Getting a Bed

Last week, just over a month after arriving in Fincha, my bed frame was finally completed! It was a lesson in patience, and a perfect example of why patience and a sense of humor are so emphasized as necessary character traits for PCVs:

Two weeks after arriving, I showed my drawing of the bed frame I wanted to the carpenter, and we agreed that because the new year was coming up, he could take two weeks to get it made.  

Two weeks later, the day we’d agreed it’d be done, I went to pick it up and discovered that they hadn’t sawn a single board for it. After some heated arguments between the carpenter and my counterpart, they promised it would be finished by the next Thursday, five days later. So I went up there that Thursday, and it of course wasn’t finished, as I’d by now learned to expect. Thank goodness I went though, because the drawers I’d asked for were on the wrong side. We got that straightened out, and they said to come at 10am sharp the next day. So I dutifully went up at 10am the next day, and of course they weren’t finished, but they were getting close, so I sat on a bench and watched them finish for about an hour.

I enjoyed that thoroughly, watching them do their work. A guy was welding metal in front of me, so one of the guys came over and told me in Oromiffa + gestures not to look at it. His concern made me smile for sure. The best part was when they finished; they called me over to inspect it, and while I was looking it over, one of the under-carpenters asked me if the bed was for one or two. It’s the size of a small twin bed, so I of course answered that my bed was for one person. He said, “In Ethiopia, bed is for two.” (Lies, you slightly creepy man). I said, “But abba mana hinqabu.” (I don’t have a husband), and the whole crowd of them cracked up. He then asked, “Why not? Do you have a problem?” (Excuse me?!) I said that no, I don’t have a problem; I’m just too young to get married. Luckily, he thought that was legitimate. Score!

Finally we were ready to transport the bed. I live at the bottom of the hill, and the carpenter is at the top of the hill, so to get the bed home, the carpenter found two men, and they carried the bed on their shoulders/necks – one in front, and one in back - the whole way down the hill. Ouch! I felt for them. You should now be picturing a bed being walked down the main street of town, with me walking next to it, in which literally the entire town gets to see that I bought a bed, and exactly what it looks like. Proof that it didn’t go unnoticed? That afternoon I went to the baker on the side street to buy some bread, and he asked me, “sire bite?” (bed you bought?). He’s on the side street, so word had to have traveled to him for him to know that! I laughed out loud; I couldn’t help it.

Once they got the bed onto the compound, they tipped the bed on its side and tried to bring it straight in, saw that it was still too wide to fit in the doorway, and set it down, apparently at wits end.  So with enormous repeated gestures, terrible fragments of Amharic, and a little manhandling, I directed them to bring it in on a curve to get the headboard through the door. I was a little exasperated at that point – patience does eventually run out - but maybe they’ll remember that technique for next time. So I now have a bed frame, and a memory to last a lifetime, which I can pull out to retell the next time someone complains about moving in the U.S. …

As a side note, the other notable part of that day occurred early in the morning. I went out to dump my dish water, and my landlord’s wife asked me, “sire hinfinne?” (Your bed isn’t finished?) And I responded confidently, “sire nyaadhe” (I ate my bed).

Oops! The ladies on the compound were in stitches at that one, and it took a while before I got a straight answer about what I’d done: in Oromiffa, “sire” (pronounced sir-ay) means bed, and “cire” (pronounced cheer-ay) means breakfast. Once I was clued in on the joke, I definitely joined in!

The finished product

Walking ... and Sinking

On the one month marker of calling Fincha my home, Laura and I went on a walk out of town down to the lake that Fincha overlooks: Lake Fincha. We both wanted some time out of town, among the beautiful scenery we’re so lucky to live near, and away from the people we see all the time – a break, if you will.

We started out after a cup of coffee at our favorite coffee house,

and it was a beautiful day – blue skies, white puffy clouds, a slight breeze, and the green that we only get to enjoy after the rainy season has had its way with the area. It was lovely:

Of course, the rainy season also brings an increase in little runoff streams and mud, so that twice on our route we had to get a little creative and a little dirty with fording said runoff streams:

But that just added to the experience. When we got to the shore of the lake at the point where we can see off to another portion of the lake, we sat down and enjoyed a picnic snack of Fincha’s best bread and my first attempt at hummus (made by adding water to chickpea flour, and flavored with olive oil, garlic, salt, and citrus juice – it wasn’t bad!).

