Feeling the Rain 17 March 2016

Hanging around during 6^th period this morning, I paused mid-conversation to listen. The tap tap on the tin roof wasn’t wind or birds. It was sprinkles of rain! Walking shortly after that with some of my boys from section C, we brushed off the drops and continued on, though we did notice the concrete was darker than normal. As I unlocked my door, the drizzle started to become steady. It’s been about 4 hours and the rain has just stopped with thunder finally silencing.

While rain is nothing worth mentioning in the Pacific Northwest right now (I’ve heard it snowed/hailed in Spokane this week), Ethiopia is halfway around the world and close to the equator. This is hot season--a time when temperatures in Tigray, the northernmost region of the country, reach to the 90-100’s for weeks on end. A time when water is monitored, sunscreen applied liberally and repeatedly, and cooking is the worst part of the day. A time when rooms heat up even during the night waking one up at 2 or 3 am dripping in a wet mask. A time when morning shift is prized as students’ attention fades as the heat increases in the concrete classrooms.

I was laughed at when I jumped out to feel the few big drops of rain at school. Students were concerned and asked if I had an umbrella. People gawked at me as I braved the wind, puddles, and torrents as I attempted to go to the post office. Little kids told me to put the hood back up on my raincoat so my hair wouldn’t be ruined, as it had come off while we twirled. I can’t help it: I love the rain.

Growing up in the foothills of the Cascades, I am used to it raining at least 9 months out of the year. I used to have to remind college buddies that there are different types of rain for me like there are different words for snow for an Eskimo. But today I was reminded of the vast importance of rain.

The heat is exhausting. Rain provides a cool pause to a busy schedule. It allows the body to relax and remember what it is like to not sweat for a while. It washes off the old sidewalk chalk, pushes away the dirt and dung from the roads, and rinses off everything else to start a new. It relieves kids from carrying water to the fields, and takes on responsibility for filling buckets on its own. As Ethiopians are afraid of catching sickness from it, the rain also makes us consider our own mortality or at least immune system.

As I was standing on my front step letting the rain splash my feet and dribble on my hands a quote from a song went through my head. “Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in. Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten.” (“Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield ). No one else can feel the rain on your skin. No one can make you accept or deny it. But if today’s rainstorm is the start to a new book, page, leaf or even a footnote, the rain reminds me to start fresh with a passion. The dust has been washed away and forgotten. So has the past. The future cannot be expected, just like hours of rain during a drought. And the present is open for acceptance or denial, but either way it’s part of the story. A story that holds many unwritten pages to be filled, but with a page count unknown.

In the time it has taken me to type this, dry patches are starting to show on the compounds’ concrete like a giraffe’s skin. A cat is basking in a bright dry spot. The clouds have changed from elephant grey to milky white. Kids laughter and shouts are echoing on the wind. Time moves on. Rain keeps it all fresh. What’s important is to live through it all.

(Side note: The rain stopped long enough for me to get my evening walk in and then started up again taking out power. I feel asleep with the steady tap tap on the roof and the drips off downspouts.)

A Camel in a Well Wednesday 9 March 2016

         When I first heard that there was a camel in a well, I thought I had misinterpreted the local language. Then I realized it is Wednesday, which is often tagged “Hump Day,” and wanted a picture of what a bad hump day in Ethiopia is like (#ethiolife #badhumpday). My laughter died as I realized that the situation was much bigger than I had expected and not nearly as funny.

         Throughout the countryside of Selekleka (and I can assume most of rural Ethiopia) there are large reservoirs of water. They are about 8-10 feet in diameter and have steps going down about three feet though I don’t know where the bottom is on them. They are rimmed by rock. With the help of generators and plastic piping the water can be used for irrigation and then trickle back down to the large holes. I’ve also see children swimming in them and buckets being filled and carted on the backs of women to other places.

         Ethiopia is currently facing a drought, which is shifting in many locations to a famine. Many people lost crops with unexpected rainfall a couple months ago, and others are trying to keep what they have going as the hot season sets in. Vegetables at market are getting sparser and sparser while people are still trying to make enough money.  Like anywhere, bad luck and hard times can hit individuals with hard choices have to be made.

