Fun with poorly translated, imported product labels in Addis Ababa:
Shirt series: we always keep the intonation of appearance supremacy of quality and the self nobility are all the distinctions of a modern leader's confidence.
Facial cleanser: Nurse Skin
The temperate clean surface, while the clean pore in-depth dirt, oil, gives the fresh comprehensively to moisten with maintains especially contains the many kinds of natural plants essence, the rich nutrition in-depth seepage flesh, softens cutin, reappears fairly is soft, the transparent skin nature. The natural smooth factor, locks in the moisture content, makes and the skin is smooth crystal clear, presents the pearl brilliance.
APPLICATION METHOD: With the lukewarm water moist face, takes right amount to hand heart, after lightly rubs massages the full froth, then the flushing is clean.
INGREDIENT: fresh lemon, the ginseng, the rose essence, the collagen, the nutrition facto, compound vitamin group, egg, smooth factor, the wet ingredient.
6 May 2008
I humbly submit the following as a typical example of the many similar instances of awkwardness and hilarity that color my Ethiopian life.
One of my local counterparts, the head of an NGO focusing on reproductive health and family planning services, was recently promoted to the Bahirdar area branch, so I was invited over to his house for a small going-away party. I came to the house straight after work. By the time I arrived, after being swamped by a gaggle of overenthusiastic children in a neighborhood in which I had not yet made an appearance, the guests were all assembled. My counterpart, his in-laws, a work colleague and his wife, and a handful of neighbors sat together around two wooden tables. They sat by candlelight, as the electricity to the town had been cut during a recent heavy rain.
I greeted everyone in turn and took the place that had been reserved for me. Immediately, my counterpart’s wife appeared from the back portion of the house, bringing a tall drinking glass that she set squarely in front of me. A female cousin followed shortly after her with a kettle full of tella.
Tella is Ethiopian “local beer”. Its appearance is that of muddy lake water, and its taste is much like…well, slightly alcoholic muddy lake water (but not nearly alcoholic enough). And there are other issues confronting the tella non-drinker. First, it is invariably served in the largest beverage containers you will ever see inside Ethiopia. Coffee – served in a dainty four-ounce teacup. Tea – served in a miniature juice glass. Local wine – drunk from small round-bottom distilling flasks. But tella – gargantuan drinking glass. Second, as if the sheer volume capacity of the glass wasn’t enough, the glass gets refilled to the top with every sip you take from it, so that if finishing it off seemed challenging before, now it’s completely hopeless. That of course does not discourage the entire gathering from exhorting you, “Drink! Drink! Drink tella!” at every lull in the conversation.
Amharic discussion murmured around me as I sat trying to get way with as little tella consumption as politely allowable. I followed as best I could, but in the dim candlelight and after a long day at the office, I found my mind wandering from the discussions of local food prices and the weather. My counterpart, however, made a great show of engaging me in English, resulting in a dazzling array of nearly correct but entertainingly erroneous statements.
“Two people have been, you know, floated. They are floaters.”
(Two people were let go from the organization in the restructuring. Fired, floated…he was pretty close.)
“It is evacuating the earth!”
(The dog is digging.)
“It is a very smart and important drink. It is like…glucose!”
(This drink is good.)
“I appreciate your sacrification.”
(“Sacrification” has just joined “respection” on my list of favorite EthioEnglish words.)
“So do not be frustrated, because I do have a big stick.”
(I would try to provide context, but it really wouldn’t help much.)
If my counterpart’s English provided amusement for me, my Amharic was ten times more entertaining for the assembled Ethiopian guests. The party game of choice consisted in my counterpart pointing out an object on the table or around the room, asking me, “Do you know this?”, and then upon my correct answer, exclaiming, “Oooh! It is surprising! I think you know everything!” In another version of this game, whenever I said any one simple word of Amharic, guests turned each other and repeated it amongst themselves, laughing.