Lake Fincha, just before we came to our lunch view

That’s when the experience lost its golden shine. A group of rural boys gathered about 15 feet off, and literally just stared at us. And stared at us. It was kind of funny on one level – we were literally the exhibit in the wild animal park. But it kind of kills the mood of communing with nature when you have a persistent audience. Laura, amazing woman that she is, chased them off with a stick in her hand, but of course that just made them come back for more. So we headed back the way we came, and what do you know – the cheekiest one followed us and started throwing rocks at us. Not cool, kid. So, I’ve been inaugurated into the club of PCVs in Ethiopia who’ve had rocks thrown at them. It was bound to happen sooner or later. Luckily he had bad aim, and we escaped unscathed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, we came to our last runoff stream to ford. I crossed the stream with grace (in my opinion), and, smiling to myself, stepped forward –

And sank into the mud.

No really, I sank:

I’ve heard of quicksand, but quickmud?? Really?! Sigh. Of course, what can you do but laugh? I mean, do you see how far up that mud goes on my leg? That seems pretty deep, to me…

Walking back was a bit soggy, and I got a couple fun reactions from strangers. One of them gasped, and exclaimed, “wee, wee, wee,” in the sympathetic cooing voice used when children fall and scrape their knees. Another went off in Oromiffa beyond my comprehension, so I stared at her blankly, and then asked Laura to translate. She had asked, “you fell in the mud?” To which, after all of that, I replied, “yes.” (Obviously!)

Since they were my expensive camping pants from REI, when I got home I immediately started washing my pants, and partway through, my young friend came over, and he stayed the whole time, helping me pour out my bucketsful of muddy water and refilling, and he scrubbed my shoes for me. It made me feel better, to have someone get muddy helping me clean up after my spill. The pants are completely back to being gray now, after a good hour of working on them, and so I can continue to laugh about my experience freely. What a day, and it’s only 2pm!

MUD

Baga Waga Geessuu! (Happy New Year!)

One of the most overt ways it is made clear to me that Ethiopians and Americans view the world differently is that Ethiopia follows its own calendar. The calendar that America follows is called the Gregorian calendar, or G.C. for short. The Ethiopian calendar has been in place for thousands of years, and corresponds with the climate patterns and dominant religious beliefs of Ethiopia. The calendar is aligned with the birth of Jesus, as is the G.C., but due to a variation in calculating when he was born, they ended up between 7 and 8 years behind, such that the year in Ethiopia just became 2005.*

In the Ethiopian calendar, the year still consists of 365 days, 24 hours each, and a leap year every four years. However, they divide the year into 13 months, instead of our 12. The first 12 of those months have exactly 30 days each, and the 13^th month has the remaining 5 or 6 days. The year begins when the rainy season “ends” (in the same way that winter “begins” on December 21^st). The end of the rainy season marks the onset of sunny days, the beginning of crop harvests, and the ability to enjoy the newly greened landscape. It’s a time of fresh promise, and that’s the general feeling behind the celebration of the New Year, which took place yesterday, September 11, 2012, G.C.; aka Meskarem 1, 2005, E.C.*   

Note: The school year also begins after New Year’s, so the scholastic year and the calendar year match up perfectly. Does anyone else get the feeling that someone infinitely smarter than whoever Gregory was created the Ethiopian calendar?? Fuel for the fire on that one: Ethiopians also have a different system for keeping track of time. Like in America, the day has 24 hours, 60 minutes each, and the day has two cycles of 12 hours. However, since Ethiopia is near the equator and thus the length of days stays almost even with the length of nights year-round, they start the count not in the middle of the night, but with the sunrise. Thus, at 1am, the sun has been up for an hour; at 6, it is noon; and at 12, the sun has just set.* It’s hard to wrap your brain around at first, but incredibly logical in the end, right?

So yesterday, Meskarem 1, or Fulbana 1 in Oromiffa, was a day of celebration! New Year’s is pretty big here, and the preparations became noticeable last Thursday – about 5 days before the holiday. That day anyone in a position of authority working for the government, meaning at the county and town level, high tailed it out of there, and left the bare minimum of staff behind to keep things going. The mail transportation also stopped running last Thursday, to my immense dissatisfaction (I want my care packages!!). The number of strange men and people on the road in general increased dramatically, leading to an increase in heckling of the foreigner, which got old quickly. The hotel next door turned up its volume and pushed back its end time on the music blaring, making sleep an interesting endeavor.

But I’m getting caught up in the aspects of holiday time that I dislike. There were positive and fascinating aspects to the preparations as well. I saw an incredible amount of chickens being carried up and down the road, usually 2-4 per person carrying them, upside down by their feet, still alive. This along with a shortage of eggs to be found in the shops could only mean one thing: doro wat was coming. Doro wat is basically chicken stew. It’s made of oil, onion, garlic, hot green peppers, berbere (ground hot red pepper), cooked chopped chicken (some in large chunks still on the bone), and whole hard boiled eggs. It is eaten with injera, and is a dish for special occasions, because it’s really expensive to buy a chicken. My compound family went one step up, and instead of buying chickens, they bought a sheep.

