I just
ate yogurt.
Reread
that again to try to find the significance.
I just
ate yogurt.
Did
you? In case you didn’t here you go again: I just ate yogurt.
Maybe
some context will help. I am sitting in my 10 foot by 15 foot room, with only
the little window above the door open, in the Northwest Tigray region of
Ethiopia during hot season. It is also Lent. The one outlet goes to a power
strip that has my computer charger, phone charger and single burner stove plugged
in. Power is working, though water is out.
So,
what is so interesting to write a blog about eating yogurt? If you were in my
classroom, I would pause and wait for some brave soul to answer. However,
seeing as I don’t know who, when, where this blog is being read, I suppose I
shall just have to explain and you can check your own understanding.
As I
tell my students, the first thing to do is identify the words. “I” is the
singular pronoun for one’s self. “Just” implies recently finished. “Ate” is the
past tense of to eat or consume food. “Yogurt”…. Is it the extra fruity,
bursting with sugar Danables’ or the thick, almost sour Greek yogurt? Here
yogurt is not what you picture. Two days ago when a teacher gave me a gift, it
was a liter of milk. After being divided into an old extra-crunchy peanut
butter container and a Tupperware, it’s sat on my kitchen table for two days.
It is what we refer to as yogurt. As one may add berries or honey to Greek
yogurt, I add a little bit of salt to this. Strangely enough, it tastes
remarkably like the offspring from Greek yogurt and cottage cheese parents.
When I
showed my students American peanut butter their noses scrunched up in utter
disgust. Did you do the same thing when hearing about Ethiopian yogurt? As of Friday
20 March 2015 I have been a sworn in Peace Corps Volunteer for 6 months. In
these six months of Selekleka, I have been taught many lessons that I would
have scrunched up my nose at if the context was different. However, what I am
learning here is just as applicable in downtown Spokane, little ol’ Mill City,
or wherever else God calls His children to serve. So, here are six lessons
Selekleka is teaching me:
1. Faith Influences Life
Who
picked up the details of the closed door and window even though it is hot
season in the context above? Or the added detail that it’s Lent? Why are these
important?
For
Lent Orthodox Christians are vegans as part of their fast. No eggs, milk, meat. Nothing from
animals. I wear a cross around my neck. People know that I am Christian.
However, distinguishing the parts of the Christian body are like teaching
Grey’s anatomy to a preschoolar – confusing, leading to confusion, not really
worth the division. Last Saturday I was pulled away from going to get eggs by
my students, as “those are only for the Muslims.” These are the same
good-hearted girls who informed me on Friday, that licking fingers is a
strictly non-Christian behavior. Religion is life.
My
impression of fasting in the States (and someone please comment below if I am
way off base) is that it’s done by some religious people at certain times of
the year. During college, my friends and I would give up something we craved or
used a lot, to focus on God. (One year I gave up any drink besides water.
Another was Facebook.) But that would be only a fraction of the fasting, that
majority of Christians do here. Every Wednesday and Friday there is the fast of
all animal products. Butchers close down. Not only do people not eat animal
products during Lent, they also don’t eat until 9 o’clock in the morning. As my
darling girls explained, it is so they focus on God all morning. While I notice
the lack of energy in early morning classes, I am impressed at the dedication.
The
few times I have bought eggs on a fasting days, the sideways looks I got was
slightly unnerving. I see how uncomfortable restaurant owners shift when a site
mate asks for meat and they don’t have it. It might be different in bigger
cities where you can go anywhere and people don’t know details about you, but I
really don’t mind just going without for awhile. Sure, I would love to have
meat (or pork which is against every religion here), but it has got me thinking
about what I do to incorporate my faith into my life.
I
closed my window and doors because I didn’t want anyone in my compound seeing
me. I’m not embarrassed as I recognize the difference in religious customs, but
I don’t want to tempt them or create a barrier. I didn’t buy the milk: it was given to me by a Muslim friend,
who is completely free from the sideways glances of breaking the fast. I’m not
saying that I completely agree with the rules of fasting nor do I follow the
fast completely (nutella usually breaks this for me), but I am trying to find
ways to spend more conscious time focusing on God.
2. Silver Linings in Mud Puddles
When I
first applied to Peace Corps I rolled my eyes at their motto “the hardest job
you’ll ever love.” How could you love something that is hard? Why would people
swear an oath to hardship? Six months is more than enough time to realize how
hard “hard” can be. It can break people, cause cravings for plane tickets home,
and discourage those who stay. While I am here, I can’t think that thought
without also realizing all the people that are no longer here.
Often
when things start piling up, the aches start forming, the buttons reemerging to
get pushed, and unexpected curve balls making one strike out, it often feels
like swimming in a mud puddle. Completely dirty and not really making any progress.
These kind of days are not confined within in third world country borders. I’m
sure you have those days when you just need a Starbucks, maybe with an extra
shot, or a nap. Hard days are part of life. But as my friend Kelsey mentioned last week in a text “We
are getting really good at finding the faint silver linings.”
