| What made me happy in Ethiopia? |
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| Written by Matt | |
| Sunday, 01 November 2009 | |
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What made me happy in Ethiopia? It’s been nearly four months since I returned from Ethiopia and I seem to miss it more with every day. Despite all the friends and family I have here in the US, something about Ethiopia clings to everything in my life; my job working with kids, my social life, and my future aspirations. Before I left Ethiopia, many of the people I had grown to know, my students, the shop-owners on my street, the kids living in my neighborhood, taxi drivers, teachers I worked with, and perhaps most of all the people who worked at the juice house that I would visit every day kept asking me the same question; when are you coming back? Every time I was asked this question it was not are you coming back but when? The truth is, then as now, they were right. I will go back someday, but alowokum meche (I don’t know when). This all begs the question, what made me so happy in Ethiopia? Despite missing many people back home, I adapted to Ethiopia after a couple months and this was made possible by all the Ethiopians who welcomed me into their shops, homes, and social circles. Most of all, I think living in the same place for eleven months allowed me to settle into the pace of life that I now miss so much. This all said, I will never know what it is like to live in their shoes, but I did get to experience what it was like to see the same folks day in and day out, and it was those daily encounters, those Salamno's (Are you at peace- a common Ethiopian greeting), those Weymehes (How are you in Groginya another Ethiopian language- many of the people in the area where I lived were Groge), and most of all those smiles from an old man to the ladies working at my school to a three year old that I will really miss the most. I have many reasons for wanting to go back to Ethiopia, but most of all, I miss what became the expected yet always refreshing friendliness of strangers. Since Ethiopia was never colonized, there has never been a large population of foreigners living in the country. Even in Addis Ababa, the capital city where I was living, I would sometimes go days without seeing another white person. Therefore, a was definitely in a minority, and yet I would consider it a minority of privilege in many ways. I honestly never felt discriminated against in a negative way, but often times I did feel as though I was given preferential treatment. For example, there were many times when even old ladies would stand up and offer me their seat on a crowded bus, or someone would pay for my taxi who I had just met on the taxi, or someone I had just met at the juice house would pay for my juice and bread. The most extreme example I can recall was during Meskel (meskel means cross in Amarinya), which is a widely celebrated Orthodox Christian holiday in appreciation of the harvest (the rainy season ends in September). After a parade and ceremony in which priests burn huge pyres of wood at Meskel Square (which is basically the city center of Addis Ababa, used to celebrate holidays such as Meskel and the location of political gatherings during the 2005 federal elections which I will discuss in later posts), many Ethiopians were trying to cross the street to leave the square when policemen armed with billy clubs started threatening to hit and actually hitting some women and children! What most amazed me was that when I approached some of the policemen with a friendly greeting in Amarinya, they insisted that I cross the street where Ethiopians had just been forbidden with violence to even step! One thing I want to try to distinguish here is the way Ethiopians treat and perceive Feranjis, such as myself, and they way they treat and perceive fellow Ethiopians. My experience is, of course, confined to the latter, and thus I cannot speak to what it is like to be an Ethiopian, as all experience is inevitably limited by one’s subjectivity. I hope any of my Ethiopian friends reading this (Ashagrie, Abel, Dawit, Teddy and others) can comment here on what it is like to live as an Ethiopian in Ethiopia, thereby speaking for themselves through their own respective Ethiopian identities. I would be interested to know what, if any, of the things I miss most about Ethiopia, Ethiopians really love and appreciate themselves. Moreover, I would be fascinated to know what they love most about Ethiopia that I have failed to discuss in this blog. One of the things I really miss about being in Ethiopia is the curiosity of strangers. I never knew when I was going to meet someone who just wanted to hear about my views on Ethiopia, on the USA, and on life in general. It’s crazy to think that the ways in which I met most of my best friends in Ethiopia, I doubt I ever would ever met in the same ways had we been in the US. For example, my friend Abel, just walked up to me at a café with a question about this graduate school that had accepted him in Iowa. Now who would approach a stranger in the US in such a way. I am so happy he did, because it didn’t take long for us to become good friends. Even when my encounters with strangers didn’t evolve into friendships, for example, when people would just be interested in English lessons, as I reflect on those experiences, I am taken aback by how much respect I feel towards someone who would even attempt to strike up a conversation with someone in a language they hardly even know. Who can deny the courage that must take. It’s inspiring in a way; if they can do that why can’t I try to speak their language. Moreover, it carries over to my experiences during the last month trying to learn Spanish. It is such a de-stresser to shoot the shit with strangers. In the