Sometimes, when you live in a different country, you find yourself doing things you wouldn't even think of doing when you are at home -eating parts of an animal you've never even considered, following strangers down backstreets in an attempt to find the 'real' city, going to the toilet in what appears to be a corrugated iron sewer. Similarly, you often find yourself being friends with people you wouldn't even consider if you were at home in your normal life.
Being away from friends and family and living submerged in an unfamiliar culture for an extended period means you often cling to any reminder of your home country - meaning you end up desperately trying to force a friendship with a woman three times your age whose only interest is stamp collecting, or agreeing to a sixth date with the most boring man in the world because it's better than watching re-runs of Oprah every evening.
I was really lucky that in Addis I met Ute - someone I would have chosen for a friend in any country, but someone who I probably would never have crossed paths with if it hadn't been for Ethiopia - and I met others who I was very glad to be friends with. I also have a dear 'adopted family' in Addis who I love very much and am very, very glad they are in my life.
But there are many other people who I have spent an inordinate amount of time with - and sometimes still do - who I just know I would not be interested in if I were back home. I certainly wouldn't be devoting so much time and energy to them. It sounds callous, I know, but I'm sure most of them feel the same about me!
Having Ethiopia in common is a great starting point - and I'm sure that when I come home I will be moaning that nobody really 'gets' me, or some other pretentious nonsense - but it's not really enough to sustain a friendship. Back home you chose friends because they are like minded, you have things in common, you respect them, and you have fun. When you have a restricted pool of people to choose from, you find yourself lowering your standards, purely so you can have a conversation. This is why you can sometimes find yourself trying to pretend you didn't hear that racist remark, or vowing you will steer clear of political conversation in an attempt to keep your new friend…
'Geographical friends' are a part of expat life - not just for me, but for lots of people I have met who are living overseas. Sometimes you're lucky enough to meet someone you'd be friends with back home,and your friendship is only strengthened by the shared experience of the country you're living in - other times you find you're having dinner again, when you probably should have stayed in to watch Oprah …
Thursday 29 January 2009
11th January 2009
This week has been really, really hard. In fact the last two weeks have been difficult – frequent power cuts, no running water, no internet, and no phone network. Argh! It's strange, but I can deal with no running water (washing out of a bucket? No problem!). However, give me a week with power cuts lasting more than 24 hours, and no internet connection, and I go completely crazy … not to mention I start to drive my poor project manager insane with my constant moaning.
When I have no internet connection, it's very hard to run Hanna's Orphanage, and instead the bulk of the work is dumped on the people back in England (who have jobs and lives and everything!). It gets even worse when there is no phone connection either, and I can't even call the orphanage in Addis! Of course, there's also the fact that I miss being able to talk to my friends or catch up with news at home – I love getting letters, and it's all very well to write to people, but I miss the immediacy of email.
But the thing that really makes me mad? There's no schedule! Nobody knows when the power is going to go off or when it's going to come back on again, so it's impossible to plan your day. Last Monday I planned to go to the school and spend the day there, so I didn't need power … which meant of course the electricity was on! On Tuesday I needed to do admin stuff in the office – so was there any power? Of course not. If someone had told me 'there will be no power all day Tuesday' I would have organised to go to the school then. For a control freak like me, the constant uncertainty is painful.
I'm the only one who thinks the lack of schedule is a problem, though. Nobody thinks it's bad to have no power for days at a time with no reason, and nobody would even think of complaining about it. Partly that's because there's nobody to complain to; if this was happening in the UK, you could write to the company, you could complain to the government, you could send 'Mrs Angry from Tumbridge Wells' letters to the newspapers. Here, there is nobody. We tried to complain to the telecommunications people and tried to find out any information about why the internet was off, and whether it was ever going to come back on again, and they just looked at us as if we'd asked them to make cheese. Often, the only answer you'll get is 'this is common in Ethiopia' (keep a lookout for that phrase in future blogs …).
But even if there was someone to complain to, people just don't. I'm not sure if it's because they simply don't feel electricity is their main priority (let's be honest, there are few people in rural Ethiopia who worry about watching CSI on a Monday night – having enough to eat, yes, watching TV, no.) or because they feel they have no right to expect anything. There's no a sense of 'you are a public service, I am your client, there is a level of service and/or information I am entitled to'. And from the other side, there is no sense of 'we are a public body, serving the public'.
