :) I was concerned at first, though, because JWB didn't have any brown sugar. How does one make a sweet potato dish with no brown sugar? Utter nonsense. She brought me some Karo syrup and pancake syrup, which I didn't use because it's just not the same. It's just...not the same. Anyway, JWB came through in the clutch with some organic cane sugar or something that was stowed away in her freezer. And thus, the magnificence of the sweet potato. Some of you know how much I love a good sweet potato. It's actually my favorite vegetable (if it can indeed be considered a vegetable). And I like to consider myself the George Washington Carver of Sweet Potatoes. Since some of you may not know who he is (Black history is everyone's history), I took the liberty of bringing him to you.

equals me. And I intend to hook up more sweet potato deliciousness for Christmas.

We Need a Resolution...

For some reason, my spirit was hit this morning to make some life changes. Maybe not so much "life changes" but ways to get back on my self-improvement bandwagon. So, I shall share my five resolutions of the week with you. Perhaps you'll be inspired to resolve to do something as well :)

1. Stop drinking soda (because it's bad for you...but what's a rum & coke w/o the coke? :( ).
2. Read one English and French news article every day (because I liked to be informed and want to attempt to maintain my French).
3. Read at least one scripture every day (because my soul is dirty- just kidding; because I want a closer walk).
4. Work out at least 4x/ week (because I don't like being out of breath when I walk up the stairs due to high altitude).
5. Learn a new word every day (because I like to use big words). Today's word is ineluctable: not to be avoided, changed or resisted; inevitable.

What would you resolve to do? Five small changes?

Stepping to the Bad Side...

Ethiopian food is very distinct, different from the food of most other African countries. Partially due to the fact that the country is 40% Orthodox Christian (who fast approximately 200 days out of the year), the diet is rich in vegetables. Orthodox Christians either give up food entirely during fasting seasons and on fasting days (Wednesday and Friday) or abstain from particular foods and ingredients, including oil, butter, flour, sugar and meat. Don't be fooled; Ethiopians love their meat, too. At major holidays, animals are slaughtered and their meat is shared among several families within the community. Notice I didn't mention the word "cooked". That's because Ethiopians also eat raw meat. Not every Ethiopian and not all the time. But they do eat it. Either ground raw meat, mixed with butter, or slabs of meat cut into pieces. I was told by one of my Ethiopian co-workers that eating raw meat is addictive (after he asked me if I had tried it). For me, that was enough reason NOT to eat it because I don't need any type of addictive situations in my life. But it's part of the culture and everyone asks you if you've tried it. Mind you, Americans tell other Americans to avoid the raw meat at ALL costs, largely because it can make you sick and/or you can get tapeworm.

**I was going to put a picture of a tapeworm here but my skin literally started crawling when I even hit the Google button**

Anyway, I decided to finally give it a go. Hell, Ethiopians keep suggesting that if I keep eating Ethiopian food, I'll lose weight, so what's a little tapeworm and quick 20 lb weight loss between friends (Yes...they said that. Verbatim. I've not expressed a desire to lose weight but you gotta give them credit for being proactive about MY health. Or not). I made plans with Sema and Habtish to go to this town called Nazaret (or Adama...it's tribal name) for the best raw meat in all of Ethiopia. We meet up with one of their friends and head to the restaurant. I already wasn't sure about said friend (who lived in the US for eight years), largely because he seemed to be extra and making blanket statements about the US. For example, he says "Oregon is the most democratic state in the US". I try not to burst into laughter because that's rude. And I have no issues with Oregon. Seriously. It's green, I hear it's nice. But you can't just claim one state out of 50 to be the most democratic (and I wasn't sure he meant democratic as in the epitome of democracy or a blue state). So I ask him why he says such and he proceeds to tell me how 75,000 people gathered to hear President Obama speak when he was campaigning for office. Okay, great. But a large turnout doesn't represent democracy. Honestly, it doesn't even represent whether a state is largely Democrat or Republican. He counters that democracy is more than a word (agreed)...but people gathering don't make a state democratic either. Shoot, people gather to hear Sarah Palin speak-- that can either represent democracy or idiocy. You be the judge. Actually, don't. I'll judge for you. It's not democracy.

I digress. So we go to this meat place and they order something close to 2 kilograms of meat. I thought that was all raw meat at first. I had to state that I couldn't commit to that. I planned on trying a few slices and calling it a win. Most of the meat they brought was cooked. The raw portion, however, looked like this:




You see that white part? That corresponds to the hump on the back of the cow...which is essentially marbled fat.


Yeah..that's the good stuff.

They essentially bring you some knives, enjera and various spicy sauces and let you go to work. I was a little overwhelmed. Sema tried to convince me that it would taste like chocolate. Lies. I knew it wouldn't. It didn't have much of a taste though. Kinda like firm air. Maybe? Yeah I did it...you should know it. I can cross that off of my list. And as far as tape worm, no symptoms so far so I think I'm okay.

