365 days

Flight No 2327v left Spokane International Airport at 10:00 a.m. on 29/07/2014 to Seattle’s SEA-TAC. I had two bags checked that were barely under the 50 pound limit and a carry-on that would stay with me through my 5 hour layover and two flights that day to Washington D.C. I’d get into DC airport around midnight and take a taxi four miles to the hotel housing volunteers. Facebook may be able to pull up status reports and pictures from a year ago, but it can’t “calculate” what this last year has held. So, let’s look at the numbers.

12 teaching units were covered ranging from nationalities to HIV/Aids to hobbies. These units were broken down into 12 credits that I taught each week (3 classes x 4 periods per week). If I could find an empty class I took advantage of it. However, there was much, much more than what the book taught happening in 9E, 9I, and 9Q classrooms. Besides changing curriculum and adding to it, I was taught how to listen to students, read what their body language is saying, speak slowly, and write precisely and with awareness of limited board space. We found ways to make learning fun and enjoyable. There was a time for group work and a time when the individual had to shine. Time when translation is needed and when it becomes a crutch. We got through 12 units of grammar and vocabulary focusing on all the learning skills, but mostly focusing on individual’s needs to succeed while enjoying learning.

“G11” is the mark of a change for Peace Corps Ethiopia. We are starting off a new initiative called PELLA. While this program has three goals, overall it is to promote English in the school system by having volunteers be full-time teachers. Before this, volunteers were working alongside elementary teachers and doing clubs on their own. By us being the guinea pigs on many levels, it has been both exciting and irritating to be part of this new program. It has been a giant blessing to be part of something new and have such a great feedback for volunteers who come after us and will continue this program. However, sometimes we are seen as other volunteers who can go to trainings whenever expected without the reality of the school year being considered. Overall, I’m proud to be a G11 in Ethiopia. I’m also extremely pumped to be one of the eleven G11’s still in Tigray, the northern region of Ethiopia. While I miss the other four volunteers that left for various reasons and wish they were here, I’m glad to be serving along some great minds, passionate hearts, and dedicated individuals.

10 time-zones has been the hardest, most humbling, prayer-provoking, blessing. I’ve fought to get used to normal this year. While some friends are closer, having my immediate family and many friends so far away has been tough. There are only certain hours when phone calls, skype, and facebook messaging is possible, but even then sleep is usually compromised. Instead of sending text to those listed on my phone as favorites, I send up prayers while they sleep. I also trek to the post office as often as possible to send a letter for 10 birr. However, in a few days parents will step off plane to break the spell of time-zone barriers.

9 graders have captured my heart….maybe forever in the 9 months I had them. When I went into Whitworth’s School of Education I wanted to teach 3^rd or 4^th grade. Young enough to still want to learn, but old enough to know how go to the bathroom, tie shoes, and recognize letters and numbers. While I was never given a practicum in those grades, I fell in love with 5^th and figured that would be what I would always teach. But these 9^th graders have taught me the joy of teaching one subject instead of self-contained style. They are old enough to catch sarcasm, know respect, and young enough to still see the importance of education. We can play soccer at recess and talk about serious issues like discrimination in the classroom. While I know their English levels vary from 3^rd to 9^th grade level, and what I’m teaching isn’t taught to 9^th graders in the states, older grades (5-8) are what I’ll be looking into teaching when I get back.

8 birr for fuul. While I cook many of my own meals, sometimes I’m just craving some good food. Fuul, a mix of beans and spices, is the perfect comfort food when rain comes and cuts out power or after a long day of teaching. This isn’t the only new craving being here has given me. While I originally detested injera, now I can’t go more than 3 days without eating some. I love the thick porridge called ga’at that must be homemade, and the orange, runny sauce called shiro with extra garlic in it. There is the torn up bread that you mix with spice, scrambled eggs and yogurt for special fata and the torn up pieces of injera called injera firfir. There’s delicious pieces of meat grilled to perfection called chakala tibbs when meat is allowed, and salata when it’s fasting time. Those 8 meals have kept me not only alive but oh, so happy. Sure, I still crave American processed foods, grapes, and saltines, but my tastes buds have been opened up to newness. (And, if worst comes to worst, it only takes 8 birr to get a stool sample and medicine for giardia.)

7 days is usually the discrepancy between the Ethiopian calendar and the Gregorian/European one. For example today is 29/07/2015 or 22/10/07 E.C.. I’ve heard multiple reasons for why there is a second calendar, but the truth is, it’s part of Ethiopia’s charm. Ethiopia was never colonized. It was occupied briefly by the Italians before the Battle of Adwa, but that’s about it. The Italians took what is modern day Eritrea, but the Ethiopia today has remained free since Queen Sheba’s day. Their calendar is just one part of how they illustrate their freedom and uniqueness. No one but them uses their 13 month calendar.

6 trainings and dialogs have given me breaks from Selekleka. These have ranged from trainings on gardening, reconnecting with all of G1l, female empowerment program, and program management. Through all of these, it’s been a humbling reminder to listen to others around me. Through sharing ideas (both good and bad), expressing struggles, and rejoicing in triumphs the ties of friendships and camaraderie have been strengthened.

