Deekeetkama
Hello everybody! I've returned from Agau country, just hanging out in Bahir Dar, listening to Def Leopard, feeling real American.
It's been a long two months. I will come out and admit that. As a fellow volunteer told me in our fiction contest, "Life on a gorilla cheese farm ain't all spur janglin' fun". The answer is Yes, I have indeed lost my mind, and it's an enjoyable state to be in.
Prospective item points to hit: Fasika - Chika indet no? - Take the Power Back - Ginbot Aand - manamen. But please understand that I have an exceptional talent for digressing.
Fasika
I arrived in Azena a week before som or fasting ended in the beginning of April, culminating with the celebration of Fasika. A week of veggies passed before witnessing my first animal slaughter. Fasika means Easter in Amharic, but it's celebrated one week later, and they don't hide Easter eggs in their lawn.
Instead what they do is have their entire family over, buy a sheep/goat/cow, cut it open and start cooking. Some of the parts however aren't in need of cooking and are simply handed to you straight from the recently deceased creature. Such was the case of the large, strong black goat that took 7 grown men to hold down while it's throat was cut and bled out. The tongue was first out. The raw tongue was then handed around the room with a knife to cut pieces for FRESH eatings. My internal dialogue went something like this:
Me 1: Be cool Tim. Don't let them see you sweat. You can do this
Me 2: I'm FREAKING OUT!! AHHHHH!!!
Me 1: It's really no big deal. If anything, you know it's fresh and not yet contaminated
Me 2: AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me 1+2: "Konjo mageb naw!" (The food is great!)
The Rest
Since that first goat killing I have witnessed many more and am growing ever so slightly desensitized to it. For Ginbot 1 (their May 1st, our May 12th, * see Digression about Time for explanation) I woke up at 6 am to go to the bathroom and there was a cow in my compound facing it's demise. I decided to hold it.
Overall it has been a difficult and intangibly rewarding two months. The town I live in, Azena, is the center kebele amongst 5 other cluster/catchment areas, which are entirely farmland. Collectively there are about 44,000 people living in the greater Azena area, with less than 7,000 in Azena itself. The people in the catchment area bring their crops into the town for market days.
From the Amhara regional capital Bahir Dar, a major city, it is 122 kms south to the Awi zonal capital Kosober, then 10 kilometers off the paved road to the Ankesha woreda town Gimjabet where my bank and post office are, and then another 14 kms on very rough dirt road to the sunny vacationland known as Azena.
Imagine roughly 44,000 people who have never seen a foreigner now living one. The awe and elation of the kids is understandable, but it really sets in how rural the community is when groups of grown men stop dead in their tracks upon seeing you. Jaws dropped and eyes fixed, they sometimes don't even respond to my Salam no's or Deekeeteema's
Remote as they may be, the people in Azena are awesome. They are supremely friendly and generous. Most of my days involves me waiting for the rain to die down, walking in sticky mud (chicka) to my favorite shay bet for some tea with bread. Dabo ba shay is my new breakfast and the woman's suk I go to is so so nice, teaches me bits of Agaunya each day, and was the only one to come on time for my installation meetings.
The beginning of Peace Corps service is meant to serve as an integration period. So I'm not allowed to implement any projects in the first 3 months of being at site. Thus the emphasis is on integration. Like the scene in The Sandlot where Smalls' mom tells him to stop studying and just make friends, we are told to simply get to know people and let them get to know you.
So after shay dabo, I either go to the health center or high school. The health center is a busy place with an awesome group of people who have been really welcoming. When I was brand new and not able to tachawat or inkray ('play' or 'participate in the conversation') they would tell me to izo or 'chin up!'. To many of the PCVs this is heard with a bit of condescension, though it's really meant to be a positive.
The Agau word for izo is artay, which I remembered instantly. My mnemonic device? Arty Demers, or 'Arty', is a legendary running coach in my home town of Pelham New Hampshire, who is one of the first people I ever met who was a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). He is also tough as nails, so to me artay couldn't be a more apropos word for 'be strong'. So if anyone sees Arty, tell him I said thanks.
I mostly will read, practice my Amharic with the health staff, and occasionally engage in discussions about Ethiopian culture, economy, and health versus that of the US. I also play ping pong, soccer or igr kwas, or volleyball ij kwas or marab kwas with the high school teachers.
I will end on probably the coolest moment, which I sent in an email to friends. Forgive me for minimally editing it from the original typing.
"The coolist thing that happened this week is when I went to visit the elementary school in my town for the 2nd time to get an Agawnya language book. I got the book and there was a mass of kids around because can speak Amharic at a real basic level, and know about 20 words in Agawnya and I'm the only white person to ever go there. So a hoard of kids is watching me drink tea and I decide to leave after a while because I figure it's not productive for their school day. An ARMY follows me through the savannah. One of them started a little chant saying 'AWO! something something something' which was kind of popular. Then I joined in and EVERYONE was chanting. So I had this army of kids, probably 40, walking with me through the savannah chanting and clapping. They dropped me off at my house and right before I stepped through the door to my compound I turned back to them and go AWO! and they gave me one last big response. It was (explitive deleted) awesome."
* Digression about Time: One thing you ought to have learned by now is that Ethiopian time is different than time in the western world, and in some capacities, from the entire world. Misale/Examples:
It's been a long two months. I will come out and admit that. As a fellow volunteer told me in our fiction contest, "Life on a gorilla cheese farm ain't all spur janglin' fun". The answer is Yes, I have indeed lost my mind, and it's an enjoyable state to be in.
