Sunday, February 13

Remember the enjera stove? Well, it’s called a mogogo and it was hooked up Friday. Electricity is treated with contempt here in Ethiopia. If an American electrician saw what they do here, if he didn’t pass away from shock, he would probably be so wigged out he just wouldn’t be able to cope.

     When they installed the reservoir outside, they simply snuck two #10 copper wires out of the electrical box, hooked them to a switch, not attached to anything, and ran the wire to the pump. When they installed the mogogo, they took two #10 wires, both blue, from the hot side of the switch and ran them back to the maid’s quarters. The wires were draped like Christmas garland on whatever protuberance conveniently existed. However, we now have homemade enjera and the pump still works.

     The secret to why Ethiopian homes don’t burn down or why people aren’t routinely shocked by electricity is simple: everything is made of concrete or stone. So it doesn’t burn and if it shorts out, you don’t need a ground wire, because the entire dwelling is one big ground. Simple, isn’t it?

     It may sound like I’m trashing the craftsmanship here, and truly, at first glance it seems somewhat primitive. What I’m coming to believe is that it’s quite creative. Basic tools and equipment are very scarce here in Ethiopia. So people have learned to cope with make-do methods that work. Sure, the European way would be better, safer, more efficient, but given what they have to start with, the Ethiopian way is truly admirable.

     Now, back to the stove. So today we had our first homemade enjera. It was good! Enjera is made of teff flour. Teff is a small grain grown here in abundance, similar to buckwheat. If you google “teff” you will discover that it is almost a miracle grain. It has all the proteins needed to sustain animal life and a whole lot more besides. If it weren’t for teff and the resultant enjera, this nation would starve. It is common for a family to use 100 kilos of teff flour a month.

     Enjera is a giant pancake, two to three feet in diameter. It is made from teff mixed with water and left to ferment (the fermenting organisms just blow in from the air, nothing is added) for about three to four days. It is cooked on one side only and it is spongy in consistency. When you eat your tibs or wat (we’ll talk about them another time), you tear off some enjera and put it on your plate. Then you pile your food on it and, tearing small squares of enjera off a roll of it held in your left hand and placing it on top of your food. You use your right hand to grab some food with the enjera, pop it in your mouth, and that’s it.

     You always eat with your right hand, never the left. We studied one class at the school and all 30 plus students are right handed. You don’t have the luxury of being left handed in Ethiopia. To eat with the left hand is simply not done. Anyway, that’s enjera.

     Remember the watchman? We didn’t fire him. He agreed to move out of the maid’s quarters and sleep outside. Now we have the watchman’s bed just outside the front door. I know the watchman is good to have, but when he’s outside, I make sure the doors are locked. He’s a tough looking old bird.

     And our cargo has arrived. We’ve opened all the boxes and it appears nothing was lost or broken, no small feat. Thank you Jesus! We had nearly forgotten what we shipped, so it was great to see stuff that will help at the school, some books for recreation, more clothing, our sewing machine, lots of fabric, etc. We are grateful!

     The cargo was held for skatey-eight reasons for two weeks at the Addis Ababa airport and finally released to Tewolde Abraha, Tesfai’s brother in law, when we got all the stars to align correctly. And here is the good news. I bought a new printer, copier, scanner before we left and shipped it. It was the only thing in the 10 pieces that was in a different box. Customs made us pay 2000 Birr for the printer, but, and this is the best part, didn’t even open the other cases. They would surely have had a heyday with our sewing machine and a number of other items. All in all, it was a very successful shipment.

     We have hit another snag about our residency permits. Our visas allow us to stay and work for the school for two years and are renewable. However, without residency permits, air fare to Addis or anywhere else inside the country is three times what residents pay. We also cannot open a bank account or really own anything here without a residency permit. So we’re persevering and getting the officials whatever else they need. It will get straight eventually, I’m sure.

     That’s the news from Mekele, Tigrai, where the sun always shines, the temperature is always pleasant and the people are truly good looking.

    

Friday, February 11

Did I say they installed the enjera stove yesterday? It was supposed to be installed but they discovered that the electric in the maid’s quarters would not support the stove. The installer said he would do the rewiring and finish up yesterday afternoon. He never came back. In the two-thirds world, time is a very relative, pliable thing. This afternoon may mean tomorrow or next week. This doesn’t mean that they lie when the say “this afternoon.” They intend to come back when they say it, but then something comes up. It’s just the way it works here. If you are a laid back sort, as Jane and I are, well no problem. If you are uptight, then you need to either take medication, alcohol, or go back home. You will not change it. Ever.

