On the Bathroom Wall

8 July 2008

Written 7/6/2008

So this year has gone by and I think about the things that make me smile, cry, laugh, and weep, the things that inspire me, hinder me, hold me up when I just feel like falling, and some things that just don’t fall into any of those categories. And when I stop and take a moment during my busy Addis Ababa days, I think back to the place I spend quite a bit of time each day and experience all these emotions…the bathroom.

As one sits on the pot in our small home, your face is just inches away from a crapily tiled wall filled with clippings from random American magazines that make a person think. And with as much time as I spend in the bathroom on an average day, I have read these short blurbs and stories over and over again until the point of wrote memory. Here are just a few…

I CAN, with a flying pig taking away the ’T. True pigs can’t fly…but what if? As children in Ethiopia grow, they hear the opposite of what children in America hear throughout their child years. “You can be anything you want to be!” says the 3rd grade teacher in America. “Do what I tell you. Don’t do that. You can’t do that!” says the improperly trained Ethiopian 2nd grade lecturer. But this reminds me of what they can do. So have done my best to tell them.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit. Pursuit of what? Happiness? Joy? Christ? Food? A home? For most Ethiopians, the first two aren’t given. So it seems to me, that for them, Pursuit is how they live their lives. Pursuit of everything, even Life and Liberty. But before this, food, shelter, water, family. Life and Liberty don’t enter the mind until it is freed from the bounds of basic needs. But as my thoughts progress, I realize the confines within which my brain functions. I think of Life as the right to life, the right to be fed and be safe. Liberty is a nationalistic freedom. But in Ethiopia, perhaps they understand these more holistically. Life is embedded in everyday coming and going. Life is found in each breath, in each embrace, in each meal with a friend. Life is Christ, as Paul said. Nothing more, nothing less. And Liberty is the freedom within oneself, regardless of what governmental standard people find themselves in. I think I have a lot to learn.

Flavor Your World. Food in the US is bland. Throw a little berbere or mitmita on something and it’ll spice up the rest of your day.

Expect Everything. Donkeys and fresh fruit stands, ox herds and roundabouts, sheep poop and goat heads for sale, mothers giving away their babies to go to America and Apple iPhones, beggars and sellers on every corner, sun in the morning and monsoons in the afternoon, 30% yearly inflation and cemented wages, no electricity today and no water tomorrow, Italian lasagna for lunch and spicy Indian for dinner…Ethiopia has it all. And if I forget it, all I have to do is walk outside the gate.

Long Live Sunny. Thirteen months of sunshine. That’s Ethiopia’s slogan to attract visitors. The thing is, it’s true.

We’ve Grown Stronger. The phrase tells the story.

Loads of Hope. Third world doesn’t have it, but I see it. But it takes the hope of the fortunate to instill it in the ones who aren’t. That’s our job.

Who Will Get What They Deserve? I never really understood this one…but there are flames behind it…so I’m thinking hell. I guess it translates into the repercussions of mean practical jokes.

Naughty and Nice. In my interpretation, this defines the women I live with…and also perhaps my students.

Never Miss the Fun. Refer to “Expect Everything” and you’ll soon realize that I don’t have to worry about this one. It’s all around me all the time.

Why is Pregnant Christina Not Wearing Underwear? Breaking news apparently. Hmm…what are the things I don’t miss about America?

Wish for Anywhere. Today. I wish for a fireplace and a big comfy couch in Bothell, Washington.

Make the New Year’s Resolution Not to Go On a Diet. Easy enough…move to Africa. I lost 40 lbs that I didn’t think I needed to lose.

Best Dressed, Sexiest Alive, Most Eligible, Most Beautiful. I don’t pretend to understand this one.

Evil Knievel, 1938-2007
Robert Craig Knievel Jr. died in November after 69 years, which by all rights is more than twice as long as it should have taken him. The motorcycle stuntman was known for his astonishing leaps but even more for his crashes. With every boast, world record and broken bone, he became a bigger figure and graced more lunch boxes—particularly after his fall, on his rocket-boosted Skycycle, into Idaho’s Snake River Canyon. That wich did not kill Knievel—as he proved more literally than most—only made him, and his myth, stronger
. I’ll give you three guesses as to who put this up. It’s the girl who, during Freshman year, was voted biggest homestate fan…that state being Idaho. And that Skycycle thing, that was in her hometown of Twin Falls. If you didn’t know that already, you aren’t that close of friends with her. Thanks Bethany.

