Harsh? 25 November 2015

harsh (adj)

1.      difficult to live in or endure because very uncomfortable or inhospitable conditions

2.      severely scrutinizing, critical, and rigid in manner

3.      extremely exacting to the point of being punitive

4.      jarring or unpleasant to the senses

Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.

Recently, teacher friends have been asking me about the “harsh” conditions of Selekleka. Questions about the “air condition” (weather) are common, but recently many are convinced that it is harsh. When I inquire into their thinking they tell me it is because the mornings are so cold and the afternoons are very hot. This is true. I put on a sweater before going to school and can often see my breath most of the way there. However, by 9 my teacher coat is enough warmth and by 10 I’m too warm.

Extreme cold and hot could be considered “uncomfortable” or “inhospitable;” however, Selekleka doesn’t deal with extremes. But that’s where I realize my thinking differs from many of my friends. Extreme cold for me entails inches of ice on the road while blinding snow is swirling around and having to walk to class wrapped in scarves and jackets. Thank you Pacific Northwest for giving me tastes of this every year.

While I may dislike the cold mornings here, I relish in the fact that I can walk to school everyday without having to worry about chains on tires. Rains may make some paths muddy earlier in the school year, but there is a paved road to walk on if needed. The weather really isn’t harsh.

Besides the weather, this adjective paints the perfect picture of the opposite living conditions of Selekleka. The people here are very hospitable. They take the time to listen to my faltering Tigrigna and offer to buy me tea whenever I walk past a tea house. I’ve become a part of the community where parents are comfortable letting me twirl their kids, students are comfortable coming up and talking to me outside of class (not a common behavior), and kids are comfortable leaping off the 2 foot raised sidewalks to be caught by me.

While I continuously scrutinize myself, friends here remind me that that’s not what life is about. I’m told “Don’t worry,” “Just do you,” and other encouragements that remind me that I’m not in a place where severe scrutiny is common. In fact everything is flexible, relaxed, leisurely. There are things one has to do, of course, but even those are not fixed and rigid in when or how they need to be done. Nothing is done or required in an exact way. It is not like America when time and clocks are adhered to like gods.

Besides the cold in the morning and the sunburning heat in the afternoon, my senses are at peace here. Evening walks through the light breeze as the birds and frogs call out are relaxing. My eyes dart around from color and smiles and friends wherever I go. The food may not have great variety, but it’s always fresh, hot and comforting. I’ve even uped my spicy tolerance so more food doesn’t qualify as “unpleasant” or “harsh” any more. Sure, I still have to meander around cow, donkey and camel droppings wherever I go, but that’s just one smell in a mix of millions that make Selekleka home.

Yes, life can be difficult and unpleasant here. But, it’s not harsh. It’s tolerable, nice, comfortable, even hospitable.

Making Words Count 17 November 2015

 Recently while I was waiting for a bus to fill, I stumbled upon an old text message conversation. When my Dad came to visit me this summer, he left me his old iphone to use for music on buses and runs. Besides the throw back music I haven’t listened to in ages, it also had text 723 conversations between the two of us ranges from July 14, 2013 to June 25, 2014. The 11 months before Peace Corps adventure happened.

Scrolling through the hundreds of texts I started to notice patterns. In the time frame I mentioned 11 states that I was in with only 9 flights, though I traveled through 4 time zones. There were 55 movie quotes and 4 “who am I?” game references, and 3 sporting events updates. I sent him three interview updates, one of which was for the Peace Corps. We both sent pictures of fresh baked bread and complaints about driving in snow.

My Dad and I have always been close. He is the man I admire most and one of the many that I wish I could call/text every day that I am here. He taught me so many lessons about respect, love, relationships and perseverance through many lessons. Too many lessons to put in this one blog adequately, but one of the lessons he taught me is to value words.

There is a time and place for shallow, mediocre conversations. To ask about a sports’ team season or about the record breaking weather. But there also needs to be time for the in-depth, hard to wrestle questions often kept inside. The questions of beliefs, morals, and obligations. There is a time to tell jokes and a time to be serious. Knowing context helps one know what to say when.