5 months with no water has me reconsidering what Americans take for granted. I remember watching the youtube videos being posted about the bucket challenge, and wonder what that water could be used for. Since last summer, that’s become even more apparent. Now, I’m used to not washing hair for a week, and limiting what I can cook and wash. When I do wash hair it’s with a couple cups of water. My 20 liter (5.2 gallon) bucket lasts me 2-3 weeks. I know that it takes 3 liters in two buckets, to wash and rinse my thick, white, chalk covered teacher coat after a month of use. I know I can wash all my dishes in 1/4 liter of water. Dishwashers, laundry machines and showers will forever be seen as a blessing.

4 months have to be reported on the Volunteer Reporting Form (VRF). This elaborate form documents all activities that volunteers have done within the time frame. Our last one went from Feb 1 – May 31, 4 full months of activities. This includes direct teaching (where we use the 4Mat Lesson Plan), clubs, workshops, and extra activities. For each activity there are certain indicators and data that has to be entered. Besides activities, volunteers are asked to provide a success story, list of contacts, assessment on cultural integration, challenges, lessons learned, future planned activities, and feedback. 4 months doesn’t seem like that much time, but it has been a new challenge to make the most out of all the time here. While long term goals are important (and what I tend to gravitate towards) short term goals are needed and important to focus on.

3 months of Pre-Service Training (PST) in Butajira seem so long ago. Looking back on it, I’m surprised at my confidence and outlook. I never doubted that I could do this. In fact, I assumed that I could because I’d been planning for it for so long and I was a certified teacher. Looking back, I see that self as a kid proud of a play-dough construction, not realizing the joy of a sculpture. I’ve learned and grown more into the person God intended me to be than I ever imagined in those 3 months. However, it was in those 3 months that friendships were established with volunteers all over Ethiopia. Friends are there whenever I need them, and those that provide my mailbox with random blessings. Time cannot contain how friendships are formed or what we think of ourselves. People can become strong friends in a short amount of time, or change can happen slowly and steadily through time. 

2 semesters have been completed. 2^nd semester was such a quick, easier, more fun semester partially because I knew my students and school system better. First semester was used to learn the ropes and expectations, while 2^nd I was free to explore and push students further. While first are often seen as great, exciting, and new second was used to breath, be comfortable, and focus on more than survival mode. There is hope that 2^nd year will be like that too. The lessons that this year taught me will be used to make the most of the 2^nd and final year of this Peace Corps adventure.

1 year away from Pacific Northwest. 1 journal documenting it all. 1 stuffed animal elephant keeping me company. It’s taken all this time to learn so much. To learn how to teach a language I take for granted. To learn appreciate the ups and downs of a new program, while hoping for its survival. To have my heart opened up in unlikely ways by so many brown-eyed students. To appreciate new food that sounds, looks, or smells different. To learn lessons and values of a culture proud of who they are. To realize that there is still learning and growing to go. To appreciate even the little things and not take them for granted. To make short-term goals, and strive passionately for them. To take advantage of all the time given. To look forward with hope and confidence. One year, is all it took to change my heart in so many ways.

“Kwankwa” (Language) 23 June 2015

       I know today is the end of my 1st year of teaching, and by the end of the week I’d have left the Pacific NW for 1 year. I’ve graded 195 finals to finish the 2^nd semester of the 2007 Ethiopian calendar year. There is a stack of data on my table some telling me 98.5% of students in one class passed and out of all my students about 70% passed and what was the percent of improvement in all classes based on gender.  After 15 days I get to see my 2 wonderful parents. I should be talking about numbers, but all I really want to talk about is talking.

      This evening while I was walking to my favorite “shai bet” (tea house), I was called over by a group of teachers (“mimheran”). Three of them teach at the preparatory school and two are secondary. They range in age, height and subjects, but all are extremely nice. I joined them.

      Now when you “join” a group in the states, you just walk up, say “Hey!” and take a seat. Not here. Here, you have to say “Good (morning, afternoon, evening)” according to gender and status while shaking everyone’s hands. For example “Kamay hiderki” is for a single female while “Kamay hiderkin” is for plural women or an elderly/respected woman. “Kamay hiderka” is for a single man and “Kamay hiderkum” for plural men or an elderly/respected man. All just to say “Good morning.”

      This was one topic the teachers and I covered today and often on others. Which language is “richer” English or Tigrigna? They claimed that English is richer with more words than Tigrigna is. To an extent I believe them. If I point to a bird in the sky and ask what it is (“Entai, Intai izi?”)  the answer will be “iff” or bird. If I ask what kind of “iff” it is, I get either large (“abi”) or small (“nistay”). They don’t distinguish between a hawk or raven. Their language, in that regard, is limited; however, as illustrated before, the congegating of verbs is varied to show respect. As the vice-director from secondary school pointed out, “You know in America they speak informally so the words seem less (fewer) and less important.” My response of “Yep!” illustrated his point.

