I’ve kind of lost momentum with this blog over the last couple of weeks. Partly this is because I am leaving very soon and I am swamped with trying to complete tasks and tie up lose ends, but it’s also because so much is going on here that I would like to write about, but it would be unprofessional too. Admittedly, I do often skirt the line on unprofessional, but this would be a giant leap over it. So, unable to give context and details, I’ve not be inspired to write anything.
However, I do need to write something – not, I’m sure, because you’re all waiting with baiting breath, but mostly because I don’t want this blog to splutter and die so near to the end. Plus, I do actually have some things to write about.
For a start, my Mum and her partner , D, came to visit last week, so we spent a few days in Addis visiting the orphanage then flew to Lalibela and to Bahir Dar. It was great to be able to show them my life in Lalibela, as well as take them to the orphanage – both of them do things for Hanna’s Orphanage in the UK and it’s good to be able to show them the people their work benefits.
D was a big hit with the children wherever we went! They were fascinated by the fact he had hair on his legs and arms, by the colour of his skin and by his muscles. We did try to explain that he’s a farmer, so he’s always lifting heavy things, but of course that made no sense to the children in Lalibela as all their fathers are farmers
and they don’t look like D …
Of course the other attraction to D was that he had the video camera! If you ever want to break the ice with a group of children in rural Africa, bring out a camera (video or otherwise). There were several moments during their trip when mum and I wondered if we should rescue him, but he dealt very well with 20 children hanging over him, trying to see themselves in the pictures.
In general, it was a great trip; I was happy to see them, and I think they saw how beautiful Ethiopia is. Of course, it wasn’t all plain sailing, and I turned into a bitch from hell (albeit a polite bitch from hell) when various people tried their luck or simply neglected to provide a service we’d paid for. I’m not talking about no electricity or a lack of water, those things people have no control over. It was the lost hotel reservations, the people trying to add on an extra 250 birr from the original quote, or charging full price for a breakfast they only served a quarter of that really annoyed me.
Speaking of being a bitch from hell, trying to employ new teachers and starting the new school year has been an exercise in frustration for all of us. First of all, we need to employ two new teachers. As an NGO run school school, it states in the Project Agreement that the organisation can employ teachers with advice from the Ministry of Education. However, the current head of the Ministry believe this means they employ our teachers: we give them a job description, they interview them and then send us our new employees. We want to be able to interview and employ our own teachers (adhering to all Ministry of Education guidelines and requirements, of course), and we did employ our own summer school teachers, as the Ministry was too busy to do it, so they told us to.
Apparently, this situation has happened previously (before my time) and then someone from the Regional Government wrote a letter stating what we could and could not do. The letter was given to all the relevant departments and all was sorted. Now, of course, everyone seems to have lost the letter, and getting a new one is a lengthy process.
Bizarrely, the Head of the Ministry of Education abruptly changed his mind yesterday. It was very welcome, but it does make me slightly curious as to why the sudden change of heart? I know it certainly wasn’t to please me, as there’s no love lost there. Anyway, it means we can employ the teachers we need, so I’ve put back my flight by one day (so that we can fulfill the Ministry’s requirements for the length of time an job advert is displayed) and we interview on Monday. Hurrah!
Another thing teacher-related that made me look around at everyone, open mouthed, to see if they agreed with me that this was completely insane, was the meeting that all teachers had to go to. I have no problem with the notion of teachers going and being trained – brilliant! Except, schools have just been closed for over 2 months and yet they decide to hold a meeting for all teachers in the 1st week after school starts. So millions of children, who the government are supposed to be providing education for, lost over a week of school so their teachers could attend a meeting. Where’s the logic in that?
I think I would have minded less if the meeting had been training on teaching methodology or theory. I asked my teachers what they learnt. They said they learnt that a teacher’s performance is judged on the performance of their students, and then they learnt a lot about politics (elections in Ethiopia are next year). This is what children missed around 10 days of school for (although ours didn’t – the powers-that-be were late informing us that our teachers had to attend, so thankfully our students only had to miss 3 days of school).
Complete insanity.
Oh, and the last thing that is making me want to tear my hair out? Flies! Goddamn flies! Apparently, September is the month for flies, and they are driving everybody crazy! They get in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, and no matter how much you swat at them, they keep coming back, leaving you looking like someone frantically trying to land a plane, yet still covered in big black flies. Eventually you give up trying to swat them away and get used to the incessant tickling of every exposed part of your body.
Everyone says the flies will be gone by October … and so will I! (Did you see what I did there?) I’m very excited about going home, but I’m also sad that I’m leaving so many lovely people, and the fact that I’m leaving at such a stressful time. No, ignore that: in my very selfish way, I am thrilled I’m leaving at this stressful time, as it’s hideous, and I do not want to deal with it, but I’m feeling very guilty and sad about the fact that the staff here do not have such an escape route. All I can do is make my leaving as stress free as possible, and continue to ensure the work I’ve done is sustainable.
Anyway, I’ve told the teachers I’m coming back in February and if I find they haven’t carried on with the changes we’ve made, there’s going to be serious trouble!!
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
18th September 2009
I am now back in Lalibela, and have found two minutes to write a blog post. I leave Ethiopia fairly soon, so I’m desperately trying to get everything done, plus of course my mum and her partner are here, so it’s all go, go, go!
The main news is the orphanage. After the email I received about their imminent eviction, mum and I wanted to go and talk to Hanna properly to see what we could do. What I was initially told about the situation wasn’t completely accurate, and I think something was lost in translation, but when we started to talk to Hanna it all became clear.
Basically, it’s a tax problem. The orphanage have to pay tax on the house they rent , which is all fine and expected. However, if the landlady doesn’t register her building with the Government, the tax rises from 2% to 30% a month – and the landlady does not want to register with the Government, so the orphanage have to find an extra 3500 birr a month. That’s way beyond the orphanage’s capability, and if they can’t pay the tax, they have to move out.
Apparently, if it was a private tenant, then there would be some breathing space – people wouldn’t be asking about the tax, and they’d probably be able to avoid it. However, as an NGO, the orphanage are audited annually and so it would definitely be picked up. And, of course, they want to follow the law, too.
(There is a dodgy ‘middle man’ involved in all this, too, but I’m not entirely clear how, so we’ll leave that for the minute!)
Long term, paying the 30% tax is not an option; the orphanage already struggle in this economic crisis, and finding an extra 3500 birr a month is impossible for them. However, the urgent thing at the moment is to ensure they can stay in the building for the next few months so that they can concentrate on finding somewhere else.
So, Hanna’s Orphanage UK have given the orphanage the money to pay the extra tax for the next three months, ensuring they are able to stay in the building while they try to search for somewhere else. If we can raise £500 by December (which we will do, I’m sure!), we can then buy them another 3 months. Hanna has somewhere in mind to be able to rent, so we will all keep our fingers crossed that they agree and the rent is reasonable.
The ideal situation would be to find somewhere to buy, so that these situations don’t happen again, but we would need to 1) find a suitable building and 2) raise enough money. Property is very expensive in Ethiopia, as in the rest of the world, and we certainly don’t have that kind of money. However, we’re working on it, and trying to support the orphanage in applying to various other organisations that may be able to help.
So if anyone has a few £100,000 to spare, please contact us!
Ps. I have lots to catch up on - not least New Year - so I will post that as soon as poss!
The main news is the orphanage. After the email I received about their imminent eviction, mum and I wanted to go and talk to Hanna properly to see what we could do. What I was initially told about the situation wasn’t completely accurate, and I think something was lost in translation, but when we started to talk to Hanna it all became clear.
Basically, it’s a tax problem. The orphanage have to pay tax on the house they rent , which is all fine and expected. However, if the landlady doesn’t register her building with the Government, the tax rises from 2% to 30% a month – and the landlady does not want to register with the Government, so the orphanage have to find an extra 3500 birr a month. That’s way beyond the orphanage’s capability, and if they can’t pay the tax, they have to move out.
Apparently, if it was a private tenant, then there would be some breathing space – people wouldn’t be asking about the tax, and they’d probably be able to avoid it. However, as an NGO, the orphanage are audited annually and so it would definitely be picked up. And, of course, they want to follow the law, too.
(There is a dodgy ‘middle man’ involved in all this, too, but I’m not entirely clear how, so we’ll leave that for the minute!)
Long term, paying the 30% tax is not an option; the orphanage already struggle in this economic crisis, and finding an extra 3500 birr a month is impossible for them. However, the urgent thing at the moment is to ensure they can stay in the building for the next few months so that they can concentrate on finding somewhere else.
So, Hanna’s Orphanage UK have given the orphanage the money to pay the extra tax for the next three months, ensuring they are able to stay in the building while they try to search for somewhere else. If we can raise £500 by December (which we will do, I’m sure!), we can then buy them another 3 months. Hanna has somewhere in mind to be able to rent, so we will all keep our fingers crossed that they agree and the rent is reasonable.
The ideal situation would be to find somewhere to buy, so that these situations don’t happen again, but we would need to 1) find a suitable building and 2) raise enough money. Property is very expensive in Ethiopia, as in the rest of the world, and we certainly don’t have that kind of money. However, we’re working on it, and trying to support the orphanage in applying to various other organisations that may be able to help.
So if anyone has a few £100,000 to spare, please contact us!
Ps. I have lots to catch up on - not least New Year - so I will post that as soon as poss!
16th September 2009
A very quick blog sent from an internet cafe in Addis, where I am spending some time with my mum! We have just come from the orpganage,where together we have sorted out a plan to save the orphanage from having to move out for the next 6 months. This buys them some time to start looking for a place to rent or - the ideal situation - buy.
I will write a longer blog tomorrow when I get back to Lalibela, but the situation was not caused by an increase in rent, as we were first told, but rather tax payments required of the landlady. It's a frustrating system, but money you have donated has bought them some breathing space while we attempt to sort it out. Otherwise, they would have needed to move out by the first week in October.
Thank you thank you thank you.
I will write a longer blog tomorrow when I get back to Lalibela, but the situation was not caused by an increase in rent, as we were first told, but rather tax payments required of the landlady. It's a frustrating system, but money you have donated has bought them some breathing space while we attempt to sort it out. Otherwise, they would have needed to move out by the first week in October.
Thank you thank you thank you.
Sunday, 13 September 2009
8th September
A slightly more cheerful blog this time! Summer School finished on Sunday, which was sad, but everyone had a great time and it was a big success. The smaller classes and ability groupings meant that we were able to give more students individual attention, and create lessons to target particular students’ needs, meaning the more able students got the opportunity to see how far they could go, and the less able ones managed to catch up on at least some of the basics. The students learnt a lot, not only in maths, English and Amharic, but also in terms of increasing their confidence, learning skills and classroom behavior.