An awkward moment, however, was when the friend of Sema and Habtish offered me "Gusha". Apparently, gusha is a cultural tradition of feeding someone. He grabbed some raw meat in enjera, dips it into some spiciness and holds it in front of my mouth. Sema and Habtish are chuckling and saying "You have to eat it". I did see him wash his hands so I'm not ABSOLUTELY disgusted and I had heard about this tradition. I didn't want to be rude so I ate it. He sits down and explains that it's how someone says "I like you". He then tries to quickly follow up with "It's how we say welcome". I mention that I've eaten out with Sema and co. and none have them have offered me gusha. He goes ON to explain that its also what people in relationships do as well as married people to say "I love you". Cue my awkwardness. I was like..um...what? What the hell did I just do? He literally tried to give me gusha two more times. I'm looking for some sort of support from my friends but they are offering no assistance. Mind you, he's been winking at me throughout lunch. Awkward awkward awkward. So he goes back to "this is what married people do" and I try to explain that in America, married couples feed each other cake at the wedding. I also explain that usually a lot more has transpired between the two people before they start feeding each other...like learning the other person's last name. Just a suggestion. Anyway, no more gusha or raw meat for me (I hope). The sad part is that cooked meat supposedly loses some of its nutrients; so theoretically this raw red meat should have been rich in iron. But all I wanted to do the next day was sleep :(

Pretty in Pink

When you live in a developing country, where products and services are cheaper and the dollar is strong, you're allowed certain luxuries that you may not afford if you were living at home. People here have cooks, maids, nannies, and guards. Some even have masseuses that come to their homes to give them a massage while watching the Redskins play the Lions (or whoever). I pay my help $100 a month and that's apparently more than what most Ethiopians (who also have domestic help) pay. It's not about expatriates being bougie or an neocolonialist effort (b/c I wouldn't have no parts of it!); it's the culture. Everyone has house help.

Anywho, as much as I appreciate someone around to keep my garden green and cut up my fruits and vegetables, I am most appreciative of the low cost of goods and services, primarily services. Why, you ask? Well, I clean up after myself. I actually enjoy cleaning when I'm not forced to do it (bad childhood memories). I like pressed clothes and have no real issue with ironing said clothes in the morning. Laundry? Not a problem as long as I don't have to go to a seedy laundromat located between a seven eleven and a liquor store...and in the same shopping center as a Chinese-Sub-Wings-Pizza restaurant (thanks DC). And it's only me so its not like I would have a lot to do even if I didn't have help (I like to think of it as helping with local economic development).

The cheap things that I do appreciate (and can't do for myself) are beauty services. I'm not a diva (but I am the female version of a hustler). I was never really one of those people who had to get a fill-in every two weeks or making bi-weekly visits to the salon (though..that perm adventure might have turned out differently if I had). That's just not my style. But there are things that I like to get done that make me feel...girly. Feminine I think is the grown-up version of that word. But I couldn't afford these things when I was in the US. Shoot, I couldn't afford them when I was in Kenya. But now, I can go in to a salon and get a manicure and pedicure for around $10. I can get a massage for less than $20. And I'm talking about a good, scrong hour massage for less than 20 bones. Shoot, I can barely eat dinner in the states for under $20 (if I'm not careful). I realized last night, as I was getting my pedicure, that I like getting pedicures. I have no man here that I'm rubbing my feet against and even when I got pedicures in the States, my BF rarely noticed (which might be a good thing because I can't say that I would take "Awww..your feet aren't scraping me like a Brilo Pad tonight" very well). I just like for my feet to be soft. I like to look down at my open toe shoes and see freshly painted toes looking back at me. Not that I have talons without a pedicure but my toenails do get long. And while that may be the style for some people (the toe nails that come over the end of the toe), I prefer mine a bit shorter.

So, I've gotten used to getting my nails and toes done and even treating myself to the occasional massage (which I've been told by a health professional that I need to do more often because I hold a lot of tension in my shoulders. When I get stressed, I get tension headaches and it. is. bad.). And even though there are people here who can do different designs on your nails, I've also learned that I'm really simple when it comes to this. I wear some funky things sometimes (sometimes unintentionally) but there's something about just plain nail polish that makes me smile. This is literally the ONE time that I like pale, neutral colors. My favorite right now is pink (no green). I really like shades of pink on my nails. Makes me feel like a southern belle (I actually don't know why but I feel like there should be all kinds of "southern" sayings about women that involve what a lady does and doesn't do). My mom is not very big on these things so I don't know where it comes from. It just makes me feel prettier (cause when you look this good etc etc). Amazing what a few extra Birr in your pocket will allow you to discover about yourself.

I Was Ready To Sew Up This Hole in My Pocket...

I have been rushing to finish my qualifying exam so that I could turn in the paper work that would allow me to apply for full-time status. Someone in my department lead me to believe that once I passed my qualifying exam, I could apply for fulltime status. I get the form today and it basically says I don't qualify for full-time status, which means that I will have to continue making these $350 loan payments every month. Add to that my $450 payments for school, I literally don't know if I can afford to continue going to school. That's a rent payment by itself. Honestly, that might make this a fight even more difficult to sustain. That's $800 a month. To school. To a degree that is not going to increase my earnings substantially. I know, there are all the other justifications that go with finishing (the alleged "you're almost done") but its hard when you're tired of barely keeping your head above water.

Maybe I need to be better friends with Fastweb.

That's all I got for today. I know I owe you more...not today.

Homecoming...

Unexpectedly, I will be making a trip back to the states. For my program, we have certain mandatory trainings that we have to take. I saw that one was being offered in DC next month so I put it on my training plan. I was honestly surprised that it was approved, especially since I'm doing another training in December in DC. But I'll take it.