     Ethiopia keeps time differently by the clock as well. At 6:00 AM, it’s like our midnight. Therefore 7:00 AM is 1:00, 9:00 AM is 3:00, etc. At 6:00 PM it starts all over, 7:00 PM is 1:00, etc. Since the sun comes up and goes down at about the same time of day every single day, it makes sense. 1:00 is the first hour of daylight, etc. They also have a different calendar with thirteen months, but we’ll talk about that some other time.

     Remember the problem with the watchman? Last night, our boss Eyasu, the school Administrator Zakiros, the Principal Tseshome, and the driver Gebre came by when the watchman was scheduled to start and explained to him that he couldn’t stay in the maid’s quarters anymore. He agreed to stay there last night and take his bed with him this morning.

     When everyone left, the watchman called Mowcha, the maid, outside and talked to her. I waited a little while and after she returned to the house, I went into the kitchen. Mowcha was sitting in the corner, looking very sad. I asked if she was OK and she just shrugged. I pointed to the backyard where the watchman was and she shook her head “Yes.” I then pointed to the watchman and said to her, “Tomorrow I fix!” We will fire the watchman today.

     We have a wrought iron fence and stone wall around our house. It has rolls of razor wire on top. Our doors are very secure. We are considering not having a watchman, but there’s a problem. Mowcha may think she has to keep watch and not rest well at night. So if she says it’s OK, no watchman. If she is anxious, we will get a watchman with a better disposition. Remember, a watchman costs 350Birr a month or about $21 US a month. Not a big expense either way for us “Rich Americans.”

     This morning I left 500 Birr ($30 US) for Mowcha to go shopping for food. She will think that’s too much, but we want her to know that we can afford more than the typical Ethiopian family and that it’s alright to spend a little more. Even if she does, we will eat well for very much less than in the US.

     I’m writing this in Zakiros’ office at the school. At this moment, Tseshome has come in to use the only phone at the school that sits on Zakiros’s desk, there is an animated discussion going on between a student and a teacher, and it seems like the most unlikely place to find any quiet. I think I’ll go to the library to check out English curriculum.

     I’m back with news of the library. We need books, lots of books. Books are hard to find in Ethiopia because they all have to be imported. They weigh a lot and therefore cost a lot to ship here. I’m going to look for a way, no, I’m going to find a way to get books to Mekele. How can you teach kids to read if you don’t have books for them? Troubling.

     Shortly I’ll begin a list of items for a “care” package for Jane and me. Some things we really need simply do not exist here is Ethiopia. For example, we both have partial dentures and use Polident or something like it. You can’t find it at any price. I may try to make my own concoction made from baking soda and baking powder. When we do ask, of course we’ll reimburse you for your costs.

     It’s later and we just got word that our cargo has arrived and ended up at Eyasu’s brother’s store. We’ve been looking forward to it all arriving just like kids at Christmas. It’s been so long since we packed it up that we can’t remember what we shipped and what we left behind. This will be fun.

    

Thursday, February 10

Wow, what a difference a few days can make. We have two completely working bathrooms, showers included. The third bathroom should be coming on line soon. The majority of electrical and plumbing problems have been solved. And today, there’s water service for the first time since Sunday. Water service in Mekele is spotty; sometimes you have it and sometimes you don’t. But our house has a large water tank on the roof (most houses do) and we work at keeping it filled. So when there’s water, the reservoir tank on the ground will fill up. When it’s full, I turn on the pump that pushes the water onto the roof. Each cycle takes 10-15 minutes. When the reservoir fills again, I do it again. That way, even though we may not have water service for days, we still have water in the house. But if I forget to pump water we may run out.

     We also have a maid. Actually, we hired one on Monday, but she didn’t show up. So yesterday we hired Mowcha and what a difference she has made already. She went shopping for kitchen stuff yesterday and then turned out a lovely meal last night from the meager supplies we had in the kitchen. This morning she brought us margarine, honey, flatbread, bananas and tea. A perfect start to any diabetic’s day. By the way, my insulin dose has dropped by 35% since I’ve been in Ethiopia. We are going home for lunch today (a first) at 1:00 PM (7:00 Ethiopian time) and look forward to what she’s prepared for us.