Then, there are a few poems that inspire me to get up, get out, and do something worthwhile. They are untitled and need no explanations, so here they are.

#1
“Change is inevitable”
What a ridiculously unfair statement.
Unfair to those who lost their lives,
or fortunes, or sanity for it.
Change doesn’t just happen.
And you’re not going to find it in the hall closet.
You’ve got to fly 230,000 miles into space in a steel tube for it.
You’ve got to scribble on a chalkboard for 50 years for it.
Sometimes, you’ve got to go to jail for it.
And even then, failure’s there, ready to pounce.
Change?
Inevitable?
Hardly.

#2
Behind every great idea,
every significant achievement,
every important accomplishment
is a full wastebasket.
Or a cluttered blackboard.
Or a doodled-up legal pad.
Is scribbling all it takes?
Are you just a cramped writing hand away
from changing the world?
Probably not.
But no one ever led a revolution of any kind
with his hands in his pockets.

#3
Thinking begets ideas.
Ideas beget change.
Change begets human rights.
And longer-lasting light bulbs.
And doughnut holes.
You don’t have to cure cancer to change the world.
And besides,
there’s more than one world that needs changing.
So change something.
Anything.
It’s all good.

So that’s what is on my mind each day as I hop out of the shower, do some other stuff, and jump into my day. It’s also the stuff that I’ve been thinking about more and more as the days wind down to my departure from this place. And I’m grateful that I have been able to process some of this stuff with all you faithful readers. Hope you all have a great day!

6 MORE DAYS!!!!!!!!!!!

Beginning to Process it All,
Joshua


Chickens on my Lap and an iPhone

25 June 2008

Written 6/25/2008

So today has been pretty uneventful. Bethany and I spent the night at our friends’ house last night (Damon and Heidi). We watched Dasia again for them which was just as amazing as it always is. She’s growing up so fast and her personality is hilarious. Last night she made up for all her terrible two-ness when she laid down on the floor with Bethany and I and sang songs like “Jesus Loves Me” until she fell asleep in my arms. Then Bethany and I watched House on DVD until Damon and Heidi got home from their date. Then this morning, we watched and discussed the film “Invisible Children.” If you don’t know, it’s about the children in Uganda that are abducted in the night by the rebel army and are forced to kill and are brainwashed until they become soldiers themselves. It’s an incredible story and it reminds me of the tragic injustices that so many people turn their backs to day in and day out. Anyway, I stopped by the house before I went to school where I finished my grading and submitted them to the Tesgera, the English teacher. So today…I’m finally done. No more school. It’s a sort of bitter-sweet thing I guess.

Anyway, on my way to school a woman sat next to me on the taxi who was dressed in the typical clothes of a less-than-middle-class Ethiopian. She was carrying five live chickens and since there were only two of us in the back, she set them on the seat. Bound at the ankles (do chickens have ankles?), they laid motionless throughout the ride. I thought to myself. This is a true picture of Ethiopia. The government and the people desire so much to be “developed” but they have so far to go. The sad thing is, they try to implement American and European life into their culture without going through the growing process by which those developed nations came to be. It’s like putting a band-aid on a chopped off finger. It just doesn’t work. Development is a process. A long, tiring, sometimes defeating process. It doesn’t take place over night and it doesn’t ever happen the same way twice.

Just then, we hit a bump and then swerved to miss another taxi merging into our lane. The chickens became unsettled and began to flap their wings, flailing and flopping, feathers flying everywhere until the bunch landed awkwardly on my lap. I think the woman would have removed them, but just then, she received a call on her phone. Reaching into her burlap, homemade purse, she pulled out a brand new Apple iPhone….hmm. She can’t afford new clothing, probably not enough food to feed all her kids, and she argued for fifteen minutes with the minibus caller over a five-cent price increase on the fare to where she was going, but somehow, she thinks it appropriate to own a $500 cell phone that can’t even be used to its full capacity in her country. I asked her about it and she proceeded to tell me that she saved up all her money with her husband to buy it. She said she feels “like an American” when she uses it. She told me how much she loves America and how she wishes that just one of her six children could go live there with an American family.  I knew what was coming. “You take my baby to America. You are rich to make her school.” “Aichelem. Ena enay habtam aidelem,” I  replied. It’s not possible…and I’m not rich.  Again…a picture of Ethiopia. Cell phones and internet don’t equal development. And it’s obvious when children are given away by their parents to go “anywhere but here” to grow up.