I have never really been a fan of privatising various state-run services (railways, for instance) but here I can see benefits. For instance, when football is on, people charge 2 birr for you to go and watch the big screen. Of course, they need people to know about it – so they put a sign on an old disused bus outside the post office, telling people what games are being shown that day.
Why can't the electricity people put a sign up saying 'this week there will be no power on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday'? Because there is no money in it, nobody will complain if they don't and so there is no motivation to do it.
Which is why I am going slowly insane living here …
When I have no internet connection, it's very hard to run Hanna's Orphanage, and instead the bulk of the work is dumped on the people back in England (who have jobs and lives and everything!). It gets even worse when there is no phone connection either, and I can't even call the orphanage in Addis! Of course, there's also the fact that I miss being able to talk to my friends or catch up with news at home – I love getting letters, and it's all very well to write to people, but I miss the immediacy of email.
But the thing that really makes me mad? There's no schedule! Nobody knows when the power is going to go off or when it's going to come back on again, so it's impossible to plan your day. Last Monday I planned to go to the school and spend the day there, so I didn't need power … which meant of course the electricity was on! On Tuesday I needed to do admin stuff in the office – so was there any power? Of course not. If someone had told me 'there will be no power all day Tuesday' I would have organised to go to the school then. For a control freak like me, the constant uncertainty is painful.
I'm the only one who thinks the lack of schedule is a problem, though. Nobody thinks it's bad to have no power for days at a time with no reason, and nobody would even think of complaining about it. Partly that's because there's nobody to complain to; if this was happening in the UK, you could write to the company, you could complain to the government, you could send 'Mrs Angry from Tumbridge Wells' letters to the newspapers. Here, there is nobody. We tried to complain to the telecommunications people and tried to find out any information about why the internet was off, and whether it was ever going to come back on again, and they just looked at us as if we'd asked them to make cheese. Often, the only answer you'll get is 'this is common in Ethiopia' (keep a lookout for that phrase in future blogs …).
But even if there was someone to complain to, people just don't. I'm not sure if it's because they simply don't feel electricity is their main priority (let's be honest, there are few people in rural Ethiopia who worry about watching CSI on a Monday night – having enough to eat, yes, watching TV, no.) or because they feel they have no right to expect anything. There's no a sense of 'you are a public service, I am your client, there is a level of service and/or information I am entitled to'. And from the other side, there is no sense of 'we are a public body, serving the public'.
I have never really been a fan of privatising various state-run services (railways, for instance) but here I can see benefits. For instance, when football is on, people charge 2 birr for you to go and watch the big screen. Of course, they need people to know about it – so they put a sign on an old disused bus outside the post office, telling people what games are being shown that day.
Why can't the electricity people put a sign up saying 'this week there will be no power on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday'? Because there is no money in it, nobody will complain if they don't and so there is no motivation to do it.
Which is why I am going slowly insane living here …
Tuesday 6 January 2009
1st January - Part 3
Happy Christmas!
There are two lines in the Band Aid song that have always really annoyed me. One of the offending lines is 'And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time', like that's a problem. Yeah, that's exactly what they need in Sudan – a debilitating civil war, genocide, and snowfall.
The other line that annoys me is 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?'. Well, for a start, much of Africa of Muslim, so quite frankly they don't really care whether it's Christmas or not. And even countries that do celebrate Christmas aren't really bothered about December 25th. Ethiopia, for instance, don't celebrate Christmas until January 7th, so when I was celebrating my Christmas day, everyone else in Lalibela was getting on with their work, completely unconcerned. It was the first time I've ever been able to post a letter and go to the bank on December 25th!
In fact, my Christmas holiday was reasonably multicultural, all things considered. U. came from Addis to spend the holiday with me, and as she's Austrian, she celebrates on Christmas eve. So we had a nice candlelit dinner (Weds eve, so no electricity!) with Ab, my driver, and then we came back to the house where we opened presents whilst seated around the little wooden Christmas tree I brought from the UK.
