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Published: June 18th 2013
mysterious netella-covered women
Netella is a thin cloth made of woven cotton.Like on cue, tears shamelessly trickled down as the vehicle carrying me and my colleagues left my house for the airport.
"Sorry, I'm crying," shyly wiping away the tears that clouded my eyes.
"I'd be concerned if you did not," said my fellow volunteer who came down for a visit. If that was a movie, I swear I would be up for nomination for best actress. Hands down.
As we cruised by the patches of green and brown fields, I could not help but reminisce the day when I first got the taste of life in Ethiopia.
"Chocolate crepes!" I felt my heart beat faster with delight after seeing the brown piles of rolled-up thin cake-like dish on the table among the spread on the table. I had to give in. One, two. Wait, one more. Why resist? I took a bite. "This is definitely not crepe." The trance I was prepared to be in dissolved that second, as I labored to swallow my first bite of injera, the staple food in Ethiopia that is made from tef, which uniquely grows there.
Hard to believe that sixteen months had since passed.
It's a crepe, no it's a cake...
...no, it's injera! It is a large flat sourdough, the color of which depends on the kind of teff used. Sometimes, other sources of flour like corn, wheat, barley and rice are used but nothing beats teff. The cooking process takes several days, letting the dough to ferment. This gives the injera that mild sour taste. It is used as base for different meat stews (wot), vegetables, chickpeas, lentils, etc. It is then used as "spoon" to scoop them up using one's right hand. Hard to believe that almost a month already went by since I left Assosa, the place I called home for over a year -- a place I came to love, as the lemony
injera that I learned to like. Now, everything seems hazy and surreal. The red dust that choked the air with the passing of occasional vehicles had been replaced by the silky white sand I now sink my feet into at the place where baobabs reign supreme. Months of sleepless nights from the long hours of chanting and prayers from nearby churches and incessant howling of my dog Tala now all seem like a distant memory. The roar of waves crashing on the shore now permeates the air and soothes the spirit like a lullaby.
Zebus pulling rickety rickshaws on the sandy roads and munching on spiny greens have displaced the donkeys and
bajaj tricycles. Solitude is, once more, an occasional companion.
I am now referred to as vazaha. No longer a "ferenji!" or "china! china!"
'Ferenji' originated from a French word and refers to foreigners, while infamous 'china' started because most foreigners in the country before
Morning at Omo Valley
Omo Valley is located in Great Rift Valley of Africa. were Chinese. Now often blending in with locals, I never imagined I would miss getting those calls. The uninitiated may get irritated or feel harassed by them. But the smile and glitter in the eyes of the person trying to get your attention are reflective of their sheer friendliness. Everybody is greeted and asked how s/he is, as you touch the other person's shoulders with your own, much like doing a shoulder shake. Stranger or not, you get invited to a cup of coffee or tea just because.
"Do you know you have seven ways of greeting people?" I asked my colleague one day.
"Really? I never noticed," he remarked, amused at the observation.
Yes, I counted. Seven versions that you could actually hear them say in just one conversation.
"How come you asked him how he is five times? Your entire conversation was all 'Salem naw'." Clarity came as I started to understand the affability of
Habesha. I would say I metamorphosed into a colorful social butterfly so I could genuinely return their warmth. Also, having a name that is commonly used in the country had its advantage. Many people in
looking on
A boy watching other kids play football town, especially the kids, called me by my name whenever they would see me.
"They just called me "hana". I think your name has become the new ferenji," my housemate told me one day.
I already have a legacy.
Isn't that great? Because (volunteer) life really is like a box of chocolates...
No, it is not just the
chocoholic in me talking. Forrest Gump once reasoned that it is because
"You never know what you're gonna get." And
that is where the excitement lies.
Honestly, it did not come easy. Loneliness, Anger, and Frustration all said their hello more than once. Luckily, there were more ups than downs .
Sixteen months ago, I was a self-confessed shopaholic city girl
(well, I still am) who lived a fairly easy life. I
(shamelessly) enjoyed my mother's home-cooked meals, shopping, and all other urban conveniences. I had loads of choices for anything. A lot happened since then. I did not expect that I would enjoy life as a volunteer in a small rural town.
But I did.
It entailed learning to do a lot of things on my own -- cook
my daily meals using limited ingredients, cook and eat vegetables
(my mother's going to be happy), dress my own chicken
(I made them nice skirts before they went to the pot), pay utility bills
(I am not listed on anything even at my age, so sue me), making my own décor, and other domestic chores. I got to tap the inner artist in me and be creative in finding things to do and keep myself sane.
It also involved sharing more of myself -- time, ideas, culture -- and being open to what others shared with me. That old adage
"the more you give, the more you receive"? It is true.