      The most common topic to talk about when I sit down and start speaking Tigrigna is to compare me to my sitemates. Stephanie (G10 Health) and Gina (G10 Agriculture) got to site three months before I did. Stephanie is a very outgoing, people-oriented, “go ahead and try new things” type of person. She’s great at Tigrigna. I hear about this every time I sit with certain people “Stephanie can talk fluently at market,” one teacher bragged today, “She talks very much, but Jessie talks little.” This always stings slightly, particularly when the person doesn’t try to speak to me in Tigrigna or has never seen me at market. However, today one of the teachers there knows that I can carry on conversations at market and school in Tigrigna and stuck up for me. All teachers than got into a discussion about the Tigrigna rank of all of us Peace Corps volunteers.

      The strange thing is that I understood everything they are saying. Sure, verbs are still hard to get perfect, but boy can I talk about my parents coming, clarify instructions for students and spend too much time at market talking to people. I wish I knew the studies for listening and speaking skills in language development, but I’d bet the first develops quicker than the second. Comparisons are always easy to form and give order to things. However, it’s also important to realize that some listen more than talk (my strategy here). This was very apparent on the finals that I graded. I had many students who rarely speak English in class, but they could read and comprehend and do remarkably well. I had students who speak all the time in class (most of the time on topic), yet do poorly on the test. All skills are important to realize and value. I can read and write Tigrigna that Stephanie can’t do, but few people ever see that. Different people have different skills so we shouldn’t compare them on incomplete basis. 

      As we were sitting outside on plastic blue chairs, we had a great view of the main road where kids play, adults pass and sheep try to get through the fence. I was shocked when teachers started yelling “Ra” (with a rolling rrrrrrr) and throwing stones at something behind me. Looking over my shoulder I realized they were yelling at the sheep and lamb that had come to chew on a plant. I repeated back the word to make sure I’d heard it correctly and was promptly told, “That’s to tell a sheep to go. Like “kid/kidi” for humans.”

They then went through all the animals and how to tell them to go. Donkeys, sheep, chickens, cats, dogs, goats and camels all have different sounds to make them leave. It’s kind of like saying “shoo” to a dog, but “go” to a child, but kicked up a notch. While dogs have the same word for come (“niinee/niina”) as humans, the other animals vary as well.

By the end we were all laughing. Partially at me trying to repeat all the different sounds and partially due to the realization that language is odd. This is something I’ve come across multiple times. When I ask people question about their own language’s oddities, they just laugh at the realization that they never thought of it before. This happened during the body part lesson. I asked students, if “af” means “mouth,” and “afinchaw” means “nose,” what does that “inchaw” mean? Another was when students defined “knee” as “birki” and “elbow” as “birki id” (knee of the arm). Why wasn’t it distinguished as “birki agree (leg)” then? Sometimes to lighten the mood I ask what “clap” is in Tigrigna (“chim chaw”) and then ask what “snap” is. There isn’t a separate word, though most people don’t realize that until you ask them.

This brings up two points. First, again, language is odd. This is a struggle for anyone learning a language and trying to be satisfied with a quick formula like in math class. My students were always quick to make me realize this in class. What is the difference between “but” and “however” to change one from being used in complex and the other in compound sentences? In Tigrigna there is only one word.  Why does “choose” change to “chose” in past tense instead of just adding a d for “choosed”? In the sentence “The phone rang _____ I was getting home” is the answer a.) when or b) while? Some things you just have to take as odd but the way it is. Second, native speakers don’t realize natural habits. They don’t think about there needing to be different words to distinguish large birds or how verb endings can be tricky for a foreigner. They don’t think about how an accent will change the same letters to make a completely different word. They don’t think about the oddities as being odd.

My largest battle this year was reconciling these two points for my students. They are used to being taught language – especially grammar – in formula forms. Teacher says, “What is the formula for simple past” and the students answer, “Subject plus verb 2 plus object.” While this may be handy to help students learn the different verb tenses, it does little to actually apply to real life. Students often leave off –ing endings (Where are you go?) or keep the order like in Tigrigna with the verb always at the end (I banana eat.) I had to start with the basic, the regulars, and make sure they got those before moving onto the irregulars. I have to make it really clear that some things just come naturally without much reasoning. We say “I want to eat.”, but “I like running.” Why are some verbs followed by an infinitive and others verb-ing? Language is odd, and needs to be recognized by teacher and student if any learning is going to happen.

In all the oddities between languages there are similarities. As the teachers pointed out about the animals going through the fence there is a different word for “sheep” (bagii) and “lamb” (rayma). Baby animals often have different names than the adult versions. Nationalities are often changing the ending of the countries name. I am an American or “Americawiit” (female version). There is a common way to pluralize nouns (English: add –s/-es. Tigrigna: add –tat), but there are exceptions to this rule for no real apparent reason. Maybe we aren’t all that odd after all.      

I love speaking Tigrigna. I go to my favorite shai bet because my sister (“zahaftay”) works there and only speaks Tigrigna. We have so much fun trying to tell each other about our days and what is happening with families. She lets me try out Tigrigna and I listen to her English. I love listening to my students and friends struggle to get through a thought in English. Some of my obnoxious boys in the classroom are the best to walk home with after as they try English in new ways. I love opening a book and being able to read all the combinations of 26 latin letters, though try to sound out all the Tigrigna I come across. I love trying to write the new words with the correct fidel alphabet even though many of the sounds are very similar.