         A camel is worth about 10-15,000 birr ($476-$714.28) according to my teacher buddies. There are only a few places in Ethiopia where you can buy them so getting them back to wherever you came from is a long slow process. They are ideal for carrying heavier loads than donkeys or humans can carry. If needed, they can be ridden or tied together to go in a line. Many have their names scarred into their necks to show not only who’s they belong to, but that they have more worth than other animals who are never named. Overall, camels are considered a family’s greatest possession.

         However, when times get tough and the choice between family or animal has to be made, the latter gets the short end of the stick. I don’t know why the camel wasn’t sold or if there was something else behind the owner’s action. To be sparse on details, the camel was blinded and then led to the well to be left by the owner trying to make cuts. The steps leading down, are about four feet above the camels head. There is no way out just murky water sloshing against its sandy flanks.

         This week for my group hasn’t been easy. We just found out that our close of service dates have been moved back a week (from August 17th to the 24^th) which complicates many job, interns and other arrangements we have tried to set up. Network has been in and out making communicated between friends and Peace Corps staff a nightmare. Hot season is starting to set in making conditions sweaty and unpleasant. Students are getting over school and restless like American students get in June.

         I’d like to report that I am immune to the stress and hassle, but that’d be a lie. I’m spending hours at school trying to finish a world map mural with geography teachers, making a piñata for a Peace Corps program in two weeks, planning out summer camp details for a camp meeting this weekend, teaching a textbook that is repetitive and dry, trying to look into on-line grad school options that would allow me to come home earlier, figuring out final details for a friend coming to visit in 5 weeks, and going to coffee and funeral ceremonies with friends. Not to mention trying to battle power and water outages for the daily needs.

         One of my friends and I have dubbed bad days as “camel in a well,” type of days, but the reality is, there are usually more silver linings in our days than in the poor camel’s. My hand may be sprained, but twirling kids is still a joy. My farmer’s tan is getting more evident by the day, but the conversations I have with students and teachers to and from school are priceless. Students may be tired, but fun activities can get them up and thinking. I may not know where I will go for grad school or what I’ll study (I’m wavering between English, Math or Science for 6-12^th grade), but unlike Ethiopian students I get to decide. I may collapse exhausted at the end of the day, but at least my days are full of fun and purpose.

         Bad days happen. Just be thankful you aren’t a camel stuck in a well.

Update: When I was walking to school on Friday, students were feeding the camel. By the time classes had been finished, students had used ropes to get the camel out of the well and were feeding it in an empty field. Maybe even “camel in the well” days can come out okay in the end!

         

Beyond the To-Do Lists 4 March 2016

I have color-coded post-it notes up in my room with various things to-do in my life. Purples are school related, blues are for Peace Corps (light for current and dark for post), and yellows for life.  The lists grow faster then they shrink. Some are starting to curl upwards and I wonder if they will stay sticky.  It’s 5 o’clock and I’m just getting home even though I taught the morning shift. I can only cross one thing off my list. . . . so what was I doing with my time?

In Toby Keith’s song “My List” he confesses to the many things that try to fill his days. “Under an old brass paper weight, is my list of things to do today. Go to the bank and the hardware store,” but knows that there are other things that are more important. For example “Go for a walk, say a pray, take a deep breath of mountain air, put on my glove, play some catch.” In the end he confesses that it “wouldn’t change the course of fate, if cutting grass just had to wait. I’ve got more important things. Like pushing my kid on a backyard swing. Won’t break my back for a million bucks I can’t take to my grave. So why put off for tomorrow what could get done today? ….just start living that’s the next thing on my list.”

I didn’t do my to-do list today because I was too busy living life. My hands got covered in ink while helping students make posters to send to American students instead of recording attendance on my clipboard. I made jokes while I licked 77 stamps for a package with a friend as her one-year-old played with the hem of my flowing skirt. I twirled kids while having to wait for cars and camels to pass. I went to a friend’s just to show her pictures of my family, and ended up having tea and making plans for going to her niece’s birthday party tomorrow. I went to buy bread from an amazing 10^th grade female student, and ended up sitting on the edge of her small bed in the bread house going over various exercises from her English book. And I’m writing this blog instead of grading or recording or doing anything else on the various to-do lists posted.

