Kindness by presence, package, touch, and compliment

Yesterday my site mates handed me a slip from the post office informing me that I had a package waiting for me and that there might be another behind the counter. It’s always excited getting mail from the states. It makes me feel not-so-far-away.

Today I went to fetch them. When I got there I discovered I had not one or two packages, but FOUR packages, one of which has been missing in action for over a month. As thrilled as I was to have them, I wondered how the hell I was going to get them back to my tinish bet (little house). I could think of only one option. Reluctantly, I texted my site-mates for their help and, of course, they came to my rescue. They walked from the bottom of the hill, up to the post office, schlepping my stuff all the way back down the hill and over to my house. I’m grateful to have them here. I’m not sure I would have stayed in Ethiopia if I’d been placed in Assella by myself.

While I was waiting for them to meet me at the post office, I sat schlumped over my stack of packages thinking about home. Several people passed by, all of them taking second glances, probably wondering why the white lady was sitting on the ground with a stack of boxes. An elderly woman with no teeth came slowly down the walkway and stopped in front of me. I smiled. “Salomnesh? Indenesh?” I greeted her. She said nothing. She was mute, or spoke only Oromifa, or both. Instead, she clasped her hands together in front of her, as if in prayer and bowed her head to me. She took my hands in hers and squeezed them and bowed her head to me again. She was thanking me. She was showing her gratitude for my being here.

When I got home I did some laundry, left again, and when I came back found that my libs (clothes) were no longer on the clothesline. A while later my landlady told me my clothes were in her house. I assume it was because the household was gone and she didn’t want them stolen. She brought my clothes out to me and from what I could understand from her Amharic, she said something along the lines of, “You're washing is beautiful. I couldn’t have washed them better myself. Very good.” Now, hand-washing is hard, getting clothes truly clean is even harder, and to be complimented on my hand-washing skills by a habisha woman that has been doing it her entire life is a major major MAJOR compliment. It almost blew my mind. No, it did blow my mind.

A previous Peace Corps volunteer was talking to us (volunteers in training) about finding our way through the rough bits of living here. He said “let Ethiopia save you.” This is what he was talking about. It’s the smallest kindnesses that are really the biggest life savers.

Now I know that if catastrophe strikes and washing machines aren't possible, I'll still have clean clothes.

Proof of my mad hand-washing skills

Proof that my friends and family love me

What I learned from the shoe-shine boy and thank you, lord, for cobbled roads.

Lately I’ve been suffering a mild depression. Don’t worry, I’m keeping close tabs. Among other things, I’ve been dwelling on the fact that my Amharic sucks and I’m losing most of what I learned during pre-service training at an alarming rate. Or, so I thought.

I’d just filled my belly with Foul (pronounced “Fool”) and coffee  and was walking back down the hill, eyeing the many shoe shine boys thinking I should get my poor shoes polished as they looked a mess but thinking I’d pass if I didn’t see one that looked honest (run on sentence, anyone?). As I passed, one of them beckoned me to come. He must have been alarmed at the extent of my shoe neglect. “Don’t judge me.” I thought, “I live on a dirt road and have walked in miles of mud.” I paused, looked down at my feet, and decided to go for it, so I sat down on the bench and watched him get to work on my Mary Janes.

As expected, being a giant white lady sitting at the side of the main road, I caught folks’ attention and became the topic of conversation. I listened for bits and pieces of conversation that I actually understood. One of them cracked a joke about serving a foreigner. I laughed with them. They looked to me with amused astonishment, their minds visibly being blown at the fact that I understood their banter. A fellow who was obviously friends with the kid shining my shoes sat down on the bench next to me and started asking me the generic questions habisha (locals) ask when they discover I speak Amharic.

“You speak Amharic?”

“How do you find Ethiopia?”

“How do you find Assella?”

“What is your country?”

 “What is your work?”

“Where do you work?”

“Do you know Oromifa?”

“Do you have a mobile phone?”

“Can I have your phone number?”

And all of these, to my surprise, I was able to answer in broken, but adequate, Amharic. I sat there, quite pleased with myself, a silly grin on my face. The conversation turned to what was happening at my feet, and still, I was able to follow, understand, and discuss. I was actually having a real conversation. I am bad-ass! Thank you shoe shine boy, for calling me forth and re-acquainting me with some of the confidence I feared had been lost forever.

With my beautifully polished shoes I paid the boy 3 more Birr than was owed him, and told him that he was very clever and that my shoes were beautiful (all in Amharic, mind you), and started back down the hill.

Now that my shoes were beautified I started fretting the fact that I have to walk up a dirt road covered with red, volcanic, dusty, dirt.

“Crap!” I thought, “Why does god hate shiny shoes?” I succumb to the inevitable re-dirtying of my shoes. But, wait! Look! Only half my road is dirt now! The road workers have been hard at work cobbling my street! Oh, beautiful cobbles! I love you! I will marry you and have little cobble babies!

I tread lightly until I reach the cobbled bit of road and proudly step up onto the cobbles. I admire it, and inside I thank the cobble layers for working so quickly. My whole street will be cobbled in no time. I can tread proudly along the cobbled road with my shiny shoes without fear of mud or dust. Thank you, powers that be, for the invention of the cobble!

On an unrelated note, I’ve been sneezing a lot today and I fear I will be consumed by a cold before the day is through. I have boogers. Not that you need to know that.

I wonder how you’d say that in Amharic.

Giant White Lady

Seeing as I'm a girl in Ethiopia it's always best if I have someone accompany me home if I'm out after dark. On this occasion it was a habisha (local) friend on mine. As we're walking up towards my house a kid runs by us full speed and enters a compound.

Friend: Which house is yours?
Me: The one that kid just ran into.
Friend: Does he live there?
Me: Yeah, he's my landlady's son.
Friend: Did he see us?
Me: Around here its kinda hard to miss a giant white lady walking around in the dark.