I made an effort to know the names of at least a hundred fifty people over that span of time -- the neighbors, children, colleagues, students, teachers, guards, cleaners, drivers, shop owners, other expats in the area, and lots more people. Learning the language was not required. I did still as it was fun
(especially seeing the faces of locals whenever they hear me talk good basic Amharic), made things a lot easier, and most of all, gave me a better appreciation of the culture and local
boys and girls of STAR Club
Some of my "kids" from STAR (Speech and the Arts) Club after one of our learning sessions. This one's up the Inzi mountain. Photo shows 2 friends who helped out. (Thanks guys! You know who you are.) life.
In the process, I stumbled upon a wonderful country, her people and culture, and a different side of myself. My personal growth was tremendous. The key was surrendering to each bite that the chocolatier Experience served. They were not all sumptuous and to-die-for but each left a distinct mark on the taste buds that I would forever relish.
As the dust settled
Beginning and living a life in an area that is completely different from what you are used to is akin to football games played by boys in Assosa . A storm of dust is created with every enthusiastic kick of the ball that saw better days. Then everything settles. Everything becomes fine. You get dirty and sweaty, sometimes even hurt. But in the process, you have fun.
A number of times I found myself asking
"What am I doing here? What am I doing with my life?" Eventually, it became clear that there would not always be an answer. Not even The Dalai Lama could help. Well, an answer is actually not needed. As an esteemed friend said,
"In a day where you have no problems, you can be sure that you kicking ass
young boys playing football are traveling in a wrong path."
Even before the start of my stay in Assosa, I remember being concerned about whether I would be able to fulfill expectations and leave a good mark.
Then I learned to adjust and be happy with small successes. And that positively changed the game.
Not dwelling too much on the ugly side of things also helped.
Unless, of course, you want wrinkles and premature aging. It is always good to find ways to make things more pleasant not only for you but also for others. A bit of a challenge gives things a dash of appeal and excitement. And it makes for a good story to tell.
Don't you agree? A big-sisterly fellow volunteer told me to
"don't underestimate the power of small deeds." I held on to her words like they were gems throughout my stay. Indeed, a tiny pebble could still create big ripples when thrown nicely into the water. I am hoping that the ripples from the ones I tossed would become bigger with time.
“Keep your spirit high...You’ll be packed with experience, strength and resilience,” another good friend once wrote when things were not so
lip and ear plates
The Mursi women are known for putting lip plates made of clay. When a girl reaches the age of 15 or 16, her lower lip is cut and plugged with a piece of wood until the wound heals. Increasingly bigger lip plates are placed over several months.
More information here: http://www.mursi.org/introducing-the-mursi/lip-plates rosy.
Her encouraging words now resound with the rustling of leaves of scattered palm trees. Looking back, I did become a better version of myself.
It is not the place that makes a difference. Rather, it is your perspective, as well as the people you surround yourself with. I got lucky because during my stay in Ethiopia, I met many individuals who kept me grounded, showed me a different view of the world, and made each day a little more vibrant.
"Are you going to your country already?" My 5-year old neighbor asked across the bamboo fence, with a hint of sadness, as she saw me one day leave the house with my things.
"Not yet," I replied in my broken Amharic and with a smile across my face.
During my last few weeks in Assosa, I could not help but be delighted that people were sad to see me leave. Weirdly selfish, I know. But for me, it meant I would be missed. That I made a tiny dent in their lives.
Saying goodbye to very dear friends I made, colleagues, students, and the simple and easy-going life I have gotten used to
color blast
Green is everywhere once the rain starts. (Photo: my dog Tala seen running across the field) was bittersweet.
But that is how life is.
And then we move on. But not forget.
I am just thankful that at least, once in this lifetime, I was fortunate to have worked, lived and spent time with them in that part of the world.
Thank you Assosa! Amesaganalahu Ethiopia! (This blog entry is dedicated to all those who have, in some way or another, made living in this wonderful world a touch more interesting, more meaningful, and fun. Cheers to all of you! Please check out Part 2 of the blog. Promise, it's the last.) Tips!
Now, being a happy former volunteer gets me to dish out a few tips like an expert. And because I am nice and all, it's for free. c",)
Below are the stuffs that worked for me:
• (At least try) Knowing everyone. I mean everyone -- down to the guards, drivers, cleaners, etc.
• Networking and sharing your networks
• Having genuine warm regard for all
• Befriending the neighborhood kids
• Having a happy disposition (Happiness begets happiness. You're entitled to bad days but
not everyone wants to hear details.)
• Being respectful
• Not saying you know more than them (You may think you do, but you actually don't. Many times.)
• Do things in a participatory manner. Work WITH them.
• Sharing your culture
• Knowing their culture
• Not giving money to kids on the street (That's how they learn to beg. Please help them in another way.)
• Being willing to learn (You may not be doing many things in your country. But you're not there. Period.)
If you are thinking of volunteering or working as an expat, who knows, these might also work for you.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
Life changes you...and as you said, you become a better you.
Tears filled my eyes as I read your story. You've grown and had innumerable experiences that will follow you for a lifetime. Thank goodness you had the strength and desire to take that first step. Your ripples will be felt for years to come. Life leads you where you need to go. Love to know what your next steps are. Hope our paths cross in the future. We'd love to meet you.