I learnt a huge amount, too, both about individual students and about each class. I took a lot for granted when I first started – for instance, it didn’t occur to me that we would need to go over the fact that you must write on the lines of your exercise book, not just in a random scrawl wherever you want on the paper. This is something I have worked with the teachers on before, but they’ve been incredibly reluctant to enforce it. However, the students and I spent a whole lesson on presenting work neatly (it was more fun that it sounds!) and now all children know what’s expected of them, so the teachers have no excuse!
I also learnt that the majority of the children were exceptionally good at the ‘Memory Game’, which I wasn’t expecting at all. The activity involves the students looking at a variety of objects on a table, then covering them up and having to remember as many as they can. We played it as a ‘starter’ one lesson, and each class managed to remember almost all the objects, where I was guessing they’d remember around half.
The same was true of ‘See, Run, Do’, where one member of the group sees a picture for a count of 10, then has to explain it to the rest of their group so they can reproduce it. My (teenage) students in the UK often find it hard, but my children here had no problem!
Of course, some of my lessons prompted some unexpected reactions – some more unexpected than others! When doing the Memory Game, I was slightly surprised that nearly all children in the class identified the balloon as a condom! Clearly the health workers’ messages are getting through to all parts of the community, and T was quite proud when we told her. Ab and I explained to the students that it wasn’t a condom, it was a balloon, and demonstrated how you inflate a balloon … although we were then reminded that you could do that with a condom too. I came out of the class hoping that I’d been sufficiently clear enough to convince the children of the differences between a condom and a balloon!
On the last day of summer school was all about reflection, evaluation and celebration, and I wanted something we could do with all the students. Quizzes are really popular in schools here, usually as a way to monitor the quality of teaching in schools, pitting students against one another in competition. In my opinion, this is a particularly poor way of evaluating the academic performance of a school, but in this instance we thought it would be a fun, familiar way to finish the session.
So each class picked 3 students, who were then combined into three mixed ability teams. Questions had been prepared in advance, and students picked a number from a hat (well, in this case, a bag!) to select which questions they had to answer. After 5 questions each, the scores were very close – 11 for Team 1, 12 for Team 3 and 13 for Team 2 – but Team 2 were rewarded with packs of pencils (very kindly sent by my aunt and uncle) and a big round of applause. We also gave some pencils and pens out as rewards to children who had been really good students or had progressed a lot. I think the children were sad it had ended – and even Ab, who has decided that teaching is not a career he will be pursuing any time soon, will miss it!
So now we are finished, and this week I am launching into the admin I had neglected while teaching. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up, too, as I am taking a week off very shortly when my mum comes over . Plus there are the usual organisational issues that have been the bane of my life for the last two months and appear to be no nearer a resolution, so I certainly won’t lack for things to do!
I learnt a huge amount, too, both about individual students and about each class. I took a lot for granted when I first started – for instance, it didn’t occur to me that we would need to go over the fact that you must write on the lines of your exercise book, not just in a random scrawl wherever you want on the paper. This is something I have worked with the teachers on before, but they’ve been incredibly reluctant to enforce it. However, the students and I spent a whole lesson on presenting work neatly (it was more fun that it sounds!) and now all children know what’s expected of them, so the teachers have no excuse!
I also learnt that the majority of the children were exceptionally good at the ‘Memory Game’, which I wasn’t expecting at all. The activity involves the students looking at a variety of objects on a table, then covering them up and having to remember as many as they can. We played it as a ‘starter’ one lesson, and each class managed to remember almost all the objects, where I was guessing they’d remember around half.
The same was true of ‘See, Run, Do’, where one member of the group sees a picture for a count of 10, then has to explain it to the rest of their group so they can reproduce it. My (teenage) students in the UK often find it hard, but my children here had no problem!
Of course, some of my lessons prompted some unexpected reactions – some more unexpected than others! When doing the Memory Game, I was slightly surprised that nearly all children in the class identified the balloon as a condom! Clearly the health workers’ messages are getting through to all parts of the community, and T was quite proud when we told her. Ab and I explained to the students that it wasn’t a condom, it was a balloon, and demonstrated how you inflate a balloon … although we were then reminded that you could do that with a condom too. I came out of the class hoping that I’d been sufficiently clear enough to convince the children of the differences between a condom and a balloon!
On the last day of summer school was all about reflection, evaluation and celebration, and I wanted something we could do with all the students. Quizzes are really popular in schools here, usually as a way to monitor the quality of teaching in schools, pitting students against one another in competition. In my opinion, this is a particularly poor way of evaluating the academic performance of a school, but in this instance we thought it would be a fun, familiar way to finish the session.
So each class picked 3 students, who were then combined into three mixed ability teams. Questions had been prepared in advance, and students picked a number from a hat (well, in this case, a bag!) to select which questions they had to answer. After 5 questions each, the scores were very close – 11 for Team 1, 12 for Team 3 and 13 for Team 2 – but Team 2 were rewarded with packs of pencils (very kindly sent by my aunt and uncle) and a big round of applause. We also gave some pencils and pens out as rewards to children who had been really good students or had progressed a lot. I think the children were sad it had ended – and even Ab, who has decided that teaching is not a career he will be pursuing any time soon, will miss it!
So now we are finished, and this week I am launching into the admin I had neglected while teaching. There are a lot of loose ends to tie up, too, as I am taking a week off very shortly when my mum comes over . Plus there are the usual organisational issues that have been the bane of my life for the last two months and appear to be no nearer a resolution, so I certainly won’t lack for things to do!
4th September
In the next installment of crappiness, the orphanage have been ordered to move out of their compound in Addis. The landlord has decided she wants to increase the rent by a good lot of money (I think around 2000 birr - £100 a month) and, anyway, has decided she doesn’t want children living there, even if the orphanage (and its supporters) could scrape together the required money.
There seems to be very little protection for renters in Ethiopia, so Landlords can just double the rent on their whim, or order someone to leave. There are tenancy agreements, but in my experience it’s rare anyone actually adheres to them – if the landlord wants to, he (or she) just ignores it. I imagine that if it went to court, it would be enforced, but (again, in my experience) rarely do people take it that far; they wouldn’t know where to start, they are too busy trying to find a new house, or they don’t even realise it’s an option.
I’m not sure whether that’s a road the orphanage will go down yet, but they are definitely in a quandary. This is the second time in three years this has happened. I’m not sure what these Landlords do – do they wake up one morning, a year afer they let the property to the Orphans Home and think ‘Hmmm.... Orphans Home ... I know that name means something to me ... oh yes, Children! Oh, no, I don’t want children on my property ...”. I mean, did they not realise this before? Why did it take them a year to decide they didn’t want children on their property?
And what kind of person evicts an orphanage anyway? It’s not as if they children are damaging the property or making noise so the neighbours complain; the neighbours are a kindergarten, a shop and a garage.
But at the moment, the orphanage face losing their offices, classrooms, kitchen and play area. The only option is to relocate, which will require a lot of money and a suitable building, and may mean moving away from the small houses where the children live. It’s not ideal – and of course, there’s the possibility that this will all happen again in the next couple of years.
It would be so much better if they could find a building that fits their needs and buy it ... but the money needed to do that is way out of our (and other Hanna Orphans Home supporters’) capacity. We’ve researched applying to a few trusts or grant making organisations, but many do not fund orphanages.
We will keep trying and planning and hoping and praying.
There seems to be very little protection for renters in Ethiopia, so Landlords can just double the rent on their whim, or order someone to leave. There are tenancy agreements, but in my experience it’s rare anyone actually adheres to them – if the landlord wants to, he (or she) just ignores it. I imagine that if it went to court, it would be enforced, but (again, in my experience) rarely do people take it that far; they wouldn’t know where to start, they are too busy trying to find a new house, or they don’t even realise it’s an option.
I’m not sure whether that’s a road the orphanage will go down yet, but they are definitely in a quandary. This is the second time in three years this has happened. I’m not sure what these Landlords do – do they wake up one morning, a year afer they let the property to the Orphans Home and think ‘Hmmm.... Orphans Home ... I know that name means something to me ... oh yes, Children! Oh, no, I don’t want children on my property ...”. I mean, did they not realise this before? Why did it take them a year to decide they didn’t want children on their property?
And what kind of person evicts an orphanage anyway? It’s not as if they children are damaging the property or making noise so the neighbours complain; the neighbours are a kindergarten, a shop and a garage.
But at the moment, the orphanage face losing their offices, classrooms, kitchen and play area. The only option is to relocate, which will require a lot of money and a suitable building, and may mean moving away from the small houses where the children live. It’s not ideal – and of course, there’s the possibility that this will all happen again in the next couple of years.
It would be so much better if they could find a building that fits their needs and buy it ... but the money needed to do that is way out of our (and other Hanna Orphans Home supporters’) capacity. We’ve researched applying to a few trusts or grant making organisations, but many do not fund orphanages.
We will keep trying and planning and hoping and praying.
A Crappy Time
One month today, I will have said goodbye to Ethiopia and will be waking up in my own bed, in the UK. Sometimes - more often than not - I am sad about this: I love Lalibela, I love Ethiopia, I love my job (most of the time!) and I love the people I work with.
However, today, it cannot come quick enough.
Quite frankly, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. First the computer blew up in the storm and we had no computer for a few days. Then we spent a lot of money, expended a lot of stress, and begged a lot of people to get the part sent from Addis, which of course didn’t fit. So we begged and pleaded again with someone from the internet cafe so they would swap it with one that will work , which luckily only took a few days.
Except then the modem wouldn’t work and we couldn’t connect to the internet. Okay, no big deal, at least the actual computer works. We can fix the modem later.*
Except now the printer and USB drivers don’t work, and nobody can fix them (nobody can work out why it’s stopped working). So I’m handwriting endless registers and reports, and trying not to think about the 200 report cards we’re supposed to be printing for when the children come back to school, or the 150 student files I’ve been diligently working on and which need to be printed and filed in hard copy by the 14th September.
So that’s the computer part of it.
The rest is just as bad. The maggots are still falling from the ceiling. My bath still doesn’t drain. Ab is walking around in the worst mood I’ve ever seen (and I have some bad moods!) and yet we can’t moan at him because we completely understand why he’s in a bad mood and he is completely justified. Added to that, his phone was stolen by people he was giving a lift to (for free!) a few days ago. What a great show of gratitude from them.