I have mixed feelings about returning home. Part of me is excited because it's definitely an opportunity to see friends, shop (!), and just get those things I can't get here. But I also wonder how I'll ever get used to being away if I'm never really away for that long. Honestly, I've gone two months without seeing my linesisters and my family. I think this might be the longest I've gone without seeing my BF, but even three months isn't that long, right?

I hope I get a chance to see my sister. I want to see my friends, though I'm attempting to be selective about who I let know I'm in town. I see it becoming more stressful than fun if I'm spending all of my money trying to have dinner out every night with a different friend (or happy hour...or a cup of coffee, whatever). I found out my high school's homecoming is this Friday-- I had a dream about marching in the alumni band. For some reason, I couldn't find my boots. Random. And I didn't have a proper uniform. I literally got off the plane, went to the game and was like...hey, I'm ready. I don't even know where the clarinet was. It was a strange dream. Maybe it speaks to me just missing home and knowing that it will be a while before I'm able to really attend that (or T's homecoming...which I hear is the next weekend). I was tempted to try to go home but that would be doing too much-- to travel from DC home and then back again so that I can fly back to Addis. Doing the most.

I think I'm more looking forward to my time in December. I'll be better prepared for it--now I'm running around trying to buy a few trinkets for the folks I know I'll see. I know they could probably care less if I showed up empty-handed (after all..aren't I enough? :) ). But I like buying presents. I'll also get a chance to see my family, which I'm excited about. This will probably be one of the few times I've been excited to go to my parents' hometowns to see my extended family.

My feelings are mixed like greens (I crack me up). But I think I'll enjoy the brief respite from Addis, if only for a little while. We'll see.

Titled.

I've finally given the blog a title, which I marinated on for a while. I heard this poem a few times during that dark time known as Spring 05. I became more of a fan of Marcus Garvey after reading more of his quotes and poetry. Since 2008, I have made some decisions that have changed my life in many ways. I wasn't always supported in these decisions and frequently questioned if I was doing the right thing. One thing I learned through this entire experience, is that you have to be your own number one fan. If you don't believe in what you're doing, if you don't support your own decisions, it is more difficult to convince others that you're making sound choices. Thus, the title "Have Faith in Self".

Most people know that I am also working on my dissertation while in Ethiopia and anyone who has tried to work full-time and go to school knows that it requires a lot of discipline. Everyday, I am gaining a greater understanding of the difference between desire and ability. I'm at a difficult point in the process and I do get discouraged sometimes. However, I know that, if I don't finish the PhD, it won't be because I couldn't do it but instead, because I know longer had the desire to do so.

Anyway, I am hoping to become more reflective on some larger concepts regarding the Diaspora and development but today, I just wanted to share the poem from whence I have drawn my inspiration.

"Have Faith in Self" by Marcus Garvey

Today I made myself in life anew,
By going to that royal fount of truth,
And searching for the secret of the few
Whose goal in life and aim is joy forsooth.
I found at last the friend and counselor
That taught me all that I in life should know;
It is the soul, the sovereign chancellor,
The guide and keeper of the good you sow.

I am advised-"Go ye, have faith in self,
And seek once more the guide that lives in you"
Much better than the world of sordid pelf,
Alas! I found the counsel to be true.

Aha! I know right now that I shall see
The good in life, and be a better man;
I will by thought and deed pull all to me,
In saving others, yea, every one.

Go down and search yourself awhile in part,
And tell me all of what you see and hear;
Isn't there something pulling at your heart?
Tell me the truth and have ye then no fear!
There is a voice that speaks to man, within,
It is the Soul that longs for you to know
There is no need for you to grope in sin,
For you in truth and light may ever grow.

Countdown to KiKi

We've all been anxiously awaiting (yes, "we") the arrival of my belongings and my car. My car has been in Addis Abeba for something close to three weeks now but has been held hostage by the Ethiopian Road Authority. Why? It's not because they found that product in my glove compartment. There were no white powdery trails on the dashboard and no green leaves and stems between the seats. I keeps it clean these days. Anyway, when you ship a car overseas, there is some basic information that the importing agency needs to know, including make, model, year, VIN (vehicle identification number)and sometimes, the engine number. When I took my car to the mechanic before I left DC, I asked them to find the engine number as this was not something that I could find on my own (obviously, because it's on the engine--and not just listed all shiny on a plate on the top of the engine). I was told that they couldn't find the engine number. I didn't put it on the shipping documentation and just figured that we'd cross that bridge when we came to it. I google-d engine numbers for my type of car (and where to find them) and most websites said that the VIN number will work instead.

Now, here is where things get tricky. Some of you know the complicated history of my car. When my Nissan Sentra began giving me trouble last spring and the repairs were going to cost more than the value of the car, I had decisions to make. My sister had offered to sell me her "old" car (my current Suzuki) but at the time, I was not fully employed. But after talking to her about my car issues, she offered to let me drive the Suzuki if I could make half of the car payment. We kept this deal for about six months or so, until November, when I actually bought the car. We won't go into the details of that nightmare (because my credit union is wack and slow), but it was a unnecessarily long struggle. Anyway, my sister handed over all of the paperwork from her car to me, including documentation from when she FIRST got the car in 2006 (or something). At the time, she had traded in her Pathfinder for the Suzuki.

