Halfway through today, this blog was going to be filed as “The Good,” since things seemed to be going pretty smoothly. The hiccups of the afternoon, along with a low-level cold I’m hosting, moved it into “mediocre.” Heregoes:

I got up with my alarm at 7:30 this morning: either I slept through my neighbor’s onion chopping, or she took care of food preparation yesterday. I got ready in my newly re-decorated house (with the help of friends and neighbors, I painted last week and set down new floor covering yesterday), then headed out to meet Kim for breakfast. We ate fuul (it’s a beany, stewy thing) at the tiny cafe on my street. The guy who runs it served mine with spicy peppers and Kim’s without, just the way we like it.

We then went to the nearby Mettu Preparatory School to meet with the ten candidates they selected from grades 9 and 10 to attend our summer camp in July. Kim, Celeste, and I are working with other volunteers in our neck of the woods to plan a week-long camp for girls at Wellega University in Nekemte. The programs will focus on leadership, self-esteem, HIV/AIDS prevention, environmental issues, and, well, having fun. We’re going to interview a total of 20 students to select those who seem most motivated and able to handle a week-long program conducted mostly in English.

We explained the camp concept to the girls, signed them up for interview slots, then split up. I headed to town to meet with Frew, who runs the local association for people living with HIV and AIDS. I gave him a sample budget for constructing a millhouse to help him with a grant proposal he’s writing, and then we went for a cup of coffee.

After that, I went to the Health Center to say hi to the staff. Along the way, I was stopped by a passerby who wanted to introduce himself. He’s an English teacher at one of the private schools. We had some superficial chit-chat, which I was just getting bored of when he asked me my religion. When I told him I’m Catholic, he launched into a spiel about accepting Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, and how his dreams are pure now that he’s not Orthodox. I somewhat abruptly, but good-naturedly enough, excused myself from the conversation, claiming I was late for work.

I made it to the Health Center without further incident, and ran into one of my favorite nurses, Sister Mulu. She’d been gone for a few months, as the weather in our area was giving her awful asthma attacks. We greeted each other in the extended style that’s the norm here, and I invited her over for coffee tomorrow evening.

I headed back towards the town, and lo and behold, the evangelical was, seemingly, lying in wait. Cue more standard-issue chit-chat about our respective geographic origins. I stopped at a shop. He offered to wait for me. I told him it was not necessary, and he finally buzzed off. I really dislike people who force their presence upon you.

I knew I still had a half hour or so before I could meet with my tutor, so I stopped for another cup of coffee on my way back to the high school. I planned on studying my Afaan Oromo, but instead had a nice conversation with another the only other patron, a man who, based on his well-above-average stature and darker-than-average skin tone, is clearly of Gambellan origin. (Gambella is a region in the far west, where folks more closely resemble Sudanese than Ethiopians. If you look at a map, this makes sense: Gambella juts out of the Ethiopian border like a finger poking our western neighbor.) We discussed the importance of learning languages, and he bought my coffee (#2). Lovely.

Rahel, my tutor, met me at the high school, and I asked her about a few of Afaan Oromo’s finer points…but mostly, she and I had a cup of coffee (#3) and did a fun little personality test which, incidentally, involved introducing her to a lot of solid English.

Kim came to pick me up. She’s teaching a class at the school closest to my house, and I agreed to sub for her when she’s gone next week. Today, I just observed her go over some material for the eighth graders’ upcoming federal examination. It reminded me how awful middle schoolers are, but Kim does a great job keeping up the enthusiasm and discipline despite their shenanigans. After a girl arrived 55 minutes late for a 1-hour class, we set rules for next week: I’m not allowing anyone in who’s more than 15 minutes late. we’ll see how that goes.

On our way out, we passed a gaggle of teachers. Kim returned a borrowed eraser, and one of the teachers said “I love you” as we walked away. I stopped and turned. “Sorry, are you an English teacher?” He nodded. “In English, it’s really inappropriate to say ‘I love you’ in this context. We don’t say it to colleagues. We have the word ‘like,’ or you can say ‘I appreciate you,’ or just ‘thank you,’ but I love you is not appropriate. So please teach your students that!” A year of frustration with the overuse of the word “love” just came boiling over, but Kim assures me I was polite and friendly. To be fair, there’s only one word in Afaan Oromo that means both “like” and “love” — but still, he’s an English teacher. Someone should tell him. And today, someone did.

