“Dama” 19 December 2015

“Note to self: Never play dama with a math teacher!”  - Journal/Text Message by Me

I’ve been here long enough to know better then to assume the way I grew up with something is the way it is everywhere else in the world. I stand corrected one more time. In order to make sure others’ do not fall into the same assumption, I’m going to explain how something I thought was standard-- isn’t, how my view is changing, and what mathematicians have to do with any of it.

As a kid on rainy Oregon days, middle school staff would sometimes have to make the decision to have indoor recess. Often this involved having the lunch duty people divide themselves between the gym and the neighboring multipurpose room. Sometimes teachers would have to open up games in the classroom for recesses not associated with lunch time. One of the common games to play was checkers. The red and black board was quickly set up and black would always go first (“Smoke before fire” as the saying goes). While Thomas could always win with chess, I was amazing at checkers. I don’t remember who taught me the rules, but I learned them quickly. Sometimes we would start with three rows and other times two, it all depended on who was playing when.

Checkers. If I had reliable internet I would look up the history of this game.  Instead all I have is my computer’s dictionary that states “check·ers (n)a board game played by two people, each using 12 pieces (checkers). The object is to jump over the opponent’s pieces and remove them from the board. (takes a singular verb) (Encarta® World English Dictionary © 1999 Microsoft Corporation. All rights reserved. Developed for Microsoft by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.) and the dictionary app which adds “1. a small, usually red or black disk of plastic or wood, used in playing checkers; 2. Also called, British, droughts; 3, a checkered pattern; 4. A person or thing that checks.” Neither which are very insightful as to the origin of the game, why red and black are the usual colors, and why the rules are established as such. If any of you have time, I’d love to know what you find out about it.

Here in Tigray, Ethiopia “checkers” is called “dama.” The board used is drawn on the back of a piece of cardboard or an old piece of wood. Occasionally I’ve seen chess boards being used, but in Selekleka faded cardboard sketched out with a ruler and colored in with a black marker is what we use. When asking the hostess of the tea house for the board she will come with a stack of various bottle tops. One person sets up their three rows with the labels showing and the other turns theirs up-side-down making unmatched caps not matter at all. The winner of the game before goes or you can flip a coin. Play starts; however, there are some differences in rules that must be observed and planned for.

1. If you can jump you have to.

 1b. If you don’t jump your opponent takes your piece.

2. You can jump backwards without being “kinged.”

3. Once “kinged” you can jump anywhere along that line. So if there is four blank spaces between you and opponent you can still jump them without penalty.

Overall it looks the same, same board, same number of pieces, same objective. However, once one sits down and watches the differences start to come to the surface. The first time I played (a week or so ago) I was given lots of advice and reminders about the rules. Tonight I played against Tesfay, a math teacher. Unlike other math, Amharic, or physics, teachers that I played against before (and pulled out some wins) strategy was clearly Tesfay’s strength. The best I could do was tie once and lose the other four games. My trouble is in the first rule partnered with the second. By pulling your opponent to jump one of yours you can sometimes open up options to jump 2 or 3 of theirs. You can also jump forward and backwards so you have to be aware how your opponent’s tiles move in a different way.

I tried to play checkers on my iPad afterwards and was quickly flummoxed by the different rules. Something I was once a champion at (we did have competitions in Middle School), I’m now baffled in two different sets of rules. What I do know, is that learning and correcting assumptions is one of the best lessons that Peace Corps has taught me. Things I’ve known for so long are being challenged. I’m seeing things in a new way both about life and myself. By rereading journals I can see how far I’ve come as a teacher and person, but also acknowledge that I still have a lot of learning left to do. I hope my assumptions continue to be challenged and refined. 

Fading 48 13 December 2015

When I met the large group of 70 volunteers in DC in July 2013,I was excited and nervous to be thrown into such a dynamic group. We came from all US time-zones, religions, skin tones, and all other dynamics that make America so diverse. It was fun to meet all of the other volunteers. Some friendships were made deep and fast, others remained cordial and acquaintance-like, others took time to foster and grow.