Prospective item points to hit: Fasika - Chika indet no? - Take the Power Back - Ginbot Aand - manamen. But please understand that I have an exceptional talent for digressing.
Fasika
I arrived in Azena a week before som or fasting ended in the beginning of April, culminating with the celebration of Fasika. A week of veggies passed before witnessing my first animal slaughter. Fasika means Easter in Amharic, but it's celebrated one week later, and they don't hide Easter eggs in their lawn.
Instead what they do is have their entire family over, buy a sheep/goat/cow, cut it open and start cooking. Some of the parts however aren't in need of cooking and are simply handed to you straight from the recently deceased creature. Such was the case of the large, strong black goat that took 7 grown men to hold down while it's throat was cut and bled out. The tongue was first out. The raw tongue was then handed around the room with a knife to cut pieces for FRESH eatings. My internal dialogue went something like this:
Me 1: Be cool Tim. Don't let them see you sweat. You can do this
Me 2: I'm FREAKING OUT!! AHHHHH!!!
Me 1: It's really no big deal. If anything, you know it's fresh and not yet contaminated
Me 2: AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me 1+2: "Konjo mageb naw!" (The food is great!)
The Rest
Since that first goat killing I have witnessed many more and am growing ever so slightly desensitized to it. For Ginbot 1 (their May 1st, our May 12th, * see Digression about Time for explanation) I woke up at 6 am to go to the bathroom and there was a cow in my compound facing it's demise. I decided to hold it.
Overall it has been a difficult and intangibly rewarding two months. The town I live in, Azena, is the center kebele amongst 5 other cluster/catchment areas, which are entirely farmland. Collectively there are about 44,000 people living in the greater Azena area, with less than 7,000 in Azena itself. The people in the catchment area bring their crops into the town for market days.
From the Amhara regional capital Bahir Dar, a major city, it is 122 kms south to the Awi zonal capital Kosober, then 10 kilometers off the paved road to the Ankesha woreda town Gimjabet where my bank and post office are, and then another 14 kms on very rough dirt road to the sunny vacationland known as Azena.
Imagine roughly 44,000 people who have never seen a foreigner now living one. The awe and elation of the kids is understandable, but it really sets in how rural the community is when groups of grown men stop dead in their tracks upon seeing you. Jaws dropped and eyes fixed, they sometimes don't even respond to my Salam no's or Deekeeteema's
Remote as they may be, the people in Azena are awesome. They are supremely friendly and generous. Most of my days involves me waiting for the rain to die down, walking in sticky mud (chicka) to my favorite shay bet for some tea with bread. Dabo ba shay is my new breakfast and the woman's suk I go to is so so nice, teaches me bits of Agaunya each day, and was the only one to come on time for my installation meetings.
The beginning of Peace Corps service is meant to serve as an integration period. So I'm not allowed to implement any projects in the first 3 months of being at site. Thus the emphasis is on integration. Like the scene in The Sandlot where Smalls' mom tells him to stop studying and just make friends, we are told to simply get to know people and let them get to know you.
So after shay dabo, I either go to the health center or high school. The health center is a busy place with an awesome group of people who have been really welcoming. When I was brand new and not able to tachawat or inkray ('play' or 'participate in the conversation') they would tell me to izo or 'chin up!'. To many of the PCVs this is heard with a bit of condescension, though it's really meant to be a positive.
The Agau word for izo is artay, which I remembered instantly. My mnemonic device? Arty Demers, or 'Arty', is a legendary running coach in my home town of Pelham New Hampshire, who is one of the first people I ever met who was a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV). He is also tough as nails, so to me artay couldn't be a more apropos word for 'be strong'. So if anyone sees Arty, tell him I said thanks.
I mostly will read, practice my Amharic with the health staff, and occasionally engage in discussions about Ethiopian culture, economy, and health versus that of the US. I also play ping pong, soccer or igr kwas, or volleyball ij kwas or marab kwas with the high school teachers.
I will end on probably the coolest moment, which I sent in an email to friends. Forgive me for minimally editing it from the original typing.
"The coolist thing that happened this week is when I went to visit the elementary school in my town for the 2nd time to get an Agawnya language book. I got the book and there was a mass of kids around because can speak Amharic at a real basic level, and know about 20 words in Agawnya and I'm the only white person to ever go there. So a hoard of kids is watching me drink tea and I decide to leave after a while because I figure it's not productive for their school day. An ARMY follows me through the savannah. One of them started a little chant saying 'AWO! something something something' which was kind of popular. Then I joined in and EVERYONE was chanting. So I had this army of kids, probably 40, walking with me through the savannah chanting and clapping. They dropped me off at my house and right before I stepped through the door to my compound I turned back to them and go AWO! and they gave me one last big response. It was (explitive deleted) awesome."
* Digression about Time: One thing you ought to have learned by now is that Ethiopian time is different than time in the western world, and in some capacities, from the entire world. Misale/Examples:
- Calendar The Ethiopian New Year begins on September 12th. They have 13 months, the first twelve of which are exactly 30 days. The last month, pagume \PAH-GU-MAY\ is the remaining days.
- Daylight Hours You know what 6 am means? Not in Ethiopia you don't! I tell my buddy "Makonan I will be at your compound at 12 am to wake you up to go running." The same sentence anywhere else in the world would be, "Makonan, I will be at your compound at 6 am to wake you up..." Don't understand it? You're thinking. Don't think!
- Accountability Dessalu says, "I will meet you at ShaShi's at 2:30 (our 8:30 am)". Dessalu does not come to ShaShi's at 2:30 or 8:30. He shows up 2, 3 hours later, if ever at all. Don't understand it? You're thinking. Don't think!
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