Fast forward to July, when I'm preparing to leave for Ethiopia. I have all of this documentation because of the random information required to ship a vehicle. When they came and got the car, I *think* I had all of this documentation on hand. I use think because I can't understand why I would have a particular document when it wasn't relevant in any way but we'll discuss that in a minute. Anyway, everything goes according to plan when they come to get my car. I take everything out and take off my tags. This was at my sister's house and they literally tow the car away so it looked like my car was getting repossessed. My brother-in-law joked that they don't give you a chance to take off the tags when they repossess your car. Touche. I don't remember the man asking for my engine number but maybe I'm forgetting this tidbit. I don't think so.

Anyway, last week, I went to the folks in shipping who are handling the importation of my stuff and ask about my car. They tell me that the Ethiopian Road Authority won't release my car because they cannot find an engine number. I tell him that there is no engine number. He says "Well, there's an engine number on the documentation from the shipping company". What? I didn't give them an engine number, where did they get it? So I go to said shipping man's office and he shows me the paperwork and sure enough, there's an engine number. Hmm. I start going through my own paperwork and look at this copy of the trading transaction (when my sister traded the Pathfinder for the Suzuki). There's an engine number for the Pathfinder but not for the Suzuki. Mind you, its clearly marked that it's the Pathfinder engine number. I cross-check this with the paperwork over in shipping...and somehow, its the same. So they have the engine number for the Pathfinder listed for the Suzuki. I don't know how this happened because I would think that the shipping company would have looked at the actual engine to get an engine number, but no. And I would almost swear that I did not give the shipping people in the US that document (with the Pathfinder number). I have no idea how this happened. But now, the folks in Ethiopia are looking for an engine number that doesn't exist. We've managed to clear that up but it has delayed me getting my car. I got my Ethiopian license last week (everything is in Amharic, including my name) and will be getting my insurance this week. Allegedly, the keys to my car will be in my hand on Wednesday or Thursday (allegedly).

I'm scared to drive. We have to take a class at the Embassy that is supposed to prepare newcomers to the country to drive in Addis. This is where they essentially tell you that Addis has the highest traffic fatality rate in the world and that you have to be on the lookout for pedestrians (who cross the street at any point, at any time), donkeys, cows, sheep, goats, dogs, mini-buses and taxis. Yay. I actually don't want to drive but I'm so tired of being held hostage in my house (okay, not really but I do feel really limited in my goings). There's this one place, called Meskel Square, where none of the stoplights work. It's like a big free for all with at least six different streets meeting at this one intersection. I'm going to avoid that at ALL costs. Some people suggested hiring a driver for a few months but I feel like that's a waste of money. I've been riding with drivers since I've been here. I'll just be pumping my brakes and driving slow (homie).

Now Don't Get Me Wrong...

I'm not letting this whole "I gotta cook" thing go to my head. However, I do believe in getting my money's worth. I actually have inner turmoil when giving tips because, honestly, what am I tipping you for? Bringing me my food? hot? Anyway, I pay my housekeeper/ cook to come three times a week. I give her money to go shopping and she's theoretically supposed to make enough food for the week and clean. Initially, we were having some issues with her making enough food to actually make it beyond dinner. But she caught on. We had a groove.

But recently, she's been a little off. Two Fridays ago, she asked to leave early because her daughter was sick. Okay, fine. Who am I to keep a mother from her sick child? Last Friday was the end of Ramadan/ New Year's Eve: I just get a text at 8:30am (when she's already supposed to be at my house) saying "It's a holiday. Call me if you want me to come". Hmm. We've known it was going to be a holiday all week. You wait until now to mention that you're not coming? I thought my guard wasn't coming either cause...apparently, it's a holiday. But he came. But she didn't. Interesting. So she comes on Monday, talking about how traffic was so bad, etc etc. Um hmm. When I get home on Monday, I realize she's essentially ignored all guest areas of my house. Okay, maybe she didn't get to it (though I don't know why she wouldn't b/c I live by myself and on my worst days, it doesn't take all day to clean up after me). I notice that she hasn't changed my sheets either. Okay...when are you going to get to that? So today, when I get home, I check my fridge. At first, I was about to be like WHOA? WHERE IS DINNER? Then I spotted a lone pot. Chicken curry-like situation...true. My room is "clean" (which really means, items are removed from my bed, the bed is made and the bathroom is clean). If I leave any clothes out, they get left out. Cool, I don't really have a problem with that. I haven't checked the sheets yet though. I look in the guest bath, dirty. Guest bed unmade. I'm like..Come.On. What are you doing all day that you can't clean an extra bathroom? You made a POT of food. Chicken curry doesn't take all day under any circumstances. My co-workers have said you have to be specific about what you want done but I didn't expect to have to lay it out word-for-word. No matter, I'm working on that note today (note instead actual conversation because there is a LOT that's lost in translation). OH. In addition, when I turn on the television, I noticed that my tv was not on the channel I left it on. And I don't mean, like I left it on three and came back and it was on four. No. My TV has to be on Input 2 in order to get the cable signal. The TV was on channel three when I got home. What is going on here? Honestly, I don't even have a problem with her watching tv. As long as you're doing your job. You can't be in here lunchin and watching tv. That's a no-go. So I'm annoyed. And I don't know how to approach this because who has practice having conversations with domestic help? No one. :(

Melkam Addis Amet

Happy Ethiopian New Year! Saturday, Ethiopia celebrated its new year; it's officially 2003 according to the Ethiopian calendar. Obviously, Americans don't really celebrate the Ethiopian New Year but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the party and some tibs (roasted meat). The new year is a very big celebration for Ethiopians. The main event is the slaughtering of animals. All week long, there were huge herds of sheep being led down the street. People in the office were talking about buying a sheep, ox, goat and/ or chicken to be slaughtered for the new year. Then, the feasting would commence. The meat of said sad slaughtered animal would be cooked various ways and people go to different people's houses all day. It's essentially a holiday of eating, drinking...and eating some more. I went to a co-worker's house for the celebration and there was SUCH delicious Ethiopian food. I smile now even thinking about it.