55 movie quotes seems like a lot between a father and daughter. 50 of them were sent in one day from the same movie. Why? That was the day my brother and I, who were driving across the country, approached and played on the Field of Dreams in Iowa. While the old Kevin Costner film may be foreign to non-baseball fans, it’s one that has brought the Sexton 5 together every baseball season.  Thomas and I got to play on the field. The quotes mean more than just a fun banter between father and kids (for the record Thomas did text many of them as I was driving.) They show part of the complex, familiar connection between us.

There are also texts that I sent when I got lost in Eastern Oregon due to bad GPS skills, traveling over state borders, building anxiety of interviews, and growing great anticipation for reconnections over Christmas break. Texts show my own uncertainty, but my unfaltering trust in my Dad. He responded with better directions, hotel reservations in multiple states, encouragement and equal (if not greater) expectant joy. 

I still text and talk about all of these things with people who are within cell phone service. I quote Disney quotes with friends, vent off frustrations, send  \messages #peacecorpslife  that only few will truly understand, and  updates when I’ve successfully reached destination despite any transportation hurdles. Even though I can’t text my Dad about these things, I’ve realized it is important to text talk:  To let others in on your day, To be honest with what you are feeling, To be genuine with advice and honest with criticism.  To make each text messages with 120 characters for 35 birr cent count.

While it may be harder for many of you to believe, I have gotten quieter since being in Peace Corps. I have been told to speak louder on multiple conversations. I’ve had American and Ethiopian friends ask me if I’m okay because I didn’t talk much for hours. Part of this is due to the fact that Tigrigna is still a hard battle to understand for me. Part of it is due to not being as informed of pop culture as my fellow peers. However, the real reason, is I’ve finally started to grasp the other side of the importance of words coin.

I once asked my Dad about how visiting people who are sick in the hospital goes. He told me simply that he just listens to what the person has to say. To give advice, he often just rewards what the person says and tells it back to them. He not only taught me to give words meaning when I say them, but also to give other’s words meaning by listening to them. Really listening.

That’s what I’ve been working on here. To listen to people. To listen to my students when they voice struggles. To listen to my teachers and understand where they are coming from before jumping to conclusions. To listen to my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers joys and struggles so they know they aren’t alone. It’s through listening that I’ve learned more about others, cultures and myself then articulation.

Words. We say and use hundred every day for variant degrees of importance. But it’s been through coming into a culture where I can barely talk  to realize that there is a time to talk. To put in one’s two cents, to play “devil’s advocate,” to share a part of one’s self. To ask questions to understand better. There is also a time to listen. To hold off speaking to hear another. A time to hear what the words are trying to get to in order to really understand the other person. So, be careful with words. Use them when you need to. Hold off when someone else needs the chance to speak. And value what can happen through words.

In America Only 2 November 2015

There are many things I love about America. It resides under the bold stars and strips with a firm stand for independence. Coasts reach from sea to sea with forests, fields and deserts mixed in the middle. Food is associated with all holidays from apple pie to candy corn. There are big cities and small hometowns. Country, pop, rock, and everything in-between can be found on the radio. However, being away from the Land of the Brave has awaken me to some things America does differently than the rest  of world; things that are just kind of strange.

If I were to buy anything at market or bulk items at a suk, I have to have either “hanti  or ferki kilo.” Everything is by the kilo instead of the pound. Everywhere else in the world uses this system for measuring. Same for when one weighs a person. This can be a perk when people ask me (awkwardly on my side) how much I weigh and I honestly don’t know; however, it makes me ponder why America decided to go with something else. Something ( a pound) that translates into 2.204622 kilograms, so it’s not perfect to work between the two.

I haven’t grown since high school. As it listed next to my basketball jersey number, I am 5 foot 9 inches. However, only in America does that mean anything. Feet and inches don’t relate to the rest of the world. Instead the metric system kicks in with meters and centimeters. This changes me to answering the “How tall are you?” question with “1.75.” One inch is equal to 2.54 centimeters proving again that America’s system is odd, unique and incompatible.