After getting myself to school, I finished up and headed here to the cafe to get some emails and other stuff done before the busy weekend ahead.

ONLY 17 DAYS LEFT!!!!!!!!

Hope all is well in your neck of the woods. Be thankful and be blessed to be where you are…wherever that is.

Feathered…but not tarred,

Joshua


School’s Out and I Need New Sinuses

23 June 2008

Written on 6/23/2008

This last week was the last week for teaching before finals. So it was too bad that I was hit with a  sinus infection last Monday. I was knocked out all week and holed up in my room sucking down sudafed and azithromycin until I was well enough on Friday to go see my kids in class for one last time. We said our goodbyes and it was all over…just like that. I’m not sure how I feel yet…I’ll let you know if I figure it out.

In other news…WE’RE LEAVING IN 20 DAYS!!!!!!!!

I can’t believe it. We’re going to be finished in Ethiopia in less than three weeks. Next up is Europe and then home to see my family, friends and enjoy a good old fashioned Seattle summer.

Hope you all are well. See you soon!

Less Phlegmy,

Joshua


10 on 10…

10 June 2008

Written 6/10/2008

Hey all! It’s been a pretty uneventful last few days since my previous post. So I fugured I’d try out this 10 on 10 thing. I guess it’s where on the 10th of the month, you post 10 pictures from your day. Well…nothing cool at all happened today so I thought I would just put up 10 photos that you should have seen by now, but didn’t have the internet capabilities to do so. So…here they are!

Well…that took a lot of time and now I’m tired. So I’m going to head home. But I hope you are all doing well and that you enjoyed these few pictures. If you have any questions about them, write a comment and I’ll answer it in my next post.

Talk to you all soon!

Joshua

PS- I realize there are 13 pictures…I just couldn’t do 10!


Meat on a Stick, 82 Mosques and Some Green Leaves

7 June 2008

Written on 6/6/2008

We’re back! After three long days we are back in Addis in the comfort of our home. It’s Friday night and I just hopped into bed and am anticipating a long hard sleep. It’s overdue. After three days of traveling, my body still hasn’t recovered and I’m just plain tired. But I figured I should write to let you all know how the trip went.

So…a little background first. We all decided from the beginning that we wanted to see as much of Ethiopia as we could in our time here. It helps to see the sights and cities of the major cultures that come together to make Ethiopia what it is. A couple weeks ago, we decided as a group that we wanted to take a few mini vacations before our time was up and the fact that our school is basically shut down for 10th grade national exams gives us the time to accomplish this. So on Tuesday we set out at 5am.

Befekadu’s cousin-in-law, Mesfin, gave us an incredible price on a car for the trip, so we planned to go with him to in the east called Harer. We drove for about 275km before I asked Mesfin if we could stop so I could pee. He obliged and I used the time next to the bush to decide how I would confront him about his driving. Don’t get me wrong…he’s better than most in Ethiopia, but that’s like comparing niceness to the Devil. It was just the constant high speeds, braking right when he got to a corner, passing on blind corners…that type of thing. What would I say? “Hey Mesfin…I feel like I’m going to die when I step foot into your vehicle. I’m going to take a nice big slow bus instead. Just drop me off in the next town.” Of course I couldn’t say that, but all that I could think of was my friend Lauren who left Ethiopia…not by choice…after a terrible car accident leaving her with a broken back, a crushed ankle, and a medi-vac flight to Tel Aviv, Israel. We didn’t even get to say goodbye. And there was no way I was going to let that happen. The worst that could take place if I confronted him is that he would get offended…but at that point, I didn’t really care. Turns out, he took kindly to it. I just told him Lauren’s story and he said, “No problem.” I guess it never hurts to ask.

Anyway, lying 150km from the border of Somalia, we were well away from anything dangerous going on there…parents don’t be alarmed…but we were close enough to really see the Islamic impact of the middle east right here in Africa. Harer is an incredible city with two main districts…The Old City and the New City. The new city is just your average Ethiopian city. The Old City however, is what makes Harer unique. Surrounded by a wall, fully encompassing the contents of the city, it has the feel of a Bible-times Middle Eastern town. Curving passageways, gated entrances and bustling markets make the Old City a sight to behold.

