Saturday 27 June 2009
A quick note
I will have no internet until I return to England in November so will be unable to update this blog until then.
Monday 22 June 2009
19th June
It’s coming up to the end of term and all schools are starting to get busy. Our school is no exception!
At the moment I am working with the teachers and the rest of the staff to plan a Sports Day/Parents Day, which will finish the summer term off. The morning will be taken up by activities like wrestling (yes, really – the children’s choice!), running, high jump, gymnastics and a ‘Staff vs Students’ football match. Then in the afternoon we will be holding the traditional ‘Parents Day’ where the parents hear reports on how the school is progressing, see dance and music presentations, and see students rewarded for this semester’s marks.
Parents Day is really important for the school community. Most of the parents of our students haven’t had any education and cannot read or write, so it’s no good sending home letters or reports about their children’s progress. Also, they spend a lot of their time working in their fields or looking after babies at home, so they are not likely to pop into school for a chat with the teachers (we are in the process of introducing a program which will get mothers into the classroom teaching traditional skills, but that won’t start properly for a little while).
Consequently, Parents Day is a really important way to keep them updated and for them to see how well their children are doing. It’s also a great way to keep promoting the value of their children being in school, and to address some issues such as attendance, which we’ve been having a hard time with recently.
But the Sports Day is a new thing! I originally came here to start strengthening the extra curricula activities, and this is my first big full school event. Hurrah! The teachers are keen, A and Ab are excited about it, and the students are practicing their skills. ‘Heats’ will be held next week to decide who will compete on the day (with the best will in the world, we can’t have 200 students competing in every event – and they would, given the chance!) and posters will start going up around the school compound.
A big focus for Sports Day and Parents Day is rewarding the children. Building confidence – particularly in the girls – is really important, and rewards are a good way to do that. They are also a great way of getting specific help to the students: we give clothes and shoes to the students as rewards for ‘student of the week’, and dictionaries for the three students in each class who get the highest marks in the end of Semester exams.
We try and focus not only on those students who get the highest academic marks, but also those who participate in lessons and in the dance and drama they do. We’re also giving rewards to the teachers, as they do work hard … and they have to deal with me as well!
We’re also getting ready to move into our new classrooms. The building will be finished very, very soon (fingers crossed) and new Grade 1 intake will start in September. I’m working with the teachers to get good wall displays up which support the learning, and to make the best use of the classrooms - space for active learning, a reading space, a science table, that kind of thing. We are lucky that we have decent sized classrooms, and I want to make the best possible use of them.
Unfortunately, we do have a slight hitch in the sense that we don’t seem to have enough tables to furnish all four classrooms. So, I’m trying to organise another ten or so tables before September. Oh, and a blackboard or two.
At the moment I am working with the teachers and the rest of the staff to plan a Sports Day/Parents Day, which will finish the summer term off. The morning will be taken up by activities like wrestling (yes, really – the children’s choice!), running, high jump, gymnastics and a ‘Staff vs Students’ football match. Then in the afternoon we will be holding the traditional ‘Parents Day’ where the parents hear reports on how the school is progressing, see dance and music presentations, and see students rewarded for this semester’s marks.
Parents Day is really important for the school community. Most of the parents of our students haven’t had any education and cannot read or write, so it’s no good sending home letters or reports about their children’s progress. Also, they spend a lot of their time working in their fields or looking after babies at home, so they are not likely to pop into school for a chat with the teachers (we are in the process of introducing a program which will get mothers into the classroom teaching traditional skills, but that won’t start properly for a little while).
Consequently, Parents Day is a really important way to keep them updated and for them to see how well their children are doing. It’s also a great way to keep promoting the value of their children being in school, and to address some issues such as attendance, which we’ve been having a hard time with recently.
But the Sports Day is a new thing! I originally came here to start strengthening the extra curricula activities, and this is my first big full school event. Hurrah! The teachers are keen, A and Ab are excited about it, and the students are practicing their skills. ‘Heats’ will be held next week to decide who will compete on the day (with the best will in the world, we can’t have 200 students competing in every event – and they would, given the chance!) and posters will start going up around the school compound.