Meters also come into play when people ask me how far one place is from another. Instead of using miles (which take a randomly even 5,280 feet each), things around here are measured in kilometers. Instead of saying distance I ask people to tell me how long it takes to walk or bus there to get a  more understandable estimate of distance. I know it takes me about 30 minutes to walk the 2.7 kilometers to school. I know it takes about a half hour to go to Shire which is 35 kilometers away. Bus systems tend to charge about 10 birr per half hour of travel time so I also know what to expect to pay to get places.

Today is warm with a light breeze. Thankfully I don’t have a thermometer to tell me the temperature, but if I paid attention to the weather reports on the news blaring in the staff lounge I still wouldn’t know the temperature anyways. Growing up I knew that if it was 70, I could play with water, 80 meant swimming was a fair game, and 90 meant extra sunscreen. Those all being in Fahrenheit of course. Here temperature is calculated through Celsius making 21 the new 69.8.

But of all the things that I don’t understand anymore about America is Day Light Savings, which went into effect yet again yesterday. Instead of being 10 hours away from my immediate family I am now 11 hours. While there are other countries around the world that do this I still question: Why!? What is the logic to be completely crazy and throw everyone off? (FYI Arizona doesn’t change and I think they’re on to something.)

Other countries have red, white and blue flags. Other countries have beaches and high mountains. Other countries make delicious food to celebrate important days. Other countries have variety in their music choices. But we’re the stubborn, rebels who have pounds, inches, feet, Fahrenheit and take part in Day Light Savings. God bless America…and all the others who put up with our silliness.

The Unexpected 30 October 2015

“The only thing to expect is the unexpected.” – Jimi (PCV Friend)

Part of me wants to cry. Another part is rolling her eyes. I should have learned this lesson before. Oh so many things so many times, but instead I am just shocked and surprised like a naïve new comer. I’m bound to learn one of these days…I just wish it wasn’t today…right now.

For those of you who don’t know October 30^th holds more for my family then just final touches on costumes and carving pumpkins. It’s Mom’s birthday. A day where we do carve pumpkins but also fit time for Mom. While this could be tricky with sports’ schedules in high school, as far as I know, Whitworth’s Fall Break usually falls this weekend so we’ve been home in time to celebrate. It’s a day to look forward too. It also means that I get to save up the phone birr and call Mom after a week of a whole lot and finally get to vent. (FYI: Dad’s birthday was a week and a half ago and we chatted up plenty.)

I tried to bide my time hanging with friends and doing odd things until 6:30pm my time (8:30am her time) finally rolled around. We’d barely said hello and asked what our plans were for the weekend when the power went out. I tried to warn her that this means network will go out to, but before I could the network cut out. 2 minutes and 10 seconds after we’d connected. I should have expected the unexpected network fail.

From the last paragraph to this one the network came back on and I got to talk to Mom for about 44 minutes. While the power didn’t come back, the network did. This week the network has been out for 3-13 hours. You never know what to expect. So, I guess expecting the unexpected is a safer bet.

Today has been a day of unexpected curve balls. This morning I woke up at 12:30, 1:30 and 4:30 to deluge rain even though it’s been dryer than a desert for the last month. While giving a short Unit I test, I found out that many of my students were unfamiliar with a matching format for a test. They could do multiple choice, but struggled to understand matching (even though we had done it during class). While on break a fellow English teacher and a History teacher told me they wanted to help with English Day activities, even though there was no incentive last year. They want to start doing debates with students and even with teachers. Heading out of campus, I was told that there is no school next week. Turns out the rains signal the week of harvest before other “spring showers” come. So, even though we started two-three weeks late and mid exams are suppose to be in three weeks, schedule is messed up again. Unexpectancies of life.

Part of me wants to get frustrated. I was just getting into the flow of things. I had just figured out where mid-exams were and how to finish 3 units until then. I want a routine. I don’t want to waste my last year by wasting times. But then I realize that is pretty self-centered. Instead, I get to learn more about another culture that is so heavily agricultural and religious that the school system is bound to that. Instead new ideas by new teachers are brought up for ideas. Instead I get to light a candle and watch its golden glow bounce around the shadows of the room.

