HAPPY ETHiOPiAN CHRiSTMAS!!!!

   07 January 2016 or 23/04/08 Ethiopian Calendar (EC)

Hope

            The room is dazzling with pristine, white table clothes rubbing against the highest of Ethiopian fashion. Cameramen are invisible, but capture the announcers, award winners and guests against Castle Beer backdrops wishing all a Merry Christmas from Addis Ababa. A video is played which guests are able to watch. Even without knowing Amharic, the national language which the film uses, the message is clear. A young girl crouches beside six charcoal stoves with a wall of yellow jerry cans behind her as she chops onions finely. She packages dozens of meals in plastic Tupperware boxes that she carries in two large woven plastic baskets. On her back she straps on a black backpack that she fills with bottled water. She goes around selling her meals and water to people working on the streets of Addis. After the movie cuts out, the girl, wearing a beautiful white dress with small pink flowers, is standing besides the host on stage. In the preceding fifteen minutes she is awarded 40,000 birr from a bank, 40,000 birr from the hotel owner, 10,000 birr from an actress in the crowd, a 1,500 birr fridge and more totally over 1,000,000 birr (about $47,619 USD). She humbly bows her head as she wipes away the tears. She’s only ever dreamed of this and now can only say thank you for a new reality being granted to her.  Hope.

Peace

            She silently watches as I come in, though her smile and eyes dance as she recognizes me. I’ve barely sat down on a cinderblock when she comes over for a hug. She doesn’t respond to anything I say, but will raise her eyebrows in the cultural symbol for yes. As I’m handed a plastic plate of injera with chicken and egg-watt (soup), she stands nearby. Soon we are eating together. After finishing the meal, she pats my lap, asking in her own silent way if she can sit on it. I smile as I hoist up her small three-year-old frame. She bounces gently reminding me of the “This is the way that Baby rides” songs we’ve done before and is asking for it again. Then she relaxes into my arm to be rocked with “Rock-A-By Baby.” When I’m handed coffee, she just nestles into my arm and relaxes, gentle pushing her fuzzy head into the upper part of my left arm so I keep rocking gently. She plays with my hair gently getting it out of its braid. She trusts me as she leans all the way back. She twists my necklace to watch it twirl to get straightened out. She hasn’t a care in the world, and  just trusts me to hold her tight. Peace.

 

 Joy

             His brows furrow in confusion and interest as he quizzically holds the red paper package held together with three pieces of blue tape . He hands it to his father who opens one end while speaking softly in Tigrigna. The two year old boy stands on his toes to try to peak in. Out comes a small brown football, lighting up his brown eyes. Then out comes a blue matchbox car. A smile and squeal erupts from the child as he drops the ball to reach for the car. In seconds he is zooming it back and forth, against the wooden bed frame. He is a constant bubble of giggles as he “vrooms” it over the mattress, around the corner of the bed and on his dad’s head. After a while, he goes back to the football, barely able to get his small hands around the ball. He tosses it to his dad and across the room to his mom before deciding to throw it against the wall so it bounces back and knocks him on the head. Laughter fills the small room from all of us as we see him fall on the mattress giggling and clutching the ball in one hand and the car in the other. Joy.

 

Love

            My name is called out as two long-legged sixth grade girls come racing down the dirt path forcing me to stop. We are soon walking down the path giggling and bantering in a mix of Tigrin-glish. We race, skip and walk over rocks, around dung in the hot afternoon sun. Soon my arms are being draped over the girls’ shoulders as they continue to talk about the holiday, school, and life. One of the girls insists on taking me to her aunt’s house for some holiday treats, but we end up laughing outside for an hour without eating anything . Other kids come to laugh, learn and just love life. One of the girls comes over with a broken bottle of green fingernail polish and another quickly dips her small pointer finger in to use as a brush to paint my left fingernails and all toes. We play games while calling each other sisters and brothers until it’s time to go home. Love.

Christ in Christmas

            While in America kids count down to the two-week vacation and count up the presents gathering around the tree, Ethiopian children eagerly await the one day off school and end a 40 day fast with family eating lots of meat . It’s a day where teachers travel back to families as soon as possible, the church starts service at 5am and girls have fresh braids and beautiful dresses.

            Christmas in Selekleka isn’t about the propaganda, commercialism or consumerism. It’s about Jesus being born and celebrating that with family and friends. Food is prepared and shared freely with friends and family without looking at the costs or expecting anything in return. Coffee is roasted, ground, boiled and shared while laughing with the loved ones. It’s a thanksgiving to God for sending His only son to our world to show us how to live while allowing us to have a relationship with God.            

            Some days I hear people wishing to go to America, to be part of a thriving, developed country. However, it is days like today that I love Ethiopian culture. There may be no presents, Santa, snow or lights, but the focus of Christmas is on what really matters: Christ coming for us all to be part of his family with plenty of hope, peace, joy and love to go around.