Last weekend a friend texted me that he would be leaving Peace Corps to head back Stateside. On Friday he called me before flying out to say goodbye. My group is in its 17^th month of being in country and next weekend will have our 15^th month anniversary of swearing in. With him leaving, we are down to 48.

31.4% of the volunteers who I was clustered with in those hot, non-windowed rooms in DC have boarded planes and headed back stateside. While reasons and circumstances vary for all (some chose to go and some had to leave for medical reasons), it can be surprising to think about a 1/3 of the people are gone.

Why is this? For friends who see Facebook statuses only, everything seems to be great here. We post pictures of smiling children, fun student work, and random laughable moments. During breaks we are able to travel to places that people in retirement go to. We’re in the land of coffee, camels and injera. We eat strange delicious food, while occasionally battling power outages.

There is something you need to know about Peace Corps volunteers: we censor everything. Yes, there are moments that are wonderful that prompt status to get 50+ likes; however, they are not all the time. We don’t post about the guys who ask us to go home with them, obnoxious moments of students pulling on hair, corruption of schools encouraging us to change students’ grades, students falling asleep in class, verbal harassment and more. But let’s be honest, who really posts everything--like hanging laundry on Facebook?

I know I’ve posted similar blogs to this one, but the reminder is still present as it was back then. Life is hard, messy, and a struggle. It’s also full of joy, happiness and peace. For 22 of my friends, the struggles here were just too great for too long. The rest of us have 8-9 months to continue to find a balance between the two. Months that will have us missing American holidays, family, special occasions, and lack of plumbing and electricity. However, it will be in these final months that we solidify the end of our service through other memorable events.

Merry Christmas!

2015 has come and is almost done.

Being off American soil has been fun,

But now it’s time to pause the holiday tidings,

To look back to acknowledge God’s many blessings.

Ethiopian Christmas started the new year[1],

But there was no snow, candy canes, or carols here.

Instead I got tans and burns in the Tigray heat.

Staying hydrated with no water was a big feat[2].

Classes were full of grammar, vocab and questions,

Though school was cancelled for saints’ days and elections[3].

Students thought pen-palling to the States was the best.

At the end of the year most passed their English test.

Mom and Dad came here to tour around with me.

There are so many churches and castles to see.

Then to Tanzania for friends and safari.

After goodbyes, leading trainings kept me busy.

A new school year with new students is underway,

With 200 plus students to teach every day.

This next year will hold highs, lows and surprises.

It’s key to find God’s blessings through disguises.

---

[1] January 6 to follow Orthodox Christian calendar

[2] Went 5 months without clean water in town. 2.5 months with no water and 2.5 months will unusable greasy and salty water

[3] Too many saint days to mention. Elections were in May.

Just One of The Crew 7 December 2015

I follow the teal stream heading out of town. Students are serious as they head towards their first mid-exams of the school year, but they are still able to joke. I wonder if they are relieved to not have to carry exercise books to school today. Three male, 9th grade students wait to walk for me. They seek assurance that the English test on Wednesday (potentially Thursday) isn’t too hard. We joke around before Meles, a math teacher, suddenly materializes behind us and we separate into teachers and students.

The paved walk to school is beautiful and relaxed as we cover all sorts of topics from universities to traveling to Tigrigna. “Cali-po-lo-tus” is what locals call the eucalyptus trees lining the walk, a left over from the brief Italian occupation. An older man starts talking around me to Meles asking what I am doing here and why? While I understand, I let Meles explain that I am a volunteer English teacher at the school. The man keeps talking, and I finally laugh and explain myself to him, which shocks him that I know Tigrigna.

Once we get to school the grade 10 students are flooding out of the gates as the 9^th grade ones wait to go in and start their exams. To prevent cheating between shifts of students, this week tests and shifts are segregated by grade. Many call out my name and ask me how I am. I catch up with many and try to find my former students to check how they are feeling about exams, before heading to the staff lounge.