We got in at about 3:30 in the afternoon and settled in to the Belayneh Hotel. After getting our things situated, Maren, Bethany, and I headed out for a walk until we were to meet up with Mesfin for dinner. The first thing we encountered was chat (pronounced chaw-t). Here in Addis, when you go to someone’s house, the offer you coffee and it’s sort of impolite in the culture to refuse. In Harer…it’s chat. Chat is a green leafy bush that is grown all over the eastern highlands of Ethiopia. It gives a high similar to marijuana, except you can concentrate for great lengths of time. Students use it before big tests because it helps them relax while still being able to concentrate extra hard for studying. The price of chat ranges depending upon the quality and freshness of the leaves. The lowest quality can be purchased for just 30 Birr per kilo…which is a lot of chat when you consider that it doesn’t weigh much. The most expensive can range however, all the way up to 700 Birr per kilo! In Harer, they chew it all day. Just take a few leaves and pop ‘em in the cheek.  We chose not to.

We walked through a crowded fruit and vegetable market and walked under one of the six gates of the old city wall. Wandering aimlessly through the narrow pathways of the Old City, I was struck by the community that was being displayed, perhaps with its members unaware. In Harer, there is a definite mix of cultures that you don’t see as often in the rest of Ethiopia. There are six people groups represented in Harer that are so different in custom and religion, that I was shocked that they live in relative harmony. The Tigray people of the north, the native Hareri, or Adare people, the Oromo from the southern regions, the Amhara from the central, and the displaced Somali people from next door all live together in this one town of about 150,000 residents. Religiously, Harer differs from much of Ethiopia as well. Within the walled city, there are 82 active mosques and only one Orthodox church…which, incidentally, used to be a mosque until it was “converted” by Emperor Haile Selassie. That might not seem like a ton, but when you consider the size of the Old City, it makes them more or less across the seven-foot wide alleyways from one another and on every corner. The population living inside the wall is roughly 95% Muslim. Outside the wall, there are only nine mosques and six Orthodox churches. It’s roughly 50% each. The lines of custom blur a little here. Common Somali, Muslim clothing is seen also on Oromo herders and farmers whereas in Addis Ababa, you wouldn’t see that.

After our short little jaunt, we were feeling the effects of the 4am wake up call that we’d experienced earlier that day and decided to head back to the hotel for a little rest. There we would also meet up with Sarah, who wasn’t feeling so hot upon arrival. Dinner was at 5:30, so we had some time.

After a short rest, we hopped in the car with Mesfin and made our way to Hirut restaurant. A quaint atmosphere and a cultural feel to the place, I was excited to try out the lasagna. “Lasagna alle?” I asked the waitress. “Yelem,” she replied. What? No lasagna. But it specifically says that you only have lasagna on Tuesdays. Okay, how about a cheese burger. Nope. And after 5 other choices, all of which she denied me, I settled for spaghetti. It was good, but no lasagna. Coupled with the locally brewed Harer Beer, the meal was rather good. We ate rather quickly knowing that dinner was merely a pit stop on the way to the event I had been waiting for quite a few months.

We hopped in the car and made our way through the main gate of the Old City, winded our way through small side roads, eventually coming out on the other side, crawled slowly up a winding dirt road to a small clearing with a few houses nearby. There he was. The Hyena Man. I expected some tribal looking, half-insane, half-dressed, old Ethiopian man, but no. He was a younger Ethiopian guy in jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt…side note…I was going to say hoodie, since that’s what it’s called nowadays, but I was afraid the older generation would lose it in translation. Anyway, when we got there, it was pitch black, but a small area was filled with the light of Mesfin’s car. In the middle of the light, the Hyena man placed a small burlap sack on the ground and took a seat. In his hands he carried a bunch of little sticks and a basket full of scrap goat, sheep, and cow flesh. Then came the hyenas, like a pack knowing what was in store, they approached slowly but concentrated. He began calling and taunting them with the meat and small scuffles would begin all around of hyenas fighting for meat. The high pitch squeals of the animals along with their flashing teeth was not very comforting. Then it was my turn. I walked slowly up to the seated man and knelt beside him, hyenas just inches away from me. I placed one of the small sticks in my mouth and on the end, a hanging piece of red, juicy cow meat. The smell of the aging, raw meat filled my nose, but was overpowered by the sights I was seeing and the anticipation of what was to come. Holding off the pack of hyenas until I was ready, the hyena man’s arm was all that stood between these beasts and me. Then SNAP! A hyena lunged at my face and stealthily snagged the meat just barely brushing his thick fur against my cheek. Then with as much quickness as he snagged the meat, he retreated to savor it in privacy. WOW! I can honestly say that I have never pictured myself feeding a ferocious animal raw meat using my mouth. For some reason, that just never made its way into my five-year plan. But it was sure a rush and it felt really cool afterward. The girls took their turns and all succeeded as well.