We met up with the Peace Corps education program guy, who was in town to talk to folks at the Teacher Training College about placing a PCV there in August, and the driver who’d been chauffeuring him around Western Ethiopia. They’re both lovely, warm men, and they were heading to a neighboring town to have lunch with another PCV. They let us tag along, and we had a pleasant car ride, lunch, and cup of coffee (#5). We each had our own seat AND seatbelt: ah, the joys of a private vehicle!

They dropped us off at Kim’s house, and came in to say hello to her landlords. As they stood around chatting, Kim’s landlady casually held on to my elbow. I realize this sounds weird and random, but here, when you’re with a friend and someone else comes up to greet you, it’s common to keep hold of that friend as if to say, “You can greet us both, but don’t forget, this person’s really mine.” Ganet was showing that she’s got our backs. It made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was the excessive buna.

Kim and I walked next door to the other high school to repeat our camp introduction. We met the director, and he went looking for the students, whom he’d told to meet at 3pm without, apparently, specifying a location. He finally led us to a classroom. “What do these boys thing they’re doing here?” Kim asked. He indicated they’d come for the camp meeting. “The camp is only for girls,” Kim said. He mumbled some excuse about an “information gap” — he clearly hadn’t read the materials Kim had given him.

“What should I tell them?” he asked.

“Um, to go home.” Kim said. I tried my best to conceal a smirk. We rescheduled for tomorrow.

I went back to my house for about an hour, and got to talk to a friend while I caught up on my crocheting. At 4:30, I hurried across town to help teach a computer class at a primary school. This has literally nothing to do with my official Peace Corps assignment, but the guy who teaches it is nice enough and wants the kids to practice their English a bit. Today’s topic was setting up an email account. I was worried it wouldn’t fill up the whole hour. Silly me.

A frustrating hour and a half later, Kim and I left, late for dinner at Celeste’s. Along the way, we were greeted in many ways: as “firenji!” by a loud and remarkably persistent toddler, among others; “AMERIKA!” by a seemingly unhinged old man; “YOU!” by countless children and young men; and polite, actual greetings by a handful of adorable children. When we finally arrived at Celeste’s, she and Sile were ready with some Chinese Hot Dogs (don’t question pork products, however questionable they might look), cooked greens, and a red Ethiopian wine called Gouter that becomes more palatable every time. Sile had brought over leftover nonperishable food from her kitchen for us to rifle through, and rifle we did. The rain rained, then cleared, and we headed home with our loot.

I hate going home after dark, because people are more likely to say rude things when they think they can’t be seen. But tonight, I had a nice chat with a teacher at the local technical and vocational school, and no one bothered me. I walked past one of my favorite shop owners, who was roughhousing with a buddy, and joked around with him. I got to my house, threw on my PJs, and wrote this blog post.

Weddings in Ethiopia are as big of a deal as in the U.S. I attended my first complete wedding — that is, I helped with the food preparation and stayed until the gabi came home (more on that later) — this past weekend. While traditions vary based on religion and region, here’s how it all went down:

Preparation
In towns like mine, weddings are held in the home — or, rather, in two homes, those of the bride’s family and the groom’s family. Since Kim lives on the bride’s family’s compound, we got to see their side of the story firsthand. The week before the wedding is dedicated to getting the home ready to host dozens of guests.

The men busy themselves with manly things, namely killing animals (or taking them to the butcher) and erecting a tent for the ceremony. Then they return to sitting around while the women work, as men in this country are wont to do.

The women of the house are occupied for hours on end with food preparation, as well as cleaning and decorating. They chop kilos and kilos of onions, peel potatoes, and chop up a cow (or sheep) or two’s worth of meat. They make whatever dishes they like, but meat-filled wats are the centerpiece. The wedding I attended this past weekend also served french fries, veggie balls, baked pasta, and several dishes I couldn’t quite identify.

Preparations take place from early in the morning until late at night, and friends and neighbors come to lend a hand — or some plates, or some benches. Everyone pitches in.

Part 1: Here Comes the Groom
When the food is cooked and the house is decorated, there’s nothing to do but wait. The bride sits in a comfy chair looking miserable, as to look happy is considered an insult to the family she’s leaving. Her bridesmaids and friends sing, dance, and clap around her, as if at a pep rally for one. (N.B., Protestants in Ethiopia aren’t allowed to sing or dance except in praising God, so it’s safe to say all the songs weren’t addressed to the bride so much as to the Big Man Upstairs.) The older women bustle about, making sure everything is ready. The groom is late, but no one seems too worried: after all, we’re in Ethiopia.