Just as the outside of the school is busy, the staff lounge is a loud buzz. Teachers I haven’t seen in a while are excited to see me again. Others make the weekend break seem like a month has separated us. While I’m not needed to proctor any of the tests, I still come to help, and hang with my buddies. I’ve barely put away my bag when Gebre Selassie, a brilliant history teacher who is also completely blind, asks if I would please help him grade a section of his grade 10 exams. I quickly get my red pen and start marking. Once finished I go into the main office to hang with Letish, the secretary, and Meles while making copies for the next day’s exams. Teklay, one of the Vice Directors, comes in after we are finished and whisks me to the small café on campus. It’s part of the budget to give all teachers tea and fuul, a hot breakfast dish, while working. We share two as they come off hot right after each other.

There are still exams going on so I pull out some dry erase makers and page protected paper for Winner, the three year old shadow, and myself to color on. Soon exams are done and all teachers and students make the walk back to town for a Christening… at least the party part of the celebrations. In the swarms of students there are also a large group of teachers meandering back on the dirt paths to the celebration.

Walking into the tarp covered area single filed with the other teachers I realize how common and accepted this has become. When I first went to events with teachers, mostly male, I was spotted out as being the foreingi. Now, people know my name and recognize that I just one of the crew of teachers that goes everywhere. Sitting on the familiar green benches propped on small sawhorses between Meles and Hagos, a Geography teacher, I couldn’t help but smile. There were other people in the small area; however, they were mixed between the 40 some teachers and staff from Hakfen Secondary School. Mesfin, an English teacher, made sure I got plenty of hilbet, shiro, and silsi when the pots were passed around. Meles made sure that I understood that the new dish was called “timitimo” and had it spelt correctly on my hand in fidel. I didn’t even have to deny a sewa cup as everyone knows I don’t drink. Instead Hagos made sure I got some water instead.

Even though I eat slower, we had all finished before the music started going. There is an American song that’s titled “Why Don’t We Just Dance?” Ethiopians never ask this question. They just do. As soon as the music comes they start to sway and will even shoulder dance in their seats before enough of them get up and join. I used to be intimated or scared. Now, I waited long enough for Kadra to finish her plate before joining the circle of teachers dancing.

After a couple more songs we stated to bail in shifts of teachers, similar to the ones we had come in. Teklay and I got away from a group of about 7 (including Gebre Selassie, Meles, Hagos and others), and headed to find some tea. We all ended up going to the same place and joked that Selekleka isn’t a very large town. After asking what a piece of cardboard with bottle tops was, Teklay and Meles taught me how to play Ethiopian checkers called Dama. One person played labels down and the other had them showing. The rules are different and too complicated to explain here, but I was still able to beat Meles before losing to Teklay. Mulaw, a Health and Physical Education teacher, and Haile came over to really show me that I have years to catch on. Jemal, a new Tigrigna teacher, showed me how to rock it with doing three jump turns. We sat till it was getting chilly and I walked home before it got too cold and dark.

Familiarity and comfort ability are two things that I love most about my life here. People genuinely care about me when they see me, yet we are all able to joke in a mix of languages. They no longer question when I start to write Tigrigna on my left hand, but make sure that I spelt it correctly. We can laugh about the craziness of each other’s languages while not laughing at the person attempting the unfamiliar one. We can sit for an hour to watch others play checkers and randomly chitchat.

Last year I was often forgotten when it came to social functions. Either someone wouldn’t tell me it was going on, or tell me we were all going. That’s rare these days. I’m asked a head of time, multiple times, that I will be somewhere for something. It’s this inclusion that I treasure. While eating, Meles mentioned that none of the 6 new teachers we have had come. I pointed out that it is hard to feel wanted and part of a group when one is new. Other teachers agreed, though many don’t remember that as they’ve been in Selekleka for at least three years.

This whole week is designated to mid-exams. Three each day for four days to cover the 11 subjects and have a day to hand back exams. I’m not required to go to school tomorrow as I’m not proctoring, English isn’t till Wednesday and there is no program going on. However, I will. I’ll go to see my friends smile, ask how they are doing, help in any way I can, and walk the half hour back with. Besides, Letish promised to paint my nails tomorrow and I can’t pass up her hugs!

Sweet Patience Friday 04 December 2015

This morning I got called into have coffee with Teklay, one of my vice directors. I didn’t have to be asked twice (especially as I had a sore throat). As the coffee was being made I realized that the silver bowl holding sugar had black spots in it. For the first round, my friend Merahawit carefully got only sugar, but I joked with Teklay that ants are just “added protein.”