After the hyena adventure, we were back to the hotel to make some attempt at catching up on the sleep we had missed the night before. Only 7pm at the time, we thought maybe we’d hang out for a while…but not once we got to our rooms. It was bedtime in a hurry. We all passed out with exhaustion and slept like rocks until the 7am alarm. I don’t know what other people think, but to me, a 12-hour night of sleep is just fine. A cold dripping shower revealed a plethora of bites that we diagnosed as bedbugs. You know…that song has never had so much meaning in my life as it has here in Ethiopia. You don’t really have a choice whether you “let” them bite or not. The just do.

We headed out for a breakfast of various fried goods and poorly made macchiatos and headed into the old city to see the sights. Our goal was to see a few sights, the six gates, then be on our way, but at the first place we went, we hooked up with a guy who offered to give us a tour of the city for no cost. That first place was the former house of Arthur Rimbaud, famous French poet. Apparently, after his first works failed in France, he moved to Ethiopia and became one of the few westerners to ever live inside the walled city. He wrote his poetry and generated an income as a local trader in the city. After that, we began looking around the city with our guide, Hailu. All six gates serving different purposes, a huge market selling only mangoes, strips of fabric stores, a smuggler’s market called, Taiwan, by the locals housing all the cheap electronics you could think of, a recycler’s market full of old products used to create new tools, car parts, utensils, and anything else you could think of, were all played their part in the organized chaos of the city of Harer. After we sped through the city, we headed over to “Fresh Touch”, a new restaurant on the main strip. The spaghetti was good for a double bogey…I don’t like to say “sub par” because it doesn’t make sense…the term comes from golf and sub par is great…it’s the goal of the game…and the spaghetti at Fresh Touch was not, and will never be, my goal for spaghetti…hence, double bogey. After lunch we went to a little shop located in the center of town and had fresh squeezed and blended mango juice. It was incredible. Before we headed out, I wanted to swing back into the old city to grab one item…a mahawais. A traditionally Somali article of clothing, it’s basically one big piece of fabric sewn together in a circle…like a skirt of sorts, but it’s way to long, so you do some folding tricks and roll the top to create potentially one of the most comfortable things you’ve ever worn in your life. I like to where it around the house and to bed. I feel free. Only men where them and usually they’re confined to a few people groups. The Hareri, Somali, Oromo, and Afar people all where them, but for different purposes. The Somalis where them as traditional dress and for worship in the mosque, the Hareri where them when they sit around and chew chat, the Oromo where them when they are herding livestock or farming, and the Afar where them all the time because it is hotter than the eating jalapeños in hell where they live.

After I made the find, we hopped back into the bajaj and headed up the road to get mesfin. If I haven’t told you, a bajaj is a little three-wheeled motorcycle type vehicle with a roof that seats four people plus driver. It’s the main mode of transportation in smaller cities and towns, but isn’t sensible for bigger trips around Addis. After we got Mesfin, we jumped in the car and headed to our next destination, Dire Dawa. About 45 minutes back on the road to Addis, it sits down off the mountain plateau nestled in a dry river bed valley. The heat increases ten fold as you make the descent. We hooked up with a friend of Damon and Heidi’s in the city who is currently building a hotel on his compound and decided to stay at his place. It wasn’t the cheapest, but it was less than the hotel in Harer and it was nice to help out a friend. Siggy is his name and he’s been in the Horn of Africa for the last twenty years doing work with the Somali and Muslim population. Moving from his native Switzerland, he is the sole western producer of Somali Christian worship music in the world. He’s known all throughout the region by Somali believers and is well respected. He even has a Somali wife and they’ve been in Dire Dawa for the last nine years…Harer before that and actually within the border of Somaliland for a number of years before it became too volatile to stay. It was by far the nicest hotel we’ve ever stayed in around Ethiopia. Hopefully his business soars upon completion.

