Tuesday, 27 January 2015 Wedding Party

           I roll over and look at my phone clock. 09:32 glares back at me in white bold numbers against a standard background. Awesome! I slept for 9+ hours! The light coming in through the crack between floor and door casts a shimmery, silver light over everything. My bag and shoes were tossed aside when I came in. The white traditional dress is draped carefully over my desk with its elaborate blue and purple design looking dark. My camera is near, since I reviewed pictures with right before going to bed. Remnants of the wedding I attended yesterday.

          When one of my best friends announced that he was going to have a wedding in two weeks, I was so excited. Even though he is a preparatory teacher (geography) we still have had plenty of time to have fun. We’ve developed a great friendship with nicknames and inside jokes. He and Kemal, another preparatory teacher (civics), have become some of my greatest friends, so of course Kemal and I were going to go to his wedding. Last week I finally overcame my introverted fears, went into a new shop, and bought a dress I’d been eyeing for weeks. Thank goodness, they had a size that fit. I marked the date on my calendar and acknowledged that no work was going to be done on that day.

          So yesterday I woke up, took a shower for the first time in a week, shaved calves for the first time in 6 weeks, put in earrings for the first time since who knows when, did my hair up in a S braid that goes around my head to keep it out of my way, packed a small side bag with the necessities and put on my white dress before heading to meet Kemal and Tom, a preparatory English teacher, at a café.

          I am used to people calling out to me. I am used to looks, especially on market day that state clearly:  “WOW! You are white!” but I wasn’t really ready for all the looks I got walking a short distance to a café to meet friends. Kids that normally came running fun a hug and twirl, just gawked and smiled. My two teacher buddies I met up with laughed, smiled, and decided that I was habisha (Ethiopian) for the day.

          Around 12:30 we went to meet other teachers “under the big old tree near Teklay Haymonut.” This is a giant tree next to a church dedicated to Saint Teklay Haymonut that is getting built. Although there were no other teachers, there were lots of primary students on their way back from school. I’m convinced that God sends me children to remind me to not be so self-centered. We had an amazing photo shoot and drawing session that made me forget about all the looks from wearing a traditional dress while were guys wearing t-shirts and jeans. Although I’d never been over to that part of town (Selekleka is bigger than I give it credit for), students still knew my name and wanted to have fun. That was a giant blessing and also a great way to pass the time. The kids taught me about this dried fruit that comes from the tree, and they shared their snap peas with me.

        It was probably around 2 (I didn’t wear a watch) when I set out with other teachers “to go around the mountain towards Eritrea” to the father of the groom’s house. Walking over rocks and dirt, Tom, Kemal and I talked about the differences of England English and American English. How did the word “queue” get switched to “line?” Why do some words have the u taken out (ex. favourite= favorite)? Why do we add –ed to form past tense verbs, but there are irregulars (run doesn’t changed to runned)? It’s conversations like this that I love having in all their goofiness, seriousness and abstractness.

          Although we three got separated from other teachers who knew where they were going, we did manage to get to the wedding eventually. (There was a detour that involved jumping a ditch and traipsing through some old cornfields.) The similarities to a funeral ceremony hit me instantly as I ducked under a canopy of branches, animal skins, and tarps to sit on a woven skin bench facing teachers on the other side. Even though we were some of the first people to arrive, there were benches around the medium size enclosure. Five large colored barrels were sitting in the middle filled with sewa. Stacks of colored plastic plates, piles of orange and yellow round, cone-shaped cups were ready -- next to large, gold tea kettles. The only difference I could readily spot was an area that was left bench- free.