One of the interesting observations from this weekend, however, was the shift in holiday celebration in Ethiopia's most urban area, Addis Ababa. Everyone emphasized how family-oriented the holiday is (as most are in Ethiopia). However, as I talked to more people, I learned that its more family oriented in rural areas. With this new generation, the idea of spending the ENTIRE day with one's family doesn't seem to resonate as much. I thought about how the concept has changed in the US-- family holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving used to be SO family oriented. Everyone went home for Christmas and you spent all day with your family. You would eat at your house, then go to an aunt's house, then to grandma's house. It was an all day affair. These days, folks are having Thanksgiving night specials at the club...and people are really going. I feel like its the same thing here. I thought I wasn't going to see my Ethiopian friends but they hit me up in the afternoon like "What's good?" We went to a few bars later and they were packed. Like a regular Saturday night. It made me sad a little bit. Sometimes I like to think of some aspect of Africa untouched by outside influences, as if it exists in a bubble. But it doesn't. Globalization has touched this place, for better or worse.

PS. I received two packages today that arrived in the DMV on September 1. What is that...12 days? And it may have been here on Friday, but we were off. Look at how quick that was (compared to the five weeks). That's all I'm saying.

A Tale of Two Packages

One of the benefits of my job is that we are essentially exempt from international shipping fees. There is a location in the DC area where we can have packages/ mail shipped and it will be carried across land/ country/ continent/ ocean for free to us. So we only have to pay for shipping to said address.

I ordered two items on Amazon at the end of July, along with some Netflix (Season 1 of Glee). Amazon informed me that one package was delivered to the aforementioned address on August 5 and the other on August 11. Everyone has told me that it takes about two to three weeks for you mail to actually arrive in Addis once it reaches the DMV area. Okay, fine. Two weeks go by, nothing. Three weeks, nothing. I'm asking the people in the mail room and they're like "Nope, we have nothing for you". I'm seeing other people leave work with 3,4,..8 packages. I can't even get my Netflix :( I go to the mailroom again and inquire-- nothing. I check the address on Amazon thinking that maybe I made a mistake. No, its the correct address. One of my co-workers who sits beside me is receiving packages every week. I ask her when she ordered her stuff--"oh, two weeks ago". At this point, we're approaching the five week mark and I have heard NOTHING regarding my things. I ordered more stuff because I need some books for my dissertation as well as other things for my house. If you've seen my facebook pictures, then you're aware of my goldilocks pillows. Anyway, I go down to the mail room and ask if they can contact the Embassy-- several co-workers suggested that perhaps my mail was still at the Embassy because they didn't know I had arrived to post or where I worked (b/c you can't look me up in the system right?). The people in our mail room say they'll send an email. This morning, it's confirmed that I have two boxes and four movies in the mail room at the Embassy. And that in the future, they should be informed of newcomers so that they'll know where to send packages. :-|

I was headed to the Embassy anyway today to get my health situation checked out (turns out I pulled some muscles and I have a burgeoning sinus infection-- good thing it wasn't the malaria and impending heart attack I had guessed). I go to the mail room and they tell me that they already sent my packages to my building. I asked them to double check. They look at a few boxes and say "Nope, nothing. It's already been sent". I ask them to check ONE more time and took note of the employee's name. I told him I would be sending him a dirty email if I got back to work and my stuff wasn't there. He does a cursory glance under the counter and what do you know...one of my packages was there. I ask him if there's anything else under there. He says "Well, let me check". He pulls out the second package. I'm trying not shoot him daggers of death with my eyes because I've been waiting for these packages for weeks. So he tells me I have to sign for them. There was a part of me that was just hoping that the packages had arrived this week. No. He has to go back into some other room to get out the OLD sign sheets from weeks past. I ask when they arrived. August 13 and August 20. I stare at the counter...at nothing in particular. Just stare for a minute to pull myself together before I say something sarcastic. It's not worth it. I try not to be one of those Americans who thinks that screaming, cursing and insulting will either rectify the situation or make me feel better. These types of things happen in the US-- I've heard many a story of epic failures on the part of UPS or Fedex. I was just annoyed because my things would have continued to sit at the Embassy in the pile of misfit packages because no one was even bothering to inquire as to who I was. I've now been added to the list (I think as of today) of employees in my building so perhaps my mail will actually arrive in a semi-timely fashion.

I'm going to get started on Season 1 today and hope that my mail that arrived in the DC area last Wednesday and Thursday shows up in the next two weeks.

One of These Things Is Not Like The Other...