A big focus for Sports Day and Parents Day is rewarding the children. Building confidence – particularly in the girls – is really important, and rewards are a good way to do that. They are also a great way of getting specific help to the students: we give clothes and shoes to the students as rewards for ‘student of the week’, and dictionaries for the three students in each class who get the highest marks in the end of Semester exams.
We try and focus not only on those students who get the highest academic marks, but also those who participate in lessons and in the dance and drama they do. We’re also giving rewards to the teachers, as they do work hard … and they have to deal with me as well!
We’re also getting ready to move into our new classrooms. The building will be finished very, very soon (fingers crossed) and new Grade 1 intake will start in September. I’m working with the teachers to get good wall displays up which support the learning, and to make the best use of the classrooms - space for active learning, a reading space, a science table, that kind of thing. We are lucky that we have decent sized classrooms, and I want to make the best possible use of them.
Unfortunately, we do have a slight hitch in the sense that we don’t seem to have enough tables to furnish all four classrooms. So, I’m trying to organise another ten or so tables before September. Oh, and a blackboard or two.
Thursday 11 June 2009
Driving – Part 2
So, one of the other things I like about driving in Ethiopia is stopping for a drink and some food in the restaurants and cafes we pass (if I’m honest, most things in my life can be made pleasurable by the addition of food!). We’ve driven from Lalibela to Addis via Dessie or Bahir Dar so many times we have our regular places now. This one in Gynt, where L and I sat waiting for the tires to be mended, does particularly good tibs (strips of meat cooked in spices).
We’d finished our portion of tibs and had started on Ab’s by the time he came back to the café – minus the tire still being mended. They were working on it, replacing the inner tube, or something along those lines. Doing something to ensure we could continue driving safely, anyway.
By the time they’d finished, and we were able to continue driving, it was getting dark and there was no way we wanted to drive the four hours to Bahir Dar. Driving in rural Ethiopia in the dark is dangerous – people say it’s because of the shiftas (bandits) that can strike, but I’d be more worried about stray cattle – or even people – wandering in the road and us not being able to stop in time.
Apparently you’re more likely to die from a car accident whilst visiting Africa than you are from an illness or by being eaten by a big animal (I just know I’d be the exception to that rule). When I lived in Addis, I didn’t think Ethiopian driving was that bad – slightly frantic, maybe, and enough to make my Ethiopian friends returning to Addis think twice before driving a car, but not too bad. However, since I’ve moved to Lalibela, we’re always having near misses where a lorry has come bombing round the corner on the wrong side of the road (you’re supposed to drive on the right, guys) or someone has decided to run across the road at the last minute (the four hours where there were no cars coming and the road was completely clear obviously wasn’t a convenient time).
Anyway, whatever the more pressing danger, we decided to drive for around 2 hours and stay the night in a town before leaving early in the morning to drive the remaining few hours to Bahir Dar.
Normally staying in the hotels is also a great part of driving cross country. They’re nothing fancy, but we’ve found some nice ones, and it’s an adventure – finding a good one, arguing about whether I pay franaji price or Abesha price, settling in, trying out the restaurant (if there is one), all of that stuff.
God, these ones were terrible though. I turned down the first hotel we looked at due to the fact that the shared toilet was so revolting you could smell it from three floors down. The other hotel wasn’t much better, but at least the toilet didn’t smell quite so bad. My bedroom didn’t have a light bulb, so if I wanted to read I had to sit in the corridor, and the door only opened from the outside so Ab had to come and let me out when we left in the morning, but we were so tired by that point we took it. Well that, and there were no other options.
The hotel was just so miserable. It’s not the money that’s needed – it doesn’t matter if the hotel is scruffy or bare or whatever, but it’s the sheer lack of interest and care that makes it all so depressing. It’s the little things; rubbish all over the floor, bins not emptied, dirty toilet, all of that stuff. It would take so little effort.
Still, Ab told me that the majority of trade used to be the soldiers who were based here, so presumably they didn’t really care about light bulbs and clean toilets?!
We all got a reasonably good sleep, though, and we set off at 6am the next morning, just as the sun had risen. The road was less bumpy than before, so I managed to doze off as we sped past the people perched outside their houses making coffee, and kids taking the cattle and sheep to the river for water.