         Soon plastic plates and cups were being passed around. I didn’t take a cup, but Kemal didn’t take either. He would whisper my first cultural lesson of the day to explain. Kemal is Muslim. In villages and traditional cultures, Muslims cannot eat meat prepared by Christians and vice versa. He explained that it was okay when we had eaten meat together at another Muslim’s house as that was in town and with friends, but here he had to respect the culture and refrain from eating. I don’t like eating on my own, and I really felt uncomfortable eating next to someone who couldn’t eat, but he insisted that I eat, knowing I had had an early breakfast. As I was getting some small burbary sauce ladled onto my injera, one of the servers brought over a plate for Kemal and a bowl of yogurt, a delicious food that he is allowed to eat. Seeing my smile, the server also dished some for me next to my meat. I am not Muslim, and I don’t know what having both says about me in this culture, but the teachers around me smiled and didn’t seem to be bothered. Kemal was happy. And I have to admit I love yogurt with burbary even though I don’t get it often. As I wasn’t drinking sewa (something else Muslims don’t drink either), I was handed a glass of “milk.” It was chunky like yogurt often is here, but it was delicious.

        Other teachers started to filter in next to us. Those of us who had left earlier didn’t have to go to school for finals today, but those coming in had had to proctor exams before they were free to come. I did noticed that there were no women before the teachers came. I was informed that they were either with the bride or preparing things to come later. During the night I realized that the enclosure was definitely sectioned based on gender. There was a large area with mats where the women and children sat, medium size area with men wrapped in white were on benches, and the third side where teachers of various genders were cloistered. Speakers and sound system were delivered via camel and soon music was playing.

         As the sunset, music got louder and sewa cups kept getting refilled the night passed with dancing, laughing and talking. Yes, I danced. Yes, it was kind of awkward, but --oh my was it fun! Tigrigna dancing focuses primarily on moving counter clockwise around in a circle with the beat. There is lots of shoulder movements involved. Although I had never done it before, teachers were enjoying showing me how to do something else. It’s also fun to watch others dance to a beat that is so rich in culture. Kemal mentioned on one song that he didn’t know-- it was specific to Selekleka and Western Tigray and not Adwa where he is from.

          Throughout the night people kept asking me to compare this ceremony to American weddings. Here I never saw a wedding in the sense of vows and exchanges of rings, though when the groom came around to greet us he had a very posh gold band on his finger. The various ceremonies I have attended in America range from Air Force bases, churches and outside venues. I don’t know where the vows were exchanged. Just that “last night, the groom and groomsmen went to the bride’s house to have fun all night.” They all returned to the groom’s father’s house this morning and slept during the day till guest arrived. Even though some time is allotted for American couples to have pictures taken before the reception, the guests go a relatively short time without seeing the happy couple. Here I didn’t see the groom for at least two hour after we arrived and the bride after it had gotten really dark. Food, music and drinks are things I am thinking are universals at weddings.

         However, I did learn that this village ceremony is different from those held in Adwa or other parts of the country. In Adwa the groomsmen go get the bride and bring her to the groom on the morning of the wedding day. Both bride and groom dance with guests. Here only the groom danced (at least until we left at 10). Others told me that the music also differs based on location and some is very different from Mekele to here. A teacher friend congratulated me for dancing just as well to Amharic music in an Amharic way as I did with Tigrignian. While people were dancing around in a circle men were on the inside waving tails and flashlights around the dancers. When I asked why this was, one teacher friend just laughed and stated, “I don’t know. It’s just our culture.”

         As the smiling half moon looked down on us, I left with Kemal and other teacher friends (Tom had left earlier for another wedding). Although the wind was cold, the double scarf that matched my dress kept me warm. It was tricky to walk in the dark back up, around, and down the mountain, but nothing could keep me from smiling. Now as I finish by tea and banana breakfast at 11:20, I realize there is another day ahead of me full of fun and adventures. I get to finish pre-final exam grades (accounts for 60% of students grade, final is 40%), check to see if post office is open to send letters to American students and go have ga’at, really thick porridge made from flour, with a teacher friend this evening. Just a little insight into my fun-filled life that ranges from death one day to weddings the next. 