Eventually I was saved from these diversions by the re-entrance of the women from the back of the house, each carrying casserole dishes of steaming wot and baskets of injera. They presented food around the table, standing expectantly in front of each guest until they deemed the quantity of food taken to be acceptable. As we ate, the conversation resumed in Amharic, though my counterpart was sure to keep me involved by pointing out repeatedly that everyone in the room was “coupled” but me, by offering to find me an Ethiopian husband, by explaining that in Ethiopian culture the parents are involved in choosing “our intimates”, and by asking me questions about American relationships, such as, “It is important sometimes to beat the wife. Is it acceptable in your country?”
The women came around to force second helpings upon everyone, and I was privileged to witness some of the finest defensive maneuvers I have seen yet in Ethiopia. As my counterpart’s wife attempted to place a fifth roll of injera on her father’s plate, the old man whisked the plate from the table, holding it at arm’s length away and slightly behind his back. With his free hand, he executed a solid arm bar to keep the unwanted injera at bay. His wife went for the two-armed plate cover, being sure to keep her body positioned between her opponent and the goal. Some other guests decided the best defense was a good offense, opting for aggressive attacks upon the food being shoved at them, pushing away dishes and threatening to overturn baskets. All of this was done amidst a clamor of, “No more!”, “I’m full!”, and, “I’m done! I’m done! By God and Mary, I’m done!”
When the great supper battles had subsided and everyone was finally allowed to be “done, done, by God and Mary, done,” the after-dinner drinks of areke were served. If I had to compare areke to an alcohol common in the United States, I would say the taste most closely resembles the rubbing variety. We sipped and talked and waited in vain for electricity that never came on. Finally, the hour grew late, and we were forced to migrate to our homes in the pitch darkness. With two flashlights between the group of us, we stumbled our way over the rough, uneven dirt roads through the neighborhood. My counterpart kept me close, serving as my guide and lighting my way. He advised me periodically with things like, “This is a stone. It is not earth.” He reassured me with statements such as, “There is a dog here. But do not be frightened. I will kick its head.”
Eventually I arrived at my house, surrounded by a cluster of Ethiopians wrapped in their white gabis. I waved goodbye as I walked through the gate, and they all waved back and wished me a good night in chorus. Sitting alone in my house in near darkness, I reflected back on the night, and I was grateful for the warm hospitality that is a mainstay of Ethiopian culture. I was grateful for the laughter shared, the generosity, the coming together of different peoples, the opportunity to experience a sense of community so far away from my home…even the tella and areke.
One of my local counterparts, the head of an NGO focusing on reproductive health and family planning services, was recently promoted to the Bahirdar area branch, so I was invited over to his house for a small going-away party. I came to the house straight after work. By the time I arrived, after being swamped by a gaggle of overenthusiastic children in a neighborhood in which I had not yet made an appearance, the guests were all assembled. My counterpart, his in-laws, a work colleague and his wife, and a handful of neighbors sat together around two wooden tables. They sat by candlelight, as the electricity to the town had been cut during a recent heavy rain.
I greeted everyone in turn and took the place that had been reserved for me. Immediately, my counterpart’s wife appeared from the back portion of the house, bringing a tall drinking glass that she set squarely in front of me. A female cousin followed shortly after her with a kettle full of tella.
Tella is Ethiopian “local beer”. Its appearance is that of muddy lake water, and its taste is much like…well, slightly alcoholic muddy lake water (but not nearly alcoholic enough). And there are other issues confronting the tella non-drinker. First, it is invariably served in the largest beverage containers you will ever see inside Ethiopia. Coffee – served in a dainty four-ounce teacup. Tea – served in a miniature juice glass. Local wine – drunk from small round-bottom distilling flasks. But tella – gargantuan drinking glass. Second, as if the sheer volume capacity of the glass wasn’t enough, the glass gets refilled to the top with every sip you take from it, so that if finishing it off seemed challenging before, now it’s completely hopeless. That of course does not discourage the entire gathering from exhorting you, “Drink! Drink! Drink tella!” at every lull in the conversation.
Amharic discussion murmured around me as I sat trying to get way with as little tella consumption as politely allowable. I followed as best I could, but in the dim candlelight and after a long day at the office, I found my mind wandering from the discussions of local food prices and the weather. My counterpart, however, made a great show of engaging me in English, resulting in a dazzling array of nearly correct but entertainingly erroneous statements.