Of course, every time any of us heard a strange sound, we would turn the radio off and stick our head out the window, trying to hear if there was a leak in the tire … but we managed to get to Bahir Dar without any more flat tires, and even made really good time. I’ve still never been quite so relieved as when we had a complete new set of tires fitted.
We’d finished our portion of tibs and had started on Ab’s by the time he came back to the café – minus the tire still being mended. They were working on it, replacing the inner tube, or something along those lines. Doing something to ensure we could continue driving safely, anyway.
By the time they’d finished, and we were able to continue driving, it was getting dark and there was no way we wanted to drive the four hours to Bahir Dar. Driving in rural Ethiopia in the dark is dangerous – people say it’s because of the shiftas (bandits) that can strike, but I’d be more worried about stray cattle – or even people – wandering in the road and us not being able to stop in time.
Apparently you’re more likely to die from a car accident whilst visiting Africa than you are from an illness or by being eaten by a big animal (I just know I’d be the exception to that rule). When I lived in Addis, I didn’t think Ethiopian driving was that bad – slightly frantic, maybe, and enough to make my Ethiopian friends returning to Addis think twice before driving a car, but not too bad. However, since I’ve moved to Lalibela, we’re always having near misses where a lorry has come bombing round the corner on the wrong side of the road (you’re supposed to drive on the right, guys) or someone has decided to run across the road at the last minute (the four hours where there were no cars coming and the road was completely clear obviously wasn’t a convenient time).
Anyway, whatever the more pressing danger, we decided to drive for around 2 hours and stay the night in a town before leaving early in the morning to drive the remaining few hours to Bahir Dar.
Normally staying in the hotels is also a great part of driving cross country. They’re nothing fancy, but we’ve found some nice ones, and it’s an adventure – finding a good one, arguing about whether I pay franaji price or Abesha price, settling in, trying out the restaurant (if there is one), all of that stuff.
God, these ones were terrible though. I turned down the first hotel we looked at due to the fact that the shared toilet was so revolting you could smell it from three floors down. The other hotel wasn’t much better, but at least the toilet didn’t smell quite so bad. My bedroom didn’t have a light bulb, so if I wanted to read I had to sit in the corridor, and the door only opened from the outside so Ab had to come and let me out when we left in the morning, but we were so tired by that point we took it. Well that, and there were no other options.
The hotel was just so miserable. It’s not the money that’s needed – it doesn’t matter if the hotel is scruffy or bare or whatever, but it’s the sheer lack of interest and care that makes it all so depressing. It’s the little things; rubbish all over the floor, bins not emptied, dirty toilet, all of that stuff. It would take so little effort.
Still, Ab told me that the majority of trade used to be the soldiers who were based here, so presumably they didn’t really care about light bulbs and clean toilets?!
We all got a reasonably good sleep, though, and we set off at 6am the next morning, just as the sun had risen. The road was less bumpy than before, so I managed to doze off as we sped past the people perched outside their houses making coffee, and kids taking the cattle and sheep to the river for water.
Of course, every time any of us heard a strange sound, we would turn the radio off and stick our head out the window, trying to hear if there was a leak in the tire … but we managed to get to Bahir Dar without any more flat tires, and even made really good time. I’ve still never been quite so relieved as when we had a complete new set of tires fitted.
Driving
We went to the school on Thursday to show one of visitors around and for me to drop off some paperwork to the teachers. As soon as I got out of the car I could hear an ominous – and loud – hissing noise. I called Ab over and he said the tire – our last tire – had been slashed by a rock (not an uncommon situation on the road on the school).
We’ve needed new tires for a while, but for various reasons too complicated to go into now, the last few services have been cancelled. So we are now recycling the last set of tires and constantly trying to repair dodgy ones. It’s not an ideal situation – in fact it’s very far from ideal.
So, we were stuck at the school (an hour’s drive from the office) with three options: we use a slashed tire to get home, we fit a really, really old and battered one … or we do an 8 hour walk home up winding mountain roads in the blistering sun.
I wasn’t worried – we would work it out, we always do – but understandably Ab was not happy and stomped around a bit, before deciding that the slashed tire was actually the safest one to use. So he mended it using the chewing gum we’d bought on the way to the school and a piece of stick. I was very impressed – and it got us back to Lalibela in one piece!