I am supposed to open the school for the new academic year in two weeks yet I don’t have enough text books, pens, tables and – oh yes – teachers , although in theory all should be here by the week of the 14th, give or take a few days. A and I are trying to employ said extra teachers, except what we want and need to do is very different to what the Ministry of Education in Lalibela are insisting on doing, and although the Ministry of Education have no authority to insist on employing our teachers, we have to get officials from the office in Bahir Dar to confirm that, and the Director who needs to do that is out of the country for a while.
Of course, with crappy communications, we have no way of conveying that to the relevant people. Thank God the phone network is still working!
In the meantime, summer school continues, where I discover that the deaf child who has been in our school for two years cannot even write or recognise her own name. This should have been picked up a LONG time ago ... by me, definitely, and it’s a disgrace that I haven’t, but also by the teachers and other staff before me.
In two days I have to explain to the community that the school will not be providing education for the 100 children from the area as planned in the Project Proposal, and who are excitedly waiting for September to come so they can start school (some even turned up to summer school they were so desperate to get in!). Instead just 30 children will be registered. I don’t know why this is, as it’s not a decision I’ve taken and I haven’t got any information about it, but I am the one who will be passing the message on.
The information and explanation should arrive with the Directors when they come over in two weeks – on New Year’s Day, when everyone will be off work (particularly people in Lalibela, who celebrate every Saints Day). On top of that, the organisational and administration meetings that are going to be going on at this time are really, really not going to be fun.
So, deep joy all round. Consequently, when my TV stopped working today as a result of yet another power surge I very nearly burst into tears, even though in the grand scheme of things a broken TV is not even worth worrying about.
In the good news department, I have a load of trashy magazines that my family have sent, so I intend to shut my door, get into my pyjamas, read my magazines and forget about the world and everything that’s wrong with it.
Ps. Yes, I am well aware of the irony of moaning about these things when I clearly have enough to eat, enough money, an education, a family and a roof over my head – and am working with a lot of people who have none, or very few, of those things. Indulge me.
*We’ve fixed the modem now, clearly, as I have managed to send this update!
However, today, it cannot come quick enough.
Quite frankly, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong. First the computer blew up in the storm and we had no computer for a few days. Then we spent a lot of money, expended a lot of stress, and begged a lot of people to get the part sent from Addis, which of course didn’t fit. So we begged and pleaded again with someone from the internet cafe so they would swap it with one that will work , which luckily only took a few days.
Except then the modem wouldn’t work and we couldn’t connect to the internet. Okay, no big deal, at least the actual computer works. We can fix the modem later.*
Except now the printer and USB drivers don’t work, and nobody can fix them (nobody can work out why it’s stopped working). So I’m handwriting endless registers and reports, and trying not to think about the 200 report cards we’re supposed to be printing for when the children come back to school, or the 150 student files I’ve been diligently working on and which need to be printed and filed in hard copy by the 14th September.
So that’s the computer part of it.
The rest is just as bad. The maggots are still falling from the ceiling. My bath still doesn’t drain. Ab is walking around in the worst mood I’ve ever seen (and I have some bad moods!) and yet we can’t moan at him because we completely understand why he’s in a bad mood and he is completely justified. Added to that, his phone was stolen by people he was giving a lift to (for free!) a few days ago. What a great show of gratitude from them.
I am supposed to open the school for the new academic year in two weeks yet I don’t have enough text books, pens, tables and – oh yes – teachers , although in theory all should be here by the week of the 14th, give or take a few days. A and I are trying to employ said extra teachers, except what we want and need to do is very different to what the Ministry of Education in Lalibela are insisting on doing, and although the Ministry of Education have no authority to insist on employing our teachers, we have to get officials from the office in Bahir Dar to confirm that, and the Director who needs to do that is out of the country for a while.
Of course, with crappy communications, we have no way of conveying that to the relevant people. Thank God the phone network is still working!
In the meantime, summer school continues, where I discover that the deaf child who has been in our school for two years cannot even write or recognise her own name. This should have been picked up a LONG time ago ... by me, definitely, and it’s a disgrace that I haven’t, but also by the teachers and other staff before me.
In two days I have to explain to the community that the school will not be providing education for the 100 children from the area as planned in the Project Proposal, and who are excitedly waiting for September to come so they can start school (some even turned up to summer school they were so desperate to get in!). Instead just 30 children will be registered. I don’t know why this is, as it’s not a decision I’ve taken and I haven’t got any information about it, but I am the one who will be passing the message on.
The information and explanation should arrive with the Directors when they come over in two weeks – on New Year’s Day, when everyone will be off work (particularly people in Lalibela, who celebrate every Saints Day). On top of that, the organisational and administration meetings that are going to be going on at this time are really, really not going to be fun.
So, deep joy all round. Consequently, when my TV stopped working today as a result of yet another power surge I very nearly burst into tears, even though in the grand scheme of things a broken TV is not even worth worrying about.
In the good news department, I have a load of trashy magazines that my family have sent, so I intend to shut my door, get into my pyjamas, read my magazines and forget about the world and everything that’s wrong with it.
Ps. Yes, I am well aware of the irony of moaning about these things when I clearly have enough to eat, enough money, an education, a family and a roof over my head – and am working with a lot of people who have none, or very few, of those things. Indulge me.
*We’ve fixed the modem now, clearly, as I have managed to send this update!
1st September
The rat saga continues!
This morning, A was doing work at his desk when he suddenly cried “maggots!”. Sure enough, there were tiny white maggots wriggling across his desk and onto his notebook. Not nice! We poked around and soon discovered that maggots were (are!) falling from a crack in the office ceiling, which is directly under my living room.
So, we’ve come to the conclusion that a rat or mouse had died beneath the floorboards of my living room, and therefore in the roof of our office, and the maggots have come to eat it. There has been a slightly odd smell in the office over the last day or so, but I thought nothing of it (there are a variety of weird smells in my life in Lalibela!). However, I have smelt the stink a dead rat makes a week after dying, so I know there is a lot worse to come!
The only way to get into the place where we think the dead rodent is, is to take apart the ceiling. This is a job A says he can do, but it’s going to be quite a big job which will take a day or so. However, it may be our only option before it gets so stinky in here that we have to work with pegs on our noses ...
This morning, A was doing work at his desk when he suddenly cried “maggots!”. Sure enough, there were tiny white maggots wriggling across his desk and onto his notebook. Not nice! We poked around and soon discovered that maggots were (are!) falling from a crack in the office ceiling, which is directly under my living room.
So, we’ve come to the conclusion that a rat or mouse had died beneath the floorboards of my living room, and therefore in the roof of our office, and the maggots have come to eat it. There has been a slightly odd smell in the office over the last day or so, but I thought nothing of it (there are a variety of weird smells in my life in Lalibela!). However, I have smelt the stink a dead rat makes a week after dying, so I know there is a lot worse to come!
The only way to get into the place where we think the dead rodent is, is to take apart the ceiling. This is a job A says he can do, but it’s going to be quite a big job which will take a day or so. However, it may be our only option before it gets so stinky in here that we have to work with pegs on our noses ...
30th August
Yesterday, I walked into the bathroom in the way I do most things – thinking of something else, looking at a book in my hand and generally not paying attention. Luckily, something caught my eye before I put down my foot and squished the big, fat rat that was sitting there.
I may have made a slight squealing sound whilst doing a mad hop backwards and closing the door (did I think the rat was going to attack me?!). I definitely did wait a little while before gingerly opening the door again, just in case the rat was going to make a dash for it. I actually expected it to have run behind the bath, which is where they normally live, but it was still sitting by the door.
Was it dead? No, it was definitely breathing. As if to underline the point, it waddled slowly away from me before coming to rest in front of its usual escape hole. It made no move to go through the hole, though, and I realised that it was suffering the effects of the poison it had obviously eaten.
I know poison is hideous, I know it does dreadful things to them and kills them from the inside out in a very long and cruel way, but I was desperate! The glue (another hideous, long, drawn out way to kill something) was completely useless (the mice left footprints as they ran through it) and the rodents simply pushed the traditional mouse traps under the fridge so they could take the food while the cramped space stops the trap from working. I was tempted to let them live, simply for being so ingenious, and I made a deal with them – if they kept out of my bedroom, I would stop planning ways to murder them. But they wouldn’t listen, and I could see the time coming where I would wake up in bed and discover a rodent on my pillow ... I did what I had to do.
So, the poison had obviously been working its magic on this rat, and I was sure it was about to die. I didn’t really want it ot die behind the bath – I’ve done the whole ‘dead rat covered in maggots’ thing before, and it’s not pretty. Having said that, I probably would have been fine getting a dead rat (sans maggots) out of the bathroom, but the fact this one was still moving prompted me call A for help.
He came to my rescue, as he always does, and while H and I hid behind my bedroom door and made squealing sounds every time it sounded like something might be coming towards us, A and G (one of the guard’s sons) scooped the rat up in a bucket and took it outside. G then killed it (quickly) so that it wouldn’t spend the next few days slowly suffering.
I do still feel a bit guilty for the way I am sentencing these animals to a slow, painful death ... but not too guilty, as I slept properly for the first time last night due to the fact there are no rodents crashing round the house!
I may have made a slight squealing sound whilst doing a mad hop backwards and closing the door (did I think the rat was going to attack me?!). I definitely did wait a little while before gingerly opening the door again, just in case the rat was going to make a dash for it. I actually expected it to have run behind the bath, which is where they normally live, but it was still sitting by the door.
Was it dead? No, it was definitely breathing. As if to underline the point, it waddled slowly away from me before coming to rest in front of its usual escape hole. It made no move to go through the hole, though, and I realised that it was suffering the effects of the poison it had obviously eaten.
I know poison is hideous, I know it does dreadful things to them and kills them from the inside out in a very long and cruel way, but I was desperate! The glue (another hideous, long, drawn out way to kill something) was completely useless (the mice left footprints as they ran through it) and the rodents simply pushed the traditional mouse traps under the fridge so they could take the food while the cramped space stops the trap from working. I was tempted to let them live, simply for being so ingenious, and I made a deal with them – if they kept out of my bedroom, I would stop planning ways to murder them. But they wouldn’t listen, and I could see the time coming where I would wake up in bed and discover a rodent on my pillow ... I did what I had to do.
So, the poison had obviously been working its magic on this rat, and I was sure it was about to die. I didn’t really want it ot die behind the bath – I’ve done the whole ‘dead rat covered in maggots’ thing before, and it’s not pretty. Having said that, I probably would have been fine getting a dead rat (sans maggots) out of the bathroom, but the fact this one was still moving prompted me call A for help.
He came to my rescue, as he always does, and while H and I hid behind my bedroom door and made squealing sounds every time it sounded like something might be coming towards us, A and G (one of the guard’s sons) scooped the rat up in a bucket and took it outside. G then killed it (quickly) so that it wouldn’t spend the next few days slowly suffering.