I like to be in control. Maybe it’s a side effect of being an American where control and time are heavily valued or just being an older sister. (Maybe a combination. ;) ) Whatever the reason, it’s the unexpectancies that keep life real, moving, going. The random conversations that leave me smiling. The lyrics to a song that suddenly make more sense. So, instead of complaining about frustrations, I’m going to look to find God’s gift. I’ll find joy in my comfort zone and routine expectations being poked, prodded and broken.

P.S. I don’t know if it will copy into the blog, but just so you know I wrote this blog with “cracked” font. Who would have expected that to even be a thing, but it seems fitting.

Why I couldn’t commit a crime. (AKA Why integration is important) 28 October 2015

I am dedicated to crime shows. I’m not really sure where or when this obsession first took hold, but it has fostered throughout the years. In middle school I’d watch San Fran’s private detective with Obsessive Complusive Disorders in  “Monk” when parents had to go to Young Life. In high school my brothers and I would stay up for the dynamic pineapple loving duo of Shawn and Gus in Santa Barbara based “Psych.” I’ve seen the classic “Miss Marple” and Sherlock Homes that BBC does and the most recent Sherlocks. During the summers at college I would watch “Murdoch” with Grandma and “Mysteries at the Museum” with Grandpa. I’ve seen the high school based “Veronica Mars, ” the chemically altered in “Beauty and the Beast,” and the anthropologically tied “Bones.” Now, thanks to my amazing Peace Corps buddies, I’m hooked on “Castle” and “Elementary.”

My friends and I laughed awhile ago, about all the lessons crime shows teach us. For example, don’t threaten, just take action. More people are killed on TV because they threatened to go to the cops then those that actually called out bad people. Other lessons include: don’t run from cops, avoid cameras, don’t leave angry voicemails, don’t go into debt, deposit and withdraw money in small amounts over a large period of time, and call for an ambulance if there was an accident so you aren’t charged with murder. A bunch of random lessons I hope none of us have to deal with.

So what does all of this have to do with Peace Corps? Unlike embassies, we don’t have diplomatic immunity (like consulates). If something happens…well, Peace Corps would try to get us out, but it might be awhile. So…getting closer to my point.

If you were to teleport into Selekleka right now, all you would have to do is ask 3 people where I am and at least one of them could tell you. Ask the kids and your odds of finding me improve. People know where I am pretty much all the time. My name is shouted wherever and whenever I leave my room or compound. I have found my sitemates by just standing still at market and hearing kids yell for them! People come up and tell me they saw me or my sitemates like it is something odd. (“Really? I was walking out of town towards the school?!”) This could be said for many volunteers. We are “on” all the time whenever we leave our houses. People are watching us whether we know it or not. We always have alibis.

These alibis though aren’t just strangers. They are students, colleagues, friends: an extension of our family away from home. One, if not the best part, of my job is becoming integrated into the community that I live in. It’s actually part of my trimester reporting form to tell Peace Corps how I’m integrating into the community. I see it as part of my job to learn the language, become familiar with people, build relationships and really live in the community I’m a part of.

In big city America, I walked around in a cloak of invisibility. I didn’t notice anyone, and didn’t try to draw attention to myself. I could name my neighbors in the dorm, one in my theme house (Whitworth’s Presidential Family), but none the year after college. I couldn’t tell you who I bought groceries from, or the person who brought the mail. Here? Community is family. You know everyone and they know you.

A couple weeks ago I went to a suk after a walk when a friend called me over. She had oranges and I thought they sounded great. Plus we haven’t had much fruit besides bananas in a while. However, I hadn’t brought my wallet. I had left it in my bag from school. I tried to explain that I didn’t have money. She smiled and told me to come back later with the money.  She knew me enough to trust me. Where in America could you do that?

To be honest though, sometimes  I want that invisibility back. I just want to go for a walk and not have thirty people call out to me. I want to come to my house and just be. But then I see a kid smile or have a great moment with another person and I remember that invisibility just puts up a barrier. Life is meant to be lived with people that care, love and know you. And to figure out how to be patient when annoyed, joyful when homesick, and calm when anger wants to come out.