All of a sudden, and with a great deal of honking, the groom rolls up with his posse in a few rented buses. His buddies are also clapping and singing, much more raucously than their female counterparts. They parade up to the house and the groom, baring flowers, enters to collect his bride while her parents sit in the aforementioned tent. He hands her the flowers, and they process back outside together. They sit at the front of the tent, with the bride’s family and friends on her side, the groom’s on his.

A quick benediction, then it’s time to eat, beginning with the bride, groom, and immediate families. Everyone else lines up for food as best as people can line up in this country, and grabs a bottle of honey water, or brrz (I swear there aren’t any vowels in that word) on their way to sit down. After everyone’s eaten, the bridal party is clapped out of the compound and back onto the buses.

Part 2: For Richer or Poorer
At this point, in terms of Ethiopian culture, the couple is married. But God hasn’t weighed in yet, so we head to the church. There, we sit through a ceremony just like most Protestant weddings in the U.S.: the couple exchanges vows and rings and lights a unity candle. It felt very familiar, which is strange in its own way.

Then back to the buses. At this point, the groom takes the bride to his family’s abode. In Afaan Oromo, the word for “married” is different for men and women: for men, it literally means “he has taken,” i.e., a bride. Fun, no? Anyway, they party there, I guess. We were with the bride’s family, so we missed that part.

Part 3: About Last Night…
The next evening, the newlyweds return to the bride’s family’s house. To show that there are no hard feelings (I mean, he did take a daughter…), the groom comes baring a sheep and a gabi, which is a traditional shawl. With more clapping and singing, the couple enters, some men slaughter the sheep, and everyone sits down and has dinner while some women butcher the sheep to prepare tibs (i.e., second dinner. They didn’t warn us.) Everyone drinks more brrz.

Finally, guests present gifts to the bride and groom, and, with more clapping and singing, they’re off to their new home. 

Kim has even more pictures and details on her blog.

Many people back home have asked me what a typical day is like here. It’s impossible to answer that question: as many have said before and will say again, there is no typical day in the life of a Peace Corps volunteer. So I’m going to chronicle three different days over the next few weeks, and we’ll call them The Good, The Mediocre, and The Ugly.

Read more …

After a discouraging first try, I decided to give misur wot (spicy lentil stew) another shot. I think 10 months of watching women make wot just about every day has taught me a few things about the general ingredient order, amounts, and timing that are common to most stews. Serve over injera (you can buy it at Ethiopian grocery stores on, for example, U Street in DC), rice, or pasta, or just use some bread to sop it up. This is a large-ish 1-person portion size (I mean, the portion size is large-ish; I’m still little), so increase accordingly.

Read more …

A little more than a month after Kim and I first arrived at site, Ethiopians celebrated their New Year. We were both a little sad: no one really invited us to their homes. Since then, we’ve been trying to make up for lost time on holidays, and Kim put together quite the program for us yesterday for Fassika, or Ethiopian Easter. Celeste and Sile warned us about their busy Fassika last year, but we poo-pooed their warnings and forged ahead. As usual, we couldn’t really understand what we were getting ourselves into.

The day, in statistics:
Homes visited: 14
Homes we thought we’d visit when we started off the day: 7
Spontaneous invitations politely declined: 4

Read more …

Last week, I saw a really plump sheep walking around on a leash (not unusual) with a sign pinned to it (unusual). I was confused, but a friend explained that it was being raffled off in time for Easter (which in Ethiopia is this coming Sunday). I couldn’t stop laughing, and explained that in America, we raffle things off, too. Like restaurant gift certificates, or gift baskets. Not so much with the live sheep. The same…but different.

Of course, I bought a raffle ticket. Fingers crossed!

Lentils are, by far, my favorite legume. They cook quickly, they taste delicious, and there are two types available in Ethiopia. I prefer to make my lentil soup with green lentils, but red lentils are a fun, sweet change now and then.

It’s been hot in Mettu lately, but for some reason that doesn’t decrease my soup consumption. Mabye it’s convenience (soup can be re-boiled the next day or iftan [the day after that] without ruining the consistency), or maybe sweating my way through a meal makes the weather seem mild in comparison. This recipe makes about two meals for one person.

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This weekend, my neighbor prepared doro wot (spicy chicken stew). The first step is chopping 3 kilos of onions. She had an audience: the chicken she was going to stew stood tied to a post in the yard, watching her as she did the prep work on her porch.