I do still feel a bit guilty for the way I am sentencing these animals to a slow, painful death ... but not too guilty, as I slept properly for the first time last night due to the fact there are no rodents crashing round the house!
Saturday, 29 August 2009
27th August
Ahhh, the joy of living in my little wooden house.
1) My bath is now completely blocked, meaning if I have a shower, none of the water drains away and I have to empty the bath by scooping the water up with a bucket (or an empty tin can as the water level gets lower). If you poke a stick down the plughole, there is something very large and metal which has completely closed off the pipe (God knows what!) and so the pipes will need to be taken apart. Sigh.
2) The toilet used to flush when I filled the cistern up manually, but it has now completely given up and will now only make vague spluttering sounds when I press the button. We think this is because our water is not very pure, so it contains sand and particles which clog up the pipes and general system. The pipes which carry water to the toilet need to be taken apart and cleaned.
3) The rain is getting heavier and more frequent, which is lovely, as I really enjoy the Ethiopian rainstorms. However, my house is very flimsy and leaky, so I have currently got rain dripping from the ceiling in the bedroom (luckily in the bedroom I don’t sleep in!) and trickling in under the kitchen door (there’s an outside door into the kitchen, but it’s not allowed to be opened ... don’t ask, it’s a long story involving the Devil, a bottle – or several – of gin and some concrete steps ...). I also found some kind of mushroom growing on one of the (inside) walls, yesterday – nice!
4) It appears that the noisiest rats in the known world have taken up residence in my bathroom and in my wardrobe. For the last 3 nights, I have been woken up at 4am by the sound of rats careening around the bathroom, banging into buckets and the toilet cistern, and knocking my shampoo bottles into the bath. They sound like they’re doing some kind of obstacle race (maybe they are?).
Meanwhile, the rat in my wardrobe appears to just be throwing himself continuously at the wardrobe doors, rattling them and generally making it appear that I have some kind of ghost in there desperate to get out (maybe I have?!).
Both rats (ha – who am I kidding! All the rats!) have been eating the poison I laid out for them, but they won’t bloody die!! It’s driving me mad! I definitely need a cat ...
On the good news front, though, the fact that I am emptying the bath manually means I am saving water as I use that to flush the toilet, and the constant moving of water is giving me a well needed upper body work out!
And anyway, what more could I want when today I sat outside on my little veranda, watching the brightest sunrise I’ve seen since I got here, and drinking a cup of tea. If only the rats would die ...
1) My bath is now completely blocked, meaning if I have a shower, none of the water drains away and I have to empty the bath by scooping the water up with a bucket (or an empty tin can as the water level gets lower). If you poke a stick down the plughole, there is something very large and metal which has completely closed off the pipe (God knows what!) and so the pipes will need to be taken apart. Sigh.
2) The toilet used to flush when I filled the cistern up manually, but it has now completely given up and will now only make vague spluttering sounds when I press the button. We think this is because our water is not very pure, so it contains sand and particles which clog up the pipes and general system. The pipes which carry water to the toilet need to be taken apart and cleaned.
3) The rain is getting heavier and more frequent, which is lovely, as I really enjoy the Ethiopian rainstorms. However, my house is very flimsy and leaky, so I have currently got rain dripping from the ceiling in the bedroom (luckily in the bedroom I don’t sleep in!) and trickling in under the kitchen door (there’s an outside door into the kitchen, but it’s not allowed to be opened ... don’t ask, it’s a long story involving the Devil, a bottle – or several – of gin and some concrete steps ...). I also found some kind of mushroom growing on one of the (inside) walls, yesterday – nice!
4) It appears that the noisiest rats in the known world have taken up residence in my bathroom and in my wardrobe. For the last 3 nights, I have been woken up at 4am by the sound of rats careening around the bathroom, banging into buckets and the toilet cistern, and knocking my shampoo bottles into the bath. They sound like they’re doing some kind of obstacle race (maybe they are?).
Meanwhile, the rat in my wardrobe appears to just be throwing himself continuously at the wardrobe doors, rattling them and generally making it appear that I have some kind of ghost in there desperate to get out (maybe I have?!).
Both rats (ha – who am I kidding! All the rats!) have been eating the poison I laid out for them, but they won’t bloody die!! It’s driving me mad! I definitely need a cat ...
On the good news front, though, the fact that I am emptying the bath manually means I am saving water as I use that to flush the toilet, and the constant moving of water is giving me a well needed upper body work out!
And anyway, what more could I want when today I sat outside on my little veranda, watching the brightest sunrise I’ve seen since I got here, and drinking a cup of tea. If only the rats would die ...
Monday, 24 August 2009
23rd August
I had a day off from teaching summer school today, and it’s the end of the 15 days of fasting, so this morning’s plan was to go to the market with Y and buy a chicken for the ‘dorro watt’ (chicken curry).
I actually really enjoy going food shopping in the UK. It may not be politically or ecologically correct to say it, but I like supermarkets, with their endless shelves of beautifully packaged foods. I would spend a while browsing the shelves, admiring the products and fantasizing that as soon as I got them home, they would transform me into an amazing cook who could throw beautiful ingredients into a pan, simmer for a while, and then produce a gourmet quality dinner. Needless to say, that never happened, but the fantasy was always satisfying.
Shopping in Lalibela is a whole different ballgame. My supermarket is an open dust bowl which, on a Saturday morning, fills with hundreds of people from the surrounding countryside who have come to sell their produce and buy supplies.
Things you can buy in Lalibela market include, in no particular order: sheep, chickens, spices, eggs, goats, donkeys, butter, onions, chillies, potatoes, wicker baskets, clothes, jewellery, honey, soap, coffee, coffee pots (called jabena), carrots, shoes and gabis (white cotton blankets). Women spread hessian sacks on the dusty earth and lay out the spices or vegetables they’re going to sell, while the men take the animals to a fenced off part, ready to haggle and sell for the best price.
It’s normally complete bedlam. Think Tesco’s on Christmas eve, but with less queuing. People come from miles around, babies snug on their backs, young boys carrying chickens by their scrawny legs, and girls inspecting the tomatoes to check the quality. When I come with Ab, I often end up clinging to the back of his tee-shirt in an attempt to stop myself being swept away in the crowd.
However, today was the first time I’d been to the market with Y. There are definitely differences between the way women food shop and the way men do it, be it in Sainsbury’s or at Lalibela market, and especially in a society where men don’t normally do the weekly shop. Ab comes along with me to help bridge the language and/or haggling barrier, so we stumble from one place to another, depending on the order of my shopping list. Y, however, goes every week to do her own shopping so, much like me in Tesco’s, has a plan and a route that she follows. Today, not used to having a farange to babysit, she shot off in the narrow pathways between the produce and I rushed after her, trying and failing not to slip on the mud or step on the women sitting by their vegetables.
The market is less overwhelming to me now than it was when I first went, partly because I now have a survival kit: 1) lots of change: it’s no good trying to pay for 6 birr’s worth of potatoes with a 50 birr note 2) a list of what I need, or else I could be there all day, just wandering around, distracted by by the colourful spices, beans and chillies and 3) a bag – no pre-packaged food at this market, and it just isn’t good when you have to stuff your eggs, potatoes and chickpeas into your pockets. You can buy plastic bags, but it’s a hassle and I learnt this fairly early on when I wanted to buy onions and ended up traipsing all over the market trying to buy a bag. Now I have a soft canvas bag which is my ‘market day’ bag. So much easier.
The last thing I need to have with me when I visit the market - an Ethiopian. Not because I’d get lost, or need help carrying my food back to the house, but simply to stop me getting ripped off. The local shops in Lalibela know me, know I’m living here and earning an Ethiopian salary, and therefore charge me a decent price. However, those at the market are usually from the countryside, and when they see white skin they immediately double, triple or quadruple the price. Not so much of a problem if it means paying 4 birr for onions instead of 2 birr, but when it came to buying the chicken, I was glad Y was there. Prices quoted to me ranged from 30 birr to 50 birr for a tiny chicken, while Y eventually bought a similar sized one for 16 birr – still a few birr more than she would have paid if I hadn’t been loitering beside her, but not an outright rip off.
In general, a farange at the market is a source of great interest and amusement to most people, whether they are buying or selling. Tourists do come to walk round the market and have a look at what’s going on (although not many when you consider the amount of tourists coming to Lalibela), but it’s not often that a farange is buying a chicken, or a kilo of onions. The women selling potatoes or tomatoes give an impressed smile when they see I know how to measure what I’m buying, filling the empty tin cans on their laps with the vegetables, and several boys today did double takes when they heard me speaking Amharic to Y. If I stop for more than two minutes, a small crowd gathers around me, mostly silent and just staring, while a few brave souls will venture a ‘hello’ in English and a quick ‘how are you?’.
Today Y needed to buy butter for her daughter to put on her hair (they use it to make their hair shiny and strong – sometimes the smell of butter from the girls in my classroom is overwhelming, although I’d rather that than the boys’ smelly feet!). One woman was sat on the floor to sell it, scooping the butter out of the pot with her fingers and measuring it using a small coffee cup, while a crowd of women squatted around her, all waiting patiently for their turn. I stood behind them all, watching the selling with interest (butter for my hair is not something I have ever had to buy before!) , before realising I’d collected quite a following.
A girl of around 16 or 17 stood beside me, a baby secured tightly on her back in a cloth sling. The baby peered at me with big brown eyes, completely bemused by this strange creature it saw and unsure how to react, while the girl giggled behind her hand and averted her eyes if I looked at her. A few other girls joined her, babies on their backs and with the same giggling shyness. A young boy came over to try and sell me biscuits, while a few older men leant on their shepherd crooks and stared thoughtfully at me. Only the toddler scrabbling around my feet seemed completely uninterested in me – he was more concerned about the boiled sweet he had spotted in the mud, and getting it in his mouth before his mother could stop him.
Eventually Y got the butter she needed and, our shopping completed, we started our long walk up the hill to my house. Our bags bulged with
onions, garlic, potatoes and carrots, while the chicken was slung over Y’s shoulder by it’s legs. In fact, it seemed resigned to its fate, with only the minimum of squawking and flapping of feathers.
Everywhere I looked I could see women heaving their weekly shop home, some balancing it on their heads, most carrying it in baskets by their sides. Children trotted after their mothers, while men steered their donkeys along the road, sacks of tef and wheat strapped on the animal’s back. People were dressed in their traditional white clothes, ready for the celebration of the end of fasting, and the smell of dorro watt and coffee drifted across the street. Definitely more fun than Sainsbury’s.