Sunday 25 January 2015 Oddest Party Favor Ever

         Remember when you got frustrated by a grade on an assignment in school and you would crinkle it up? Didn’t matter if it was a group assignment or a returned test. You just crinkled it up in a ball to make it disappear. Or at Young Life Club when the goal of the game was to crumble up as much newspaper as possibly and get it on the other team’s side before a song ended. (Not sure what the point of this mixer was, but it was fun!) Well, now there sits a crumbled up, old 9^th grade history test on my table, but isn’t empty.

        Although today is Sunday, it is also the first day of finals. Students have three subjects per day for the next four days before their ten day semester break. Today’s subjects were Amharic, History and H.P.E (Health and Physical Education). Although I was not mandated to go, I went early for the ninth grade section of the day to hand back exercise books that were neglected on Friday. Even though I wonder how much my students will study, I want to make sure they at least had their notes so they could. I walked with students out to school at 9:15 after a scrambled egg breakfast. The 10^th graders were still taking their tests so I just hung out with friends. One of my preparatory teacher friends came late, but invited me to silsi and dabo breakfast at the small café on campus. So delicious!

         I handed back exercises books to students who were finally allowed through the gates and told where to go for their finals. Then the vice director insisted that I get an egg and tomato sandwich that had been paid for by the school for all teachers. I split it with a primary student who didn’t have breakfast and was in charge of locking the gate. As I was about to leave around 12:45 I was informed that there is a tescar, funeral ceremony, in one of the neighboring villages that teachers are invited to. However, I had already agreed to walk back to Selekleka with other friends. So I walked back the 2.5 km (1.55 miles) to home, drank some water and headed back to school by 2:00. Ninth graders finished their HPE exam, teachers gathered and off we went around 2:30 for tescar in a village about 3 km away (opposite direction of town) by foot.

        Like the other tescar I attended, guests sat on benches under a canopy of branches. I cloistered in with the teacher buddies (all boys) and soon food came around. Lots of food! Corn injera is an ultimate favorite of mine that I am sorry is offered at ceremonies that are so sad. The meat also was delicious with lots of burbary. I tried a local drink called mes for the first time. It is made from honey, water and “something else.” I later found out that “something else” is alcohol, but I couldn’t taste it over the very powerful, famous Tigray honey. 

       So, there I was: Completely full and satisfied with the meal. Laughing with buddies who love to make me laugh and answering their “compare this to American culture” questions. We were about to leave when we noticed this one guy carrying a large woven basket making our way to us handing out something. From a distance I thought it was red apples, but as it got closer I almost dropped my sticky mes beaker. It was meat. He was handing out fist size chunks of meat.

        I saw him put a slab of it in my open (shocked) left hand, but still didn’t comprehend that it was meat till my hand felt sticky. I looked up at my teacher buddies and couldn’t help but laugh at their questioning looks and the audacity of the situation. I have never been handed a chunk of meat right into my hand from who knows where. The teacher sitting next to me handed me a blank history test (the one I had typed up last week) so I could wrap up my meat in it and finish off my mes before we all left.

       I left with nine guys, all carrying crumpled up pieces of paper in their hands. I had to smile as it looked like we were all holding snowballs, but that is happening in another place halfway around the world. We instead walked 6 km home, got a new sunburn line, and had to cook up some meat immediately when we got home. Yes, it’s strange. Yes, it’s not normal. But today is just one more example of where I learn more about the Ethiopian culture and people that makes me fall in love with it all over again.

      I learned that honoring life is acknowledging death. I learned that people love to share their culture if you show interest and ask questions. People are appreciative when you show that you are trying to integrate and learn about their culture instead of assuming yours is better. Trying English is scary for Tigrignians -- like Tigrigna is for me, but mistakes are where we learn. When you are grossed out, laughing is another alternative that breaks the ice and allows for great discussion. Six km (3.72 miles) is a good distance to have some amazing and goofy conversations that build friendships. And, raw chunks of meat are a delicious, but odd party favor. 