It’s
the twirlings, saved candy canes in a cup of cocoa, a kid calling you by name,
fresh hot injera, smell of sweet rain, a student’s smile, that pushes down the
homesickness, unknown physical illness, frustrations, and general overwhelm-ness.
It’s realizing that these hardships will end when the plane ticket comes in 18
months, having a fresh pot of tea when the water is being rationed, an early
bed time when the power goes out and a child’s dark hand in yours forgetting
all differences and barriers -- those rim the mud puddle in light and goodness.
Statistically,
all days cannot be hard. Eventually there will be a good one. It’s just finding
ways to get through the bad that makes all the difference. It’s remembering the
pure joy of stomping in puddles, instead of sinking in it.
3. Family goes beyond blood
June
28, 2015: I woke up, ate some scrambled eggs and cinnamon rolls with
grandparents, parents, Thomas and Heather, my college roommate. After hugging
the youngest and oldest of that group, I got into a van for the longest car
ride of my life, the hour or so to the Spokane Airport. I rushed through
security so that I wouldn’t have to cry, but did later anyways. It was the day
I said goodbye to those closest, dearest, and blood related family (Philip had
his goodbye the night before) for 27 months (3 months training and 24 months of
sworn in service). 27 months. More months than my age. 823 days without being a
text away from those that always loved me. It’s no surprise that part of Peace
Corps’ application asks how are you prepared to be gone for this long. You
can’t be prepared for it.
If
you asked me what my landlady’s name is, I have no idea. I call her “Mama.”
That is what she introduced herself as and what the community calls her. While
walking back from one of my site mate’s house I had one child per finger,
others grabbing onto my bag and shirt as we ran, skipped, laughed to my house.
Walking home Wednesday, I had a cloister of grade 5 girls run after me to walk
me home, calling me sister when they left. Wherever I go in town, people call
out to me, inviting me to play foos ball, drink coffee or just hang out. I’m
given a liter of milk, by someone who knows I am sick and need protein. This
community is my family.
Hospitality
radiates from people here like heat off concrete. It’s addicting, overwhelming,
wonderful. I really have no idea which kids belongs to whom and which ones are
siblings as they play and being watched by everyone. They know how to care,
look out for each other, and give without asking for anything in return. They
welcome me in treating me like a sister, not as a foreign guest.
4. Students are Teachers, Teachers are Students
While
recently Facebook skyping with a college friend (where just sound came through
so it was more like a glorified free phone call), she asked me “So, tell me
about your students?” My mind whirled as it tries to untangle thoughts that
resemble a pile of spaghetti. My 210 big brown-eyed students fill my day whether
or not I have them in class. They are there in the back of my mind as I am
planning lessons, begging to start at the basic for anything and work up. They
are there to walk to school with and expecting me to know all their grades off
the top of my head at any given time. But most importantly, they are there.
Teaching me, reminding me, pushing me to do better than I thought I ever could
be.
This
week I realized my cluelessness. I assumed I knew everything. Sure I am morning
shift so my first period class is low and by 6th period they are ready to go
home and eat. However, walking with students I was reminded how little I do
know. One of my top students, while walking with me to school, shared that he
lives in Selekleka with his 10th grade brother, but that he misses his parents who
live in a village he can only go see (sometimes) on the weekends if he can walk
two hours one way to see them. Another student said good-bye to me after we
walked the driveway into school with a smile. Moments before he confessed he
has 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) to go till home. The next morning he was there
before the gates opened. Students show pleasure in getting barely above a 50%
(passing score) in something they’ve been expected to get worse in. They call
out to me, even if I am with other teachers, to talk to. I’ve been invited to
play volleyball with some and coffee with others. They quickly volunteer
Tigrigna words when I need clarification and repeat it through smiles when I
fail horribly.
They
are teaching me what patience is about and how to set goals despite what others
tell them. They teach me how the school system has prepared or failed them and
what I need to do to help them. I’ve been told only 25% of secondary students
will go to preparatory, yet a higher percentage of my students tell me they are
going to go to University. They
teach me to smile and keep coming to learn. There are students that skip other classes, don’t speak
English, but still show up to my class everyday.
The
other day a teacher and I were discussing students skipping classes and what
the punishment should be. I asked him: “When you were a student did you skip
classes?” he asked me to translate it or to write it down. I went for option
#2. Still the grammar structure of the question threw him. Other teachers came
over and discussed it. Finally the meaning was comprehended, and our
conversation continued with a brief halftime. While walking to our classes I responded to one of his
questions with “Yep.” He laughed and asked what that meant and then if there
were other variations of “yes” in the English language.
While
he is not an English teacher, he does have a very high proficiency for the
language. He enjoys teaching me new Tigrigna words and phrases, but isn’t shy
to speak up when he doesn’t know. He reminds me that teachers are always
supposed to be learning too. Not just from their students, but about their own
strengths and weaknesses. I love when I asked teachers what topic they are
teaching today and they explain their whole lesson to me. While I only enjoyed
Biology in high school (mostly because of the teacher and not the subject
matter), going through it again has been so interesting and fun (same with
history, math, PE, and English). There is so much to learn, why not learn it
from people who are passionate about it?