I actually really enjoy going food shopping in the UK. It may not be politically or ecologically correct to say it, but I like supermarkets, with their endless shelves of beautifully packaged foods. I would spend a while browsing the shelves, admiring the products and fantasizing that as soon as I got them home, they would transform me into an amazing cook who could throw beautiful ingredients into a pan, simmer for a while, and then produce a gourmet quality dinner. Needless to say, that never happened, but the fantasy was always satisfying.
Shopping in Lalibela is a whole different ballgame. My supermarket is an open dust bowl which, on a Saturday morning, fills with hundreds of people from the surrounding countryside who have come to sell their produce and buy supplies.
Things you can buy in Lalibela market include, in no particular order: sheep, chickens, spices, eggs, goats, donkeys, butter, onions, chillies, potatoes, wicker baskets, clothes, jewellery, honey, soap, coffee, coffee pots (called jabena), carrots, shoes and gabis (white cotton blankets). Women spread hessian sacks on the dusty earth and lay out the spices or vegetables they’re going to sell, while the men take the animals to a fenced off part, ready to haggle and sell for the best price.
It’s normally complete bedlam. Think Tesco’s on Christmas eve, but with less queuing. People come from miles around, babies snug on their backs, young boys carrying chickens by their scrawny legs, and girls inspecting the tomatoes to check the quality. When I come with Ab, I often end up clinging to the back of his tee-shirt in an attempt to stop myself being swept away in the crowd.
However, today was the first time I’d been to the market with Y. There are definitely differences between the way women food shop and the way men do it, be it in Sainsbury’s or at Lalibela market, and especially in a society where men don’t normally do the weekly shop. Ab comes along with me to help bridge the language and/or haggling barrier, so we stumble from one place to another, depending on the order of my shopping list. Y, however, goes every week to do her own shopping so, much like me in Tesco’s, has a plan and a route that she follows. Today, not used to having a farange to babysit, she shot off in the narrow pathways between the produce and I rushed after her, trying and failing not to slip on the mud or step on the women sitting by their vegetables.
The market is less overwhelming to me now than it was when I first went, partly because I now have a survival kit: 1) lots of change: it’s no good trying to pay for 6 birr’s worth of potatoes with a 50 birr note 2) a list of what I need, or else I could be there all day, just wandering around, distracted by by the colourful spices, beans and chillies and 3) a bag – no pre-packaged food at this market, and it just isn’t good when you have to stuff your eggs, potatoes and chickpeas into your pockets. You can buy plastic bags, but it’s a hassle and I learnt this fairly early on when I wanted to buy onions and ended up traipsing all over the market trying to buy a bag. Now I have a soft canvas bag which is my ‘market day’ bag. So much easier.
The last thing I need to have with me when I visit the market - an Ethiopian. Not because I’d get lost, or need help carrying my food back to the house, but simply to stop me getting ripped off. The local shops in Lalibela know me, know I’m living here and earning an Ethiopian salary, and therefore charge me a decent price. However, those at the market are usually from the countryside, and when they see white skin they immediately double, triple or quadruple the price. Not so much of a problem if it means paying 4 birr for onions instead of 2 birr, but when it came to buying the chicken, I was glad Y was there. Prices quoted to me ranged from 30 birr to 50 birr for a tiny chicken, while Y eventually bought a similar sized one for 16 birr – still a few birr more than she would have paid if I hadn’t been loitering beside her, but not an outright rip off.
In general, a farange at the market is a source of great interest and amusement to most people, whether they are buying or selling. Tourists do come to walk round the market and have a look at what’s going on (although not many when you consider the amount of tourists coming to Lalibela), but it’s not often that a farange is buying a chicken, or a kilo of onions. The women selling potatoes or tomatoes give an impressed smile when they see I know how to measure what I’m buying, filling the empty tin cans on their laps with the vegetables, and several boys today did double takes when they heard me speaking Amharic to Y. If I stop for more than two minutes, a small crowd gathers around me, mostly silent and just staring, while a few brave souls will venture a ‘hello’ in English and a quick ‘how are you?’.
Today Y needed to buy butter for her daughter to put on her hair (they use it to make their hair shiny and strong – sometimes the smell of butter from the girls in my classroom is overwhelming, although I’d rather that than the boys’ smelly feet!). One woman was sat on the floor to sell it, scooping the butter out of the pot with her fingers and measuring it using a small coffee cup, while a crowd of women squatted around her, all waiting patiently for their turn. I stood behind them all, watching the selling with interest (butter for my hair is not something I have ever had to buy before!) , before realising I’d collected quite a following.
A girl of around 16 or 17 stood beside me, a baby secured tightly on her back in a cloth sling. The baby peered at me with big brown eyes, completely bemused by this strange creature it saw and unsure how to react, while the girl giggled behind her hand and averted her eyes if I looked at her. A few other girls joined her, babies on their backs and with the same giggling shyness. A young boy came over to try and sell me biscuits, while a few older men leant on their shepherd crooks and stared thoughtfully at me. Only the toddler scrabbling around my feet seemed completely uninterested in me – he was more concerned about the boiled sweet he had spotted in the mud, and getting it in his mouth before his mother could stop him.
Eventually Y got the butter she needed and, our shopping completed, we started our long walk up the hill to my house. Our bags bulged with
onions, garlic, potatoes and carrots, while the chicken was slung over Y’s shoulder by it’s legs. In fact, it seemed resigned to its fate, with only the minimum of squawking and flapping of feathers.
Everywhere I looked I could see women heaving their weekly shop home, some balancing it on their heads, most carrying it in baskets by their sides. Children trotted after their mothers, while men steered their donkeys along the road, sacks of tef and wheat strapped on the animal’s back. People were dressed in their traditional white clothes, ready for the celebration of the end of fasting, and the smell of dorro watt and coffee drifted across the street. Definitely more fun than Sainsbury’s.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
20th August
I’m currently sitting in my house, a keyboard balanced on my knees and a computer screen on the wobbly wooden table in front of me. Ab generously lugged this computer all the way from his house and up the endless steps to my house so that I could use it today after our work computer blew up in the big storm on Tuesday evening. It’s not the easiest or most comfortable way to write and work, but I was going stir crazy; we don’t have summer school until next Thursday and I’ve started to run out of things I can do without a computer.
Luckily, the storm only damaged the transformer, so once that’s replaced the computer should work and all our files will be recovered. It’s not something we can buy in Lalibela, but Ab knew someone in Addis who could buy it and bring it by plane so it will arrive tomorrow. Normal service will resume on Saturday, when the power is on again.
We don’t have any summer school this weekend because it’s the end of the 15 days fasting and everyone is celebrating. This time, women are the ones who are most involved in the celebration (in Lalibela at least – it’s different in other parts of Ethiopia) with dancing, singing and ceremonies. However, the Lalibela air is filled with the sound of the other celebration that will take place this weekend – whips! Men will be cracking leather whips to accompany the women while they dance … and boy, are the whips loud! People have been practicing (and a few farangis were allowed to have a go) in the hotel compound below my house and it frightened the life out of me. I thought there was a gunfight going on!
I’m still trying to find out the actual significance of the whips. Like a lot of customs, the origins have disappeared from people’s memories and everyone just knows this is what you do at this time of year. We’re going to speak to Ab’s brother, who’s a Priest and should know!
I’m not going to be cracking any whips to celebrate. Instead, Saturday morning I’ll be going to the market to buy a chicken (I haven’t had meat for two weeks) and cooking chicken tikka masala for Saturday night dinner. Then on Sunday three girls from the UK are coming round to make vegetable lasagna. They’re in Lalibela for a month, working at the local hospital and an orphanage here, and I have already dragged them around to my house to play rummykub and card games. It’s really great to have them around, if only for a short time.
Luckily, the storm only damaged the transformer, so once that’s replaced the computer should work and all our files will be recovered. It’s not something we can buy in Lalibela, but Ab knew someone in Addis who could buy it and bring it by plane so it will arrive tomorrow. Normal service will resume on Saturday, when the power is on again.
We don’t have any summer school this weekend because it’s the end of the 15 days fasting and everyone is celebrating. This time, women are the ones who are most involved in the celebration (in Lalibela at least – it’s different in other parts of Ethiopia) with dancing, singing and ceremonies. However, the Lalibela air is filled with the sound of the other celebration that will take place this weekend – whips! Men will be cracking leather whips to accompany the women while they dance … and boy, are the whips loud! People have been practicing (and a few farangis were allowed to have a go) in the hotel compound below my house and it frightened the life out of me. I thought there was a gunfight going on!
I’m still trying to find out the actual significance of the whips. Like a lot of customs, the origins have disappeared from people’s memories and everyone just knows this is what you do at this time of year. We’re going to speak to Ab’s brother, who’s a Priest and should know!
I’m not going to be cracking any whips to celebrate. Instead, Saturday morning I’ll be going to the market to buy a chicken (I haven’t had meat for two weeks) and cooking chicken tikka masala for Saturday night dinner. Then on Sunday three girls from the UK are coming round to make vegetable lasagna. They’re in Lalibela for a month, working at the local hospital and an orphanage here, and I have already dragged them around to my house to play rummykub and card games. It’s really great to have them around, if only for a short time.
Sunday, 16 August 2009
15th August 2009
It’s nearly the end of the fourth week of Summer School and everything is ticking along nicely. It took a while for us all to get in the rhythm – we have two new teachers who had to get used to the way we do things (a bit different to the schools they worked in previously) and I took a while to get into it, too. Although I’ve taught the children before, it was in short bursts and only once a week, whereas this is much more regular (although, at 3 or 4 times a week, hardly full time!). The PSHE and Social/Emotional learning programme I’m delivering is a fairly ambitious programme requiring lots of planning, and I’m trying to make sure all resources and teaching activities I use are available for the teachers in the future, and that also takes time. But I think we’re all in the swing of it now.
I’m very glad that Summer School came so late in my time here. I’ve been in Lalibela for over 6 months now, and it’s honestly taken this long for me to really understand the culture and education differences. If summer school had been scheduled for a month after I’d arrived, I would have leapt at the chance but wouldn’t have had the knowledge to back it all up, and I cringe to think of the mistakes I would have made and the resulting frustration for both me and the students.
Not to say I haven’t made any mistakes, even now. There are many things that I’ve had to get used to, not least teaching groups of children who genuinely have no concept of the world outside their village. I’ve realised how much knowledge I take for granted when working with children in the UK – shared cultural references, a vague (often very vague!) knowledge of the world around them, an understanding of themselves as individuals – and so needed to make enourmous changes to the way I teach.