Saturday 24 January 2015 “Notes on the First Semester”

 (Janet’s note:  Most of the quotes are lesser known lyrics from The Sound of Music.  Jess would argue that they are not lesser known, since she’s known them forever!  Good girl!) 

It’s come and it’s almost gone. On Friday I had my students for the last time this semester and on Wednesday they take their final exam. By next weekend the semester’s grades will be finalized. A week-long semester break will allow all of us to have time to recuperate before going strong for another 6 units of textbook material till late June. My first semester in my first year of teaching has come and is almost gone.

Filtering through the scribbled out lessons plans (many in a lesson plan format, but some doodled on scraps of paper), I’m awed at how much my students have had to take in this year. Adjectives, verbs, prepositions and nouns in sets of six used for weekly spelling words. Additionally key vocabulary circled and highlighted to make sure it’s reviewed in other lessons too. (ex. Homonym, synonym, homograph, biography.) Sentence cards ready to go for variations present, past and future tense exercises. A priority mail shipping box with posters rolled up and sticking up ready to be reused next year or for review. Plastic, that once covered a package of poster paper for shipping, is now around a single page and is marked with pink dry erase ink from the last class correcting all the punctuation errors to review for a final. Spelling tests and short exams ready to be put into the grade book. A duct taped manila envelope waiting to be sent back to the states to our pen-pal-ing 8^th and 9^th graders in Washington State. This semester has gone into learning, exploring, testing, and figuring out what works both for my students  and myself.

Re-reading journal entries and reflections on lesson plans I can now admit how scared I was at the beginning of the semester. Seventy students each in three classes equals a lot of work! English levels that range from Pre-K to above this text book. Classrooms seemed small and cramped. As Maria sings: “I’ve always longed for adventure. To do the things I’ve never dared. Now, here I am facing adventure, now, why am I so scared?” I was scared at the prospect of doing more harm than good, of not reaching my students where they need me to be, of being too different to connect. I had been told I was a good teacher from mentors, friends, and various observations through college, but that was all in the States where I had resources, time, no language barriers, small classes (28 doesn’t seem large anymore) and a copy machine.

This semester I’ve learned to not allow complaining of what I don’t have to be my crutch. I may not be able to teach like I used to (no School House Rock videos), but I can still teach.  I know how to change the lessons to make a more logical flow than the book suggests, and students are building new knowledge off previous knowledge. I know that on certain days at certain periods my classes will decide learning is not worth the two hour walk to school, and I have to pick up energy and involvement if I want to keep the learning process going. I know that lesson plans are more like guidelines and that one has to focus on the objective not the way you thought you were going to get there with students. I know I am on my way to “seeking the courage I [originally] lack. The courage to serve them with reliance. Face my mistakes without defiance. Show them I’m worthy and while I show them--I’ll show me.” Some days I collapse and think “How/Why in the world did my day go like that?” But then I remember that God is in control and if having an exhausting day is what He needs me to do in order to further His kingdom and my life, then so be it.

This has not been an easy, breezy semester. I doubt I will ever have that, especially not in the next two years. But I no longer shudder at the prospect of problems. I have the attitude to “let them bring on all their problems. I’ll do better than my best. I have confidence they’ll put me to the test, but I’ll make them see I have confidence in me.” They have tried me in more ways than I thought. I found buttons being pushed that I didn’t know existed. I’ve been frustrated, upset, disgruntled and any other exhausted adjective you can think of. But I rejoice when they come to me with their problems. At the beginning of the year it was all I could do to get them talking to me about anything that wasn’t previously scripted in their exercise books. That is not the case anymore. I hear all about the chores they did over the weekend, and how this teacher upset or confused them and if I can help. They ask what the difference is in ‘graph’ and ‘graphy’ between key terms like ‘homo-graph’ and ‘bio-graphy.’ And do you say “sourer” or “more sour” even though the rule says that more is for double syllable adjective and sourer sounds funny? Students come to me at break when I want to relax to ask something and soon a whole group is milling around. I’ve learned it is possible to smile while exhausted and overwhelmed. 