However, there were also students coming and going and only Merahawit to cover the small place. So I quickly took the bowl of sugar and a spoon to scoop out the ants (some alive, many dead) from the sugar while we all chit-chatted about the meanings of names, loving Ethiopia, missing friends, and how some of the other teachers can be annoying. It took awhile, but eventually I had all the ants out and still had enough time to get my teaching aids prepared before my 2^nd period afternoon class.

While I was sorting out tiny ants not much larger then the grains of sugar, I realized I didn’t feel rushed or annoyed. I didn’t see the task ahead of me as mundane, boring, pointless or unworthy of my time. It needed to be done. Ethiopians love their sugary tea. Sugar is expensive and keeps going in and out of availability. I had the time on a comfy stool to sit and sort, so why shouldn’t I do it?

I can remember plenty of times in the past that I passed something up because I didn’t want to be bored. “It could be done by someone else,” I’d argue myself over before walking onto something seemingly more entertaining. I’d mutter about having to sit still doing anything when being up and about is clearly why my legs work.

Americans, at least the ones I know and who I was, love clocks. They love making each second count for something. There is a schedule that has to be maintained and filled constantly. They’ll have breaks, but maybe only for the length of a t.v. show, if they can sit still that long. Going and doing are key verbs to define a day/life. If there are ways to save time, like instant dinners, computing on phone, or headsets, people tend to lean that way.

Ethiopians are relaxed. This can be annoying, but only if the American standard is being the scale to grade them. If not, it’s…relaxing. I can do a task and not worry about what will come after. I knew I had class in 9B at 1:26 pm, but nothing before that was required. I could sort a bowl of sugar to make it useable again. 

In “Bugs Life” the ants are blue and purple. In “Antz” they are brown. Today they were little specks in the sugar, but they were my reminder to have patience and just relax in whatever task is before me.

Times Fly 01 December 2015

It’s a routine in my classes to start by writing the dates on the board. First I write the one students are accustomed to in the Ethiopian Calendar (today is 21/03/08 EC), and then my own. It’s a simple thing to expose the students to differences around the world, but also recognize that a day is a day no matter what you call it. Today I had to pause before writing 01/12/15, as my mind had to work overtime to believe that this was true.

How is it already December? The final month of my year off of American soil?! My final month of being 24?! Didn’t I just start school and call my parents for their birthdays?

I’ve been told multiple times by reliable people that the second half of anything often flies by quicker than the first half. At this point, I totally agree! It still seems so recent that my parents visited me. I haven’t had time to feel bad about missing the holiday season. Classes are running smoother with lessons already planned out and routines in place. Life is flying by.

It’s also being propelled as questions about post Peace Corps life become more and more common from friends here and back home. When I joined Peace Corps it was all I could think of doing. I had been telling people since 4^th grade that I was going to teach abroad. I didn’t have a plan for what to do once I finally did that. Honestly, I still don’t.

I don’t have anything finalized. I’m looking into coming back to my beloved green Pacific Northwest; however, teaching jobs for the 2016-2017 school year haven’t been posted yet (or at least I don’t have internet access to check for it). Some friends want to continue teaching/working abroad, but I need to come home for a spell before packing bags anywhere. This is the last month of the year I had everything planned out. The next year is full of uncertainty and unknowns. All I know is I’m resting in the trust of God to lead me where He needs me to go to do what He needs me to do.

Many people when they get close to an end, start counting down. Counting down to Christmas. Count down to the final buzzer. I’m sure there are some PCVs counting down the days till they fly to Addis Ababa for their final medical and closing paperwork. I’m not one of those.

I’m still making each day count. Counting up all the blessings. All the kids that I twirl in a day. All the laughs my students bring me. All the moments with teacher buddies when we both teach each other something new. Counting up all the times I get called by name in other towns. All the times someone calls me by name and not “forengi.” All the times someone praises my feeble Tigrigna and rejoices when I try to learn more.

