"In Ethiopia, it's hard"

I’ve been trying to keep my entries lighthearted, I’ll admit I’ve been selective about what stories I’ve shared and I honestly don’t write unless I’m happy. I mentioned in one of my earlier entries about the poverty, the poor animals and the rubbish. I haven’t gone into detail of the beggars, the blind men wandering the streets, or the mothers with children at their feet and babies on their breasts. I haven’t told you about the half-naked young woman reeling in pain, lying on her back in the middle of the pavement as two babies clung to both breasts, searching for milk. It is shocking and people help when they can, but for the most part people harden themselves to this poverty. What else can you do? You give to whom you can, and hope that the young children won’t use the money for glue.  But perhaps sniffing glue is the only escape from their reality- and while it many only last a few hours, maybe that’s worth more than food? I’m not sure. I don’t want to believe it is.

But people are friendly. Despite the mad driving; overtaking around corners and over hills, very few traffic lights, no adherence to zebra crossings, swerving to avoid stray dogs, packs of docile donkeys and horse drawn carts, and the abrupt minibus stops to pick up random people along the roads- everyone remains calm! Yes, there might be the odd middle finger thrown around or a few taps to the temple, but road rage is not the Ethiopian way. In fact people apologize, wave or more often, toot their horns to express their thanks or signal that they’re moving.

But it’s more than that. Yesterday I was inline waiting for a minibus to take me back to Suluta from Addi Sui when I noticed a man stumbling out of a hole-in–the-wall tavern. He was absolutely tanked and as he was making his way down the stairs he aggressively grabbed the jacket of another fairly tipsy man, pulling him towards his chest. I thought- here we go, the fists are going to fly now… But the second man gently loosened the first man’s grip and instead of retaliating, he guided him down the stairs. 

And the week before last Banchi and I had hitched a ride from a lorry (I know…perhaps a questionable decision) into town and as traffic slowed going down the mountainous hills towards Addis, we saw that loads of minibuses, lorries and cars had pulled over and people were gathering at the side of the road. As we drove past we noticed that a woman who’d been carrying a large load of sticks was unconscious and lying in the gutter with a massive welt on her forehead. It must have just happened as people were still trying to carry her out of the gutter. Our lorry driver stopped grabbed the water bottle in my hand and sprinted over to her. We’ll never know what happened to her, and we can only pray she survived- but it was overwhelming to see how many people had stopped and were trying to help.

I recounted both stories to a new hotel guest, Marco- an Italian marathoner from Dubai- and we agreed that while we may get some unwanted attention as foreigners, the general population is friendly. Perhaps it’s the deep-set fear of God due the intense religiosity here- whether it be Orthodox Christianity, Islam, Catholicism or Protestantism. I’m not sure- I mean there are literally pictures of Jesus and Mary everywhere (alongside posters of Will Smith, 50 Cent, Rooney, Christiano Ronaldo, Lampard and Alex Ferguson) and the phrases Selum Nu-“Peace” (be with you), Xavier Mesgal- “Thank God”,and Xavier Yestivus- “God be with you” are constantly used either as greetings, exclamations or blessings to those in need. So yes, religion is a major part of Ethiopian culture- but I believe it goes further than, as community also plays a strong part in Ethiopian culture.

For example, the traditional meal is ingera (a spongy flat pancake-like bread, that’s been fermented and made from tef - it’s also gluten free and full of iron) and is typically eaten with a type of bean based sauce or meat stew placed in the middle of the ingera. The meal is typically shared, and is eaten by taking a piece of ingera in your fingers and scooping up some sauce/stew, folding it quickly into a little package and voila! You may only use your right hand, take from the area in front of you, and when placing the package in your mouth avoid putting your fingers in/on your mouth. Gousha is the practice of feeding others- this is a sign of respect, informality and love. To refuse is insulting, and it’s bad luck to be gousha’ed an uneven number of times. If you’re loved enough you can go a whole meal without even touching the food. Whenever anyone is eating they call to others saying “Inibla”- eat with us/me- and it’s seen as an endearing invitation but it seems that eating alone is not part of the Ethiopian culture. So if you’re with someone who’s eating, prepare to be gousha’ed. (We eat it for dinner every night, and I already know I’ll miss it when I come home. Group meals are the best, and with just a dish and a pot there’s hardly any washing up to do- BONUS!)