We tried to make it as traditional as possible – I even had crackers (which U. had never heard of, much less seen!) and amused everyone by making them wear the paper hats and read out the jokes (note to self: cracker jokes do not translate successfully to Amharic). Due to the lack of electricity, there was no Cliff Richard singing 'Saviours Day', but I did light my 'cinamon apple and Christmas spices' candle in an attempt to get that festive feeling going!
Presents this year were interesting! Love to all family who sent me stuff through the post, and U. brought me some much needed supplies from Addis. No fancy video games or DVDs for me. Oh no! Instead I was getting excited about unwrapping a tin opener and a jar of chocolate spread! And who knew I could be so happy about getting a big bottle of shampoo and a half empty tub of U.'s deep conditioner! Woo hoo! Trust me, my joy was real!
We spent Christmas day walking around the beautiful rock hewn churches of Lalibela. In my role as the Ethiopian tourist board, you must go and see Lalibela churches at least once in your life. I swear, if they were anywhere else, they were be overrun by tourists, but not many people venture here. That's changing, though, so get here quick!
The churches were built by King Lalibela – with the help of Angels, depending on who you talk to and what your beliefs are. Divine helpers or not, the sheer craftsmanship of the churches is breathtaking. All of them were carved from rock rather than built from the bottom up, and each Church has a story and a specific purpose. There are 11 churches in the centre of Lalibela, and there are a few outside the town which are well worth going to. We were lucky that Abiy worships at one of the Churches a small hike up a mountain, and could tell us everything about the building. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful mornings I've ever spent.
In my opinion, that's the best thing about these churches - they are not just memorials or tourist attractions, they are living churches. Every day, Ethiopians file in to pray or take part in Mass, and at Ethiopian Christmas thousands of people walk for miles (often in bare feet and with little more than the clothes they stand up in) just to be in such a Holy place.
It was an unusual and very spiritual way to spend English Christmas. Did I miss the turkey, watching the Queen's Speech and playing Uno? Yes, very much (the pizza we had for Christmas lunch didn't really cut it!). But it was worth it, just for this year.
And of course, on January 7th, I get to celebrate it all over again!
There are two lines in the Band Aid song that have always really annoyed me. One of the offending lines is 'And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time', like that's a problem. Yeah, that's exactly what they need in Sudan – a debilitating civil war, genocide, and snowfall.
The other line that annoys me is 'Do they know it's Christmas time at all?'. Well, for a start, much of Africa of Muslim, so quite frankly they don't really care whether it's Christmas or not. And even countries that do celebrate Christmas aren't really bothered about December 25th. Ethiopia, for instance, don't celebrate Christmas until January 7th, so when I was celebrating my Christmas day, everyone else in Lalibela was getting on with their work, completely unconcerned. It was the first time I've ever been able to post a letter and go to the bank on December 25th!
In fact, my Christmas holiday was reasonably multicultural, all things considered. U. came from Addis to spend the holiday with me, and as she's Austrian, she celebrates on Christmas eve. So we had a nice candlelit dinner (Weds eve, so no electricity!) with Ab, my driver, and then we came back to the house where we opened presents whilst seated around the little wooden Christmas tree I brought from the UK.
We tried to make it as traditional as possible – I even had crackers (which U. had never heard of, much less seen!) and amused everyone by making them wear the paper hats and read out the jokes (note to self: cracker jokes do not translate successfully to Amharic). Due to the lack of electricity, there was no Cliff Richard singing 'Saviours Day', but I did light my 'cinamon apple and Christmas spices' candle in an attempt to get that festive feeling going!
Presents this year were interesting! Love to all family who sent me stuff through the post, and U. brought me some much needed supplies from Addis. No fancy video games or DVDs for me. Oh no! Instead I was getting excited about unwrapping a tin opener and a jar of chocolate spread! And who knew I could be so happy about getting a big bottle of shampoo and a half empty tub of U.'s deep conditioner! Woo hoo! Trust me, my joy was real!
We spent Christmas day walking around the beautiful rock hewn churches of Lalibela. In my role as the Ethiopian tourist board, you must go and see Lalibela churches at least once in your life. I swear, if they were anywhere else, they were be overrun by tourists, but not many people venture here. That's changing, though, so get here quick!