Teachers
laugh at me when I walk home with students instead of paying 2 birr for a ride
back to town in a three wheeled bajaj. They don’t realize that that is the time
I learn the most. I learn which teachers are liked, what students’ ambitions
are, and what a day looks like to them. Students know that I put on a white
coat and have the respect of teacher. They don’t come up and talk to me at the
staff lounge. They know that I am a teacher.
5. Normal is Relative
What
did you see today? What did you do? Where did you go and how did you get there?
Who did you interact with? What was the intention of the interaction?
I
saw camels, tan and white speckled sheep and chickens crossing the road. I used
a hole in the ground for a toilet. I didn’t use silverware. I taught with a
blackboard and used chalk that dried out my hands. I walked through cut teff
fields, around corn, and over dried riverbeds to school in my Chaco shoes. I
ate yogurt that some consider just to be spoiled milk. I crammed on a bus to
get to Axum and then another to get to Adwa where the windows weren’t opened. I
shook hands with more people than I know names. I waved and greeted people I
see everyday. I ask about families and jobs. I hung out with people just to
pass the time. I take malaria medicine. I walk on the left side of the road. I
wear a skirt that hasn’t been able to be washed in weeks and I brush strands of
hair that are coated in dust and rain water.
Normal
is relative. I am often asked to compare America and Ethiopia. What is better?
What is strange? One student this week asked what animals I have eaten, and was
shocked when I said that I’ve had rabbit and pig. It’s hard to imagine if all
pig products were banned in America. That would take out a staple for many
people. Or if dishwashers and washing machines weren’t able to work. Here
though, it’s normal.
As
I’ve mentioned in other blogs, differences don’t make one thing better than the
other. They are just different. The norms here are good. The norms in America
are good. The norms in Singapore are good. I’ve learned not to judge while
comparing. Not to jump to conclusions about something without finding out the
story behind the custom. To take the time to ask why respectfully and really listen
to the answer.
6. Safety Nets
Have
you heard Demi Lovato’s “Gift of a Friend”? Take a reading break, be thankful
for your internet connection and youtube this! Don’t think of it as teen pop or
anti-whatever-genre-you-like, just listen to the lyrics. “Sometimes you think
you’ll be fine by yourself. Cuz a dream is a wish that you make all alone. It’s
easy to feel like you don’t need help, but it’s harder to walk on your own.” I
came to Peace Corps/Selekleka thinking that I had made this my life dream and I
was going to do it on my own. You, whoever and wherever you are, are proving
this wrong.
“Do
not be afraid” is written hundreds of times throughout the Bible, probably
because people face fears all the time. Maybe not scared of the dark fears, but
uncertainty, doubt, self-denial, lack of purpose, waste of time are all
troubles that I have faced (and will continue to). While the Bible and God are
my help, the letters, packages, facebook messages, random texts, running out of
phone birr calls that reminds me I am surrounded by love even when I feel
completely alone.
“Someone
who knows when you’re lost and you’re scared. There through the highs and the
lows. Someone to count on. Someone who cares besides you where ever you go.” I
thought this would apply to only to friends who have known me the longest. Time
cannot dictate the depth of friendship. The people I have known for a not quite
9 months are still some of those who know when I am putting on fake “I’m fine”
masks. They are there calling me to make sure I am okay, celebrating the highs,
supporting me in the lows and everywhere in between. They share water so I can
feel clean if for a brief moment.
And
there are those who have known me my whole life that never cease to amaze me
with their support and encouragement in the brief Facebook messages and phone
calls. There are those who came into my life pre-Peace Corps and remind me that
I didn’t just leave their thoughts because I left their country. There are
those I have never met in person, but still send me good wishes, and candy to
start an international friendship.
“And
when your hope crashes down shattering all around you feel alone…. There’s no
signs pointing you home. You’re not alone.” In the Hunger Games, President Snow
has a brilliant one-line spark of genius when he states: “Hope is the only
thing stronger than fear.” Above all, you give me hope. You remind me why I am
doing what I am doing. That I am not alone, forgotten or being thrown out like
last year’s fashion as you move on in your lives. You give me hope of
tea/coffee dates, slumber parties, devouring delicious food that range from
sour gummy worms to lasagna, apartment hunting, co-teaching, visiting,
wa-hoo-ing off the end of dock, and so much more. Thank you.
It’s
my friends and family that get me through every other lesson. They---you, are
my safety net, my comfort, my inspiration to be better. I want to be like you for my students,
other friends, strangers to help spread a positive impression of humans
(American or otherwise).
I am a quarter of the way done with
my Peace Corps Ethiopia adventure. 1/4 of the way on the journey learning about
myself, others, and life. 1/4 through an oath I vowed to keep. 1/4 of what was
once unknown. If I keep up the same rate I’ve only met 1/4 of the people I
could meet, had 1/4 of the diarrhea, headaches, mosquito bites I will endure
through this all and written 1/4 of my blogs that my dear mother posts for me.
I don’t know what the next 3/4 much less the next 1/18 of this trip will hold,
but I am completely done with my yogurt.
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