Language is a complex, confusing, odd, delightful tool. We can express who we are and what we believe through various forms of it (writing, speaking) and absorb it in others (listening and reading). Individuality is possible through communication. What’s important is that we laugh at the oddity, battle the irregulars, and never let it become a barrier in relationships.  

Dad's Day (Saturday 20 June 2015)

     There is an enveloped glued into the front cover of my journal. The yellow note inside was written by my mom and snuck into my carryon bag the day I left for Peace Corps (357 days ago). Behind this letter is a picture. Mom’s neat handwriting is starting to fade but you can still read “Before Church – March 1992 (14 months)” on the back with the Kodak logo printed sideways. 

As documented, I am 14 months old in the picture, wearing a cute sailor outfit with shiny red shoes sitting on Dad’s lap, smiling, large and goofy at the camera. A bookcase behind us is full of color. The couch is new, bright and comfortable. You can see the brick porch rail out the window of our Colorado home. Dad is sideways on the couch with slippered feet on one end, Mickey Mouse watch on left wrist, me on his lap and his arms around me holding (what I’m assuming) is a Bible or reference for that day’s sermon. He’s smiling, but not at the camera. He’s looking at me.

There are pictures posted all over my room. Some have been sent to me, others I printed off before I came. I don’t know where I originally found this picture. I discovered it in the back of my ipad case once I was in Ethiopia, but whatever the case this is my favorite picture I have with me. It also depicts how wonderful my father is and the lessons he’s taught me.

The bookshelves in the back left corner have been a constant feature in my life. The over six feet tall shelves reach nearly to the ceiling. My parents have two. They’ve always been crammed with books: Kids’ books on the lower shelves going up to Harvard Classics on the top. Education and reading has always been important for my dad. In his hands is an open book and pen wedged between his fingers. I’ve no doubt there are scrawled notes in the margins of that book. Learning more about God and life is wonderful. Discovering what lays behind a wardrobe door or what a bunch of different animals can do is captivating. The lesson of reading is something he handed down to all of us kids.  

What’s the favorite part of this picture is my dad’s face. It’s pure happiness and joy. Like there could be nothing better than sitting with his only daughter (and at the date of picture, only child) before church making jokes to get her to smile. Something he’d rather look at than a camera.

This is one of the greatest lessons my Dad has been showing me my whole life: Love. People matter. Family matters. Show them daily that you love and value them. Take the time to sit on a couch and laugh instead of worrying about work. Focus on that person rather than what else is happening around you. Neither one of us remembers what that sermon was about, but I’ve never gone a day without knowing my Dad loves me.

One way I’m reminded is every time I hear or write my name. Being the first girl in 5-6 generations, my parents didn’t have any girls’ names picked out. So it was after I was born that they had to think of names. Mom though Shona and Fiona were pretty, but Dad vetoed those. Instead he gave me Jessica. Not because it was the most popular US name that year (I wasn’t even born in the US), but because it’s meaning is “priceless treasure” and that’s what he saw me as.

This Father’s Day I am thousands of miles away from my Dad’s lap. I won’t get to hear his sermon, or watch a baseball game with him after church. Mom could use my bike to go on a bike ride with him, but not me. (I haven’t even been to the town they are now living in.) Hopefully the network works and I can get a phone call through. I cannot describe adequately what being away from my Dad for 51 weeks has been like.

But his love hasn’t stopped because I’m away from home. He’s sent me letters and a flashdrive of sermons to help me get though. The phone and skype calls may be few and far between, but they are packed with love and support. His Christmas wish for a hug is going to come true soon thanks to his hardwork and God’s support.

 That’s the true joy of today. After 16 (more) days of waiting, we will be able to hug, laugh, talk, eat, and take new pictures together. How wonderful will that occasion be?! I smile big and goofy like a 14 month old when I think about it.

What’s truly wonderful though, is how my dad has been a reflection of the ultimate father. God is wonderful enough to take time for all His children to get them to laugh and smile, even if something bad is happening to them. His love isn’t confined by space or time. His focus is love. That’s why He sent His only son off of His lap into a world so that all His children could come to Him. And one day, after many, many years of waiting, He will call us all home where the occasion of returning will be met with great celebration!

Today is a day to celebrate fathers – earthly, biological and fraternal. Those men who stepped up to the responsibly of showering their children with love. The men who are listed in phone contacts as “Dad, Daddy-O, Pop, Pa.” The men girls sent their ideal husbands to and want their sons to grow up like. To realize that even when earthly fathers falter or are too far away, there is another who is always there, who doesn’t leave, and who has a never ending love. So, Happy Father’s day to all the fathers and grandfathers out there!