US, a stranger wanting to strike up a conversation is typically received with a healthy skepticism of sorts; what do they want from me? The nice thing about Ethiopia, was that yes there were many times when people just wanted money from me, or English lessons, or a visa to the US, but no, those experiences did not develop in to any generalized sentiment of mistrust. After a couple months, I rarely had to ask myself, what do they want from me? Sure, I had to keep a certain guard up, but at least in Addis Ababa, violent crime, is not at all commonplace. To quote Leea Gibson, director of the school I worked at who is originally from Indiana and has been living in Addis for over a decade, “Addis Ababa is considerably safer than living in many US cities such as Chicago, New York or Los Angelos.” (The reasons for the lack of violent crime in Addis I will discuss more in other entries.) I can’t count how many times my mood would do an absolute one eighty from a simple, yet passionately curious, conversation with a kid playing soccer in the street or an old man sitting beside me on a taxi. One of my favorite conversations happened one day riding a really crowded taxi (when I refer to taxis I mean the van’s that serve as such throughout Addis, which with three rows of seats still manage to fit as many as 18 people during rush hours!). The man sitting next to my friend Yared and I had struck up a conversation about how the city needed more taxis. We all agreed that this was a major problem as crowds of up to fifty people could be seen every night scrambling to hitch a ride on an insufficient number of taxis. Then the man put his hand on my shoulder and said, “But just remember, we are sharing love, not space”. We all laughed. We could have complained some more, but what good would that have done. Now anyone can recognize the pragmatism of everyday optimism and humor, but people like this old man live it, and there seems to be something to learn from that. The last, but definitely not the least, point I want to make about why I loved living in Ethiopia was the neighborhood I lived in and the people who made it really feel like a home. I lived right down the street from what they call Makenessa Vatican, a monastery sharing a compound with the Indonesian Embassy on the East side of the city. Once again, I cannot speak to what it is like to live as an Ethiopian in this area of Addis, but I can speak to how warmly I was treated as a feranji. I was welcomed into all the mom and pop shops lining the streets. Often times, I’d go into a shop just to get a coke or some pasta or rice, and one of the guys working there would insist that I sit down and take a load off. Many times, I wouldn’t have the time to sit down and chat with the guys, but many other times, I would feel rushed and stressed (for all the reasons we feel rushed and stressed in life; relationships, work, fatigue, and so on) when I entered the store, and I would follow their suggestion to sit down. After a few minutes or sometimes as much as an hour, I would get up and leave feeling as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Just spending that time with them was like my wake up call to enjoy whatever simple joys the moment has to offer. The two places I most enjoyed were my school and getting to teach classes like KG-E and The Juice Bet (house) This was where I learned most of my Amarinya from the likes of Daniel and Sardick. This was were I was always welcomed to just sit and strike up conversations with so many people in the neighborhood who would come here for a juice or fruit. I never knew who I might meet. At the same time, I always felt like I was in the company of friends. This is the place I miss the most. Overall, it’s the little things that we can’t really explain but that we get each and every day that make life so beautiful. I would be really interested to know about how people treat their neighbors and foreigners in other developing countries. While Ethiopia’s history as the only independent African state besides Liberia, clearly creates a unique context in terms of the way they value their culture and how they welcome foreigners with open arms as people, I would imagine that the sense of community in other cities throughout the developing world might have many similarities. I would love to hear your thoughts, particularly Somdeep, considering all your experiences in Calcutta.
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  written by Adriana Cordero Calderon , November 08, 2009 Matt, Definetely, one of the many frustrations of being abroad is to compare how people react on an every day basis in your homecountry and where you are living at the moment. Then, going back to your homecountry you experience what people call the "reverse culture-shock". At least for me, coming back home to Costa Rica after 6 years of being all over the place has been like a roller coaster. I have to admit that I feel like a stranger among Costa Ricans... After taking so much from the other parts where I've been, going back to the same place I left a couple of years ago is hard, there are things that don't fit with me anymore: from working environments, to teaching techniques and ridiculous gossips. At least from my point of view, Costa Ricans are too reserved and don't publically express what they think. That has got me into trouble, just because I sincerely say what I think, what others take as a personal insult. Agh! Groups are also very close... people very rarely meet new friends, they close their social circles and find it hard to relate to others. Of course this is not generalizing, but are some things that I have recognize since I've been back. Costa Rica is a great place, though; and luckily, I've found great exceptions  report abuse
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