Once we got our bags settled into our rooms, we went into the city to see what it was like. To let you know, a big part of our desire to see Dire Dawa was because our friends Damon and Heidi and their daughter Dasia will be moving there this summer to continue their work. We wanted to be able to picture the city when we talked to them from stateside after we get home. Anyway, we first went to the Kezira market. A classic African, outdoor market under stick and fabric awnings, we made our way through the muddy passageways to see the spices, fruit, vegetables, and other goods that each vendor eagerly offered. Stopping to talk to some vendors who carried foods we had never seen before, they offered us tastes and we chatted a little bit. Most were very friendly. Upon leaving the market, we stopped at the shop of one of Mesfin’s many extended family members in the city. Fetiya was her name and she invited us around the counter to sit on an old mattress and drink cokes. Her treat. We drank as she chewed her chat and we talked for about an hour or so. Then it was already almost time for dinner. We stopped at a restaurant that we thought was famous for their burgers. We realized that we were wrong and wanted to go find that restaurant, but upon Mesfin’s insistence, we stayed and had a beer before we left. Then it was off to Mitto Burger & Chicken. We should have known from the title. The two interesting things about a this restaurant, is that on that night, they didn’t have cheese which, in my mind, significantly lowered the quality and experience of their burger. The second most important thing is that despite their restaurant’s name, chicken was nowhere to be found on the menu…false advertising?

After dinner, we were under the impression that we were going to bed, but Mesfin had other plans. We apparently had agreed to stop by Fetiya’s house to visit for an hour or so. We turned in the opposite direction from our hotel and stopped on a dark soulless street and entered a door into her living room. Again chewing her chat, she invited us in to sit on her farashes…covered mattresses against the walls with pillows for back rests…most comfortable things ever. We sat and talked for a while and ended our time receiving gifts that she had purchased for us. In a small plastic bag, she gave us five small colorful woven baskets. It was a wonderful treat. We then left to get back to the hotel and get some sleep before our long trip back to Addis. Departure time, 5am.

Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! Was I waking up to the alarm I had set for 4:45? Nope. I was waking up to Mesfin’s blaring Titanic theme song ring! What time is it? Well, upon Mesfin handing the phone to me, I realized it was just before 4am. Why was he handing me the phone? Who was I talking to? Turned out it was his wife calling from Canada. We talked for a few minutes and in a sleepy haze, I handed the phone back to Mesfin. After the conversation was finished, we packed up and headed out.

The drive was just as long as it was when we did it just two days before, but held a surprise at our breakfast spot. As we entered the small café in Hirna, we saw another white person. He approached us and in his American English, asked us where we were from. We got to talking and gave him our number in Addis. His name was Brian and was on his third tour of Ethiopia as a writer for the Bradt Guide Book. We told him about Siggy’s new hotel and gave him the number. Hopefully Brian puts him in the book and  that boosts Siggy’s business a bit. He said when he comes back through Addis he would give us a call. Maybe he’ll put us in the book!

We arrived home safely after sweating through the heat of the Awash and Metehara areas. It was good to be back home safe and sound. Sleep came next. I had an early appointment with Damon the following morning.

I’ll get back to you soon about some other thoughts. Hope you are all well and are healthy. See you soon!

ONLY 37 DAYS LEFT!!!!!

So I where a skirt…what of it?
Joshua


Not the Clear Wrapper and Hyenas on Wednesday

2 June 2008

Written on 6/2/2008

It’s been a little bit since I wrote last and unfortunately, this is going to be short.