Another of my mistakes was totally underestimating the top group’s ability while overestimating that of the bottom group. This meant some very quick adjustments mid class! But I’ve got a much better feel for everyone now, and all three classes are making a lot of progress.
In my class, we’ve been learing about the body and physical space, about who we are and how we feel, and about the people in our community, including our families. This week we have been focussing on ‘working with others’ which has been a huge success. Some children who would usually sit on the sidelines and watch are now actively participating in challenges and understanding what it means to work as part of a team.
The work we have done on community has been really interesting, as I can see how much influence local community role models have on the children’s ambitions and hopes for the future. Many of the children will follow their family and work the land, and they have great role models for that, but as the local community expands many of them are realising there are other possibilities. Community health worker is a popular choice, thanks to the lovely T who is based in our school community, and of course lots of the children talk about becoming teachers thanks to the positive influence of our full time teachers, two of whom are from a small rural community like our one. Many children talk about wanting to stay in their community and help the people by providing medical care or education as they see how much it has helped them and their families. Of course, there are a few stars in our school who I would love to see become world class doctors, lawyers and academics, too. We’ll see!
On a more basic note, all of the children attending can now write their name correctly in Amharic – it sounds simple, but a large number of the children have managed to get through a year of school without being able to do it. We also spend two minutes at the beginning of every class changing the calender to show what day it is, which means the days of the week in Amharic and English are becoming embedded in their brains! Some of my favourite moments – as always – have been the children who have been struggling with a particular skill (writing their name, being able to name the day of the week) and it’s finally started to make sense. The beaming smile that B gave Ab and I this morning when he finally managed to write his name correctly from memory was wonderful! And the whole of the class got excited when D volunteered to change the calender today: although in the top group and very bright, he has a complete block when it comes to being able to identify what day it is (in Amharic or English)! However, today the penny finally dropped and he managed to name most of the days of the week without a mistake.
Of course, we have some weird moments, particularly where wildlife is concerned. Like last week when one of the boys pointed out the dead bird under the ‘storybook table’ in the corner. As I removed the bird, I had a quick look and it didn’t have a mark on it – I have no idea how it came to be dead under a table inside the classroom! Then this morning a saucer-sized spider shot up the wall as everyone was going out to break, giving a few of us quite a shock (I’m glad A wasn’t there at the time as he’s scared of spiders and would probably have shrieked in a very girly way!).
The proliferation of wildlife can come in useful sometimes though. Last week the bottom group (called the ‘Giraffes’) and I were doing a ‘sensory audit’ of the community – what can you see, hear, smell, taste, feel etc. Being a rural area, it’s actually quite quiet and you have to listen very carefully to hear things, so as we all sat there with our eyes closed I was concerned the exercise was going to end with everyone saying they hadn’t heard anything. Ab had even resorted to clearing his throat and making some heavy footsteps so that there were some obvious sounds overlaying the more subtle background ones!
A few seconds before the time was up, I saw a farmer wandering past the window, stick in hand and gabi wrapped round his shoulders. I was hoping he was going to add some interest to the activity and sure enough, a few seconds later there was a vibrating ‘mooooo ...!’ from one his cows.
Needless to say, a cow mooing was top of the list of sounds heard, but I’m pleased to say there were a few others mentioned too. I’m thinking of hiring the farmer next time I do the activity ...
I’m very glad that Summer School came so late in my time here. I’ve been in Lalibela for over 6 months now, and it’s honestly taken this long for me to really understand the culture and education differences. If summer school had been scheduled for a month after I’d arrived, I would have leapt at the chance but wouldn’t have had the knowledge to back it all up, and I cringe to think of the mistakes I would have made and the resulting frustration for both me and the students.
Not to say I haven’t made any mistakes, even now. There are many things that I’ve had to get used to, not least teaching groups of children who genuinely have no concept of the world outside their village. I’ve realised how much knowledge I take for granted when working with children in the UK – shared cultural references, a vague (often very vague!) knowledge of the world around them, an understanding of themselves as individuals – and so needed to make enourmous changes to the way I teach.
Another of my mistakes was totally underestimating the top group’s ability while overestimating that of the bottom group. This meant some very quick adjustments mid class! But I’ve got a much better feel for everyone now, and all three classes are making a lot of progress.
In my class, we’ve been learing about the body and physical space, about who we are and how we feel, and about the people in our community, including our families. This week we have been focussing on ‘working with others’ which has been a huge success. Some children who would usually sit on the sidelines and watch are now actively participating in challenges and understanding what it means to work as part of a team.
The work we have done on community has been really interesting, as I can see how much influence local community role models have on the children’s ambitions and hopes for the future. Many of the children will follow their family and work the land, and they have great role models for that, but as the local community expands many of them are realising there are other possibilities. Community health worker is a popular choice, thanks to the lovely T who is based in our school community, and of course lots of the children talk about becoming teachers thanks to the positive influence of our full time teachers, two of whom are from a small rural community like our one. Many children talk about wanting to stay in their community and help the people by providing medical care or education as they see how much it has helped them and their families. Of course, there are a few stars in our school who I would love to see become world class doctors, lawyers and academics, too. We’ll see!
On a more basic note, all of the children attending can now write their name correctly in Amharic – it sounds simple, but a large number of the children have managed to get through a year of school without being able to do it. We also spend two minutes at the beginning of every class changing the calender to show what day it is, which means the days of the week in Amharic and English are becoming embedded in their brains! Some of my favourite moments – as always – have been the children who have been struggling with a particular skill (writing their name, being able to name the day of the week) and it’s finally started to make sense. The beaming smile that B gave Ab and I this morning when he finally managed to write his name correctly from memory was wonderful! And the whole of the class got excited when D volunteered to change the calender today: although in the top group and very bright, he has a complete block when it comes to being able to identify what day it is (in Amharic or English)! However, today the penny finally dropped and he managed to name most of the days of the week without a mistake.
Of course, we have some weird moments, particularly where wildlife is concerned. Like last week when one of the boys pointed out the dead bird under the ‘storybook table’ in the corner. As I removed the bird, I had a quick look and it didn’t have a mark on it – I have no idea how it came to be dead under a table inside the classroom! Then this morning a saucer-sized spider shot up the wall as everyone was going out to break, giving a few of us quite a shock (I’m glad A wasn’t there at the time as he’s scared of spiders and would probably have shrieked in a very girly way!).
The proliferation of wildlife can come in useful sometimes though. Last week the bottom group (called the ‘Giraffes’) and I were doing a ‘sensory audit’ of the community – what can you see, hear, smell, taste, feel etc. Being a rural area, it’s actually quite quiet and you have to listen very carefully to hear things, so as we all sat there with our eyes closed I was concerned the exercise was going to end with everyone saying they hadn’t heard anything. Ab had even resorted to clearing his throat and making some heavy footsteps so that there were some obvious sounds overlaying the more subtle background ones!
A few seconds before the time was up, I saw a farmer wandering past the window, stick in hand and gabi wrapped round his shoulders. I was hoping he was going to add some interest to the activity and sure enough, a few seconds later there was a vibrating ‘mooooo ...!’ from one his cows.
Needless to say, a cow mooing was top of the list of sounds heard, but I’m pleased to say there were a few others mentioned too. I’m thinking of hiring the farmer next time I do the activity ...
13th August 2009
I managed to get to Addis for a few days this week and pop into the orphanage. Unfortunately, due to lack of communication infastucture in Lalibela (oh, and the fact that I left my phone at the school) I hadn’t called to let them know, and when P and I did arrive, we walked straight into their celebration event for the end of academic year.
Of course, this wasn’t all bad as it meant I got to see all the kids receiving their prizes for good academic work or for winning the ‘inter-house’ football competition. Everyone was out in the compound where they would normally play basketball or football, and Hanna and the rest of the staff were handing out prizes from behind a big table. The children from the Shiro Meda branch had come over to Wollo Seffer, the little ones were bundled onto the laps of the bigger children, and everyone was clapping and cheering each time someone received an award. I love the atmosphere there on normal days, but this was even better!
However, it wasn’t the most convenient time to sit and chat with Hanna, so I came back the next morning (while a patient P sat and waited).
Everything seems to be working out well. The £2000 we sent over a month or so ago has been used to pay for the house rent on one of the new Prisoners Children's houses as well as providing a small salary to a computer tutor who will teach the staff and the students computer skills. The £2,500 we are able to provide for the refurbishment of the library also arrived in their bank account (taking slightly longer than normal this time, so we starting to get worried!), which means they can start gathering quotes for the chairs and desks they are going to buy. Hopefully, all the work on this will be done by September, just in time for the new school year.
In October, two wonderful people are visiting Ethiopia and have volunteered to take over whatever the orphanage needs (within reason, obviously). They are hoping to take over a lot of basic medical supplies like asprin, paracetamol, bandages and plasters, but also vitamins for the children. They’re simple things, but they’re not always easily available in Ethiopia and having a proper stock makes all the difference. We’re very grateful to the people fundraising to buy these things for the orphanage!
The other thing in the pipeline is that the older children at the orphanage have been invited to take part in a ‘social skills’ training course. The course lasts for 10 days, with three days residential, and the orphanage have managed to pay for around 30 children to attend. There wasn’t the budget to allow all eligible children to attend, but thanks to your donations, we are able to make up the shortfall. £450.00 is on its way there now. It sounds a small amount, but it really does make a huge difference.
With all this spending, our coffers are getting low ... so it’s a good job we have some fundraising events lined up! Our next music night has a latin slant, with Salsa lessons and demonstrations – email Maria for details at maria@blueskyonline.co.uk. You can also find us on twitter or facebook to keep up to date.
Of course, this wasn’t all bad as it meant I got to see all the kids receiving their prizes for good academic work or for winning the ‘inter-house’ football competition. Everyone was out in the compound where they would normally play basketball or football, and Hanna and the rest of the staff were handing out prizes from behind a big table. The children from the Shiro Meda branch had come over to Wollo Seffer, the little ones were bundled onto the laps of the bigger children, and everyone was clapping and cheering each time someone received an award. I love the atmosphere there on normal days, but this was even better!
However, it wasn’t the most convenient time to sit and chat with Hanna, so I came back the next morning (while a patient P sat and waited).
Everything seems to be working out well. The £2000 we sent over a month or so ago has been used to pay for the house rent on one of the new Prisoners Children's houses as well as providing a small salary to a computer tutor who will teach the staff and the students computer skills. The £2,500 we are able to provide for the refurbishment of the library also arrived in their bank account (taking slightly longer than normal this time, so we starting to get worried!), which means they can start gathering quotes for the chairs and desks they are going to buy. Hopefully, all the work on this will be done by September, just in time for the new school year.