“Two people have been, you know, floated. They are floaters.”
(Two people were let go from the organization in the restructuring. Fired, floated…he was pretty close.)
“It is evacuating the earth!”
(The dog is digging.)
“It is a very smart and important drink. It is like…glucose!”
(This drink is good.)
“I appreciate your sacrification.”
(“Sacrification” has just joined “respection” on my list of favorite EthioEnglish words.)
“So do not be frustrated, because I do have a big stick.”
(I would try to provide context, but it really wouldn’t help much.)
If my counterpart’s English provided amusement for me, my Amharic was ten times more entertaining for the assembled Ethiopian guests. The party game of choice consisted in my counterpart pointing out an object on the table or around the room, asking me, “Do you know this?”, and then upon my correct answer, exclaiming, “Oooh! It is surprising! I think you know everything!” In another version of this game, whenever I said any one simple word of Amharic, guests turned each other and repeated it amongst themselves, laughing.
Eventually I was saved from these diversions by the re-entrance of the women from the back of the house, each carrying casserole dishes of steaming wot and baskets of injera. They presented food around the table, standing expectantly in front of each guest until they deemed the quantity of food taken to be acceptable. As we ate, the conversation resumed in Amharic, though my counterpart was sure to keep me involved by pointing out repeatedly that everyone in the room was “coupled” but me, by offering to find me an Ethiopian husband, by explaining that in Ethiopian culture the parents are involved in choosing “our intimates”, and by asking me questions about American relationships, such as, “It is important sometimes to beat the wife. Is it acceptable in your country?”
The women came around to force second helpings upon everyone, and I was privileged to witness some of the finest defensive maneuvers I have seen yet in Ethiopia. As my counterpart’s wife attempted to place a fifth roll of injera on her father’s plate, the old man whisked the plate from the table, holding it at arm’s length away and slightly behind his back. With his free hand, he executed a solid arm bar to keep the unwanted injera at bay. His wife went for the two-armed plate cover, being sure to keep her body positioned between her opponent and the goal. Some other guests decided the best defense was a good offense, opting for aggressive attacks upon the food being shoved at them, pushing away dishes and threatening to overturn baskets. All of this was done amidst a clamor of, “No more!”, “I’m full!”, and, “I’m done! I’m done! By God and Mary, I’m done!”
When the great supper battles had subsided and everyone was finally allowed to be “done, done, by God and Mary, done,” the after-dinner drinks of areke were served. If I had to compare areke to an alcohol common in the United States, I would say the taste most closely resembles the rubbing variety. We sipped and talked and waited in vain for electricity that never came on. Finally, the hour grew late, and we were forced to migrate to our homes in the pitch darkness. With two flashlights between the group of us, we stumbled our way over the rough, uneven dirt roads through the neighborhood. My counterpart kept me close, serving as my guide and lighting my way. He advised me periodically with things like, “This is a stone. It is not earth.” He reassured me with statements such as, “There is a dog here. But do not be frightened. I will kick its head.”
Eventually I arrived at my house, surrounded by a cluster of Ethiopians wrapped in their white gabis. I waved goodbye as I walked through the gate, and they all waved back and wished me a good night in chorus. Sitting alone in my house in near darkness, I reflected back on the night, and I was grateful for the warm hospitality that is a mainstay of Ethiopian culture. I was grateful for the laughter shared, the generosity, the coming together of different peoples, the opportunity to experience a sense of community so far away from my home…even the tella and areke.
26 April 2008
Sometimes, in the unremitting drone of a hardnosed city and the monotonous progression of various offices, meetings, and workshops, I am prone to forget the power and overwhelming beauty of this place, the thrill of the adventure I am undertaking. Sitting here now – surrounded by gelada baboons feeding on mountain grasses at 3800 meters elevation and overlooking rugged crags soaring high into a flawless blue sky, plunging into seemingly unfathomable depths below, and stretching into the hazy distance as far as can be seen – is a compelling reminder.