But the tires really, really were on their last legs, so we gave the Directors in the UK a call and organised to go to the nearest place you can buy a set of tires – a good 8 hour drive away.
So, with 4 patched up tires on the car, and 6 slightly dodgier ones slung in the trailer of the car, we started on the long drive.
Driving in Ethiopia is always a real experience – and it’s one I love. My boss always looks at me in horror when I say I’d rather drive the two days to Addis instead of flying, but it’s true! Admittedly, it’s a lot quicker and more comfortable to fly from place to place; Ethiopia’s roads are often so unsurfaced and bumpy that you require a tight seat belt to stop yourself flying out of your seat, and a good sports bra to stop painful damage being inflicted on your body.
However, the beauty you see when you drive is often something you miss if you fly from one tourist spot to another – incredible sunrises and sunsets, huge mountains that suddenly drop into low rivers, tiny villages perched on the edge of cliffs, and astonishing views across miles and miles of countryside.
And then the details: the rusted shell of a tank left over from the fighting during the end Derg; the old stone bridge with the tiny carved roses; the women washing clothes at the end of the river, draping them over the rocks to dry, the villages with the lush green sugar cane fields, a stark contrast from the dust and parched trees of Lalibela. You don’t see that if you fly.
Driving also means stopping in villages where you are possibly the most exciting thing they have seen all week, and people seem to come from miles around to hide behind a gate post and peer shyly at the outsiders, or – if you are an adult – sit at the next table and stare blatantly while you finish your cigarette. (Staring is not considered rude in Ethiopia)
This is especially true if you have to stop and change a tire on a road going through a tiny village, as we did. About 4 hours into our journey, yet another old tire gave up with a final gasp and Ab had to start searching through the rest of the tires to find a replacement. Within seconds, barefoot children had run down the steep mud embankment from their house to the road, and were crowding round the car as Ab slid underneath it and began to jack it up. A few minutes later, men appeared from their respective houses or work, and stood leaning on wooden sticks, watching closely.
I generated a lot of excitement – as I usually do – simply by being white, but also by helping Ab unload the tires from the back of the car. I’ve noticed that Ethiopians tend to get a bit panicky when they see faranji women doing physical work (a tip: got something like a bookcase which needs to be moved around 100 metres, and although you’ve been asking for months, nobody’s done it? Start moving it yourself – within minutes, men will arrive from everywhere to take it from you and finish the job). However, these children just gaped open mouthed at me. Presumably, the only vehicles with faranjis they’ve seen are tour cars, and it’s unlikely the tour guides or drivers would allow their customers to help them, even if they wanted to.
I’d like to say that I then went ahead and helped Ab change the tire, but I have less idea about how to change a tire than I do about the intricacies of quantum physics. So I stood with the children and L, our visitor, and admired everyone’s hair and jewellery, while we practised our tiny amounts of each other’s language. Ab, meanwhile, was sweating and grunting as he – successfully – changed the tire.
The men wanted a lift to the next town, but Ab said he couldn’t risk having any more weight on the car, and we left again with just the three of us. Of course, this didn’t protect us from another flat, and about an hour later, another tire dissolved into a heap. By this point Ab was beyond grumpy, and for L and I the novelty of standing around while another village chatted to us or asked for lifts was wearing off a little. Luckily, we were only a little way from a reasonably sized town with a tire repair station, and so we limped our way there and handed over our poor, broken tires for plasters and bandages and whatever else they thought appropriate.
In a rare optimistic mood, I was sure they would be able to work miracles, and so L and I retired to a little café to wait …and wait, and wait, and wait ….
To be continued …
We’ve needed new tires for a while, but for various reasons too complicated to go into now, the last few services have been cancelled. So we are now recycling the last set of tires and constantly trying to repair dodgy ones. It’s not an ideal situation – in fact it’s very far from ideal.
So, we were stuck at the school (an hour’s drive from the office) with three options: we use a slashed tire to get home, we fit a really, really old and battered one … or we do an 8 hour walk home up winding mountain roads in the blistering sun.