In all honesty and respect, Whitworth’s School of Education did do a great job of preparing me for teaching over here. Sure, my lessons now are not having to comply with state or CORE standards (I do however look at these occasionally to see how we compare) or do I have to bring technology into every lesson, but there are similarities. However, I don’t think I could have foreseen the importance of classroom management and routines. What works in classes of 25 isn’t guaranteed to work for 70. When I started, I thought “somehow I will impress them. I will be firm but kind. And all those children, heaven bless them, they will look up to me and mind me.” Without really putting forward the thought or routines needed. This semester I have learned to adapt and teach more management skills so that classes run more efficiently. I have students for 42 minutes 4 times a week and that is often the only English they receive. During student teaching I was hesitant to be harsh and firm. Not anymore. No means no. Homework is due when I say not when you turn it in. Group work cannot be entirely written by the same person. Now at the end of the semester  “With each step I am more certain. Everything will turn out fine.  I have confidence the world can all be mine. They’ll have to agree I have confidence in me…I have confidence in confidence alone.” In no way is my classroom perfect, and I wonder what advisors would say if they observed me now, but step by step we learn and grow.

         I still have a mountain of work ahead of me, but I love the view of where I am now.  I think my life and semester can be summarized best by this quote from Sound of Music: “What is the most important lesson you’ve learned here, my child?” Reverend Mother asked.  “To find out what is the will of God and to do it whole heartedly.” Maria is right on track. I pray I can do the will of God daily and pursue it with my whole heart, even on days when I’m scared and feel at a lost of confidence.

8 January 2015 Teskel: A Funeral of Sorts

       Shade relieves my sun-kissed slightly glistening skin. The kilometer long walk on the 2 o’clock blacktop wasn’t too bad as my friend (a teacher from the preparatory school) was informing me about historical and geographical features. The crowded bus where I climbed over an elderly man and no windows were opened, was enjoyable, as Mohammed (a fifth grader going to Shire) found delight in speaking to a forengi (foreigner).          

       The shock of getting off the bus 10 (?) kilometers past the school was an adventure when my buddy started to lead me on a path barely marked out in what I never thought was anything. Turns out it is the entrance for the village called Zero Zero. On the first dirt path, I had to avoid getting skewered by bulls coming down. The valley was beautiful until I realized I had to climb up rocks surroundings it (while in a skirt) to get to the funeral ceremony at the top. Once on the top I sat in the sun with many teacher buddies before continuing. 
The area where the ceremony takes place is as wide as about 50 men, shoulder to shoulder, long and 40 wide. I know this because people are sitting around the outskirts on benches or tarps in rows.

         Those sitting in the middle and around the opposite side (as the teachers and I am) appear to have a small bush in front of each of them, constructed from pruned olive branches. We are sitting on benches constructed by long 2x6’s of alternating colors propped on small sawhorses like stands. The shade? It is from a canopy of branches formed by laying logs on cut tree poles, which branches are laid across. I have to bend to avoid getting hit or disrupting the contraption. My western mind smiles at the beauty and how wonderful this would be for an outside wedding reception----if slightly taller. 


         After a prayer for the decease, where I only understand the list of saints called upon and the name of the family, food is distributed. If feeding the five thousand was as synchronized as this, I am no longer shocked everyone was able to get food in a short amount of time. Those sitting on the ground spruce up their small bushes. Teenagers come around and give everyone a folded piece of injera. My eyes are shifted as other boys and men come around the benches with cups and plates. I am hesitant about the cups as I saw the barrels of sewa cracked opened, but am reassured there is water. Sewa is a locally made alcoholic drink that is used for all traditional ceremonies, but is not something I prefer. Teachers have eaten with me enough times to know I don’t drink alcohol but still try to see if I take some. My yellow, plastic plate is soon covered with teff injera, deep red burbary sauce and a heap of meat (my guess goat, but it could have been cow). Corn injera comes around to be balanced in a heap in my left hand as I start to dig into my meal. While I wasn’t able to prevent an extra piece of corn injera being added to my hand, I am able to smile to servers and prevent anymore from being added to plate. I finish everything without getting a drop on my white t-shirt or new Christmas skirt (thanks Grandma!), but I’m feeling very very full. A walk back to town would be perfect right about now. 