The two things every mystery show suspect has to consider, besides alibis, are motive and opportunity. I don’t have the time to plan and execute a plan for a crime. Instead I plan out lessons, clubs, other programs and time for myself and friends. Most days I take a nap so that I can keep going. Besides, as mentioned before, I’m watched all the time so I don’t have an opportunity without someone seeing me. As to motive sure, people annoy and frustrate me, but that’s shouldn’t be a basis for a crime. The people I see are my friends and fellow humans. I’ve never been hurt by them in ways that I couldn’t rise above. My motive for being a Peace Corps volunteer and loving the opportunities this job opens is a greater driving force in my life.

I may love crime shows, but I could never commit a crime. I’m too well integrated into a community of love to have a)motive  or b) opportunity. Instead, I have more alibis then could fit in any interrogation room, but that all have special niches in my heart. Besides, orange is not my color!

What’s in my bag? 25 October 2015

Before I left from the States, I made sure that I had two important bags. One being a yellow JansSport backpack that originally was my Mom’s and, the other, a colorful side -- bright and fun. Between the two of them I figured I could go anywhere and take everything with me. It’s been well over a year since my Grandma sewed in a zipper to my colorful bag and I headed off on this adventure. 15.5 months since it was beautiful and good to go. Months to collect chalk and dust on the inside and outside. The colors were muted by dirt. So, today I decided to wash it.

Before letting it soak, I had to empty it out. While taking out random odds and ends I realized that my life could be summed up in the contents of my bag:

4 used phone cards: Disconnecting from unlimited text and call contracts I’ve adapted to the system of phone cards. These green strips of cereal box cardstock range from 5-100 birr though I usually buy 25 ones. I’ve learned that each text is 35 cents, Facebook is much cheaper (especially after 9pm) and a call to the States is about 9 birr per minute. Buying these are a perfect way to break 100 birr notes that banks hand out.

     I’m a people person. I love being connected with people. Texts, calls and messages are important to me. While some people budget, I don’t when it comes to communications. Sure, I only call home when someone has a birthday or I can call with wifi instead, but I try to connect often. 

Assorted sizes of chalk: While I don’t intentionally put chalk into my bags, somehow it always finds a way to get in. It falls out when I bring my lab coat home to wash. After a year of teaching the bottom is pretty much caked in chalk.

I am a teacher and it infiltrates every part of my life. Chalk lines on my hands have kids bringing me water after class to wash with. It’s a hard job, but I love it. I love trying to figure out new ways to use a chalkboard to be clear and concise without being overwhelming. While use of chalk and chalkboard space may not be a great job skill to post from Peace Corps, it does remind me to be thankful for all the resources that I do come across.

Hand sanitizer: Peace Corps Volunteers joke that our immune systems are going to be made of steel by the time we finish service, and it’s only a slight exaggeration. We shake hands with everyone multiple times. Everything is done with the hands. It’s important that they stay clean and we stay healthy.

I don’t go anywhere without hand santizer. I have small bottles of it in every bag and it’s on the water filter right inside my door. However, I am in no way a germ-o-phobe. Instead I embrace the dirt and grim. I shake hands with kids, push donkeys aside at market, and brush off a kid’s tears when he falls running. I live life unafraid of the mess, but am prepared to take care of it afterwards.

Plastic container of band-aids and meds:  I’m a klutz. I cut my fingers weekly. I trip on small rocks. I get bruised against a blackboard. While usually these don’t end in blood or pain, I’m one who thinks ahead. I bring band-aids for myself and others in case something happens. I have ibuprophen when the headaches come.

Assorted pens: Part of having to wash hands often is the fact that I often use my skin as scratch paper. While my parents tried to derail this habit when I was a kid, it’s stuck. English, Tigrigna, and random numbers are often littered over my left hand in mine or others’ handwriting. I’m a visual learner. I don’t learn unless I see it or at least write it down. Unlike many the Ethiopian culture where many assume that if you heard it once you have it memorized, I have to constantly practice and work at language and absorbing new material. Writing it down helps. (There were also random pieces of paper in the bag too that are marked with things I don’t even know when I wrote down.)

Toilet Paper: In the states you could pop into a store without actually buying anything and find bathrooms stocked with toilet paper. Here Western toilets are rare and toilet paper holders even rarer. One learns pretty quickly to always have toilet paper wherever you go.