The churches were built by King Lalibela – with the help of Angels, depending on who you talk to and what your beliefs are. Divine helpers or not, the sheer craftsmanship of the churches is breathtaking. All of them were carved from rock rather than built from the bottom up, and each Church has a story and a specific purpose. There are 11 churches in the centre of Lalibela, and there are a few outside the town which are well worth going to. We were lucky that Abiy worships at one of the Churches a small hike up a mountain, and could tell us everything about the building. It was one of the most beautiful and peaceful mornings I've ever spent.
In my opinion, that's the best thing about these churches - they are not just memorials or tourist attractions, they are living churches. Every day, Ethiopians file in to pray or take part in Mass, and at Ethiopian Christmas thousands of people walk for miles (often in bare feet and with little more than the clothes they stand up in) just to be in such a Holy place.
It was an unusual and very spiritual way to spend English Christmas. Did I miss the turkey, watching the Queen's Speech and playing Uno? Yes, very much (the pizza we had for Christmas lunch didn't really cut it!). But it was worth it, just for this year.
And of course, on January 7th, I get to celebrate it all over again!
1st January - Part 2
Although I'm living in Lalibela and working for another charity, Hanna's Orphanage is still the reason I am in Ethiopia, and I am still working with them in any way I can.
Which is why I was so happy that U. and her family and friends back in Austria have raised over 17,000 birr (around £1133) for the orphanage. U. has been to the orphanage several times with me, to help me teach lessons or just to play, and the kids love her. The money donated will be used to pay the rent on some of the houses for the children, and it really is a huge help for the orphanage.
Hopefully when U. goes back to Austria in January, she will be doing some more fundraising, and possibly even start the Austrian version of our music nights!
Speaking of which, after the successful Christmas Music Night on the 15th of December, we have scheduled our first gig of 2009 – in February. As I have recently discovered that it's not just my dad who reads this blog, I want to make sure that everyone knows about it and can prepare in advance!
Held in London, there will be the usual fantastic live music, a raffle with some really great prizes (a windsurfing weekend, boot-camp fitness sessions, alcohol and £20 vouchers for Hotel Chocolat have been previous prizes!) and food and drink is served all night. It's a great night, and you will be helping to raise money for a really deserving cause.
For more details, or to reserve yourself a table, please email maria@blueskyonline.co.uk
Which is why I was so happy that U. and her family and friends back in Austria have raised over 17,000 birr (around £1133) for the orphanage. U. has been to the orphanage several times with me, to help me teach lessons or just to play, and the kids love her. The money donated will be used to pay the rent on some of the houses for the children, and it really is a huge help for the orphanage.
Hopefully when U. goes back to Austria in January, she will be doing some more fundraising, and possibly even start the Austrian version of our music nights!
Speaking of which, after the successful Christmas Music Night on the 15th of December, we have scheduled our first gig of 2009 – in February. As I have recently discovered that it's not just my dad who reads this blog, I want to make sure that everyone knows about it and can prepare in advance!
Held in London, there will be the usual fantastic live music, a raffle with some really great prizes (a windsurfing weekend, boot-camp fitness sessions, alcohol and £20 vouchers for Hotel Chocolat have been previous prizes!) and food and drink is served all night. It's a great night, and you will be helping to raise money for a really deserving cause.
For more details, or to reserve yourself a table, please email maria@blueskyonline.co.uk
1st January - Part 1
A day in my life
7.15am: My alarm goes off and I groan a bit.
7.30am: My alarm goes off again and I get out of bed. At home in London, I'm always up early, and by this time I would be leaving for work, but here in Ethiopia I hate getting out of bed. One of the reasons for this is that it's soooo cold in the mornings!
7.40am: I say good morning to George the rat and to Rita, Sue and Bob, the mice, before going in to the kitchen, just to warn them that I'm coming in and tell them that I'd prefer it if they stayed out of the way. Then I fill a saucepan and put some water on to boil for my morning cup of tea.
A day in my life
7.45am: It's filling the toilet cistern time! It takes 3 ½ litres to enable the toilet to flush, and it has to be filled manually, or I can fill a bucket of water and flush it that way. Flushing happens only when necessary, to conserve water.
7.50am: If there's running water, then I attempt to stand under the cold drips of the shower for as long as I can – if it's a 'no running water day' then it's washing with bottled water. Fun!