Playlist: “Butterfly Kisses” Bob Carlisle, “He Didn’t Have To Be” Brad Paisley and “He’s Right There” Tammy Trent

Books Report (of sorts) (Or: 3 New Lessons That 3 Unexpected Books Taught Me) (Sunday 14 June 2015)

       In the last three days I have finished three books that all could have “psychology” listed in the Library of Congress tiny font reference. They are written from three different countries (hence only 2 actually have Library of Congress references listed) in three different years by two gentleman and a lady. One is hard covered and one has a damaged spine that has lost page 107/108. They are all fictional, though I’d argue that they are realistic. I read them chronologically from when they were published and how I picked them up off the bookshelves in the Mekele Peace Corps Office.

         We Need to Talk About Kevin (copyright in 2003) was the 2005 winner of the Orange Prize for Fiction by Lionel Shriver. Instead of chapters, this book is broken down into letters from November 8, 2000 to April 8, 2001 between Eva Khatchadourian and her estranged husband Franklin. Eva recounts all the secrets and hidden thoughts that lay behind their marriage until their almost-16-year-old son, Kevin, commits mass murder at his high school. She battles through guilt, despair, grief and so much more.

         The Solitude of Prime Numbers merited its author, Paolo Giordan, Italy’s Premio Strega award. Originally written in 2008, it has been translated into 33 different languages. It’s set in 1983, but primarily focusing on the main characters’ lives in 1991 (freshmen year of high school) and 2007 (after life takes them in different directions). Mattia and Alice both had tragedy strikes in their childhood that greatly influenced them into their teenage and adult lives. Mattia, a mathematician, realizes they are like prime numbers, more specifically twin primes (example 11 and 13, 41 and 43) that get rarer as you go through all possible numbers. It’s a book focused on how things can be so close together, but never really be side by side.

         The Silver Linings Playbook surprised me on the shelf as I’ve only been aware of the movie. The book is better. Like The Solitude of Prime Numbers this was the author’s, Matthew Quick’s, debut novel. In the book, Pat Peoples has just been released from a mental health facility with the intentions of winning his estranged wife, Nikki, back with a change of character. One of the ways he does this is to find the silver linings God has put into the movie of his life. However, just because God is directing the movie, doesn’t mean it won’t be complicated or messy. Pat soon realizes that he has lost his memory, more time has passed than he was aware of, odd new friends will enter, and he’ll have to remember and face the past eventually to start seeing the future.

         Of all these books, I’d only really recommend reading the latter. (Dad & Heather, only chapters 4, 21 and a couple of paragraphs in 31 and 33 actually mention math) However, I was unexpectedly perplexed when I put them all next to each other and realized how much truth they do speak together about my own life right now.

         Lesson #1: You never know what someone is really thinking or why. There isn’t a book that gives you a background on the other characters walking around your own story. There are no italic bubbles floating over people’s heads giving you a heads up on what they are thinking behind all they say. Sometimes I wish there was. I want to know the why’s for other people’s thoughts and actions. I want to understand them with a cheat sheet. That is why relationships are so important. In order to truly see the people in your story, you need to listen to theirs. It will take more time than a paragraph or chapter of a book, but it is important.

         I’ve realized this recently as I started talking with a Peace Corps Volunteer that I hadn’t chatted with much before. There wasn’t anything wrong with this volunteer, it’s just we never really talked. Through dialogue of various topics over time, we’ve started to see a better picture of each other than we first imagined when we first saw each other.

         Lesson #2: You don’t know how it is going to end. Unlike some of my friends, I refuse to skip chapters to see what happens next. I let the story play out. But, and I wonder if this isn’t most of us, I do try to picture the ending. This was especially the case in The Silver Linings Playbook, where I was under the false impression that the movie had followed the book (typically, it didn’t). Pat keeps this impression too as he continues the theory that his life is a movie and it’s about time for the happy ending. However, in the last 50 pages of each book twists came that were so far from what I imagined I had to stop and read paragraphs again and again to grasp their meaning. This was especially the case in We Need to Talk About Kevin. What’s surprising is that these unexpected elements smoothly fit into the larger picture. This all made me wonder what I was thinking when clearly the author had had a different aim going the whole time. The Solitude of Prime Numbers left me with the most unanswered questions about the characters, but ended with completion like the others.

         This entire school year, I’ve thought I’d been in control. I knew what was going to happen next to the end. Yet looking back on it I realize that it went so wonderfully different than I had expected. I taught outside and in classrooms with no desks. There were days when 2 students showed up and others when I had students from other classes crowd in, making my 70 student class seem small. There were complaints that I wouldn’t finish units on time, and I ended up finishing with the most review time (not that it’s a race or anything).

         I can only assume that the remainder of my Peace Corps service (and my life, if I’m being very honest) is going to be this way. I’m not sure how this chapter will end or when. I don’t know what characters will remain and which ones will leave. I don’t know what lingering questions will remain or if it will be a clean and clear break. The end is inevitable, but the content to fill the pages towards it is uncertain.

         Lesson #3: Give yourself a voice. In the first line of her first letter, Eva states that she is unsure what has really moved her to start writing the letters to her husband. In the first chapter, Pat states that this is “mostly daily memoirs” for Nikki though it starts after he has been released as doctors confiscated everything he wrote before hand.  While Alice and Mattia are told from a third person narrator, their voices and thoughts are adequately represented.

