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