8.10am: Washed and dressed and back into kitchen with a shouted warning to George et al, I make my cup of tea and do my 30 second commute down the stone steps to my office.
8.15am: If it's a 'visiting school' day, we leave the office and drive the 30km out of Lalibela to Efra. Most of the road is asphalt, but the last quarter of it is barely a road! Even with our slick 4x4, it's like riding a kangaroo!
9.15am: We arrive at the school in Efra. Efra is a small community of about 300 people, and the NGO I'm working for right now, LEAP, has built a school there. It serves around 100 students at the moment, but they are currently building more classrooms and it will expand in the near future. I am going to work with the teachers and the students, but at the moment I am just observing things and learning how the school and the community works.
So I observe classes for a couple of hours while A. checks on the construction of the new classrooms. It's insanely hot out here, and with barely any shelter from the scrub trees, so I am always smothered in suntan lotion and with water handy.
11.00am: We drive back to the office.
12.00pm: Lunch! I either eat in my house (something mind bogglingly exciting like tuna fish and bread) or I eat at a local restaurant. Seven Olives Hotel is a popular tourist hotel which does great steak, or there's a restaurant called Unique which does really good Ethiopian food.
1.00pm-ish: Back to work. At the moment, I am putting together a report on the teaching and learning at the school, plus I am computerising some of the feedback from visitors etc. I'm also reading many reports and minutes of meetings, getting an idea of how the charity and school work. An important lesson was learnt fairly early on when we were without power for a whole day – when that happened in London, we were all
forced to finally do our filing because there was nothing really productive we could do without the computer. Here, power cuts are a common occurrence, so you have to make sure you can work without a computer. In fact, most of the local government offices don't have one – can you imagine that in the UK?! We all live and die by email!
5.00pm-ish: Finish work. And finishing work at 5pm is a novelty I have fully embraced! Not that there are a million things to do to Lalibela, but I am trying to teach myself to relax without the aid of TV!
6.30pm: Make some kind of food. So far, my range is limited to lots of pasta dishes involving tuna, tomatoes and garlic, with banana as desert. However, occasionally I branch out and buy meat. Beef is actually really cheap here, and involves going into a butcher's shop where they will carve a chunk out of a dead, skinned cow hanging from
the ceiling. The meat is tough, but edible, and I can make a mean chilli con carne (er … without the kidney beans as I can't buy them in Lalibela).
Chicken is more expensive, but available. A.'s girlfriend was going to the market and offered to get me some chicken as I wanted to make a curry. Fabulous – saves me doing the walk back up the hill! That afternoon she came back and placed a live chicken in my kitchen, which looked at me contemptuously and then strutted into the living room.
After a frantic moment of panic (and a small glint of hope, wondering whether the chicken could be encouraged to eat the mice?) I went to A.'s house and admitted that I was a city-girl-farange and couldn't kill the chicken by myself. Amid laughter, the chicken was dispatched to be killed (not so contemptuous now, huh, chicken?) and I was presented with a prepared chicken with everything, even the liver, ready to cook. I shall stick with beef in future.
7.30pm: If there is electricity, I will watch TV (God bless MBC and Dubai TV!) and do admin work for the orphanage. If there is no electricity (every Wednesday eve, all day at the weekends, and any other time they are doing work), then it's to bed with a candle and a book or to write some letters. Rock and roll.
10.00pm: At this time I used to watch Greys Anatomy (if there was electricity). I had no interest in this TV series in London, but I became obsessed with in Addis. The series has now ended and I have been left bereft with only the series 'Las Vegas' to replace it. Admittedly, 'Las Vegas' does contain a few attractive men, but is not a patch on Greys Anatomy!
So now, 10.00pm normally means sleep. I need a lot of sleep in Lalibela. I blame it on the altitude.
7.15am: My alarm goes off and I groan a bit.
7.30am: My alarm goes off again and I get out of bed. At home in London, I'm always up early, and by this time I would be leaving for work, but here in Ethiopia I hate getting out of bed. One of the reasons for this is that it's soooo cold in the mornings!
7.40am: I say good morning to George the rat and to Rita, Sue and Bob, the mice, before going in to the kitchen, just to warn them that I'm coming in and tell them that I'd prefer it if they stayed out of the way. Then I fill a saucepan and put some water on to boil for my morning cup of tea.