And that’s okay.

Yes, I will need to record and send students’ letters (and inevitably lick more stamps), get water, wash dishes, sweep, clean my room, and make dinner eventually. But instead of prioritizing those to an extreme, I decide to help a student for an hour. I move things around so that I keep my daylight hours focused on people and truly living this life. I make so many plans with so many people I have to write them down, but love that my life can be focused on friends here!

I remember the first day of classes at college--being completely overwhelmed by the syllabi. How was everything going to do get done for all the courses? Through hard work, it was all able to be completed, but two years after graduation, it’s not the paperwork that was most important, but the friends made and lessons learned. It was the part of living life beyond what is assigned or expected.

This weekend I have plans to eat fish, get internet, go to a birthday party (maybe overnight), watch and photograph teacher soccer game, and find paint to finish mural. Somewhere in there I should do laundry (by hand), go to market, get letters sent off and plan next week’s lessons with more details. Life. Crazy, hectic, fun, and as meaningful as one’s focus is.

Juice Bet 3 March 2016

We are going to talk about something that volunteers have to monitor conistently, but talk about constantly. Something that takes up way too much of our time creating and craving. It infiltrates our waking and sleeping moments. And when something big, like a juice house, comes to town, we spend birr telling everyone who likes it should make local…no national news channels. It causes us to haunt post office for care packages and rejoice when a friend shares. What is this topic? FOOD.

What did you eat for your last meal? What about this week? What about this year (2016 or school year or past 365 days)? My guess is that you’ve indulged in such a variety of food as spacious as Antartica so that you can’t remember all of it. Let me try to jog your memory…

You could have eaten various fresh, you-pick berries in the summer, but they’re always in the frozen section at Wal-Mart if you miss them. There may have been a sale on lean ground beef, but when was that in relationship to the cheaper chicken breasts, pork chops, ribs, or even canned tuna? Cucumbers, green beans, bell peppers, lettuce, spinach, Brussels sprouts, and broccoli are always handy to keep something green nearby, but could’ve been substituted for cauliflower, carrots, beets, tomatoes, squash or colored bell peppers for other vitamin/vegetable needs. The special compartment in the fridge for cheese could have mozzarella for pizzas, cheddar for grilled cheese sandwiches, blue cheese for the “real adults,” string cheese for snacks, Cougar Gold for Christmas, and parmesan for pasta. Plus the various %’s of milks, Greek or non-Greek yogurt, or cottage cheese to help satisfy dairy cravings that 31+ flavors of ice-cream don’t count towards. That’s not to mention all the cupboard space dedicated to boxes, bags, tubes and cans of various foods in all categories. Any of that sound familiar?

For the last 17 months (first three months my host family took care of meals) I have been buying all my food at local markets and stores. My veggies are potatoes, cabbage, onions, garlic and tomatoes. Occasionally beets and carrots make an appearance. There are always bananas and limes with guavas, paypayas, avacados, mangos, cactus fruit, and oranges making short, seasonal appearances. Fresh 2% milk is trick to find, but just give it a couple days out and it’s yogurt. Honey, eggs, and peanut butter are easy to find, but jam, Laughing Cow cheese, chocolate little  takes bigger towns and fingers crossed. Rice and pasta are pretty easy to come by as long as you like the one kind.

With this giant contrast to dietary options, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I (and other volunteers) have dreamed about produce aisles in our sleeping and waking moments. No matter what conversation we start, confessions of food cravings surface even for food we never really cared for (ex. KFC). We experiment, but resign ourselves with the same meals day after day mixing cravings for American and Ethiopian dishes together. We splurge and hut down pizza and burger places, but will swallow anything backed with really cheap beer. We avoid commercials where advertisements seem to be mocking us.

So why am I staying up late on a school night to write this blog about a juice house that I found today? Because for me, it’s something completely new, fresh, a promise of variety and a shimmer of choice and opportunity. It’s something that I rejoice in and am humbly grateful for.