Some things are always in my bag that I would take with me even in the states. Money, water bottle, keys and phone are always checked before leaving a place. Unlike the States I don’t have to have a driver’s license as there isn’t any enforcement looking for it.  Occasionally they’ll be a book, binder or lesson plan, but that’s with a purpose.

But my purpose at this moment . . . wash this bag.

No Halloween? Saturday, 24 October 2015

I’ve been a cheerleader, princess, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, a pirate, grandma, and even a unicorn. While I’m not an Oregon Beavers’ fan, something about the orange and black in October is almost comforting. It’s the time for spookiness, corn mazes, candy corn, dress-ups and carving pumpkins. Most TV shows will feature at least one Halloween themed episode throughout their seasons to capitalize on Americans’ love of the holiday. 

One of the objectives for Peace Corps Volunteers around the world is to share American culture with the culture we are living in. Myself and a couple other volunteers spent time this summer helping promote English to 5-15 year olds at a nearby orphanage/abandoned children’s home. One night a couple of us decided it would be fun to do a monthly activity out there to help promote English in a fun environment while strengthening relationships. September was full of holidays, trainings and crazy schedules, so we decided to start in October.

The original plan was to have it Halloween themed. Not spooky or scary, but a glimpse into our culture. We were going to have a jack-o-lantern looking piñata, read a book about pumpkins, make animal masks, have a toilet paper mummy wrap race, and watch “Hokus Pokus.” The pinata was made, the book set aside, and toilet paper bought yesterday when we called to confirm that the program was still okay.

One of the women who runs the orphanage/abandoned home brought our awareness to something we hadn’t even realized with her concern about a Halloween themed activity. It wasn’t for the pagan traditions that often hinder religious organizations from doing something, but rather the jack-o-lantern. Ethiopia is currently in a famine. 8.2 million people are currently being affected due to drought, though the number continues to raise. She informed us that they didn’t want to encourage playing with and wasting food in a country dealing with famine. Her experience in Chad where she attempted to do an art project with macaroni and spaghetti noodles (something many kindergarteners do in the States) expanded her worldview to make sure that mixed messages weren’t being sent.

So, last night the pumpkin piñata got a brown paper fringe and glitter glue make over. The book was changed out for “The Cat in the Hat.” Toilet paper would just remain toilet paper. We’d bring the colorful paper and crayons, but try to think of something else to use them for.

Kelsey and I arrived at Grace Village around 2 and by 2:15 we had 9 kids ready for fun. We played duck-duck-goose, which is their favorite, and something to see if more kids would come. Afterwards Kelsey DJ-ed it up as we played Music Freeze. When the music was on, everyone had to dance. When it stopped you had to freeze. Afterwards they all sat in chairs around the room for “The Cat in the Hat.” Before reading we defined real and fake. Throughout the reading, the kids had to see what was real and fake, what has possible and impossible in our world. The rain on the cold day was very understandable. The Cat in the Hat balancing objects while hopping on a ball wasn’t. Afterwards, I brought out the colorful paper and they had to draw fake animals. One boy drew a 6 colored dog wearing glasses eating injera and shiro with hands like a human. Another girl drew a yellow horse up on stage singing into a microphone. Some drew realistic animals but added two suns and two moons into the sky.

Afterwards we did some relay races and then brought out the piñata. Using a scarf I blindfolded the students as Kelsey, bravely held the piñata. All kids were given three whacks to attempt to break it. Everyone had two turns before one girl stabbed it, finally breaking it apart.

On the way back to my house for the night, Kelsey and I couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t anything like we had planned. The piñata didn’t break. The movie was left out. Our games were changed. Fewer kids were there. But it was so much fun. It was fabulous to see kids aged 4-15 working together in a relay race and trying to get the piñata to break. While creative thinking isn’t a popular skill, it was reassuring to see kids trying new things with colors and reality on their pictures. They also loved speaking English and could understand more than many of our 9^th and 10^th grade students this year.

Halloween isn’t for another week. Back home, this would be when we’d pick out our pumpkins so we can carve them on Mom’s birthday. Instead, I’m putting on sunscreen in the afternoons and enjoying a cool breeze. It’s different, but still a lot of fun.