Eggs in Hand

With two dirty eggs in my sweaty palms, I started passing a soccer ball around with a little boy on my way home from marker. After awhile another boy came to introduce himself and play. We probably played for 20 minutes before I found a chance to thank them for playing and greatfully put down the two unbroken eggs. A week latter, while carrying eggs I met a girl who has now become my shadow when I walk in that part of town. Yesterday, while carrying half a dozen eggs in a thin bag in my hands, I laughed as 8 children clustered around to be taught the fist bump. They don’t like the originally single pound. They prefer the up-down-side-to-side-and-then-front-on pound version much better. Of course you can’t do it just once to get the hang of it. It was a bit of a trick to jostle eggs while watching out for all the fists and faces that are right at elbow level.

While I know approximately how long it takes to get between two points, the children are always a blessed unaccountable factor. They love to talk. They love to ask questions as their curiosity bubbles overs. They love to laugh at me or us. While I may be extremely hungry or tired as I carry eggs, I feel so blessed to stop and play. They remind me of what really counts in the day. Even though I have yet to break an egg while playing, I know the day will come and we will laugh about it.

Altered circumstances or conditions arise daily. Meetings are rescheduled or the person I need to talk to is in another meeting. The power goes on and off as does the cell service. It gets dark around 6:30 sending me to my room to cook and fill the evening hours. I figure there are two things I can do when these unexpectancies come up: 1. I can get frustrated, mad, upset and blame others for the way things go. 2. I can adapt to go with the flow and see what happens. My parents told us we could never complain unless we were willing to fix it, so option 2 is where I choose to go. It’s like a puzzle. I have to keep trying different options than what I first originally thought in order to get a clear picture. 

Flexible

The dictionary defines flexible as:

“adjective

capable of bending easily without breaking 

•able to be easily modified to respond to altered circumstances or conditions

• (of a person) ready and able to change so as to adapt to different circumstances”

Life is teaching me it’s saying “okay then” to random events and making the most of whatever unforseenness has occurred.

Flag Day:

     The chipping, once solid white line is barely visible on either side of the road under the brightly colored plastic shoes of hundreds of 9^th and 10^th graders. Teal uniforms flank each side of the road like trees on a path. Girls, walking in the left lane, whisper and giggle to each other. Boys, on the right, try to talk about the latest football game. The occasional bus, bajaj (mini blue taxies), or car slows down to go smoothly down the middle avoiding teachers and administrators walking or biking to keep track of the students. I smile. An hour ago I was walking along this same road wondering if the tactile manipulates would actually work as my lesson plan suggested. Unbeknownst to me then, today was Flag Day. A holiday celebration for the students that (according to a teacher) was started 7 years ago by an Ethiopian who was intrigued by America’s tradition. So, instead of teaching about present simple and progressive verb tenses, I waited for the police to direct our group down to the very open dirt market space. As students looped around the area songs continued to play. A curious three year old in French braids and a yellow dress, came up to hold my hand. Her smile lit up even more as I sunk down next to her to ask about her name and notice her beautiful purple fingernail polish. Sanding and swaying to music bypasses the language barrier all together. Two flags (one Ethiopian and Tigrignian) were raised into the clear blue sky by the police as the national anthem cracked through speakers to the students and on-lookers. There was a speech that only half came through the mutters of those next to me and then we were all released.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start that walk back to town unfrazzled. I was. I hadn’t been told about the ceremony (like other events) which is irritating. Holding that little girl’s hand, reminded me that it doesn’t matter. My day was still pretty great even though it wasn’t like I had planned. Sure, my weekly lesson plan wasn’t going to conquered completely, and I didn’t have my camera for the ceremony, but I’d made another memory that was even better just for going with the flow.

Buna Ceremonies:

Dense corn injera is lightly dusted with a hot spice. Corn is roasting over charcoal turning the tips of the yellow kernels black. Dark, rich, strong, bitter liquid sloshes around my white tiny cup on saucer. Which number cup this? I am no longer sure. While there are only three rounds in the traditional buna ceremony, there is no set number of cups per round.

There are two shifts at my school: morning and afternoon. Each shift is composed of 6 periods with a half hour break between 3^rdand 4^th. This week I taught in the morning shift. Next week, I have afternoon shift. Like the British with their tea time, coffee ceremonies tend to be during the afternoon. Although the taste of coffee is not my forte, I could not say no to Mama when she insisted I come for a traditional buna ceremony on Saturday, Monday, or Wednesday. Wednesday I’d made it to round three (possibly four cups) when one of my site mates dropped by. Being completely hospitably, Mama offered her a cup and injera. She then restarted the ceremony so that Stephanie could get her three rounds in. I possibly ended with 8 cups…maybe 9.

The unexpectancy of buna ceremonies changes my plans of what I get done in a day. I never know when an invitation is going to be issued. But having time to tell Mama about my family and friends in America, talk with compound friends about what is happening in our days, and taking a break is all worth it. I learn more about them as people and the language than I could ever learn by studying flashcards in my room.   

Free Time:

     Two dinner size tables are pushed together in the staff room. A couple chairs pushed around it. A box of chalk sits alone at one end. Various stairs papers are left around. It’s outside on one of the many the stairs where fellow staff memories sit under the shade during their free time between classes. It’s here on these steps inside jokes, precious memories, debates about English grammar and Tigrignian lessons take place for me.