I wasn’t worried – we would work it out, we always do – but understandably Ab was not happy and stomped around a bit, before deciding that the slashed tire was actually the safest one to use. So he mended it using the chewing gum we’d bought on the way to the school and a piece of stick. I was very impressed – and it got us back to Lalibela in one piece!
But the tires really, really were on their last legs, so we gave the Directors in the UK a call and organised to go to the nearest place you can buy a set of tires – a good 8 hour drive away.
So, with 4 patched up tires on the car, and 6 slightly dodgier ones slung in the trailer of the car, we started on the long drive.
Driving in Ethiopia is always a real experience – and it’s one I love. My boss always looks at me in horror when I say I’d rather drive the two days to Addis instead of flying, but it’s true! Admittedly, it’s a lot quicker and more comfortable to fly from place to place; Ethiopia’s roads are often so unsurfaced and bumpy that you require a tight seat belt to stop yourself flying out of your seat, and a good sports bra to stop painful damage being inflicted on your body.
However, the beauty you see when you drive is often something you miss if you fly from one tourist spot to another – incredible sunrises and sunsets, huge mountains that suddenly drop into low rivers, tiny villages perched on the edge of cliffs, and astonishing views across miles and miles of countryside.
And then the details: the rusted shell of a tank left over from the fighting during the end Derg; the old stone bridge with the tiny carved roses; the women washing clothes at the end of the river, draping them over the rocks to dry, the villages with the lush green sugar cane fields, a stark contrast from the dust and parched trees of Lalibela. You don’t see that if you fly.
Driving also means stopping in villages where you are possibly the most exciting thing they have seen all week, and people seem to come from miles around to hide behind a gate post and peer shyly at the outsiders, or – if you are an adult – sit at the next table and stare blatantly while you finish your cigarette. (Staring is not considered rude in Ethiopia)
This is especially true if you have to stop and change a tire on a road going through a tiny village, as we did. About 4 hours into our journey, yet another old tire gave up with a final gasp and Ab had to start searching through the rest of the tires to find a replacement. Within seconds, barefoot children had run down the steep mud embankment from their house to the road, and were crowding round the car as Ab slid underneath it and began to jack it up. A few minutes later, men appeared from their respective houses or work, and stood leaning on wooden sticks, watching closely.
I generated a lot of excitement – as I usually do – simply by being white, but also by helping Ab unload the tires from the back of the car. I’ve noticed that Ethiopians tend to get a bit panicky when they see faranji women doing physical work (a tip: got something like a bookcase which needs to be moved around 100 metres, and although you’ve been asking for months, nobody’s done it? Start moving it yourself – within minutes, men will arrive from everywhere to take it from you and finish the job). However, these children just gaped open mouthed at me. Presumably, the only vehicles with faranjis they’ve seen are tour cars, and it’s unlikely the tour guides or drivers would allow their customers to help them, even if they wanted to.
I’d like to say that I then went ahead and helped Ab change the tire, but I have less idea about how to change a tire than I do about the intricacies of quantum physics. So I stood with the children and L, our visitor, and admired everyone’s hair and jewellery, while we practised our tiny amounts of each other’s language. Ab, meanwhile, was sweating and grunting as he – successfully – changed the tire.
The men wanted a lift to the next town, but Ab said he couldn’t risk having any more weight on the car, and we left again with just the three of us. Of course, this didn’t protect us from another flat, and about an hour later, another tire dissolved into a heap. By this point Ab was beyond grumpy, and for L and I the novelty of standing around while another village chatted to us or asked for lifts was wearing off a little. Luckily, we were only a little way from a reasonably sized town with a tire repair station, and so we limped our way there and handed over our poor, broken tires for plasters and bandages and whatever else they thought appropriate.
In a rare optimistic mood, I was sure they would be able to work miracles, and so L and I retired to a little café to wait …and wait, and wait, and wait ….
To be continued …
Wednesday 3 June 2009
1st June 2009
It’s a long time since I’ve been out dancing – in fact, the last time was probably when I went to Harlem Jazz in Addis with U. Okay, so last night I wasn’t exactly bopping away to Justin Timberlake, but there was definitely dancing and a lot of laughter, which is the mark of a good night out for me!