In October, two wonderful people are visiting Ethiopia and have volunteered to take over whatever the orphanage needs (within reason, obviously). They are hoping to take over a lot of basic medical supplies like asprin, paracetamol, bandages and plasters, but also vitamins for the children. They’re simple things, but they’re not always easily available in Ethiopia and having a proper stock makes all the difference. We’re very grateful to the people fundraising to buy these things for the orphanage!
The other thing in the pipeline is that the older children at the orphanage have been invited to take part in a ‘social skills’ training course. The course lasts for 10 days, with three days residential, and the orphanage have managed to pay for around 30 children to attend. There wasn’t the budget to allow all eligible children to attend, but thanks to your donations, we are able to make up the shortfall. £450.00 is on its way there now. It sounds a small amount, but it really does make a huge difference.
With all this spending, our coffers are getting low ... so it’s a good job we have some fundraising events lined up! Our next music night has a latin slant, with Salsa lessons and demonstrations – email Maria for details at maria@blueskyonline.co.uk. You can also find us on twitter or facebook to keep up to date.
Sunday, 9 August 2009
Paul's second (and final) blog post!
(No, Jenny is not sleeping off another hangover, however, during my time in Lalibela we have partaken in germ warfare; lobbing ever more potent strains of some sort of cold virus to one another. Jenny is currently high on painkillers, which gives me - in my relatively lucid state - opportunity for a farewell post...)
Work at the school has pretty much finished so I’ve had chance to do some touristy things over the last few days. Yesterday I agreed to climb a local mountain with some of the Ethiopian teachers - which proved a humbling experience. What I hadn’t accounted for is that Lalibela itself is already 2000 odd feet above sea level so the air is pretty thin. My oxygen starved companions quite happily bounded the extra few thousand feet through the clouds to the summit – leaving me (after an overly enthusiastic start) to stagger behind fighting for breath. Excess consumption of caffeine and sugar is the only way I can explain how I finally wheezed my way to the top.
Other than that, some inexcusably bad (and wine-fuelled) attempts to replicate the local dancing (freakishly quick shoulder gyrations) and the accrual of classic lobster-esque sunburn bring things pretty much up to date after the last blog.
Looking back at the whole trip though - my endearing memory of Lalibela will be how extremely friendly the locals are to tourists. Everyone wants to talk to you! The only downside to these constant demands to exchange (very) basic pleasantries is that simply getting from A to B can be a lengthy process. I have tried seeking refuge in the company of fellow Westerners – though conversations have tended to revolve around the intricacies of the Ethiopian adoption process! I'm actually surprised that crowds of children dare follow me through the village given the frequency with which they seem to be whisked off out of the country.
Assuming Jenny hasn’t developed a drug resistant super virus (as threatened) to give me, I should be back in the UK on Wednesday – hot shower, beer and TV here we come...
Over and out
Paul
PS The ‘Jenny Ethiopian Experience Inc’ is only in business till October so I heartily recommend imposing on her if you get the chance (I’m proof that you don’t need to wait to be invited!)
Work at the school has pretty much finished so I’ve had chance to do some touristy things over the last few days. Yesterday I agreed to climb a local mountain with some of the Ethiopian teachers - which proved a humbling experience. What I hadn’t accounted for is that Lalibela itself is already 2000 odd feet above sea level so the air is pretty thin. My oxygen starved companions quite happily bounded the extra few thousand feet through the clouds to the summit – leaving me (after an overly enthusiastic start) to stagger behind fighting for breath. Excess consumption of caffeine and sugar is the only way I can explain how I finally wheezed my way to the top.
Other than that, some inexcusably bad (and wine-fuelled) attempts to replicate the local dancing (freakishly quick shoulder gyrations) and the accrual of classic lobster-esque sunburn bring things pretty much up to date after the last blog.
Looking back at the whole trip though - my endearing memory of Lalibela will be how extremely friendly the locals are to tourists. Everyone wants to talk to you! The only downside to these constant demands to exchange (very) basic pleasantries is that simply getting from A to B can be a lengthy process. I have tried seeking refuge in the company of fellow Westerners – though conversations have tended to revolve around the intricacies of the Ethiopian adoption process! I'm actually surprised that crowds of children dare follow me through the village given the frequency with which they seem to be whisked off out of the country.
Assuming Jenny hasn’t developed a drug resistant super virus (as threatened) to give me, I should be back in the UK on Wednesday – hot shower, beer and TV here we come...
Over and out
Paul
PS The ‘Jenny Ethiopian Experience Inc’ is only in business till October so I heartily recommend imposing on her if you get the chance (I’m proof that you don’t need to wait to be invited!)
Paul’s blog post!
(Jenny is recovering from a night of excesses on the local honey wine so I – her (more or less) uninvited guest for the last few days – have decided to put pen to paper while her head clears...)
I’ll confess that I’m not a great fan of flying at the best of times, however, I was more glad than normal when my plane to Addis landed on account that (courtesy of my sneezing co-passengers) it had been a swine flu party in all but name. Introducing swine flu to remotest Africa is infamy I can do without! Despite my relief, I was a little surprised by the rolling green fields I could see from my window. The decidedly nippy breeze that greeted me off the plane and unceremonious drenching a couple of hours later clinched it - packing clothes based on outdated Ethiopian stereotypes (think Band Aid 1984) was a big mistake!
Some rapid acclimatisation later – and I’m now in Lalibela and in receipt of Jenny’s impeccable hospitality. Her house was apparently once used by Princess Anne –though Royal privileges evidently do not extend to the full range of creature comforts. We have running water sporadically, electricity every other day, and that crucial combination of both running water and electricity (i.e. a hot shower) – once in a blue moon!
I’ve been helping out where I can at Jenny’s school in the (very) remote village of Erfa. The building work has been progressing quickly – in no small part due to half the village coming out to watch my efforts and (thankfully) to lend a hand. The villagers literally ran some skilled builders out of town not so long ago on account that they threatened local employment...I have tried not to think about what their warm welcome to me says about my own building prowess! Lack of expertise aside, the football and volleyball nets I brought along have gone up in double quick time, the library has been decorated, a toilet installed – now there’s just enough time to patch the leaky school roof and attempt some dry stone walling...
That brings everything pretty much up to date – I myself was not immune to the after effects of the honey wine, so I’m off for a lie down...
Over and out
Paul
I’ll confess that I’m not a great fan of flying at the best of times, however, I was more glad than normal when my plane to Addis landed on account that (courtesy of my sneezing co-passengers) it had been a swine flu party in all but name. Introducing swine flu to remotest Africa is infamy I can do without! Despite my relief, I was a little surprised by the rolling green fields I could see from my window. The decidedly nippy breeze that greeted me off the plane and unceremonious drenching a couple of hours later clinched it - packing clothes based on outdated Ethiopian stereotypes (think Band Aid 1984) was a big mistake!
Some rapid acclimatisation later – and I’m now in Lalibela and in receipt of Jenny’s impeccable hospitality. Her house was apparently once used by Princess Anne –though Royal privileges evidently do not extend to the full range of creature comforts. We have running water sporadically, electricity every other day, and that crucial combination of both running water and electricity (i.e. a hot shower) – once in a blue moon!
I’ve been helping out where I can at Jenny’s school in the (very) remote village of Erfa. The building work has been progressing quickly – in no small part due to half the village coming out to watch my efforts and (thankfully) to lend a hand. The villagers literally ran some skilled builders out of town not so long ago on account that they threatened local employment...I have tried not to think about what their warm welcome to me says about my own building prowess! Lack of expertise aside, the football and volleyball nets I brought along have gone up in double quick time, the library has been decorated, a toilet installed – now there’s just enough time to patch the leaky school roof and attempt some dry stone walling...
That brings everything pretty much up to date – I myself was not immune to the after effects of the honey wine, so I’m off for a lie down...
Over and out
Paul
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
4th August 2009
P, a friend I have done lots of volunteering with in the past, arrived in Lalibela yesterday morning, and I’ve already put him to work! He did get some chance to relax on Wednesday afternoon, but first thing Thursday morning he was in the car with us, on the way to summer school where he worked with A (and many members of the community who got involved) to put up football nets in our school compound. He’s actually going to be writing some entries for this blog for the next few weeks, giving his impressions of Lalibela and talking about the things he’s doing here.
Of course, that’s only if we have power. The power went off on Tuesday night and the next morning there was an announcement that the whole of the Amhara region was going to be without power for 15 days. 15 days! People started rationing the batteries on their mobile phones and think about who they know who has a generator. There were many theories about what had happened, the most popular one being that there was a fault around 150kms away which was affecting our suppply, but others said it was do with power surges and ‘crowding’ (I have no idea what that means). Of course, we all had to guess this because nobody official actually gave us any information.
However, as Aman and I optimistically suspected, the power came back around 3 days later, at about 6 in the evening. I think P was a bit bemused by all the cheering, shouting and clapping (espcially as it had woken him up from a nap!) but the celebration when the power comes back on is my favourite part of the power cuts. When the power was only out once a week (ahh, the good old days!) I used to know when it came back on, even if I’d gone to bed, because the whole of Lalibela would be filled with cheering when the lights flickered back on. Now the power doesn’t come back on til the early hours of the morning and everyone’s asleep, so there’s no cheering.
We have the power back, but now the water’s gone off. Hey ho, can’t have everything!
Of course, that’s only if we have power. The power went off on Tuesday night and the next morning there was an announcement that the whole of the Amhara region was going to be without power for 15 days. 15 days! People started rationing the batteries on their mobile phones and think about who they know who has a generator. There were many theories about what had happened, the most popular one being that there was a fault around 150kms away which was affecting our suppply, but others said it was do with power surges and ‘crowding’ (I have no idea what that means). Of course, we all had to guess this because nobody official actually gave us any information.
However, as Aman and I optimistically suspected, the power came back around 3 days later, at about 6 in the evening. I think P was a bit bemused by all the cheering, shouting and clapping (espcially as it had woken him up from a nap!) but the celebration when the power comes back on is my favourite part of the power cuts. When the power was only out once a week (ahh, the good old days!) I used to know when it came back on, even if I’d gone to bed, because the whole of Lalibela would be filled with cheering when the lights flickered back on. Now the power doesn’t come back on til the early hours of the morning and everyone’s asleep, so there’s no cheering.
We have the power back, but now the water’s gone off. Hey ho, can’t have everything!
Friday, 31 July 2009
25th July 2009
Today was the second day of Summer School and I’m knackered. However, it’s 10.00pm and I’m still not in bed. Instead, I am at the computer doing Google searches for pictures that will adequately illustrate words like ‘Happy’ ‘Sad’ ‘Angry’ ‘Shy’ etc (note to self: be careful when searching for a picture to illustrate the word ‘hot’!)