I’ll be the first to admit that I took variety for granted for the first 23 ½  years of my life. I rolled my eyes when a table at church would fill with squash and cucumbers from over flowing gardens. I would put things in freezers so that I could justify buying some of more things. I’d save coupons during college for more restaurants than I could ever go to.  I’d walk past blackberries, rhubarb, blueberries, strawberries in our backyard while they’d go bad. I had my favorite things, of course, but even those wouldn’t double up within a week or maybe a month.

I love living and eating in Ethiopia. As much as I crave Grandma’s tater-tot casserole and Dad’s fresh bread, I also have cravings for “Habisha,” Ethiopian, food. Being deprived…no, that sounds too harsh… unable to have a large variety has made me appreciate what I do have. I have friends at the market who smile and always give me great deals on fresh produce they had to carry into town. I have a single electric burner, while most of my friends have charcoal. I’ve learned how different women make the same dish and how the simplest things can make a difference. I’ve adapted to cook during a 5 month water shortage and times when sugar and oil are being rationed.

While it may seem like my variety is limited now, I know it won’t always be and that being here is extending my love of food. I’m worried what will happen when I can’t get injera or the shiro and burbury (spice powders) I’m bringing back will be finished. I look forward to my first bowl of cottage cheese and Mom’s canned peaches, but also when I serve friends a bowl of ga’at, thick porridge, with silsi.

So, I guess the point of this blog of foodness, is just to remind you all to be thankful for what you have, the choices that you have open to you, and to eat consciously of that. Also, get out of the comfort zone and try something new! You may be surprised what you find.

Gloom, Despair & Agony 23 February 2016

I’m going to break my personal rule and make an assumption: Many of you never watched the old program “Hee Haw” set in a cornfield with stars like Roy Clark and Buck Owens. I doubt I would ever have watched it if I didn’t spend so many summers with Grandparents while growing up and in college (where, let’s be honest, I was still growing up). The whole Hee Haw gang is a pretty upbeat, satirical, humorous group. However, there was usually a segment with overall-clad men complaining about something random in some rhythm. Anyway, the open and close of their act was the following stanza:

“Gloom, despair, agony on me.

Deep dark depression. Excessive misery.

If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

Gloom, despair, agony on me.”

I can’t really explain, when I was walking home exhausted and weighed down by an extremely long day, why these lyrics popped into my head. However, they did in their long dreary low tones (youtube it!) making me stop and think, why of all days would I think these thoughts?

         Well, let’s look at all the gloomy, dark, agonizing, depressing, misery inducing, bad luck things that happened to me today. I woke up at 4:37am for no particular reason; however, thanks to donkeys, roosters, pigeons, cats and car horns I wasn’t really able to get back to sleep. My phone’s decided it doesn’t want to work so I can’t attempt to Fb text Mom or anyone. On the way to school around 9ish, my big right toe split open on the side so now walking on either foot hurts (got blisters on left one going to funeral on Saturday) and of course I left Band-Aids and Neosporin at home. I was able to have some help measuring the wall for the mural, but washing the wall, hanging the stencil and tracing it while on ladders at odd angles, caused me to have many knots form in my back and bruises on my shins (from propping self on ladder).  Temperatures are starting to get really hot, so that was just an exhausting, though I was having to limit water as I am teaching afternoon shift and the bathrooms at the school aren’t the best. Got to my first real class of the semester, just to realize that all the work I did rearranging the desks last week was undone so I can’t actually move through the classrooms which leads to misery when I use proximity for classroom management of 70 kiddos. I then had 2^nd-4^th period free to indulge a headache and overall tiredness from pretty much being conscious since 4:30. 5^th period was a breeze (besides desks being crazy) but that left final period (4:30-5:12pm) with the class that knows all my buttons. And, oh, did they push every button in the most agonizing ways possible! Let them out early (5!) even though all the other teachers had already left and we didn’t get everything covered for the day. As I walked to the office I felt the first raindrops and rolled my eyes at that bad luck. Of course the day that I stencil out a world map mural with pencil is the day we get rain for the first time in months (all of 2016 plus some!). Started walking home just wanting to be done for the day, but realizing I still need to plan for tomorrow, cook a real meal, find paint, and rehydrate. Tigrigna music was blaring as girls washed laundry in my compound helping the pounding headache along, and the power went out just as I was starting soup. Rinsed out cut toe with candlelight trying to get all the dirt I could see out; however, that lead to the disinfectant and Neosporin really stinging.