We had visitors to the Project this weekend and on Sunday I decided to take them for some traditional ‘tej’, which is a kind of Ethiopian wine made with honey. There is a great Tej bar in Lalibela where you can drink Tej while traditional Ethiopian singers make up witty songs about everyone in the bar (which of course I can’t understand, so I am constantly hassling Ab to translate so I know what the hell is going on!).
I’ve been there quite a few times but normally it’s just two or three of us and we sit and play cards. Last night there were 6 of us to start with – one of whom had never been to see any kind of Ethiopian dancing or singing, let alone tasted tej! – and we were soon joined by two of the Project’s teachers. Because there was no power, everyone had decided coming out was much more fun that staying in, and the bar was packed. Even the staff of the local airline office were there, possibly on some kind of work outing!
It started innocently enough, with one ‘tej’ each. Tej is an aquired taste – I had one friend say that if it was the only alcohol left in England she would be teetotal! – but I like it. Here it’s served in a choice of three strengths (soft, medium or strong) and I like the weakest version as it’s so sweet. Ab and I stuck to that, but the others went for Strong.
Soon the musicians came over and started singing and dancing for us. Now, these musicians once sang to me that I was “not very thin, but not that fat either, so it’s not too bad” (charming!) so I’m often a little wary of their songs. However, this time they definitely played it the right way by singing that in a beauty competition in the bar, I would win “55 – nil”. This is a good way to guarantee a tip from me!
Then the dancing started. The best known type of dancing in Ethiopia is the ‘shoulder dancing’. It’s literally wiggling your shoulders – which you think sounds really easy and not very impressive, but you’d be wrong on both counts. One of the great unanswered questions of Ethiopia, in my opinion, is how Ethiopians can make their shoulders dance almost entirely independently of their body – it’s a fantastic sight. Another question is how do they make what is essentially a fairly silly dance look so attractive? I swear, I have seen a woman do the shoulder dance in such a seductive way that even I started getting hot under the collar! And I could watch happily watch the men dance for hours …
We had six Ethiopians and 2 faranjis (including me!) in our party, and the dance skill level was directly proportionate to the number of consecutive years spent in Ethiopia … and the level of enthusiasm was directly proportionate to the amount of tej the dancer had drunk. We all had a good go though!
We all danced a lot, drank a lot, and laughed a lot until we were the last people left in the tej bar – we’d even outlasted the power cut! The musicians came and sat with us, and the guy played the Masinko (a traditional Ethiopian instrument which reminds me a little of the banjo) for us. Sadly, he was unable to grant M’s request that he play some Billy Joel songs, but the music he played was beautiful!
When we were finally kicked out of the bar we all piled into the car and trundled up the hill. I had then had the fun of getting one of the visitors up the many, many stairs to my house – not so easy when someone is drunk and not walking in a straight line! I held firmly onto their hand, and nobody fell down the mountain, which was a bonus.
It was a lot of fun, and it’s not often I get the opportunity to be so social. We also provided the locals of Lalibela with some entertainment when we attempted Ethiopian dancing!
Funny, though – or maybe not – that my favourite part of the night was when L and I sat on the wooden veranda outside my house at midnight, looking out onto the dark and sleeping Lalibela, listening to Angie Stone on the Ipod.
We had visitors to the Project this weekend and on Sunday I decided to take them for some traditional ‘tej’, which is a kind of Ethiopian wine made with honey. There is a great Tej bar in Lalibela where you can drink Tej while traditional Ethiopian singers make up witty songs about everyone in the bar (which of course I can’t understand, so I am constantly hassling Ab to translate so I know what the hell is going on!).
I’ve been there quite a few times but normally it’s just two or three of us and we sit and play cards. Last night there were 6 of us to start with – one of whom had never been to see any kind of Ethiopian dancing or singing, let alone tasted tej! – and we were soon joined by two of the Project’s teachers. Because there was no power, everyone had decided coming out was much more fun that staying in, and the bar was packed. Even the staff of the local airline office were there, possibly on some kind of work outing!
It started innocently enough, with one ‘tej’ each. Tej is an aquired taste – I had one friend say that if it was the only alcohol left in England she would be teetotal! – but I like it. Here it’s served in a choice of three strengths (soft, medium or strong) and I like the weakest version as it’s so sweet. Ab and I stuck to that, but the others went for Strong.