On  my compound last week, the women washed literally everything that was a textile – clothing, rugs, curtains, crocheted decorations, bedding, and the sofa/easy chairs’ slipcovers. They also washed the walls and floor of their house, and all of that together really started to make sense when I learned that the new year begins with the end of the rainy season and a feeling of fresh beginnings and fresh promise. That’s how we tend to feel in America when we switch from Winter to Spring – Spring cleaning anyone? I know, it’s somehow still a hassle even though you have washing machines, dryers, running water, special high-tech mops and vacuum cleaners…

So after 5 days of noticeable buildup, the big day arrived! Late morning, I was called into the main house to join my landlord’s family in their celebrations. It was a full house, too. My landlord and his wife are retired-age, with grown children and grandchildren of varying ages, and they’d all come back for the holiday. Earlier in the morning most of them went to church, while my landlord’s wife and niece stayed back to prepare coffee (I’m going to write a post soon about coffee; I’m sorry that I haven’t explained it yet.). Once they returned, everyone gathered in the living room for buna (coffee) and habesha dabo (Ethiopian flat bread – it’s delicious, and I’m on a mission to learn how to make it!) covered with berbere + dhadha (Ethiopian butter); there was also fandisha (popcorn) and kolo (roasted barley grains – delicious!) in little bowls around the room for snacking on. In addition to buna they were serving farso (local beer), barley juice, and honey juice (I chose the honey). The neighbors also came over on a rolling basis for visits, coffee, and snacks, and we talked about how in Ethiopia it’s expected that you’ll have your neighbors over to celebrate with you, but in America, people barely know their neighbors’ names. Around 11:30, all the women cleared out of the room, and I purposely stayed behind with the husbands and watched TV with them, while the women killed and butchered the bug (sheep). When they carried a big platter of sheep meat through the living room to the kitchen, I went and sat with them while they chopped the meat.

Lunch was bug tibs – chopped and boneless sheep meat, cooked in oil in a pot, eaten with injera. It was pretty delicious, since tibs means there’s no berbere! We ate from two plates/big metal platters. The adults ate from one, and the kids from another; the adults sat on the sofa and easy chairs around a coffee table, and the kids ate on a bench on the side. It was basically the Ethiopian version of the dining room table for the adults and the card table for the kids. I was of course urged, “nyaadhu!” (“eat!”) about every 60 seconds, even when I was clearly chewing… but that’s life! They asked if I ever eat communal-style with my family in America, and I said sadly, no, but I wish we did. It brought us physically closer, and really did add to the feeling of group unity. After lunch we watched TV and digested, while the kids ran off to the back bedrooms to play.

The whole experience with my landlord’s family reminded me very much of the big family gatherings I used to have at my grandparents’ house on my mom’s side of the family when I was little. All the aunts and uncles and cousins would be gathered together (usually for Christmas or Thanksgiving), lounging around, eating special food, and enjoying each other’s company. The youngest cousin would steal the show; the women would work on preparing lunch while the men would sit in the living room and watch TV (or in our family’s case, rough-house with the kids, or play a game of something in the back yard). Being with my landlord’s family and experiencing almost the same exact family dynamic and vibe was so wonderful, and made me feel quite at home. It was one of those experiences that makes you see past the cultural differences to the common humanity that we all share.

Around midafternoon, I was invited up the hill to have coffee with Laura, my fellow Fincha PCV, and her counterpart at his place. I’m very glad I went, because it gave me a chance to see what the town vibe was like. Walking up the hill around 3, the main road was the quietest I’ve seen it yet. Every shop except one that I saw was closed up (there’s no such thing here as grocery stores staying open in case you run out of something!), and everyone was clearly busy inside with family and friends. When I came back down the hill around 4:30, the shops were still closed, but rowdy kids and guys were starting to repopulate the street. I got followed/surrounded by a group of boys who were running around, screaming, and trying to get me to talk to them. Luckily I was almost home, and didn’t have to endure it for very long. I made it home 60 seconds before the downpour started! I spent the rest of the evening recuperating in my home, pleased with myself for taking part in the festivities and glad to have enjoyed it!

*Unfortunately, the nature of my internet connection and my lack of history books on Ethiopia results in an inability to cite the information I just presented. As a result, it is entirely possible that I’ve made mistakes on some of the details. I sincerely apologize, and I welcome corrections and citations.