         After washing a hand (only use one to eat with) off in some water and drying with some leaves, I start to leave with a friend and a couple teachers. Even though I didn’t have any sewa, I trip and am unbalanced going down the steep rocks. It didn’t help that there were donkeys, cows, camels, and people carrying injera on their heads coming up the way. We laugh all the way down and are relieved when leveled, rock free asphalt is under foot again. 


         When I woke up this morning, I had no idea my afternoon would consist of going to a teskel: a ceremony to celebrate a person after 40-100 days from his/her passing (this one was 40 days). But that’s the way life goes. As my teacher buddy mentioned on the way up the mountain: “This is an exchange of culture that Peace Corps wants you to share.” And my other teacher buddy mentioned on the way down: “Now, you know a little more about our culture.” Yes. Yes I do. I see how they value life and commemorate death in ways that are respectful and heartfelt. As the prayer was weaving through the white cloaked people, a baby goat was calling frantically and hopping around trying to find its mother. The vibrate green branches were overhead. The picture of my colleague’s father was on a table. Life and death together.

(January 2 – 7, 2015) American Thanksgiving Looks Puney

                    What did you do for Thanksgiving this year? Unless you had a “Gilmore Girls” galore marathon meal eating fiasco (see season 3), I am guessing it went something along the following lines: Get together for late lunch or dinner with family and eat a ton of food---Rolls, white meat, dark meat, ham, green beans, random casseroles, cranberries, pumpkin pie, apple pie, pecan pie, whip cream, ice cream, coffee, juice, pop, and whatever your family specific traditions are (like pickled asparagus or deviled eggs). My family eats huge lunch, goes comatose, and then feasts on left-overs for dinner and during following weeks. Pretty much a one-day one meal wonder. 

                     Oh, if only this was that simple here. 
Day 1: Friday, January 2 or 24 Tahisas, was Saint Teklay Himonout’s celebration day. This is the day the great saint was martyred. While the 24th of every month is dedicated to this saint, this is the one where he was killed and thus the celebration is extreme. However, it is not a cause for school to cancel.

                     Even though I ate a scrambled egg deluxe breakfast, when I got to school two different teachers invited me for tea but changed to splitting silisi before I realized what was happening in order to celebrate. At lunch, I left the school - even though it is English Day and I claim to be there all day - with vice director to go to a teacher’s house. Here we met the majority of Shift 1 (my shift) teachers. Plates were dished out followed closely by injera. Taking one only, I soon realized my mistake when 4 different dishes were piled on top of it. There was hilbet (a white whipped bean dish), silsi, [Janet's internet definition=sauce made with tomato, onions, and spice] shiro, [Janet's definition = bean stew] and cabbage with crinkle cut French fries. I had to get a second injera roll to eat down to my original one. However, when attempting to eat down, the gracious host was always quick to add more to plate. It is hard enough to try to gauge how much one can eat and the ratio of injera to food remaining, but being served more doesn’t help. Thankfully though, the food was absolutely delicious so getting stuffed didn’t hurt quite so bad.

                  After teaching my three back-to-back classes, I went home for a quick shower than off to another teacher’s house for a birthday/Teklay celebration. Here a similar thing happened; however, the plate-bowl was smaller, but was constantly getting offered more food. Injera, bread, silsi, hilbet, shiro, other bean dish I never got name of, and cabbage were all piled on. While I had to take more injera to finish off meal, I couldn’t finish the roll and bread and had to set them aside. After a couple hours of hanging out with teachers that kept rotating through, I was finally able to finish off plate with some more silsi and hilbet (an absolute favorite combination). Giant glasses of “jolly juice” (think orange kool-aid) was able to help wash every thing down. I could only make it through one round of buna ceremony (and it was good coffee even by my standards) before having to call it a night to give stomach a break. While turkey would have helped me sleep, I was absolutely stuffed. 