Soon the musicians came over and started singing and dancing for us. Now, these musicians once sang to me that I was “not very thin, but not that fat either, so it’s not too bad” (charming!) so I’m often a little wary of their songs. However, this time they definitely played it the right way by singing that in a beauty competition in the bar, I would win “55 – nil”. This is a good way to guarantee a tip from me!
Then the dancing started. The best known type of dancing in Ethiopia is the ‘shoulder dancing’. It’s literally wiggling your shoulders – which you think sounds really easy and not very impressive, but you’d be wrong on both counts. One of the great unanswered questions of Ethiopia, in my opinion, is how Ethiopians can make their shoulders dance almost entirely independently of their body – it’s a fantastic sight. Another question is how do they make what is essentially a fairly silly dance look so attractive? I swear, I have seen a woman do the shoulder dance in such a seductive way that even I started getting hot under the collar! And I could watch happily watch the men dance for hours …
We had six Ethiopians and 2 faranjis (including me!) in our party, and the dance skill level was directly proportionate to the number of consecutive years spent in Ethiopia … and the level of enthusiasm was directly proportionate to the amount of tej the dancer had drunk. We all had a good go though!
We all danced a lot, drank a lot, and laughed a lot until we were the last people left in the tej bar – we’d even outlasted the power cut! The musicians came and sat with us, and the guy played the Masinko (a traditional Ethiopian instrument which reminds me a little of the banjo) for us. Sadly, he was unable to grant M’s request that he play some Billy Joel songs, but the music he played was beautiful!
When we were finally kicked out of the bar we all piled into the car and trundled up the hill. I had then had the fun of getting one of the visitors up the many, many stairs to my house – not so easy when someone is drunk and not walking in a straight line! I held firmly onto their hand, and nobody fell down the mountain, which was a bonus.
It was a lot of fun, and it’s not often I get the opportunity to be so social. We also provided the locals of Lalibela with some entertainment when we attempted Ethiopian dancing!
Funny, though – or maybe not – that my favourite part of the night was when L and I sat on the wooden veranda outside my house at midnight, looking out onto the dark and sleeping Lalibela, listening to Angie Stone on the Ipod.
Monday 1 June 2009
23rd May 2009
I’m so ashamed of the British Parliament right now. And I’m a little ashamed of myself, too.
A few days before the expenses scandal broke (Google it!), A and I were printing off the anti-corruption information that all government offices display, to put on our notice board in the office. A said ‘I have a stupid question …’ which is the way we often start conversations about each other’s cultures, “Is there corruption in the UK?”
I, in my infinite wisdom, said yes there is, but it’s a different kind of corruption. It’s more about vested interests and directing contracts to friends who are going to repay the favour in other ways – corruption, but a more subtle form. I told him workers there don't often slip public money into their pockets, or demand extra payment for doing something which is their normal job, or claim expenses for three day meetings when they were only away for one day. It happens sometimes, but it’s not a normal, ‘across the board’ thing.
Ha!
I must confess, I have tried to write this blog post in a way that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot who believes corruption only happens in developing countries and ‘nothing like that happens in my country’. But I was unsuccessful – because sometimes I am the idiot who thinks that ‘nothing like that happens in my country’. This was one of those times.
So apparently, claiming public money for things like houses you don’t actually live in (MPs) and accepting money to draft legislation in a certain way (House of Lords – yes, I’d forgotten about them) IS quite normal in the UK. And that makes me both furious and ashamed.
When we talked about it afterwards, A did point out that at least there was some outrage from press and the public about it in the UK. Here, it’s just accepted as normal - inevitable even. His words, not mine, but that’s certainly been my experience while talking to other Ethiopians here.
This certainly doesn’t excuse my (clearly undeserved) sense of moral superiority. That’s been well and truly smashed now, and so it should be. How can anyone from the UK berate another country’s government for using public money for personal gain when it’s so publicly apparent that’s exactly what they are doing? They’re going to be – rightly – told to get their own house in order first!
(Of course, none of this excuses the actions of the corrupt workers in any country – just because it’s happening in Britain doesn’t mean that it happening in India, or Nigeria, or Ethiopia is any more acceptable.)