Just like the Irish, Ethiopians love to feed others.  Throughout a meal the host encourages its guest(s) to “Bea” –eat- or “Blah” if it’s a male guest. And the food just keeps on coming, even if that means the host offering food from his/her own plate. I’ve actually been at a sleepover and just as we were falling asleep my amazing friend and host Banchi insisted that I was hungry and rummaged up some bread. It was delicious but my British backbone made sure we shared it.

While I’ve mostly complained about men in my previous posts, I want to press the fact that my overall impression of Ethiopian people in general has been wonderful. From the men who gave up their seats for me on a minibus, to the old woman who offered to be my Ethiopian mother (after I told her my Habesha name), to the young man who was sure that I was lost and repeatedly asked how he could help me, to the friends I’ve made at Yaya and the “GoushaWars” with the girls- I do believe Ethiopians have Canadians beat for friendliness. There have been countless times that Banchi has struck up lively conversations with complete strangers, offered labourers from Yaya Village to eat and drink coffee with us, and has put the Yaya girls and even me, before herself. I know Banchi is only one person, but she’s convinced me that this is the true Ethiopian way.

The Yaya girls might be madams sometimes, but what teenager isn’t every now and again- these girls have already gone through so much and now, after 5 months of free education, food, shelter and the opportunity to grow, make friends and get vocational training, these girls have to go home and start again (this time armed with positive experiences). Yesterday Banchi and I interviewed them individually to take note of their plans for after Yaya; where they would live, where they’d like to work, if they were excited for the upcoming Coca race and Camp GLOW (a female empowerment camp in June, hosted and run by the Peace Core), and if they’d consider coaching after they’d finished competing.

While she lived alone before Yaya, Tigist is planning on moving in with her Uncle in Addis until she can save up for her own place. Asnakitch will move back home until she gets financially back on her feet (I told her I’m doing the same when I get back to Canada, which cheered her up), Alumseye will move in with her Uncle in Waserbi- just 5 mins walk from Yaya andLamrot will move in with a friend in Addis but she’ll continue to work at Yaya Village. The girls are excited for the race and the camp, but when we asked Alumseye her eyes welled up and she admitted she’s worried that her Uncle won’t let her go to the camp. I was shocked and asked Banchi why he’d be opposed to the camp as the Yaya Girls Program will pay for it, it’s educational and girls across the country have to compete (with written essays) to be accepted but our girls have an automatic in…! Banchi shrugged, tipped her head to the side and replied, “In Ethiopia, it’s hard.”- a phrase Banchi often uses to answer my cultural/societal questions.

Like any patriarchal society, in place of a father figure uncles have the last say over matters, even if it’s just to make a point of who’s boss. Now, I don’t know this Uncle, and if he raised Alumseye I’d assume he’s a great guy- but if he refuses to let Alumseye go,Banchi and I have agreed that we’ll try to convince him ourselves. But I can’t seem to get Alumseye’s tear filled eyes out of my mind, nor can I forget watching her swallow the lump in her throat.

Interestingly enough, while I’ve seen a glimpse of the poverty of Addis, the sad eyes of beaten animals and the rubbish littering the streets and forests, Alumseye’s worry for permission hit the strongest cord. Perhaps it’s because I know this girl as constantly laughing, offering encouraging smiles, and as one of the keenest to learn English- but it may also be because asking for permission is something I constantly dealt with in High School and into University. Like many parents, mine have always wanted the very best for me, and like many teenagers there were things I did without permission; whether it was asking and doing it anyway, or not asking and doing because I knew what answer I’d get. I wasn’t a bad kid, but things like going for a sleepover with my best friend C.J, and later crawling out a basement window for a party was sometimes a necessary evil. Of course, being a little bit older I now understand why my parents would have been worried had they known- and I’ll be just as protective as a parent. But when I saw Alumseye’s eyes I immediately thought about the tattoo on my heel that I got without permission- and while my Dad was furious,I did it knowing I wouldn’t actually be disowned. However, the fear in Alumseye gives me the sense that “No” really means No and dis-ownment might be areal option- and for the first time I’m worried for these girls and the homes they’re going back to… because “In Ethiopia, it’s hard.”

I can only hope that the lessons they learned atYaya will keep them strong, empowered and propel them towards success. They know that they’re always welcome back at Yaya and we’ve asked them to always keep us updated on their home addresses and phone numbers, so we can check in on them. That’s all I think we can really do; it’s time for our little Spice chicks to leave the nest and see what their wings can do! <3