         Tone is important. You know the way Pat speaks based on his writing, just as you do with Eva’s letters. But what’s more valuable is that they gave their voices a chance to speak. They didn’t keep their words muddled in their heads. They didn’t cave to the second guesses of not writing. They just wrote. They gave themselves a voice.

         So often I second guess myself and remain silent. I don’t speak Tigrigna, but act shy and pass up the opportunity to met someone new. I don’t try the strange verb conjugation and end up just pausing or putting in another word. I think of things I want to share, but don’t type them up. I find an excuse to not write or see my ideas as unimportant. How many ideas are wasted? And not just from me. What haven’t you said that needed to be said or articulated in one way or another? Who cares if your words won’t become an international bestseller, award winner or turned into a movie, but we all should at least try to share our voices.

         These books may be slightly depressing. They touch on topics which most people avoid, with various forms of language that you wouldn’t want to hear at school or church. (For the record they are relatively clean). They aren’t books that I normally would have picked up, but I did. And in the process I learned something new about myself, and maybe the world around me.

PS. For the unofficial record of my life, I don’t usually read this much. It took me a week to read We Need To Talk About Kevin’s 468 pages and I was able to get through the other two’s combined total of 560 pages thanks to a combination of sickness, lazy Saturday-ness and no phone network. While I do loving reading, I much rather be out and about.

PPS. If anyone is curious, in The Silver Linings Playbook six other books claiming greatness are mentioned: The Great Gatsby, A Farewell to Arms, The Scarlet Letter, The Bell Jar, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and The Catcher in the Rye. These are going to go on my “Read Before PC Ends” list, though they do admit to be depressing and I’m not sure I can do that right now. Any suggestions?

Blessings In Disguise (Monday 8 June 2015)

            This cliché never really made that much sense to me. How can something as wonderful as a blessing, be in a disguise that prevents the beholder from seeing it as such? Instead of the blessing being hidden, maybe the beholder is blind or too obstinate to see it. It is far easier to complain about something not being what you want, than realizing that the alternative is actually better for you. Today I got a glimpse at how real this cliché can be.

                  With my parents expected to land in Ethiopia in little over a month, I took out my passport and plastic American bank cards to the Ethiopian airlines office in Mekele this last weekend. I figured I could take a little break from hanging out with friends on the east side of Tigray and get tickets for my best friends’ visits. After sitting in the office for 40 minutes in a musical chair type line, I was finally helped. I apologized ahead of time for the list of flights I needed to purchase both for my parents and myself. After thirty minutes the flights were all scheduled and booked. However, my US Bank card was declined. Not knowing what else to do, I thanked the man, took a printed out copy of the flights I’d booked and left in search of chocolate.  

                  My mind starting whizzing. What was I going to do? I could fly my parents up to Axum and save me a trip down there to cut on two tickets, but I really wanted to give them a break from flight for a little bit and see them ASAP. We have friends in Dar-es-Salaam, Tanzania expecting us to come and needing flight details to plan that half of the vacation. What could I tell them besides the flight times? I have a good cushion of Ethiopian birr in my bank account here, but not enough for all these tickets. I couldn’t consider being on a 17 hour bus ride from Addis to Mekele and then another 6 hours to my site to save on tickets, but lose out on time. The only thing I could do was quickly log in on facebook and send parents a message to double check that the bank was informed that I was halfway around the world and  this was not some fraud.

Then wait.

This morning I received a message from Dad letting me know that he’d talked to the bank and I should try another card. After breakfast and a rewarding trip to the post office, I crammed onto a bus to Shire. The 30 minute ride swished by as I read a long letter, but I looked up in time to make my stop at the airlines office. I sat for maybe 10 minutes while a woman was helped and then presented my list of bookings to the man behind the counter.

I’m used to some airports’ initials kind of being funky (what is the DX to Portland’s PDX?). ADDDKR had popped up on the print out that I had given him; however, it wasn’t until he read it out for me that I realized a major mistake. DKR is Dakar, Senegal. That’s on the opposite African coast of Dar-es-Salaam. One touches the Atlantic and the other the Indian Ocean. One shares a timezone with Iceland and the other with Syria.  Thankfully, with some laughing and joking, he was able to change the flights (and price) while keeping the dates. He also realized that I could save money if I booked the domestic flights separate from my international ones as I have a temporary Ethiopian identification card, so I quickly sorted those out to two bills saving a little more than $100. By putting all the tickets directly onto my sheba miles he was able to give another discount on all of them. I left with a giant smile after 20 minutes or so.

Sure, someday Dakar, Senegal may be my destination, but I can’t even fathom (or refuse to let my imagination loose on) what conundrums could have popped up for both my parents, and our friends in Tanzania expecting us, if this hadn’t been caught. While I had given my temporary resident id to the man in Mekele, he hadn’t used it to help me. I would have ended up spending more money on the overall trip. When my card was declined in Mekele, my heart sank. However, if it had worked, I would not have the flights that I really needed.