     On Thursday I delighted one of the math teachers, by allowing him to teach me and giving him feedback to make it easier to understand for students. He even gave me homework on different functions to learn and new verbs to memorize. Other English teachers come up to look at my teaching aids and ask to borrow them. The physics and biology teacher laugh when I state their subjects, but remind me that so is English.

     Although I could leave when I am finished teaching, I stay. I stay for the laughs. I stay The conversations that flirt between Tigrigna and English. I stay to continue to building relationships that brighten my day.

Ordinary Selekleka

        My life is mundane and ordinary--making an interesting blog seemingly impossible. Then, I realize that life, even in the ordinary parts of my day, are still different than anything I thought I would experience. So here is a blog full of ordinary events in my life.

         My aquamarine room is about 15 feet by 9 feet. There is one silver metal door and one window looking out into the courtyard of the compound.  A gauzy film of a mosquito net cloaks a twin size metal framed bed at night and is pulled back to make a comfortable place to work during the day. A rickety tan wood table is weighed under by a single electrical burner, fresh ambassa, garlic, bananas, and other fresh vegetables; besides a water filter. Under the window, across from the bed another more stable wooden table stands draped in a purple khanga, above it is a map of Ethiopia with arrows marking locations of PC friends. It’s the breach between studies once done in another country (Tanzania) and a place to prepare for new ones here. Off to the right is a square suitcase that started the year in Pennsylvania, repurposed now as a dresser. A plastic woven rug, yellow, dark blue and deep magenta, covers the cracking gray concrete floor. Pictures of people I love smile down on me as I gaze about the room making me feel wrapped in love and support. Quotes and words of encouragements remind me to keep things in perspective. It’s an ordinary room, but it is mine.

         After I tripped for the 15th time in a ten-minute walk this morning I couldn’t help but question my klutziness. Was I always so clumsy and just didn’t realize it? Then it dawned on me how “trip free” the environments I’ve lived in actually are. Sidewalks are usually paved, flat, and four inches above the street. Roads are paved. Paths are worn down with minimal obstructions in the way of my toes. Sometimes they even have pebbles or barkchips covering them. Selekleka has one wide paved main road with a wide shoulder painted in. The sidewalk is constructed from two foot high concrete blocks lined up one after the other. Going up and off these can be tricky. All the other roads/paths in the town are good old-fashioned rock and dirt. Some places, where summer rains caused excessive runoff, are more rocky and tricky to navigate than others, but every path has rocks scatter throughout the path. Between rocks and animal droppings it’s like navigating through a life size maze. But, oh, the places one can go!

         As I don’t have a refrigerator or way to store an excess of produce and goods, it’s normal to go to the market or small corner stores called shuks daily. I’ve started to use the time to practice my Tigrigna and build relationships. Children cluster around me like a magnet. Their friendly, curious faces searching for an explanation to my presence. Even if they saw me earlier, the young ones always ask my name. Women selling tomatoes, onions, guavas, and corn smile as I walk by and examine their goods. Like the children, they are eager to learn my name and show me their reddest tomatoes. I never really know what the prices are for anything. When I got here a week and a half ago a kilo (2.2 pounds) of tomatoes was 20 birr (about 1 dollar). Today it was down to 10 birr. (I am glad I waited a week). On Saturday, large market day, lettuce made an appearance for the first time in months (according to site mates)! It all depends on what they are able to harvest and bring to town.

         We are moving out of summer (aka rainy season) and into fall (really warmer season). This is my favorite time of year as it feels more and more like spring. Early in the mornings it’s just chilly enough I need a sweatshirt to make breakfast, but I like the soft nip as I walk to school. In the evenings my site mates and I take a walk to the school for exercise and a chance to debrief the day. A couple evenings ago the sunset was so red it caused the cement road to have a pink hue. The golden sun setting behind deep purple hills across the vast soft green teff fields is a sight I will never get tired of. Little yellow flowers--the definition of happiness--spring up along side the road.  A little boy who lives near the road, calls us over to share peas (yes, peas that would be amazing in the cream peas and new potatoes dish my Grandma makes) from plants he’s pulled up from the roots. Before long, the deep blanket of night cloaks the sky with pinpricks of light. The moon is but a silver smile that doesn’t stay out for long. It maybe only 8 o’clock at night, but the music from clubs drifts into my room as another day is recorded in my journal.

         Life is low key now, but like an airplane it will soon be soaring after a slow takeoff. I am currently working on a research paper assigned by Peace Corps that will take plenty of time and energy to complete. Research in this case does not mean internet (thankfully as I rarely have that). Instead, through series of interviews, observations, and exams (mostly of my students at school) I’m assessing English, and will also to gain an understanding of Selekleka as the town. I thought classes were starting this week, but it is just registration and meetings. I do have the textbooks which I’ll use to plan now and adapt for future classes. In two weeks (Oct 10), I have an installation meeting where Peace Corps staff will come and formally introduce me to the community. Right now, I love that I have time to curl up with a book and a cup of tea, but am looking forward to getting into more of a routine, productive-feeling schedule.  You know, normal.