So, I've been trying to take note of gender dynamics in Ethiopia, not just cause I'm the new gender "advisor" at work. I'm halfway attempting to blend in, largely because I can. But I have to get better at understanding how things work in terms of gender in this cultural. Last night, one of my new 'friends' invited me out to a bar with him and some friends. I go and I'm looking around and notice that I am literally one of maybe two women in the entire bar. There are lots of men there, sitting in groups, drinking beer and talking. But I definitely caught some glances from men around the room. At first I was a little uncomfortable, but once I just focused on the group I was with, it was okay.

We went to another bar and there was a much better mix. I asked one of the people I was with if Ethiopian women didn't go to bars. He said that they don't go by themselves or with just a group of women. Bars are more for men or mixed crowds. Sigh, way to stand out. This is an interesting place. I've been told the men are shy. Then, I was told the women are shy. I'm trying to figure out how people start dating if everyone is shy. Obviously, people are getting together somehow, given the number of bridal shops and the fact that Ethiopia has the seventh highest population growth rate in the world.

I also heard something disturbing at work today. Apparently, the American couples that are more likely to get divorced are those whose husband is not directly employed by the Embassy (i.e. his wife is the diplomat and he follows her around the world from post to post). I already had an idea that there weren't a lot of men who volunteered for career instability and stunting (which may not necessary be the case but that's my impression). When you move to a new country every two years, it's not guaranteed that you will be able to get a job at every post. Ethiopia is a particularly difficult post for spousal employment. It's frustrating because women are almost expected to let their careers be second to their husband's. For men to do so is rare. I remember my mom telling me that she didn't get her masters because both of them couldn't chase their careers. Some spouses are able to develop great careers (in terms of doing something they enjoy) but that may also be while sacrificing upward career mobility because you're never in one place for very long. Does this mean I'm doomed? Or that I'll have to sacrifice my career as a diplomat in order to do the family thing? I hope not. :-/

Back to my Roots

This week, I had a chance to go to Awassa, which is in southern Ethiopia, to visit some of our development projects. At work, I support the business/ economic growth team as well as our livelihood transitions team (which largely deals with food aid). I'm excited to learn about the work that each team is doing but it makes me want to actually get into the technical work as opposed to the support function that I'm serving right now. We visited one of our sheep and goat programs, where we've imported a particular breed of sheep and goat, sold them to research centers to multiply and cross breed with indigenous sheep and goat, and distribute to local farmers. That was interesting enough since I've never really seen sheep or goats up close before. We also visited a land administration project, where we've funded an organization to go into districts in the area and talk to landowners about their property boundaries. Neighbors discuss their boundaries and someone from the local government (and usually some "elders") help adjudicate any disagreements about boundaries. Then, two agents use a GPS device to upload the coordinates of the parcel boundaries and then it's uploaded into GIS (geographic information systems) software, along with the landholder's information. One of the issues in Ethiopia used to be the frequent redistribution of land under the socialist government, which ended in 1991. This policy continued under the current regime and only recently did the government decide that this wasn't really working. When land is constantly being taken from people, they don't have much incentive to invest in the land-- preserving soil quality, not depleting the ground water table, investing in quality infrastructure, etc. So hopefully, with this land registration/ certification system, people will be more willing to invest in infrastructure and environmental measures necessary for economic development and long-term growth.

This is the kind of stuff that I want to do. I've only been here six months and I am trying to be patient. I want to do things that are related to my background and am trying to find ways to attach myself to projects so that I can not only learn more about what we're doing and how we're doing it, but also build up my own skill set so that at some point, hopefully I can leverage said skills in the future. I can see myself moving more into either the Democracy and Governance office (which would allow me to do more with community development) or Economic Growth (which would allow me to put these degrees at work, focusing on a wide variety of projects). I'm excited by the possibilities but also a little frustrated with my current options. I just need to make the most of my opportunities, even if it is as a program officer. Everything is a learning opportunity :)

Color Struck

I have never had any issues about my skin color. I don't try to put myself in the "brown" category, because I know I'm not "brown". I'm light skinned(ed). My oldest sister and I are both light skinned, though she is lighter than I am (as in..she's been mistaken for white before..whereas, I have not). I needed to start this out clear that I have no issues with my skin color.

Today, on the way back from lunch, one of my Ethiopian colleagues asked me if one of my parents was white. I said no and inquired as to why he asked. He said because I am very fair. Now, before arriving here, I never lied to myself that I looked Ethiopian. I don't have the eyes, the forehead, the hair, etc. It is well with my soul. But why can't I be just black? And this particular coworker lived in the states for a while. He said "I know some of the sisters and brothers in the states are light skinned"...and you just assumed we were all mixed? Do you really see that many older interracial couples to have spawned all of us light skinned folks? That's when I need to have a handy copy of "The Souls of Black Folks" or "Up from Slavery" and Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit" on an ipod, ready to recount the history of Black people in the US and how our people died for even LOOKING at a white person wrong. I really don't think it comes together for non-Americans. And this is maybe a month after a friend of a friend in Kenya asked me if I was mulatto. MULATTO? First of all, sir...please update your vocabulary. No one post-reconstruction uses that word. Second of all, what? I had just finished explaining marriage on the front of the Black woman and you ask me if I'm mulatto? Sigh. He then proceeded to ask me about my parents, grandparents and great grandparents. I am really going to have to ask my mom about the folks in her family tree (cause its OBVIOUSLY her family tree where this fair-skinned(ed)ness came from). I know my maternal grandparents were both light skinned and I think both of them were mixed but I'm not for sure, for sure. There's some speculation about my grandfather being Black, Portuguese and Cherokee (cause we all know...we all got a lil Native American in our family). It's just very interesting that people even ask--like...why do you care? And it surprises me because I cannot remember a time when I was asked this in the states. Wait wait...people have questioned my mom before. But that's from having seen her...not just looking at me and being like, "Black + Black =/= you". Mulatto, octaroon, quadroon...nah the kid! Daughter of a field negro...y'all know how I do.

