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 1st, 2nd, and 5th
periods; however, ended up teaching 2nd, 3rd, and 4th
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 1st
with 9A, and 5th with 9B and 6th with 9C and on Fridays I
have 2nd with A, 4th with 9B, and 5th with
9C); however I always have a class 5th 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 6th period to walk back into town on dusty roads
jumping over mud puddles with teachers as they finish. Sometimes I walk by myself during 6th
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.
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