         Okay, so today was a day I could (and just kind of did) complain about. I spent all day at school for something that was destroyed with the evening showers. I had a great lesson that only really worked for one class and another one that made me feel like a “mean teacher.” I couldn’t twirl kids as I hobbled home. Gloom, despair and agony.

         However, that’s only a part of today. I also had blueberries in my morning oatmeal, got to pack a fun sack lunch for the first time in ages (2 small pb&j sandwhiches, banana and jollyranchers), watch “Psych” (which makes one lol-out loud), hang out with teachers in the opposite shift I never see, receive some encouraging facebook and text message, have a geography teacher want to help out with painting, met students who helped me trace the map mural, take a nap, be fed a second small lunch of injera and silsi (tomatoes, onions and chili sauce), record and plan out penpalling activities for students later this week, listen to music on way home, use my nice hole-in-the-ground-toilet,  read the Bible by candlelight, use new Disney Princess band-aid on toe, drink tons of water (some with crystal light), make a delicious new experimental soup, and laugh some more with Shawn and Gus on “Psych.”

         Life in Peace Corps is hard. Life anywhere is hard. There are times that seem very forlorn and disheartening. However, that’s only a piece of the puzzle of life. There are other cool things going on. The rain today is going to allow me to sleep in tomorrow and go to the post office for the first time this week instead of trying to hurry a busy director into giving me approval to buy new paint. Reading by candlelight is a simple pleasure I forget about. I’ll have another day to reach my students and fill in the blanks from today’s lessons, and have planned my semester with plenty of cushion days to work with. As Kelsey, one of my dear PC friends, texted me today: “You are a cool and amazing person and there isn’t a bad day that tea, some chocolate, a funny tv show or good book, fuzzy blanket, and a stuffed animal can’t fix. Tomorrow is a new day.” So, I’m passing those words of wisdom on to you. You are cool and amazing in your own way. No matter if you have electricity (or chocolate) or not, fixing a bad day doesn’t take that much. It mostly takes a change of perspective, a deep breath, and the comfort that “tomorrow is a new day, with no mistakes in it yet” (Anne of Green Gables). And if you need a fun, hokey, twangy country show, check out HeeHaw, maybe that song isn’t as depressing as I’ve let on. ;)

Update: I went to school the next day and miraculously the world map mural was still traced out! It took us a while to find blue paint, but a Geography teacher buddy and I are going to start painting oceans on Monday! J

Life 21 February 2016

Blogger Challenge Prompt #3: “A Way in the Life:” What is it like to live in your host country? What does a day in your shoes look like?

I’ve been procrastinating this prompt for various reasons that seem to be explained with detective shows. I’ve already expressed my love of this genre so won’t go into repetitive details here; however, my appreciation has grown as these plots finally showed me why I was procrastinating. Somewhere along the course of solving crimes, a detective (or anthropologist or psychic depending on your show) will ask friends and family about the victim’s schedule. They will ask something along the lines of “Was Mr. Humperkinkle experiencing any unusual behavior?” or “What werer Mrs. Pickle’s hobbies, pastimes and schedule?” in an attempt to have a working time-line and see if any unusual behavior contributed to the victim’s unfortunate demise. This prompt is pretty much asking the same thing. What does a day in my (unvictimized) shoe’s look like? The truth is, if predictability is deadly, shouldn’t get killed, cuz every day is filled with unusual behavior.

         Take this last week for example. While we were suppose to start classes after a week-long semester break, teachers, staff and students were unsure who had morning and afternoon shift and none really showed up till Wednesday. I am supposed to teach three classes with an average of 75 students in each. I taught one combined class with 25 on Wednesday and spent the rest of the shift playing volleyball (and getting  horribly sunburned!). On Thursday, a Vice Director announced that we would get back to schedules. I was suppose to teach 1^st, 2^nd, and 5^th periods; however, ended up teaching 2^nd, 3^rd, and 4^th with an average of 18 students in each class. Friday was a holiday, canceling school, to celebrate the Tigray People Liberation Front (TPLF) being established to overthrow the Derg government, 41 years ago. Banks were closed, teacher friends were gone, and regular places I’d go were closed. My schedule was unusual.