                 Day 2: Saturday, January 3, or 25 Tahisas, was Mohammed’s 1465th birthday.

          While I am pretty positive I celebrated this holiday in Zanzibar in February, TV announcements and party invitations indicate it is today. Having no internet to verify, I am going with what my Muslim friends tell me.
           I only had one breakfast (single egg), and had mac and cheese for lunch (thanks to Grandma sending Cheez Whiz). However, just as I finished lunch, my teacher buddy and Tigrigna tutor called me to go over homework so I went. Ended up eating everything I had had at his house the night before at slightly smaller proportions (minus hilbet ) and the full coffee ceremony with popcorn. Went home to relax where, 45 minutes later, my phone rings with my vice director saying there is a buna ceremony with my usual weekly group of teachers happening now. So, I went and was pleasantly surprised when another teacher friend from the Prep school was there. We all laughed and joked around while having ceremony (three rounds of coffee), bananas, and popcorn.

                         After a while, vice-director and school buddy and daughters left, so it was me and my two favorite Muslims. We ended up watching the news and discussing (very broadly) the holiday and traditions that Muslims practice. Around 7:15ish another teacher and his wife showed up and we repeated the ceremony. Thankfully she makes good coffee and the cups are small, but still. Close to 8 they left, and I made to go, but my friend assured me it was okay and he would walk me home so there wasn’t any worry. 

                      Soon after, our hostess surprised me with an elaborate dinner of injera and goat berbary wat. [Janet's definition = spicy stew]. It was extremely good and messy. However, walking home after I felt like I wouldn’t eat again for a long while…and I wouldn’t ---till late lunch the next day. 


                        Day 3: Wednesday, January 7, or 29 Tahisas, was Ethiopian Christmas. While I did celebrate Christmas with ample food two weeks ago (see previous blog), this one takes the cake.

                I fell back to sleep around 4 when chickens got slaughtered, but slept in till 9! Had enough time to take a quick bucket shower and slice an onion for eggs when my dear neighbor invited me over to her house. Hot doro (chicken) wat isn’t what I pictured for breakfast with injera 9[spongy bread]  and himbassa (flat bread), but it was delicious. She woke up at 3 to start cooking everything! The popcorn for her buna ceremony filled in all the gaps. However, she still thinks I don’t like buna (and I am picky) so I wasn’t asked to drink any.

                Got back to change into my white Ethiopian shirt (see pictures on facebook of swearing in ceremony) and headed to one of my site mate’s house. Her dear compound friends had a plate piled with dulet (ground liver with garlic and other spices) and chopped goat in delicious sauce being offered to me before I had been there five minutes. Oh it was so much food, but so good! Today marks the end of a 44 day fast (from animal products) for the deeply devoted Orthodox Christians so the meat is delicious and in great supply.

                        After chilling and letting food settle, we went to our other site mate’s compound where they were having a Christmas/Christening celebration with injera and chicken wat with extra spicy burbary. I was offered sewa [locally made alcohol] but turned it down. Although I only had a little to be respectful, it filled me up to stuffed all over again.

              In order to bring good luck to my first site mate’s house, we went back there to have a buna ceremony. The coffee was “Presbyterian”  by Grandpa’s definition! So thick and strong I could barely get it down, politely. I excused myself afterwards to go take a nap.