Stuff’s Just Stuff 30 December 2015

One doesn’t have to look hard or listen very close to figure out how Christmas is portrayed. “I should be playing in the winter snow, but I’m gonna be under the mistletoe…. Everyone’s gathered around the fire. Chestnuts roasting…” (Misteltoe – Justin Beiber). “Santa Claus is coming to town. He’s making a list and checking it twice.” “When Christmas Day is here. The most wonderful day of the year.” (Rudolf and the Island of Misfit Toys) “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Everywhere you go. Take a look at the five and ten, it’s glistening once again with candy canes and silver lanes that glow….Toys in every store. But the prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door…There’s a tree in the Grand Hotel and one in the park as well….soon the bells will start.”

Growing up, I loved waiting and watching the Christmas boxes coming out from the rafters. Boxes that were stashed away, but within reach when we needed them. Our blue plates were traded out for holly printed and gold rimmed ones (that we couldn’t put in the microwave). Pictures were moved off the main walls so that we could hang our stockings. White icicle lights were hung with a line of color lights around the perimeter of the house. Nativity scenes were put on the pellet stove mantel and old England scene with cotton snow on top of the piano. Grandma’s handmade advent calendar was back by the bedrooms and a hanging Santa with balancing glasses in the bathroom. One tree was in the front room and one was in the back to accommodate all the ornaments we’ve made, gathered, or were given throughout our lives. A giant woven basket that stored all of the Christmas books was right next to the couch begging to be read. It really did start to look like Christmas.

Last year, I missed the stuff. This year, the feeling is still there, but not as strong. I’ve realized everything in those boxes is stuff. Stuff that will break, be lost, be handed down through generations and packed back up in the new year. Stuff is just stuff. So, what makes it valuable enough to miss even after two years?

The plates are the reminder of so many laughs around the family table eating delicious food together. The stockings aren’t just something parents picked up for us once we were born and wrote our names in sharpie. They are cross-stitched by Dad with our names and the entire alphabet themed around Christmas. The Nativities range from how they came into our lives, but remind us to get the real meaning of Christmas centered. Grandma’s calendar that we would take turns who got to pull out an ornament for the felt tree, but made sure each kid was allowed to pull out the day that matched his/her age. The laughs, smiles, and stories retold for all the ornaments that came out of tissue and boxes. Curling up with cocoa to hear the Christmas stories being reread, by those who taught us to read.

Stuff helps make traditions. The pan with cutmarks in the bottom that Dad uses for his caramels is somehow elevated in importance now more than the rest of the year. “Muppet’s Christmas Carol” that we watch practically every year with smiles and laughs. The candles in the advent wreath in the center of our table that we love to light. The orange in the toe of our stockings. But, the stuff is just an accessory. The important parts are the family and friends that make traditions and memories.

A paper tree with a bald angel on top, a small silver angel ornament hanging on my lightswitch and red twisted streamers are the only decorations that suggest it’s Christmas season at all. It’s actually more up then I had last year. There were two packages to open for Christmas, but today I didn’t have anything for my birthday. Stuff is pretty low.

I’m so far away from my family. Calling is tricky as network and power are inconsistent and choppy. I miss the traditions with my family in a way I can’t articulate adequately or give justice to. Sometimes the pain is real and makes me wonder why I’m sacrificing so much time away from family to be here. I dream of just having one hour with the family.

But then, my eyes open and I realize the stuff may be limited here. My biological family may be far away. But I’m wrapped in love and purpose here. I have friends that wish me Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday even though Christmas isn’t for another week in their calendar and only small children really celebrate birthdays. There are friends that I play volleyball with until after the sunsets and walk home shivering with. Friends that call and text me wishing me a great new year and those that post Facebook messages to make me smile. Friends that call me sister and truly treat me like one. Students that laugh, smile and question why Saint Nick left money in socks, but eagerly write letters to him asking for an education, sheep, lollipops and cars.

I don’t have much. But I do have a purpose. I do know that music can convey the real meaning of Christmas is lyrics like: ““Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born.” “Angels we have heard on high sweetly singing ov’r the plains. And the mountains in reply echoing their joyous praise. Glooooooooooooooooooria. In excelcius Deo.” “God rest ye merry gentlemen. Let nothing you dismay. Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas day. To save us all from Satan’s powers when we had gone astray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy.” We give gifts to remember the greatest gift given to us out of love (John 3:16-17). Gifts may be stuff. But they are part of how we show love to one another.

I’m appreciative of all the care packages that I have received. The stuff that conveys love and good wishes. I look forward to when those that I know are coming will finally arrive. However, I do look around my room and wonder where all the stuff I do have comes from. How has it accumulated and why? What will I do with it all when I leave? Stuff is stuff. What gives it value is the people that make it memorable.

Country vs Continent 28 December 2015

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane. I remember in elementary school being quizzed often on how many continents there are, what are their names, and where are they. The answer of 7 was quickly followed by Asia, Africa, Europe, South America, North America, Australia and Antarctica. Coloring maps was a common practice to distinguish between continents and countries that fascinated me. For example America is the mid-belt section of North America. However, I recognize elementary school was a long time ago for many of us, so here is a quick reminder on some key geographical terms (the importance will arise shortly, I promise).

con·ti·nent (n)

1. any one of the seven large continuous land masses that constitute most of the dry land on the surface of the earth.