         But to be nice to any quizical detective or friend trying to plot my life, there are some things that I can count on and do every day/week on some sort of a planned schedule:

1.   Work: I arrive to school at least 30 minutes before my shift starts. Shifts rotate between morning and afternoon weekly so that means I either get to school at 7:30am or 12:15pm.  I have no classes scheduled on Mondays, as English is only taught 4 times a week. Depending on the day, my class schedule is different (example Tuesdays I have 1^st with 9A, and 5^th with 9B and 6^th with 9C and on Fridays I have 2^nd with A, 4^th with 9B, and 5^th with 9C); however I always have a class 5^th period. When I’m not teaching, I’m hanging out with teachers, looking up student’s questions if the library is open, texting or facebooking with phone or having tea. I usually wait until after 6^th period to walk back into town on dusty roads jumping over mud puddles with teachers as they finish.  Sometimes I walk by myself during 6^th or stay into the afternoon shift to catch up with teacher friends I rarely see.

2.   Market: I love Saturdays! I usually make pancakes or scrambled eggs while relaxing about the house until 9:30-10ish. I then grab my fraying market bag and head over to the market (about a five minute walk). I tend to buy a kilo of onions and cabbage and half a kilo of carrots and tomatoes every week and potatoes, garlic, papaya, guavas, limes and beats occasionally.  I first walk through and see if anyone calls out my name. If they do, I buy from them. If not I look for kids, students or friends to buy from them.

3.   Evening Walks: It is staying lighter longer which makes me extra happy and extending the time I like being out and about. No matter what happened during the day, no matter which shift I was in, I like to get out of the house for at least a half hour before calling it quits, making dinner, and holing up in my house. This is when I twirl all the kids, do races, and run into teachers playing dominoes or drinking tea. I go different places and run into different kids, but I always get out. I then come back to make dinner, relax with a book and/or tv show, and wash feet.

4.   Bathing/Cleaning: I live in the Land of Dust. It’s everywhere. It coats everything. Every evening I wash off layers of dirt between my toes and up my arms in a bucket in my room (usually while watching the last t.v. episode of the night).  I wash my hair on either Saturday or Sunday depending on availability of water (though I keep 2 liters of water filled just for this!). I only wear one skirt and two shirts for a week so laundry isn’t a big deal on either Saturday or Sunday or to be put off for another weekend depending on availability of water, which has been sporadic recently.

Now, that still leaves lots of open free time in my days to fill. At least twice a week, usually in the mornings, I go to the post office, though the postmistress isn’t there often so I walk that way for the fun of it. I buy bananas, eggs, and injera as I feel like it. Bananas are usually bought from kids on my evening walks. Oil, flour, rice, and pasta are bought as I run low. I go to Rahel’s, one of my best friends here, at least three times a week for tea or coffee and great laughs. I read, watch t.v, plan lessons, making teaching aids, clean, write letters and work at checking off things on my various color-coded to-do lists. Sometimes I make piñatas, and other times I work on a world map mural at the school. I play volleyball and teach kids how to fist bump (we call it “boosh” as we make that noise as we explode it). I go to funerals, weddings, and christenings that are planned and coffee ceremonies that I’m called to come to “now!” I go to the bank about once a month and break the 100 birr notes they give me buying phone cards as I need them. I go into Shire, Axum or Adwa about once a week to get internet and make that more consistent as I’m looking into job applications after the Peace Corps. There are days when I’m rarely in my own house, and days I’m at my house all day.

     A day in my life is unusual. It’s different than the one before, but has enough of a schedule to keep me busy and accountable. It starts with a pot of tea and ends with me journaling in pjs.  It’s a pretty low key kind of life.