I think that is what ‘blessings in disguise’ are really about: redefining what we need over what we want. I wanted my card to work so badly in Mekele I attempted sitting in line all over again just to try again. However, if I had gotten my want, I wouldn’t have gotten what I needed. Instead, I was redirected to someone who would help and provide me with what I truly needed: Tanzania not Senegal.

Maybe the beholder is blind some times to the blessings presented to him/her in a negative way (card decline, lack of veggies at market, etc). Maybe negativity prevents her/him at being thankful for the gift (I wanted to buy tickets on the weekend not on Monday with an additional trip). But the blessing doesn’t change. I now have 4 correct printouts of a wonderful three week vacation with my parents to all the right places--  thanks to a blessing in disguise.

The Up Side of Being Down (May 29, 2015)

          While re-reading previous blogs ready to send off to Mom for editing and posting, I’ve  been  amazed at my honesty on the hardships, but fail to mention that the up-sides. So here they are-

• I got the sweetest postcard from Philip on the weekend of his graduation that made me beyond happy!

• I got four care packages last week that were bursting with tender loving care and amazing goodies. (Special shout out to Grandma Cindy, Mom, Sprinkles and Glenna!)

• An 11th grader braided my hair in 20+ braids that stayed good for a week and let my head breath (which equals less sweat!).

• I can wash my hair in 1/2 liter of water adequately so don’t have to worry about that.

• Cool evenings have been perfect for walks and embroidering.

• One of my good Ethiopian friends has started to call me sister! She is absolutely amazing and listens to me talk about whatever while helping me with Tigrigna. She also invited me to go see her 5th grade class at a village school that “is a long walk away.”

• I got to hold the tiniest lamb ever! It was so soft and sweet! Its head was smaller than my fist.

• Awesome friends are just a text or call away. Recently I have really realized how important friendships are here especially between fellow Peace Corps Volunteers.

• I am planning out a two week vacation!!!! From June 1st to 12th there is no school as 10th and 12th graders take their entrance/national exams. So I have two weeks vacation! Currently thinking of adventuring around Tigray with friends after buying tickets for when parents visit in 6 weeks!

• I have epic arm muscles from lifting and twirling kids.

• Had some of my rowdy boys thank me for being their teacher and wishing me a good weekend.

• My steri-pen has been working so when I do find non-salty water I can purify it on the spot and drink till I am content (and slightly water logged)

So some days are rough, and bad things happen, but there is also good going on too.

Grandpa is Right (22 May 2015)

          My Grandpa Rodger is one of my role models and people I love the most. He is dedicated to family and work although he is retired. He lives within a few hours of where he and his parents were born. He still manages the land that was homesteaded by his great grandfather (great great?) and takes his own garden trimming out there to be burned every year. He can tell you the make and model of any antique car with details on the ones like those he restored. He has an eye for details in small motors. He’ll always volunteer to watch the grandkids swim (even though we are all old enough) just as long as he can get back inside for the news. He loves Grandma in a way I hope a guy will love me someday. He’ll voice opinions.

         One of his opinions is that I shouldn’t be here. I should be teaching in America with my degree and teaching certificate, which accumulated some student loans. He questioned why I was needing to go half-way around the world to teach when there are plenty of kids in Washington and I had spent a year building relationships through subbing at all Spokane schools. Why should I go so far away from my family? I’ll miss every holiday, birthday, anniversary, graduation and other family events for two years. Although it’s been almost 11 months since I left the Pacific Northwest and 17 months since I accepted Peace Corps’ invitation, I am sure he still mutters over the morning paper that I should come home.

         Sometimes I agree with Grandpa.

         While I try to make facebook and this blog upbeat and happy, there are hard days. At least 3 times a week I get a marriage proposal. Not because the guy actually loves me, but as a marriage would make it easier for him to get a visa to America. After I decline, the guy usually asks if I have any girl friends in America that I could hook them up with on Facebook. I have drunks calling me all sorts of things as I decline offers to drink sewa with them. I’m asked if I have children and then attempts at persuasion state that I “need” one before I go home with an Ethiopian man so the child is the “most beautiful.” Students grab my hair to get my attention or constantly yell “Teacher” in a demanding and demeaning way as I teach. Kids come barging into my room without permission as I am working and start riffling through my stuff. I get called “forengi” by people who know my name, “honey” and “sugar” by guys on the road, and constantly demanded to give them something. This happens at school, market, on the way to the post office, in the morning, in the afternoon by teachers, friends, neighbors, and strangers. Harassment happens. I sometimes question if I should follow Grandpa’s advice and just go home.

         So why don’t I?

         I don’t for my students. The students here who look up to me and expect me to be there even though so many teachers aren’t. They rely on me to teach them something that many other students wish they could have. They trust me and respect me. Also, the students I had in my student teaching classroom; I encouraged them to start dreaming now. They encouraged me to keep trying to go teach in Africa when they found out my original plans fell through after graduation. Then, I stay for the students I will have later, who will look to me as a leader and role model. They will see that I am dedicated, committed and not going to fail. I will push them to work hard towards goals because they can be achieved. I will be able to show them examples of how hard work and perseverance led me to things I couldn’t imagine and that the same can happen for them. I don’t leave for my students.