A for Effort...

Bougiethiopia has a very unique language, Amharic. As previously mentioned, almost no one else in the world speaks this language which, you know, can be cool. If exclusivity is your thing. I am trying to learn Amharic and have enlisted the help of an Amharic tutor. We meet 1-2 times a week and we're starting from the basics. I got greetings and numbers right now.

I have to say: Ethiopia is one of the countries where I feel like people are really encouraging even when you know only a few words. Like literally, anything beyond hello and thank you are very much smiled upon. When I drop a "Have a good day" or "Good morning" on someone, they're like "oh, you're learning so fast"...I don't know how long it really takes to learn "good morning" but I guess, given that you have to say it differently for men, women, and groups of multiples, maybe it is an accomplishment. I've been taking notes from almost all of the drivers, who have taught me some of the numbers, greetings, how to tell someone what I want, etc. They all know now that I am trying to learn so on our rides from the Embassy, I get a 15-20 minute lesson in Amharic. I definitely appreciate the lessons and honestly, the genuine excitement about my effort. I just came from dinner and outside of them rushing me to eat because they were closing, when I told the waitress "Have a good evening", she responded with the same and asked if I spoke Amharic (in Amharic). I told her a little bit (in Amharic) and she said something else and that she would be my teacher. Of course, we didn't exchange numbers or anything but it makes my heart smile when people are excited not only that I'm trying to learn the language but WANT to teach me. One of the drivers, of course I can't remember his name, stopped me in the hall the other day and straight quizzed me on the numbers (because that's what he had taught me). It warms the cockles of my heart (to steal from BS). :)

The Hotness Formerly Known As...

I have never at any point in time in my life, been made to feel less attached to a culture than I have since I moved here. This is all due to my name. Everyone here has a meaning attached to their name (as they do in many cultures); I can respect that. Wonderful, you have wished peace, prosperity, kingship, fortune, fame, patience and all kinds of virtues and proverbs into your children's lives. Awesome. But when I tell people my name, they automatically ask me what it means. And while I've looked it up before, I definitely don't carry the meanings in my pocket to be pulled out for such an occasion. In addition, they have the hardest time spelling my name. At first they added a 'C' (no, they didn't substitute the S for a C...they literally added a 'C' to the name. Sch....). People continue to insert an extra 'a' in my name (and spell it that way) even though I try to correct them; so now it is a three syllable name instead of two. And they do this even when they are copying it down from an official document or identification. I watched a person at the telecommunications store look at my driver's license and STILL spell my name wrong. Not only can they not fathom that it doesn't have a meaning (or that I don't have it ready for quick-retort), but they cannot pronounce or spell it correctly. Maybe its some sort of punishment for not remembering the meaning-- like..well if it has no meaning (or you can't remember it), then I guess its not really important that we preserve the integrity of it, is it? Great. It happens to white people too, I've seen. One of my co-workers has a 'regular' white name and she just tells people her name is Nancy to make things simpler. I know of several people in the office actually, who have used some variation of their name to make it easier.

So I looked up the meaning of my name (which I've done before). Obviously, I couldn't find it using the spelling my parents gave me. I was always the one who could never find the ready made magnets and keychains at the amusement parks and souvenir shops. It's fine. I remember my parents got myself and my sister wooden ones one year from Busch Gardens. That was really special (cause she also faces a similar predicament). Anyway, my name means 'song'/'singer'/'she sings'...or 'rocky land'. It's French (I told y'all I'm high class). I've been taking Amharic and people think I'm Habesha (Ethiopian) so maybe if I can just convert the meaning of my name into Amharic, I'll be straight? Maybe? Either way, the whole interaction smacks of superiority....I can hear them thinking "Black Americans...they have no culture". I CAN HEAR IT! With the help of my American, Amharic speaking colleague...my name in the streets is now going to be Zefanesh, Zefan for short. The next time I meet a non-colleague, this is what I'm telling them. One of the drivers already told me I should tell people I'm Ethiopian, but I just spent a lot of time in the States. That's going to be my new story. Staying true to my roots but ending the destruction of my given name. Keep this in mind folks when you start naming your kids...my name has been destroyed before in the States, but never as tragically as here :(

Surprise Surprise

I was up at the Embassy today and decided to drop by the Commissary to see what they had that I might want. For those of you who don't know, the Commissary is a store-like situation available to US Citizens located on military bases and embassies (I think you have to be affiliated with one of the branches on the ground but I'm not sure). Our commissary has been improving (so I hear), but the last time I went there, many of the packaged goods were expired (which I also hear is not uncommon). They carry a lot of American products, like Oreos, Pledge, Aunt Jemima pancake syrup, etc. I had some time on my hands and what I really wanted was a candy bar. So I went in, found some Craisins (which are my crack) and kept perusing the aisles. I was able to find some brown rice, which is lacking in the regular grocery stores. My cook asked me if I liked rice and I told her no; its not true, I just don't want to come home to white rice when I know I should be eating the brown stuff. I should have told her I discriminate.