                        Then headed to have coffee ceremony with teacher buddies, but since there wasn’t food at that one, I ended up having mac and cheese late at night for dinner. 
        American Thanksgiving may be a one-day wonder with a month till Christmas comes around, but Ethiopians have a multi-day marathon of eating to the brink. I have a better understanding of how hobbits must feel with all their meals spaced out, but have no clue how anyone can do this every day. True, not all Ethiopians celebrate every holiday, but I was amazed at how many individuals celebrated or were with people of different religions for the festivities. Besides learning how to balance injera and wat, I realized how blessed I am to have friends in various religions and have the opportunities to feast with all of them.











                   I only had one breakfast (single egg), and had mac and cheese for lunch (thanks to Grandma sending Cheez Whiz). However, just as I finished lunch, my teacher buddy and Tigrigna tutor called me to go over homework so I went. Ended up eating everything I had had at his house the night before at slightly smaller proportions (minus hilbet ) and the full coffee ceremony with popcorn. Went home to chill where, 45 minutes later, my phone goes off with my vice director saying there is a buna ceremony with my usual weekly group of teachers happening now. So, I went and was pleasantly surprised when another teacher friend from the Prep school was there. We all laughed and joked around while having ceremony (three rounds of coffee), bananas, and popcorn.

                   After a while, vice-director and school buddy and daughters left, so it was me and my two favorite Muslims. We ended up watching the news and discussing (very broadly) the holiday and traditions that Muslims practice. Around 7:15ish another teacher and his wife showed up and we repeated the ceremony. Thankfully she makes good coffee and the cups are small, but still. Close to 8 they left, and I made to go, but my friend assured me it was okay and he would walk me home so there wasn’t any worry. 

        Soon after, our hostess surprised me with an elaborate dinner of injera and goat burbary wat. It was extremely good and messy. However, walking home after I felt like I wouldn’t eat again for a long while…and I wouldn’t ---till late lunch the next day. 


                        Day 3: Wednesday, January 7, or 29 Tahisas, was Ethiopian Christmas. While I did celebrate Christmas with ample food two weeks ago (see previous blog), this one takes the cake.

                I fell back to sleep around 4 when chickens got slaughtered, but slept in till 9! Had enough time to take a quick bucket shower and slice an onion for eggs when my dear neighbor invited me over to her house. Hot doro (chicken) wat isn’t what I pictured for breakfast with injera and himbassa, but it was delicious. She woke up at 3 to start cooking everything! The popcorn for her buna ceremony filled in all the gaps. However, she still thinks I don’t like buna (and I am picky) so I wasn’t asked to drink any.

                Got back to change into my white Ethiopian shirt (see pictures on facebook of swearing in ceremony) and head edto one of my site mate’s house. Her dear compound friends had a plate piled with dulet (ground liver with garlic and other spices) and chopped goat in delicious sauce being offered to me before I had been there five minutes. Oh it was so much food, but so good! Today marks the end of a 44 day fast (from animal products) for the deeply devoted Orthodox Christians so the meat is delicious and in great supply.

                 After chilling and letting food settle, we went to our other site mate’s compound where they were having a Christmas/Christening celebration with injera and chicken wat with extra spicy burbary. I was offered sewa but turned it down. Although I only had a little to be respectful, it filled me up to stuffed all over again.

              In order to bring good luck to my first site mate’s house, we went back there to have a buna ceremony. The coffee was “Presbyterian”  by Grandpa’s definition! So thick and strong I could barely get it down, politely. I excused myself afterwards to go take a nap.

                 Then headed to have coffee ceremony with teacher buddies, but since there wasn’t food at that one, I ended up having mac and cheese late at night for dinner. 
        American Thanksgiving may be a one-day wonder with a month till Christmas comes around, but Ethiopians have a multi-day marathon of eating to the brink. I have a better understanding of how hobbits must feel with all their meals spaced out, but have no clue how anyone can do this every day. True, not all Ethiopians celebrate every holiday, but I was amazed at how many individuals celebrated or were with people of different religions for the festivities. Besides learning how to balance injera and wat, I realized how blessed I am to have friends in various religions and have the opportunities to feast with all of them.