         I don’t for my honor. Grandma and I often forced Grandpa to watch old BBC Horatio Hornblower films where Hornblower was always dedicated to honor, duty and loyalty. While I am not enlisted in Her Royal majesty’s fleets, I did enlist and swear in for this service. Like Horatio and Grandpa, my word is golden. My yesses are yes. When I say I am going to do something, I do it. I’ve never backed out of anything even if I didn’t like it, the pain was great, or I had an reliable excuse not to. I went to watch 5th grade baseball games in the wind and rain because I told a student I would be there. I stuck with softball in high school even though I didn’t agree with the coach who devalued me constantly. I kept going back on the basketball court after every twisted or dislocated knee injury. I did semesters in college on 6 hours of sleep consistently to take a full academic and work load. I did summer classes to make up for study abroad trip and extra classes while student teaching to graduate on time. I don’t quit so that I can honestly say I never did.  I stay because, at the office in Addis, my signature says I will.

         I don’t for my brothers. Missing Thomas move into my dorm and “traditiate” to be a Carlson man was rough. Not being there to watch Philip graduate last weekend was a hard pill to swallow. Then there is everything in-between: 4th of July on the dock after a long day of dunking each other, pumpkin carving where Philip usually dominates, new girlfriends, Thanksgiving indulging then sleeping on the couch together, football games out at the Pine Bowl, basketball games with an epic half time dance, trips to Dutch Brothers for smoothies and Winco for gummy worms, Christmas stockings where we still take turns to get to the orange in the toe, movie nights, Mariner games and meeting up at church. I miss that a lot. But I love that Philip tells me he is proud of me. That Thomas thinks it’s great I’m doing what I always said I would. I not only stay because my signature is on an oath, but because I want my brothers to always look at me as someone who preserveres, who dreams, who gets things done no matter the sacrifices. But most importantly as one who follows God’s call wherever that may lead.

         I don’t for my parents. Not only have I missed out on some great things happening in my brothers’ lives, but also in my parents’. I could have taught in the same area as my mom after helping each other set up our classrooms (something she let me help on every year since I could).  We could have met up to discuss lesson plans and curriculum. I could have had long nights talking doctoral and theological-ness with Dad. I could have celebrated his graduation and new call to Hermiston. I could have done something epic for their 30th wedding anniversary (May 25). I could help them move to their new house in Hermiston. I’ll continue to miss stuff in their lives too. But they never wanted me to base my life around them. They opened every door they could for me since I was born. They gave me a name with a meaning to remember what I mean to them no matter where I am in the world or what happens. They gave me a love for flying and traveling abroad (partially due to being an American citizen born abroad). They constantly encouraged me to pursue dreams with prayers, patience, and hard work. Friendships, experiences, memories, and adventures big and small will, not only make great Young Life talks, but also make me a better person. I stay because I am constantly encouraged to, prayed over, and supported. I stay so they can come and visit me, then I can show them the blessings of this place.  I stay so someday my daughter may look at me the same way I look at my parents.

         I don’t because I still believe this is God’s calling for my life. When I did the Peace Corps application I was also applying to schools in Spokane. I was opening all sorts of doors of potential jobs. I prayed that God would close all the doors to lead me to the one He wanted me to do. The doors closed till there was only one left: Peace Corps Ethiopia. I left with a deep peace that I was acting for something bigger than myself or what I could really comprehend. While doubt comes with harassment, that peace hasn’t left. On days it seems hard to focus on Him, Paul points me in the right direction often pointing out that God is strong in my own weaknesses. I still pray for God to guide my future and present, but know that I am in the right place, even if I can’t articulate adequately how I know that. I stay because Jesus stayed to fulfill God’s plan for his life through great pains. I stay because Paul and others went through so much worst than I will. I stay because He called Ruth to leave everything behind and Ester to stand up to any bully. I stay because this is where God wants me to be and I can’t leave that.

         Grandpa is a pretty smart guy. He knows crops and cars and family. He has his own set of proverbs that the family knows and loves. He is right: Family is the most important thing in one’s life so logically we should be closer to that. I graduated from a great school of education on cutting edge of the Common Core State Standards, knowing many of the principals and teachers at schools I would’ve applied for so why not use that? I do have loans that have to be repaid so why not get a job that really starts paying them back. He is right. I should go home. Harassment is not something anyone should have to constantly have to deal with on various levels every day. I should go home.

         But I, respectfully, can’t for another 16 months. Then I will more than willingly board a plane (or two or three or four depending on layovers) to get back home with a clear conscious that I set out on a mission and was tenacious enough to fulfill it. Until then, I’m thankful for the chocolate in care packages, encouragements in all forms, prayers, joy of parents coming and peace that I’m doing what God has called me to do. Sorry, Grandpa, the Huckleberry’s jokes, tater tot casseroles, “Mysteries at the Museum,” and late night ice-cream are just going to have to wait just a little bit longer. 

 (PS: Song that adequately describes what I feel like: “One Day You Will” by Lady Antebellum)