     We have a watchman for the nighttime. He’s a grumpy sort who has had it easy up ‘til now as the watchman for the landlord while the house was empty. Essentially he got 350 Birr a month for sleeping. But now that we have a maid, he should vacate the maid’s quarters out back, something he finds very inconvenient. In fact Mowcha slept in one of our bedrooms inside the house last night and the watchman slept in her quarters. Should be interesting to see how this plays out.

     Our friend, Connie Beyene, took us around to furniture stores on Saturday. We saw just about everything we needed and will buy most of it after we get our residency permits. As legal residents, we will be at an advantage regarding air fares, banking arrangements, etc. But since we live in a “glass house,” we needed draperies and two wardrobes for our clothes right away.

     The draperies were easy. Pick out your fabric, let one of the employees ride home with you, let him measure your windows, and then have another young man come and install them the next day. All for one low price of 3500 Birr (about $200).

     I bummed a ride to town yesterday and went to the furniture store. I purchased two wardrobes for a total of 7000 Birr and thought they’d deliver. Instead, they loaded the wardrobes, which come as a kit, onto the roof of a taxi and the installer and I rode by taxi to our house. The driver helped him take the boxes to the bedroom, then left. The installer took about an hour to put together both pieces and then left. Tipping is unusual in Ethiopia, but I tipped him 30 Birr. As a fat, white American, I can get away with it.

     So in just two day’s time, we have hot water for our showers, drapes, somewhere to put our clothes (we’ve been living out of suitcases for three weeks), clean laundry, some help with the housework and regular meals. Today Gebre, the school’s driver, and Mowcha went to town and purchased an enjera stove so we can have enjera with every meal, just like everyone else in Ethiopia. I’ll tell you more about that sometime.

Tuesday, February 8

     Today is our 20^nd day in Ethiopia and only our 13^th day in Mekelle. We have been out of touch with the world, it seems, since we left Addis Ababa. No internet, phone calls to the States are very expensive, so we called our son one night and our friend Tesfai another. Nine minutes costs six dollars, so it is best for people to call us from the States, it’s cheaper.

     Our first days in Mekelle were challenging. The house they picked for us was just not going to work. Better than the typical Tigrinya housing, it was more like a cave than a house. It was old, dirty and it had a bad smell about it. So last Saturday we moved next door to a house that is brand new, so new in fact that many things weren’t working yet. Most of the plumbing and electric were not hooked up yet. Still no kitchen cabinets (they’re on order), but we hope to have some within the month. We’re praying to get them by Easter. Is Easter in March or April this year?

     We currently have a bed, a table, a smaller table, a mostly useless coffee table, two chairs, a stove and a fridge. And here is the best part: we really like it here. It’s like nothing we’ve ever seen.

     Mekelle is about 7,000 feet above sea level, more or less depending where you are. It’s the Ethiopian version of a boomtown. Building is going on everywhere, no building codes. Everything is built from concrete and stone, finished in tile or stucco. Steel frame windows, porcelain fixtures. And there is marble on the bathroom floors and the stairway treads. A toddler in a Tigraian home must be all scrapes and bruises    

     Hundreds of three-wheeled mini-taxis carom down the streets. They have 12-inch rubber wheels and break down regularly, thanks to the rough, unpaved roads in the newer sections. They cost about 20% of what a regular cab costs (regular cabs 50 Birr from downtown to our house, mini-cabs cost 10 Birr. One Ethiopian Birr equals 6 cents in US money), allowing the mostly poor citizens of Mekelle to get around town cheaply.

     The regular taxis are bigger, consisting mostly of Toyota Corollas. Toyota makes a fortune here in Ethiopia. The drivers have no addresses to guide them. Many streets have no names. In short, either the driver knows where your destination is, or he doesn’t. We live one block from the school we work at, the Merha Tibeb Academy. So we say “We go Merha Tibeb Academy. If the driver knows where it is, that’s good. If not, we find a driver or someone who does know where it is, get directions and we’re off. When we get to the school, we point the way to our house. That’s how it works.

     Tigrai has 3,000 years of recorded history, so they’ve had lots of practice in making things work. And they weren’t always this badly off. Sure, there are always poor people, but the last 120 years have been very hard for Tigrai. First there were the Italians, who wrote two versions of their agreement with Emperor Melenik II in 1889. The Italian version said that Ethiopia belonged to the Italians and that they were in charge. The Tigrinya version left that part out. In 1896, Melenik II invited the British and Swiss ambassadors to his coronation, only to be told that he couldn’t do that, because the Italians were in charge. As a result, despite superior weapons, the Italians were defeated at the battle of Adwa in that same year.