As a post-IST/pre-site-return refresher, seven of us arranged a five-day trek through the
This trip has been more than just a fun diversion and a change of scenery. In this vacation from official Peace Corps duties, we have encountered many of the elements that attracted us to this program in the first place: the lure of exotic places, the thrill of fresh experiences, the prospect of expanding our views of the global community, the joy of forming rich human connections, the chance to meet and overcome great challenges and grow stronger and wiser in the process. These were the reasons that caused us to choose Peace Corps over other similar volunteering or public health and community development opportunities. And as we return to our sites and proceed with our efforts to strengthen and improve our respective communities, we are sustained and encouraged by the reminder of how richly we ourselves are benefited from our service.
16 April 2008
It seemed we had been given just enough time together during pre-service training to grow close to one another, when we were dispersed again, one by one across the country. Now, for two weeks, Peace Corps in-service training has brought us all back together again.
It has been a challenging and rather uncertain three months at our sites, as volunteers, PC staff, and local counterparts alike continue to feel our way, by trial and error and much debate and discussion, through this brand new program. Now assembled again, volunteers are glad to draw strength and support from one another, swapping stories, sharing laughter over our more ridiculous moments, and commiserating with our common struggles. In some ways, it is reassuring to know that the hardships and obstacles I face at my site are not necessarily unique to me. In other ways, though, it has been sobering to see how deep and wide some of these challenges run.
It has been a profound and significant three months, as well, and it is obvious that we are not the same group of people that boarded those buses to move out to our sites. The changes we have undergone, moreover, are not just limited to the darker tans, tougher stomachs, and subtle incorporations of habisha fashions and phrases into our everyday lives. There is a new recognition of our personal strengths and a willingness to assume roles that utilize them. There is a new appreciation of a trust in the strengths of our peers. There is a new confidence in our ability to create positive change – both inside our assigned communities and inside our Peace Corps community – and a new determination to do so.
There is one obvious change amongst us, however, that is not so welcome. It cannot be overlooked that the face of our group has also been changed by the departures of some of our members. Of the forty-two of us that swore in as volunteers, four have gone home and one is on the way, due to a mixture of administrative, medical, and personal reasons. They were colleagues and friends and important pieces of this society we have built together as volunteers, and now they are greatly missed. The departures are not limited to volunteers, either, with two main office staff members leaving
If these is one thing that has been made clear to us during these two weeks together, it is that we are strong people who are growing stronger every day through this experience, and that we will rely on this strength – our own and each others' – in our living and working here for two years.
25 March 2008
"Um…no." It was my lame but best honest answer to the innocent question of a volunteer at the local orphanage: "So can you describe what a typical day is like for you?" The truth is, despite some of the comforting routines emphasized in earlier entries, there is really no "typical day" for me here. The word "typical", in many ways, seems almost entirely irrelevant to my current life.
Part of this is due to the nature of my assignment. I have been told by the Peace Corps organization that I am here to "serve as a link" within a network of HIV/AIDS prevention, care, and support services. In response to direct questioning about my anticipated job duties, my work supervisor has told me that I will be expected to "build capacity". Neither of these descriptions translates readily into a tangible laundry list of tasks to be completed, or even a clear mental image. And so, I spend my days doing what I figure a good link and capacity builder might do: visiting, meeting, observing, questioning, listening, and suggesting. This slate of activities has taken me to trainings, meetings, hospitals, schools, track meets, gynecologists' offices, cultural dance displays, chicken farms, construction sites, and even a reception for a visiting U.S. Congressman. It has put me in contact with government administrators, clinicians, small business experts, journalists, tourism officials, former commercial sex workers, people living with HIV/AIDS, Orthodox priests, Rastafarians, German architects, Swedish agricultural researchers, and philanthropic American fashion designers. If it has not catered to the neat categories of a program evaluation sheet, it has at least taught me tremendously much about the community, culture, and intricate system in which I will live and work for two years.
Then too, some of the unpredictable nature of my daily life can be attributed to unfamiliar cultural elements. Business is simply done a little differently here. I brought with me to
And so it is that my days here are anything but typical. In living them, I am becoming more flexible, resourceful, inventive, and patient. Of course, I am also becoming more confirmed in the fear that I will never be able to take on a "normal" job.
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