     So that’s what I do, but that doesn’t really answer the first question: What is it like? But how can I adequately convey to you that? Hmmmm. Well, using imagery: Close your eyes (or at least ignore everything and pretend so that you can keep reading). It’s early morning, but your alarm clock hasn’t gone off yet. You’re under a sheet and thin blanket, but you need to roll over so your forehead isn’t scratching against the bed net tucked into the side of your bed. You try to hang onto the dream you just had with friends’ faces you haven’t seen in over a year, but a donkey brays unapologetic in the ally next to your house causing the roosters to start squawking to make up for being late while pigeons start flapping around on your tin roof making sleep impossible to resume. Soon the alarm clock goes off and after pushing snooze a couple of times you grumble, roll over, untuck the mosquito net, put on flip-flops and stand up. You turn on the light switch and realize you were holding your breath when the light comes on. It’s always a gamble if breakfast will be hot or cold. You put on a kettle of water for tea on the single burner electric stove before going to the shint bet to relieve your bladder. Coming back you brush hair and get clothes before taking the pot off the stove and adding a tea bag. You’ve decided oatmeal is a good option so put some water in a pot to boil while you get dressed, now having the music on to replace the alarm noise. It is morning.

     If you walk this path in the morning you are cold with goosebumps as the wind hits you full force. If you walk it in the afternoon you are grateful for any breeze that comes your way. If you walk it in the evening you enjoy the setting sun turns the sky orange and stars start to poke out. You can walk it with students or plan it so you can walk it on your own to finish planning your lesson. Whenever you walk it, the red sandy dust kicks up onto your feet turning to mud between the toes. Your shoe prints join many others mostly the plastic shoes in various colours that students wear . In a couple places you have to focus on stepping on the stones just right so you can get over the muddy patches caused by irrigation from maize, onion and lettuce fields nearby. Rocks are everywhere to trip you up, but soon you are on gravel to know you’ve made it the 30 minutes from town to school.

     The staff lounge is either a buzz of people or completely quiet. The t.v. may be on if there is power. Lockers line the far wall and are in the two long tables hugged by benches. After putting things away in your 12 inch cube locker you double check the schedule of which classes you teach when. You go where friends are or wait outside sitting on hard stone steps to wait for others to show up.

     You take a deep breath, praying and calming yourself before entering the concrete chamber of a classroom in a white lab coat. Some students shout your name, a few come to try take your duster to erase the previous lesson’s notes, many continue to talk with friends. You make small chat with the students as you get ready for the day, thanking the student for erasing the board. Turning to the top left corner you write two dates in both the Ethiopian and Gregorian calendars. Turning around you take another breath, reassuring yourself that you know your notes, and say at a medium level voice “Good morning class.” Teal clad students smile and stand repeating “Good morning.” You may have to repeat it again for to get all students focusing, but it doesn’t take long. “How are you?” You ask as you assess who is here and isn’t. “We are fine.” Somedays you ask an extra question to see who can answer, but today you just smile and have them sit down with their notebooks closed and their 70+ pairs of dark brown eyes focused on you, which you hope stays that way for most of the lesson. A lesson that will ask the students to build on what they already know, and overcome their fear of being wrong to participate. A lesson that won’t go like it did in the other classrooms or like you had planned. A lesson with chalk breaking, buttons being pushed, and two languages filtering in.

     Sheep meander across the center line. Chicken cross the road without being part of a joke. The mosque’s speakers crackle the evening prayers like the churches did earlier this morning. Kids play along the sidewalks or on the dusty ground passing the time before dinner. When they see me they yell “Him-bell-le-lay!” for a twirl and then “Boosh” for an exploding fist bump afterwards. Boys holding plastic buckets weave in-between the people out for evening walks selling roasted oats or hardboiled eggs. The last buses of the night shout their destinations in tired voices ready to be home. The sun goes down behind the distant hills, though the light will try to stay for about 20 minutes later, till it too goes to sleep. It’s the end of another day.

         Or to put it metaphorically:

         Living in Ethiopia is like being in 1800s with cellphones. It’s like being a toddler who wants to speak, but doesn’t know the right words in two languages. It’s like living an adventure story in normal life one page at a time. It’s like a teeter-totters with high, lows, and times when you just try to balance it out with a friend. It’s like a maze to figure out and learn with time.