     In the 1920’s, a power vacuum and a struggle for succession led to the coronation of Hailie Salassie as Emperor. He was a grandiose, self-serving man who largely neglected his people. The infrastructure began to fail. The Italians, now under Mussolini returned again in the early 1930’s. Fighting continued right up until the Second World War. Hailie Selasse prevailed and reigned into the 1970’s, when the Communist regime, the Dirge, took power. It was not until the 1990’s that the Dirge was ousted, due in part to the collapse of the former Soviet Union.

     The government since then has established democracy and is trying to get foreign investment going throughout the country. They are building dams for water retention and hydro-electric power; roads are being improved; railroads have been planned and begun. But it’s a huge task and much more help is needed. I said help, not aid. The possibilities for foreign investment are numberless, as long as it is done with the inclusion and involvement of the Ethiopian people.

     Ethiopia deserves its shot at creating a decent life for its people. We’re pleased to be part of it all.

Chicago to Addis Ababa

All the planning and trying to get ahead of things came crashing down on Monday January17, when Jane and I were leaving the house for good. While we had thought ahead, we were still explaining to AT&T and Commonwealth Edison that we were closing the house on March 1, 2011. We were weighing all our bags so that we could get the most for our 100 lbs. each all the way to Addis Ababa. And it snowed!

     We were trying to leave for the airport by 2:00 PM for a 6:30 flight to Frankfurt. We didn’t. Finishing up required my getting all eight pieces of luggage, OK seven pieces and a puppy carrier for Roscoe the super dog, loaded into the truck, then going to the storage area with a few more items to put away for our return, and then on to Starbucks in Wheaton to sell the truck and get picked up by our kids Aaron and Jenny and our grandson Christian. Once we got to the airport and through security (better than it has been in the past), we were comfortable and settled for our 81/2 hour flight to Frankfurt. All is well.

     In Frankfurt they are redoing their entire terminal at once. All flights landed and parked on the ramp. You then depart down a very long flight of stairs to the tarmac and enter a bus. After a long ride in the bus (20 minutes?) we arrive at the terminal, climb even more stairs and walk a half mile, including several trips up and down stairs and broken escalators. Through security again and to the departure gate for the Frankfurt to Addis flight (7 hours). Arrive just in time to get on another bus, ride 20 minutes and climb another long stairway to the flight. Addis, here we come.

     One hour into our flight the little screen just in front of our noses changes destination from Addis Ababa to Dubrovnik, Croatia, which just happens to be where we are. Fuel tanks are dumped and we make an emergency landing there. One and a half hours on the plane parked in Dubrovnik and we are told the problem cannot be repaired. Lufthansa will send another plane from Frankfurt. The shore version is that after eight hours with nowhere to go in Dubrovnik, we take off again for Addis.

     Addis Ababa, city of legend and mystery, opens before our eyes as we land at 4:45 AM on Wednesday, January 19. Long wait for immigration. We are glad we got our visas ahead of time because they free us from another long line for visas. With almost 300 lbs. of baggage, I wimp out and get a porter to help with the bags. Then to customs where I think they will have a field day with all the stuff we’ve got . . . remember we’re staying a while! Wrong! Red eyed, jet lagged, and weeeaaarry, the porter says something to the customs man and we walk free as birds into the Addis night and to a taxi. 200 Birr for the porter ($12.00), 300 Birr for the taxi, a ride through what looks like a war zone to the Harmony Hotel where we arrive at 5:30 AM. After checking in, breakfast at 6:00 AM, we return to the room, put the do not disturb sign out and sleep to 1:00 PM.

First Days in Addis

We’re beyond jet-lagged, way beyond. Neither Jane nor I have any idea what our bodies think as far as what time it is, or what place this is, for that matter. The 8,000 foot altitude is killing us. We ventured out about 1:30 PM local time or 7:30 Ethiopian time. We walked all the way to the corner and around to a GoSip café. This was no small feat. I twisted my ankle twice. The sidewalks are all broken up or non-existent. People used to level sidewalks, curbs, and paved roads need be very careful. Put your foot wrong and you may break something. There are no handrails on stairways and steps in the walks.

     Architecturally, it’s like “OK, let’s build this thing here.” There is no plan that can be easily observed. This town is growing so fast; many streets are not paved or even graded. And there are cars, bicycles, donkeys, busses, taxis, wheelbarrows . . . whatever has wheels on it and can be driven or pushed is on the street. And people walking, in the street, on the side of the street, on sidewalks where there are any, hundreds, thousands of people walking everywhere, all the time.