The last week has been pretty uneventful. Most of that uneventfulness was due to the fact that I didn’t leave my bedroom from Monday night to Thursday night. After a wonderful dinner of fajitas on homemade tortillas, I went out with a couple Ethiopian friends and played some Fifa Soccer 2006 on PlayStation 2. There is a little shack near our house that has a tv and a PlayStation 2 and it only costs 1 Birr per game. Steal of a deal if you ask me. I’m still not very good. But I’ve only played twice. Anyway, in the middle of the second half of our last game. My stomach started rumbling. Tie game…we went to extra time. By this time, my stomach was about ready to burst. But I can’t leave…we were going to PKs to finish the game. I lost 3-2, but that was the least of my concerns. I walked quickly home, said our goodnights and sprinted…carefully…into the house. What came next doesn’t need to be talked about. But I will say that there was some major flooding out of the attic and the basement. Then I became bed ridden. So…what was the cause of this instantaneous disturbance? Just a couple days before, the c-store was all out of the normal silver-wrapped butter that we normally buy. Addis, the store owner, assured Bethany that the clear wrapper was the exact same butter. And he was right, it is the exact same butter…except for one small oh-so-minor difference…it was unpasteurized.  Big mistake. Let’s just say we won’t be buying that kind of butter anymore.

The weekend was pretty normal and I just caught up on a lot of needed social time that I missed throughout the week. Sunday night, I went to the airport and picked up a couple American friends that are staying at our house for a few days before they start traveling. Alisa and Tessa have been traveling for the last four months. They began in Eugene, Oregon, made their way through Central America, then three countries in South America, over to England, down to South Africa for the last two months, and now they’re here in Ethiopia. It’s been fun to have them the last couple days.

Tonight we’re going out to dinner with four of our American friends. Damon, who I have been doing a bible study with for the last six months, his wife Heidi, another friend Justin and his wife Alison. If you read the post about Bethany and I babysitting Dasia…that’s Damon and Heidi’s daughter. Justin and Alison are also a part of our house church and have a brand new baby girl named Lilly. We’re excited because the four of them are a ton of fun.

Tomorrow morning, we head out at about 5am to make the nine hour drive to an eastern city called Harar. It is an incredibly old, walled city. Predominately Muslim, we will be seeing some amazing mosques and just taking in the sights. On Wednesday night, we will be interacting with someone who has been given the name, “The Hyena Man.” I’ll let you know how that goes later. I don’t want to spoil the surprise. Then it’s back to Addis on Thursday. Just a short little vacation to get out of the city.

So I’ll be writing shortly after that to let you know how it goes.

Talk to you soon!

Picky About Butter,
Joshua


I’m Not Going Back to Salt Lake City and This Was from Katie, So Africa…You Lose

17 May 2008

Written 5/16/2008

Just when I was getting comfortable with Africa winning over and over again, today happened. Let me tell you about it.

So last summer before I left for Africa, I visited a little place called Salt Lake City, Utah. Bethany’s little sister Katie was coming back from a European choir tour and I just happened to be visiting Idaho at the time, so I went with the family on the road trip to Utah to pick her up from the airport. While there we saw quite a few things, but the most incredible had to be the Patagonia Outlet Store. So many things on sale and not enough money to buy it all. So I settled for a sweet mint green Capilene 3 long sleeve shirt. Potentially the best purchase in the world. Got it for $14 when it retails at $65!

So today, Bethany, Jarrett and I were at a restaurant called Paradise for about 6 hours trying to purchase our tickets for Europe. At one point though, I moved down to a different café called Kaldis to charge my computer battery. It was there that I left my mint green Patagonia Capilene 3 long sleeve shirt. I went about my day however not knowing I had lost such a prized possession. After hours of raileurope.com and easyjet mishaps, we finished two of three ticket purchasing goals and left to get a taxi home. On the way I decided that I would walk to a supermarket first to get chicken for dinner and that Jarrett and Bethany would just go home without me. So I walked to Fantu Supermarket only to find a barren freezer with no chicken in sight. Dejected, I made my way out the front doors and back to the traffic circle to catch a taxi. It was on the way there however, that I realized what I was missing. Relieved by my memory and the thought of getting my shirt back I made my way to Kaldis. I ascended two flights of stairs and went back to my seat to find nothing. After asking multiple waitresses if they had seen it, one said, “Lela so alle.” What? Another person has it? Why? Did he steal it? Did I just get my shirt stolen? Well…the answer was…yes. It had been stolen. Even more depressed, I left Kaldis with my head down and started the taxi finding process once again.