A day in my life
7.45am: It's filling the toilet cistern time! It takes 3 ½ litres to enable the toilet to flush, and it has to be filled manually, or I can fill a bucket of water and flush it that way. Flushing happens only when necessary, to conserve water.
7.50am: If there's running water, then I attempt to stand under the cold drips of the shower for as long as I can – if it's a 'no running water day' then it's washing with bottled water. Fun!
8.10am: Washed and dressed and back into kitchen with a shouted warning to George et al, I make my cup of tea and do my 30 second commute down the stone steps to my office.
8.15am: If it's a 'visiting school' day, we leave the office and drive the 30km out of Lalibela to Efra. Most of the road is asphalt, but the last quarter of it is barely a road! Even with our slick 4x4, it's like riding a kangaroo!
9.15am: We arrive at the school in Efra. Efra is a small community of about 300 people, and the NGO I'm working for right now, LEAP, has built a school there. It serves around 100 students at the moment, but they are currently building more classrooms and it will expand in the near future. I am going to work with the teachers and the students, but at the moment I am just observing things and learning how the school and the community works.
So I observe classes for a couple of hours while A. checks on the construction of the new classrooms. It's insanely hot out here, and with barely any shelter from the scrub trees, so I am always smothered in suntan lotion and with water handy.
11.00am: We drive back to the office.
12.00pm: Lunch! I either eat in my house (something mind bogglingly exciting like tuna fish and bread) or I eat at a local restaurant. Seven Olives Hotel is a popular tourist hotel which does great steak, or there's a restaurant called Unique which does really good Ethiopian food.
1.00pm-ish: Back to work. At the moment, I am putting together a report on the teaching and learning at the school, plus I am computerising some of the feedback from visitors etc. I'm also reading many reports and minutes of meetings, getting an idea of how the charity and school work. An important lesson was learnt fairly early on when we were without power for a whole day – when that happened in London, we were all
forced to finally do our filing because there was nothing really productive we could do without the computer. Here, power cuts are a common occurrence, so you have to make sure you can work without a computer. In fact, most of the local government offices don't have one – can you imagine that in the UK?! We all live and die by email!
5.00pm-ish: Finish work. And finishing work at 5pm is a novelty I have fully embraced! Not that there are a million things to do to Lalibela, but I am trying to teach myself to relax without the aid of TV!
6.30pm: Make some kind of food. So far, my range is limited to lots of pasta dishes involving tuna, tomatoes and garlic, with banana as desert. However, occasionally I branch out and buy meat. Beef is actually really cheap here, and involves going into a butcher's shop where they will carve a chunk out of a dead, skinned cow hanging from
the ceiling. The meat is tough, but edible, and I can make a mean chilli con carne (er … without the kidney beans as I can't buy them in Lalibela).
Chicken is more expensive, but available. A.'s girlfriend was going to the market and offered to get me some chicken as I wanted to make a curry. Fabulous – saves me doing the walk back up the hill! That afternoon she came back and placed a live chicken in my kitchen, which looked at me contemptuously and then strutted into the living room.
After a frantic moment of panic (and a small glint of hope, wondering whether the chicken could be encouraged to eat the mice?) I went to A.'s house and admitted that I was a city-girl-farange and couldn't kill the chicken by myself. Amid laughter, the chicken was dispatched to be killed (not so contemptuous now, huh, chicken?) and I was presented with a prepared chicken with everything, even the liver, ready to cook. I shall stick with beef in future.
7.30pm: If there is electricity, I will watch TV (God bless MBC and Dubai TV!) and do admin work for the orphanage. If there is no electricity (every Wednesday eve, all day at the weekends, and any other time they are doing work), then it's to bed with a candle and a book or to write some letters. Rock and roll.
10.00pm: At this time I used to watch Greys Anatomy (if there was electricity). I had no interest in this TV series in London, but I became obsessed with in Addis. The series has now ended and I have been left bereft with only the series 'Las Vegas' to replace it. Admittedly, 'Las Vegas' does contain a few attractive men, but is not a patch on Greys Anatomy!
So now, 10.00pm normally means sleep. I need a lot of sleep in Lalibela. I blame it on the altitude.
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