However, it’s a balancing act. Part of me misses America and eagerly awaits the day when I can take a hot shower, eat bell peppers, and text vigorously to friends and family. Part of me wants to put it off to enjoy more invitations to peoples’ houses, relish coffee ceremonies and fresh injera, twirl kids without a care, and teach my large, energetic classes of brown eyed students. Time has put a part of my heart in both places.

On the way home from school today, we passed a dead sheep. One of the teachers I was with mentioned that there is nothing certain in life. The others agreed. Life is full of uncertainties. What’s important is to not worry, dread, or become anxious to fill that uncertainty with one’s own desires and wishes. But rather, enjoy wherever one is (even if that’s on a path with a dead sheep), try to see God’s blessings in it, and trust that He will take care of the uncertainty.

Papier-Mâché Messes November 28, 2015

Slime glistens over fingernails as it is squished off strips of paper slowly being pulled through. Music plays as the mind drifts. The cool soaked paper slowly covers the yellow neon balloon. Occasionally flour chunks will need to be rubbed out or a trailing dropped scooped up.  The sun outside in the picture book blue sky promises to help once the coat is finished.

This messy, easy craft has always been one of my favorites. I remember making a life size coyote in 3^rd grade and classic piñatas through various Spanish classes. There was a time Kara and I made a giant globe with a section cut away to show the layers of the earth.  We’d started with an old, giant umbrella that barely fit the doors at the school in 8^th grade. My junior or senior year of high school, I made the Alps for a project on Switzerland that were two feet long  It’s amazing what can be done with a little flour, water, paper and time.

I don’t think I did anything papier-mâché like in college. So, it’s been at least five years, half a decade, before I joined Peace Corps that I got all messy for some fun. However, since being here I’ve made multiple piñatas: a mosquito, soccer ball, traditional one, pumpkin, turkey and am starting an Ethiopian flag colored one for a friend.

When I first made the mosquito piñata, I didn’t really know what I was doing. My compound family was shocked and confused at what two balloons and some floured water could do. While the students loved it when I shook it and explained that there was candy inside, they didn’t mind being blindfolded for it. However, forgetting about how to hang a piñata was a lesson I would learn.

The soccer ball and traditional pinata were for camp this summer. The session had girls and boys talk about struggles and challenges that they encounter in their lives. Early marriage, harassment, sexual assault, and bullying were all mentioned and wrote on the black and white squares. After talking about how to overcome these challenges, we went out and had students take turns smashing their challenges. The other piñata was broken by hand and randomly used to hand out treats on the final day. An Ethiopian friend’s young son turned it into a hat!

A jack-o-lantern pumpkin was a surprise for an extra program at an orphanage. However, it had to be redecorated when it was brought to my attention that playing with food in a country dealing with drought and potential famine, isn’t a good lesson to teach. The kids loved it, even though it didn’t break until it was stabbed! I learned that I really have to count how many coats I put on a piñata.

And finally this week, there was an odd chicken like piñata being created in my compound. Trying to explain that a turkey is like a giant chicken for an American holiday was hard enough to explain without going into details. The looks I got on the bus ride and meandering though towns was also a shock that this is a very foreign thing. The insides though were stuffed with care package goodies to be shared with friends after a day of trainings.

As the wet goo slides through my fingers on this new one, I can’t help but smile. My compound is used to balloons drying out in the afternoon sun. I’m better at hanging and making them. It took time and patience, but I did learn.

In some ways these piñatas illustrate some great points about life as a PCV. For starters, it’s messy. There is dirt and dust everywhere. We have to dive in with both hands if we want our time to matter. We could stay in our rooms watching t.v., but where would the point be in that? Sometimes people don’t understand what we are doing, even if it seems like an easy things to do. This ranges from our pace of walk, to asking repeatedly for schedules, to making teaching aids daily. Eventually people come to the realization that what we do is fun, interesting, harmless, and inventive, but that takes time and patience.

I’m sure there will be more piñatas in my remaining time as a PCV. I’m not sure what they will be or if I will have any for Cinco de Mayo, but what I do know, is I’m still enjoying seeing the joy on peoples’ faces when they crack it open to some unexpected treats.