As I approached the circle, I lifted my head, not out of pride or an attempt to regain my patience, but to avoid getting hit by crazy taxi drivers. Head lifted, I caught a glance of a mint green shimmer about 75 yards away, oddly enough, back toward the store where I had just been to find chicken. MY SHIRT! I hurried quickly to catch up with this thief and regain my property. He veered off the beaten path a bit down into a depression in the dirt where some sewage construction was being done. I followed him down in and tapped him on the shoulder with a bit of force. He turned and I firmly stated, “Y’ene libs no.” Not as accurate as I would have hoped, but, “It is my clothes” would have to suffice. An argumentative response is what he gave me. So I repeated myself with a little more insistence. Along with his second response he gave me a strong step forward and a physically uncomfortable advance. With him heavily invading my bubble…which doesn’t exist in Ethiopia…I repeated myself and added, “Ishi, sent tifeligal?” But apparently he didn’t want money, so my asking how much he wanted was worthless. Strangely enough, he angrily removed the shirt and held it at his side, glaring intently into my eyes. Then surprisingly, with the shirt in his right hand, he forcefully held the shirt as if to give it to me. Shocked but pleased, I reached for the shirt with my right hand. Then, out of nowhere a looping left hook came out of the corner of  my eye and I moved just in time to reduce the blow and take it in the forehead rather than in the face! “Did he just hit me?” speedily made it’s way through my thoughts. Flabergasted and in a bit of pain, I held onto the shirt and tried to push him away with my left. Switching his grip on the shirt, he then slugged me in the stomach just left of my gut and again I turned the other cheek and tried to push him back. Grabbing my shirt where he had just struck, he pulled me toward him then quickly away. Letting his grip go of the shirt, I got my footing just in case. Again, he went for a left hook. Is he crazy? It’s just a shirt! As the punch came my way, I ducked just enough to miss the shot, simultaneously dropped my shirt, and then reacted. Faster than I could think, I finally retaliated with a cocked right cross to his upper cheek and every amount of strength I had within me. Instantly he collapsed to the ground and didn’t move. Did I kill him? Oh crap I’m going to prison!  He started to move a bit, so I picked up the shirt and slowly backed away. With a sizeable knot on my forehead and a pounding headache, I mad my way back to the taxi stop looking back every few yards to make sure I didn’t really hurt him. I found a Winnebago-esque bus quite quickly and hopped aboard. Watching him as we passed, I saw him stagger slowly to his feet and take a seat on a nearby rock. Thankfully he wasn’t hurt too badly. I don’t want to experience Ethiopian prison. They don’t have food there.

A little shaken up, I couldn’t help but think that I hadn’t been in a fight since 10th grade and it was nothing compared to this. I was just happy to be safe, shirt in hand and on my way home. My next thought, oddly enough, was that I still had not acquired the chicken for dinner. A few miles down the road though, there was another store that I could make the purchase. A mile later however, Africa tried again.

As I stood in the aisle of the bus, arms stretched to either side as braces, I felt something in my right pocket enter and exit very quickly. With my wits still about me, I reacted with a quick grab of the perpetrator’s wrist. His snake of an arm slipped out though just as I caught a glimpse of his face. Not in the mood for another fight I just shouted, “leba!” Having no tolerance for thieves, the men surrounding me on the taxi asked me to point out the thief that I had just called out. Eyeing the men in the back closely through the shadowed faces and sun light streaks of dark brown skin, I spotted the man nonchalantly gazing out a side window. I pointed with my right arm and instantly the bus came to a screeching halt and the men that were once my standing buddies had quickly become my henchmen. They made their way to the back of the taxi and with a bit of finesse, they pat him down, got my keys to me, and removed the man from the bus in the same way Uncle Phil tosses Jazzy Jeff out the front door of his Bel-Air mansion. Following the man’s quick exit, the men give him a short beating and then literally tag team threw him off the street and into the dirt. Back on the taxi, the driver thanked the men and we headed toward home. At this point, the chicken was the last thing on my mind.

The special thing about those keys…they were connected to a pocketknife. But not just any pocket knife. A genuine, red Swiss Army Camp Edition Pocketknife, with my name engraved into it, purchased by none other than Bethany’s little sister…Katie. Where did she get this pocketknife? Well…in Switzerland, on that same European choir tour that had led me to Salt Lake City to purchase a mint green Capilene 3 long sleeve shirt.

I’m just happy to have both in my possession and finally be able to say, “Africa loses this round.”

Ibuprofen Finally Kicking In,
Joshua

PS. Hi Katie!