     Stop signs, where they exist, are pretty decorations. At major intersections, few that there are, the presence of police does get cars to stop at red lights. At a round-about, you watch drivers play “chicken” as they try to break out and through each one. And this is very curious – when anyone, anyone, gets or makes a cell phone call, they pull over to the side of the road and stop, no exceptions; all this in a place where vehicles and pedestrians do a dance of death down every street. Millimeters separate cars from pedestrians. It’s like a bunch of marbles rolling around in a shoebox, yet no marble ever touches another. It is truly a magic ballet to be appreciated.

     When you park, you lock your car and walk away. When you return, you discover who has been watching your car, for he or she will appear to collect their “fee” for protecting it while you’re gone.

     On Thursday morning we are picked up at 10:00 by Dawit, the driver our boss has sent to take us down to the Ministry of Immigration for permanent resident permits. Jane and I are separated as she goes to the women’s security check and I to the men’s. If you enter public buildings, hotels, stores, many restaurants, you will be searched and your bags scanned or searched. We learn not to take it personally. Security is a big thing here in Ethiopia and they work hard to keep people safe. Jane has the camera in her purse and they take it and hold it until we leave. No pictures inside public buildings, airports, anything municipal, period.

     We go to a hall where Dawit tries to find out where we are to go. He speaks little English, so we communicate with hands, pointing the way, or by his calling our bosses’ sister who speaks English and translates for us, telling us what is next.

     Now we go to a room that seats less than 100 people. No line, no numbers, no one in authority there. Dawit points, we sit. After a while, a young lady comes in and sees some of the sitting people, not in any particular order. Dawit talks to her and then goes to get forms to fill out. Here’s where we learn about Ethiopian names.

     In Ethiopia, your name consists of our given first name, your father’s name next, and then you grandfather’s name. Abel Baker Charlie, for example, was named Abel by his parents, his father’s name was Baker, and his grandfather’s name was Charlie. When Abel has a son and names him say, Steven, his name is Steven Abel Baker or really Steven Abel, because they don’t worry about the last name much. Essentially, everybody is known first and foremost by their first name. By the way, for women the process works the same: Your mom’s names become your middle and last name. And it works fine unless you are from the States or Europe, say. Then it’s possible for them to register me as Theodore Harold, totally leaving out my last name, because last names aren’t as important as first names. Even the Prime Minister, whose name is Melis Zanawi, is known by everyone as Melis.

     After we fill out forms, we find, after a wait, that we need more than what we have. We need a form from the Ministry of Labor. “Back to hotel,” says Dawit. Later we get a call from our boss’s sister and we find out that Dawit will pick us up tomorrow.

     Friday morning at 9:30 we leave for the Ministry of Labor. Security easier here, it’s a smaller place. We get the forms to fill out, but need: 1. our passports and visas and two Xerox copies of each. 2. Two passport photos each. 3. A letter from our employer stating the specifics of our employment and 4. Our resumes. “Back to hotel,” says Dawit. Sis calls and tells us we need to get the photos and copies made and arrange to stay longer in Addis (we were scheduled to leave on Monday for Mekele). We arrange to stay until Thursday.

     Friday afternoon and we’re still not feeling right. I begin to think that we’re just too old to get used to the high altitude. First I, then Jane get the “tourist’s complaint,” and we spend the weekend just limping along. Thank God Dr. Lin gave us a big bottle of Cipro before we left. The stuff works great.

     Monday dawns on a week when the African Union, headquartered in Addis, begins two weeks of meetings. All the African heads of state (except Mubarak of Egypt, who is busy being deposed) are on the way to Addis and the army is everywhere.

     Just a word here about safety. At no time have Jane or I felt any less safe than when we are in the States. In fact, there is a welcoming spirit among these people which we find refreshing. Even though we don’t speak the language and have to strain pantomime and pointing to the breaking point, the spirit is friendly. When I stepped on a scale being rented by a boy on the sidewalk (they try anything to make a Birr) and it promptly shot past the highest number, he laughed out loud and so did I. I tried out a resin chair in a furniture store and when it held me, I said, “Well, it didn’t break and again all the Ethiopians laughed. They are poor people, but they are good people.

     Nothing more happens about residency cards or much anything else for the next two days. We sightsee some, but mostly we walk around and enjoy the people, the scenes taking place right here, right now. More later.