2. the part of the earth’s crust that rises above the oceans

coun·try (n)

1. a nation or state that is politically independent, or a land that was formerly independent and remains separate in some respects

2. the nation or state where somebody was born or is a citizen

3. a large area of land regarded as distinct from other areas, for example, because of its natural boundaries or because it is inhabited by a particular people

4. an area that is farmed or remains in a relatively undeveloped state, as distinct from cities, towns, and other built-up areas

5. a region that is distinguished by particular characteristics or is associated with a particular activity, person, or group of people

6. the people of a nation or state, especially when affected as a group by political or other events

7. See also country music

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

            To put it all in simple terms, like I often do for my 200+ ELL kiddos, a continent is a geographically huge, dry landmass and a country is a political nation or state where nationalities stem from.  You may be wondering “So, if these concepts are easy to understand for elementary students, why is Jessie bringing these up?” Here’s the thing, we do know them, but we are ignorant in our speaking and writing and unknowingly create biases, generalizations and assumptions about a place with improper English.

            In the September 21, 2015 issue of People Magazine, Pippa Middleton is featured for her great athleticism. “Although she has pulled off previous athletic feats – including running a marathon in Africa just one week after completing a 54-mile bike race in Sweden.” Africa, the second largest continent of 11.62 million sq miles/31.1 million sq km divided into 54 countries, and it is listed like a country in relations to Sweden. The article below features her brother-in-law, Prince Harry, acting like a “real African man, sleeping outside under the stars” on his three week dream job in Africa.

            If you’re wondering about what the big deal is, remember that proper English grammar has the rule that things in a list must be alike. For example: “I visited England, France and Spain.” or “She went to Addis Ababa, Nairobi and Moscow.” (I’m blanking on the rule, but this does exist.) Saying Pippa’s run proved her strength in Africa and Sweden is grammatically incorrect. Either the country she ran her marathon in needs to be listed or Sweden needs to be replaced with Europe.

While I understand that security needs to be maintained for Prince Harry (he is part of a ruling monarchy after all), generalizing an entire continents inhabitants as being “African” is a broad, politically incorrect, and an absurd comment. There are over 80 ethnic groups and nationalities just in Ethiopia. If we guess there is an average of 50 different ethnic groups in each African country, to cover between large masses like Congo with smaller countries like Togo (though probably on the low side), that would mean there are 2,700 different ethnic groups. So, what would an “African man” have to be to adequately represent every one? For starters, I haven’t met an Ethiopian yet who wants to sleep outside.

The truth is, Americans, tend to generalize a giant continent to treat it like a country which we can understand better. People Magazine isn’t the only ones that do this. In Times Magazine, a map depicting refugees had country borders depicted for European countries, but not for African countries. While Iraq and Syria are the only countries labled, the entire northern region of Africa is titled “North Africa” like a country. Egypt isn’t even listed. Instead it is treated like a name similar to South Africa, which is actually a country.

Why are generalizations             made about Africa? We would never say “We are North American” so why do we write about “Africans” like they are one group? What does “an African sunset” really mean when the continent reaches between the Indian and Atlantic Oceans, touches the Mediterranean and Red Seas, only connects to another continent by the Isthmus of Suez, has giants cities and small town in deserts, forests, mountains and islands? How does a sunset really different from a “European sunset” or an “Asian sunset?” Why ask someone in Ethiopia, “How is Africa?” when we would never ask someone in Portugal, “How is Europe?” or someone in Nepal, “How is Asia?” and expect them to adequately report on an entire continent? Are you starting to see the absurdity in generalizations or should I continue?

Americans love pride. We claim our country, states, sports’ teams, and hometowns with enough pride to fill many country songs. While New York and Massachusetts are less than a day’s drive apart, we all know the line between Yankee and Red Sox fans. Online tests can guess where you are from in the 50 states based on colloquialisms like “pop” vs “soda.” Ethiopians have this pride, too. Pride in their country, region and ethnic group. In Tigray, the northern region or Ethiopia, people are proud fighters that have also enjoyed being part of the ruling party. Right now there are great struggles between the Oromia people and those living and ruling in Addis Ababa.

In civics class last week, we talked about discrimination. The simple definition being “to set aside as different.” While gender, race, religion and ability were traits we focused on in class, I’d like to warn about discriminating based on generalizations. Don’t treat Africa differently than Asia, Europe, North America or South America. (Australia is a country so it can be treated as such if circumstances provide reason.) Recognize that it is diverse, unique and filled with countries that may or may not be designed by white people looking at a map. Allow all of the people inhabiting Africa to have a voice to their country’s nationality like we often demand of ourselves. (How would Americans like to be clustered with Canadians?) Be specific when addressing where something happened. Become informed. In 5^th grade, I had to memorize all the US states and capitals so that I would know what was happening where around my country. Be informed about where countries are in relation to each other. Lack of understanding led to many Peace Corps families unnecessarily worrying about Ebola outbreaks when we were farther away from it than some Americans. Just because first world authorities drew arbitrary lines on a map to distinguish who is where, doesn’t mean we can continue to form generalizations in vague statements.

“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!