Anyway, I'm walking the aisles and what do I come across...


Sweet Baby Ray's! What are you doing in these parts? Sigh. I was excited but dismayed. I literally bought like seven bottles of this stuff in different flavors (it was on sale for 3 for $5). But, it's good to know that it is here, in case I run through those bottles like water.

I continue my tour of the commissary and stumble upon another jewel:

Well, hello there. I don't personally use this line of products because I honestly don't feel like the same product can work well for both relaxed and natural hair. But it was good to know that the folks over at the Embassy are trying to appeal to the tastes of the African Americans at post. There were a few other products specifically aimed at African Americans, none of which I can use (due to these locs).

So Sweet Baby Ray's and some Pantene for Colored Girls Who Have Considered Head and Shoulders when the Suave is Enough. :)

HGTV!

I am a huge fan of HGTV and one of the most exciting things about having a house (yes, I said house) is having the chance to decorate it. Some of you know that I lived in a shoe of an apartment when I was in DC. A basement studio. It was cute. But I think that my living room now is bigger than my entire apartment (and I don't have to worry about loud neighbors upstairs). But in that vein, I now have more room to really decorate and buy things like throws and throw pillows, etc etc.

So my first project is going to be to make a headboard for my bedroom. The house comes furnished but once your furniture arrives, you can decide what you want to do with the furniture issued to you. Since I was living in a studio, I don't have much furniture. And, I've been playing with the idea of creating a headboard for my bed since 2007 (literally). My mom and I tried something and it was nice in theory but just didn't quite workout in practice. But these were motivations..http://www.hgtv.com/decorating/headboard-ideas-tuft-love/pictures/index.html


Anyway, so this time around, because my bed is literally a mattress, box spring and metal frame, I wanted to create something African-esque. I was inspired my friend, J9, who had these pieces of art woven out of banana leaves that she bought when she was in Burundi. Ethiopia is known for many things, among them basket weaving. So my idea is to have a three flat baskets woven and using those as art/headboard. Headboard art if you will. The actual pieces are called sefaids, I think. I went to a basket store this weekend and was almost overwhelmed with the selection (www.salemsethiopia.com). If you look at the last 7-8 pictures under the basketry section, you will see the flat types of woven art I am talking about. I think either three plain ones or ones designed with moderately neutral colors will give me the look I am looking for.


Hopefully, I'll post pictures later to show how this turns out. I also don't have a shelving unit in my bathroom so what I think I may do is use one of the bookshelves from my office (there are two) and get some nicely woven baskets to put all of my "bathroom stuff" in. Right now there is a 12 pack of Charmin and some feminine products just sitting on my floor. All of my body sprays, lotions, makeup, etc is just sitting on my dress, homeless and unloved. Again, pictures to come.

Something in the Air

When I arrived in Africa for the first time in 2006 with AITI (Africa Internet Technology Initiative), I remember stepping off of the plane and inhaling what I thought was the scent of Africa. Maybe it was my imagination, but I definitely remember the air smelling different than any part of America I had ever been to. In my mind, I like to tell myself that it was the scent of my people, the scent of Blackness at its core. Now, I realize it may have been a little more pollution and burning trash, but even when I deplaned in Nairobi a few weeks ago, the smell came back to me. It's not a bad smell (like Northern New Jersey on a hot day) and it's also not the smell of honeysuckle in the summer. But it was something...and I liked it.

Now, when I deplaned in Addis Ababa, I was expecting a similar smell. For a moment, my mind indulged in the tendency of Westerners to think of Africa as a country made of states and not the continent made of countries that it truly is. Each country is different. In case you haven't heard, Ethiopia considers itself different from the rest of Africa. It is the only African country not to be colonized (according to Ethiopians) and they speak a language that literally almost no one else speaks: Amharic. Ethiopia and a part of Eritrea (so I hear) are essentially the only places in the world where this language is spoken (and a small part of Washington, DC called U St). The cuisine is unique and honestly, the smell was of the spices used in their food and the scent of burning coffee beans. It's a smell that haunts me now...that I inhale on the streets and wonder if I'll return with it in my hair and skin.

Days Late, Dollars Short...

Hello, Shalom, Selam, and Bonjour.

This is my effort to record/ document/ journal my time here in Ethiopia and Africa in general, as well as other life goings-ons that are happening right now. I will not promise to blog every day but I will commit to blogging twice a week. I think that's enough time for me to rouse up some adventures/ stories worth telling and to whet your appetite for more Shawn :). I enjoy writing and have deferred dreams of becoming an author/ book editor. I don't think I would ever REALLY write a book (at least not about my own life...with potential PhD in hand, I'm hoping to at least get a chapter published or something). Anyway, please comment, ask questions, offer up suggestions of things you'd like to know. I use pseudo-names to protect the privacy of those I interact with, so try to keep up. I will also try to include pictures because I think it adds to the connection I hope you'll make when reading. I've been here in Addis three weeks now, so I'll try to over-blog to compensate for the adventures/ observations/ commentary you've missed.

Without further ado...