A letter in a weekly magazine I get sent to me echoed my thoughts perfectly: a man who lives and works in DRC said that the donor community there works closely with the local governments to implore them to stop the corruption for the social and economic growth of the country. The actions of the UK government have not only betrayed the British tax payer, but have also damaged the credibility of organisations working in these countries. And it’s certainly not the ‘fat cats’ of any country that are affected because of this – it’s the normal people paying taxes and getting on with their lives that suffer.
A few days before the expenses scandal broke (Google it!), A and I were printing off the anti-corruption information that all government offices display, to put on our notice board in the office. A said ‘I have a stupid question …’ which is the way we often start conversations about each other’s cultures, “Is there corruption in the UK?”
I, in my infinite wisdom, said yes there is, but it’s a different kind of corruption. It’s more about vested interests and directing contracts to friends who are going to repay the favour in other ways – corruption, but a more subtle form. I told him workers there don't often slip public money into their pockets, or demand extra payment for doing something which is their normal job, or claim expenses for three day meetings when they were only away for one day. It happens sometimes, but it’s not a normal, ‘across the board’ thing.
Ha!
I must confess, I have tried to write this blog post in a way that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot who believes corruption only happens in developing countries and ‘nothing like that happens in my country’. But I was unsuccessful – because sometimes I am the idiot who thinks that ‘nothing like that happens in my country’. This was one of those times.
So apparently, claiming public money for things like houses you don’t actually live in (MPs) and accepting money to draft legislation in a certain way (House of Lords – yes, I’d forgotten about them) IS quite normal in the UK. And that makes me both furious and ashamed.
When we talked about it afterwards, A did point out that at least there was some outrage from press and the public about it in the UK. Here, it’s just accepted as normal - inevitable even. His words, not mine, but that’s certainly been my experience while talking to other Ethiopians here.
This certainly doesn’t excuse my (clearly undeserved) sense of moral superiority. That’s been well and truly smashed now, and so it should be. How can anyone from the UK berate another country’s government for using public money for personal gain when it’s so publicly apparent that’s exactly what they are doing? They’re going to be – rightly – told to get their own house in order first!
(Of course, none of this excuses the actions of the corrupt workers in any country – just because it’s happening in Britain doesn’t mean that it happening in India, or Nigeria, or Ethiopia is any more acceptable.)
A letter in a weekly magazine I get sent to me echoed my thoughts perfectly: a man who lives and works in DRC said that the donor community there works closely with the local governments to implore them to stop the corruption for the social and economic growth of the country. The actions of the UK government have not only betrayed the British tax payer, but have also damaged the credibility of organisations working in these countries. And it’s certainly not the ‘fat cats’ of any country that are affected because of this – it’s the normal people paying taxes and getting on with their lives that suffer.
22nd May 2009
I’m sick today (no idea why – I only had potatoes for dinner last night and surely even I can’t get sick from potatoes?!) and so have spent the whole day lying on the sofa (or in the bathroom …) feeling sorry for myself.
God bless A and Ab who brought Ambo (Ethiopian fizzy water – the best fizzy water in the world, beats Perrier any day!) and biscuits to settle my stomach.
The reason I bring this up is that Ab bought me a packet of Bourbons, and I’m intrigued, because all the biscuits were back to front. The two bits of biscuit in the Bourbon sandwich are upside down, so the rounded edge which you normally find on the outside of the biscuit are the sides stuck together with the chocolate cream.
No big deal (it certainly didn’t spoil my enjoyment of them!), I’m just wondering. Is it a particular Ethiopian preference? A cultural thing?!
I have to get out more…
God bless A and Ab who brought Ambo (Ethiopian fizzy water – the best fizzy water in the world, beats Perrier any day!) and biscuits to settle my stomach.
The reason I bring this up is that Ab bought me a packet of Bourbons, and I’m intrigued, because all the biscuits were back to front. The two bits of biscuit in the Bourbon sandwich are upside down, so the rounded edge which you normally find on the outside of the biscuit are the sides stuck together with the chocolate cream.
No big deal (it certainly didn’t spoil my enjoyment of them!), I’m just wondering. Is it a particular Ethiopian preference? A cultural thing?!
I have to get out more…
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