Summer school has been my baby – the first thing I’ve overseen from the very beginning – and it’s been on my mind in some way almost constantly for the last month. We’ve talked with students, teachers, parents and local government to make sure it’s as useful and effective as it can possible be, and it’s very different from day to day school here.
For a start, it’s being held on Saints Days (the one or two days a week that people are forbidden to do physical work – well, the people in rural areas, anyway) and weekends so that as many children as possible can attend (they won’t be working in the fields). We have employed two new teachers for the summer (to give our teachers a rest, and also to give the students the experience of being taught by someone new) and the students are having lessons in Amharic, English, and Maths to work on their core knowledge. I’m also working with the students for one class a day on things like communication skills, teamwork and confidence building.
We are in the new building (which did present a few problems in relation to water pouring in through the holes in the roof ...!) and the students don’t stay in one classroom for the whole session, they move around in a kind of carousel. It’s all about giving the students the oppotunity to develop responsibility and personal management skills (Do you know which class you’re supposed to be in? Do you have all the materials you need for this class, or did you leave them in the previous classroom?), and it also gives us as teachers a chance to decorate and arrange the room in subject and teaching specific ways.
Also, students are not being taught in their usual classes. Instead, they are grouped in ability levels and the focus is on helping the lower ability students reach the required standard, while also stretching those students who are clearly capable of great things!
We told all the students things would be a bit different at Summer School this year, and around 60 students registered. On the first day, around 35 children turned up, which was slightly disappointing but it meant smaller classes and more individual attention, so there were advantages. Then today we had 90 students! Of course, this meant frantically rearranging classes, checking lists to see which class they should be in, and making up new registers, but it was worth it.
I’m looking forward to seeing what the next few weeks will bring!
Summer school has been my baby – the first thing I’ve overseen from the very beginning – and it’s been on my mind in some way almost constantly for the last month. We’ve talked with students, teachers, parents and local government to make sure it’s as useful and effective as it can possible be, and it’s very different from day to day school here.
For a start, it’s being held on Saints Days (the one or two days a week that people are forbidden to do physical work – well, the people in rural areas, anyway) and weekends so that as many children as possible can attend (they won’t be working in the fields). We have employed two new teachers for the summer (to give our teachers a rest, and also to give the students the experience of being taught by someone new) and the students are having lessons in Amharic, English, and Maths to work on their core knowledge. I’m also working with the students for one class a day on things like communication skills, teamwork and confidence building.
We are in the new building (which did present a few problems in relation to water pouring in through the holes in the roof ...!) and the students don’t stay in one classroom for the whole session, they move around in a kind of carousel. It’s all about giving the students the oppotunity to develop responsibility and personal management skills (Do you know which class you’re supposed to be in? Do you have all the materials you need for this class, or did you leave them in the previous classroom?), and it also gives us as teachers a chance to decorate and arrange the room in subject and teaching specific ways.
Also, students are not being taught in their usual classes. Instead, they are grouped in ability levels and the focus is on helping the lower ability students reach the required standard, while also stretching those students who are clearly capable of great things!
We told all the students things would be a bit different at Summer School this year, and around 60 students registered. On the first day, around 35 children turned up, which was slightly disappointing but it meant smaller classes and more individual attention, so there were advantages. Then today we had 90 students! Of course, this meant frantically rearranging classes, checking lists to see which class they should be in, and making up new registers, but it was worth it.
I’m looking forward to seeing what the next few weeks will bring!
Friday, 24 July 2009
19th July
A Hanna’s Orphanage update – finally!
A while ago, I wrote a piece for the Telegraph Expat Newspaper about the orphanage. We had a lot of people get in touch offering to volunteer, which is unfortunately something we (as UK based Hanna's Orphanage) are not able to support right now, purely because we don’t have the infrastructure or the manpower – but we do pass on any volunteering offers directly to the orphanage, so they can reply themselves.
However, Peter Hansen, from Pacific Environmental Consulting, got in touch with us and personally donated £2,500. He also challenged his staff to match it, so we had various donations flood in via paypal (you can donate via paypal even if you don’t have a paypal account – just go to our website!) and when some staff visit Ethiopia later in the year, they will bring over some supplies needed by the orphanage.
The £2,500 will be used to refurbish the library and computer room – buying chairs and tables for studying, new books, mending computers etc. The library and study areas are really important not only to the orphanage children, but to those children in the local community who come and study there after school. This kind donation will make such a difference to all the children by giving them a quiet, well equipped place to study, and will be added to the money we have already given the orphanage for computer training, ensuring the orphanage staff also get to upgrade their skills.
One of our regular donors, C., also managed to get to the Orphans Home in Addis and handed over another donation, so we’ve done quite well these last two months! We’ve also held another music gig in London, raising some more money and encouraging some more companies and individuals to offer their services and get involved. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (If you want to receive information about the music gigs, please find us on Facebook, Myspace or Twitter, or send your email address to info@hannasorphanage.org.uk)
When we do get mentioned in the press or on the web, many people start their emails with ‘I’m sure you’ve been flooded with donations’, but unfortunately that’s rarely the case. That’s why any donation, however small, makes such a huge difference, and every person who reads about the Orphans Home is one more person we hope will pass the word on to someone else. So thank you.
A while ago, I wrote a piece for the Telegraph Expat Newspaper about the orphanage. We had a lot of people get in touch offering to volunteer, which is unfortunately something we (as UK based Hanna's Orphanage) are not able to support right now, purely because we don’t have the infrastructure or the manpower – but we do pass on any volunteering offers directly to the orphanage, so they can reply themselves.
However, Peter Hansen, from Pacific Environmental Consulting, got in touch with us and personally donated £2,500. He also challenged his staff to match it, so we had various donations flood in via paypal (you can donate via paypal even if you don’t have a paypal account – just go to our website!) and when some staff visit Ethiopia later in the year, they will bring over some supplies needed by the orphanage.
The £2,500 will be used to refurbish the library and computer room – buying chairs and tables for studying, new books, mending computers etc. The library and study areas are really important not only to the orphanage children, but to those children in the local community who come and study there after school. This kind donation will make such a difference to all the children by giving them a quiet, well equipped place to study, and will be added to the money we have already given the orphanage for computer training, ensuring the orphanage staff also get to upgrade their skills.
One of our regular donors, C., also managed to get to the Orphans Home in Addis and handed over another donation, so we’ve done quite well these last two months! We’ve also held another music gig in London, raising some more money and encouraging some more companies and individuals to offer their services and get involved. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (If you want to receive information about the music gigs, please find us on Facebook, Myspace or Twitter, or send your email address to info@hannasorphanage.org.uk)
When we do get mentioned in the press or on the web, many people start their emails with ‘I’m sure you’ve been flooded with donations’, but unfortunately that’s rarely the case. That’s why any donation, however small, makes such a huge difference, and every person who reads about the Orphans Home is one more person we hope will pass the word on to someone else. So thank you.
It's Bloody Cold!
My God, it’s cold. I’m not really a person who feels the cold, but good God! There have been nights just recently where I’ve had three blankets on my bed, yet I’ve still had to sleep in my jeans, jumpers and socks.
Of course, it doesn't help that 1) I basically live on top of a mountain and 2) a few days ago I lived up to my 'stupid faranji' name and went out to photograph the rain yesterday. I got some amazing photos (and some funny looks!) but my trainers got soaked and with the power off so often, and the weather in general, it’s a real bugger to get them dry. I have a hair dryer here somewhere, so I’m going to try and give them a blast with that.
Yes, I went out to take pictures of the rain. The rainy season has finally arrived with a vengeance in Lalibela and the storms we have been having are just beautiful – proper forked lightning, vibrating thunder, and black clouds that gather low over the mountains. But that’s nothing compared to the actual rain, which doesn’t so much fall from the sky as throw itself violently at the ground.
I started taking pictures because I wanted to be able to show people the intensity of the rain – and because I thought it was beautiful. I could honestly sit and watch the rain for hours. When it’s really heavy, the walkway outside our office door gets flooded, and it pours down the stone steps like a waterfall. It also hits my wooden house with such force that you can’t hear anything else and it starts to feel like you’re the only one left in the world.
(As a slight aside, my wooden house on the hill is an endless source of concern for me, particularly during storms. For instance, last week I sat listening to the thunder and watching the lightning illuminate the whole town and thought “Something could get hit by lightening tonight. What’s the highest point in Lalibela? Oh. That would be me.” You see my problem?)
This time, I took my camera, wrapped myself up in as many clothes as I could find, and ventured outside. I spent nearly half an hour taking video and pictures, unsuccessfully sheltering under an umbrella, and had a great time! It was only when I started shivering uncontrollably (wimp!) that I retreated back inside.
Sometimes, I’ve decided, it’s okay to get soaked to the skin and for your trainers to start smelling of wet dog. Like last week when I was watching A and H playing volleyball outside the office and, without warning, the sky started dumping litres of cold water on us. We continued playing, and then when the sun came out we saw the most amazing double rainbow any of us had ever seen. It arced over A’s house, over the mountains and down into a shimmering mass above the football field. We stood there for ages, grinning wildly, staring and pointing, and eventually taking photos of one another in front of the rainbow, as the rain soaked into our hair, our clothes, our shoes.
I know my Nan is sitting at home, shaking her head and muttering about pneumonia, but I don’t regret it for a minute.
Of course, it doesn't help that 1) I basically live on top of a mountain and 2) a few days ago I lived up to my 'stupid faranji' name and went out to photograph the rain yesterday. I got some amazing photos (and some funny looks!) but my trainers got soaked and with the power off so often, and the weather in general, it’s a real bugger to get them dry. I have a hair dryer here somewhere, so I’m going to try and give them a blast with that.
Yes, I went out to take pictures of the rain. The rainy season has finally arrived with a vengeance in Lalibela and the storms we have been having are just beautiful – proper forked lightning, vibrating thunder, and black clouds that gather low over the mountains. But that’s nothing compared to the actual rain, which doesn’t so much fall from the sky as throw itself violently at the ground.
I started taking pictures because I wanted to be able to show people the intensity of the rain – and because I thought it was beautiful. I could honestly sit and watch the rain for hours. When it’s really heavy, the walkway outside our office door gets flooded, and it pours down the stone steps like a waterfall. It also hits my wooden house with such force that you can’t hear anything else and it starts to feel like you’re the only one left in the world.
(As a slight aside, my wooden house on the hill is an endless source of concern for me, particularly during storms. For instance, last week I sat listening to the thunder and watching the lightning illuminate the whole town and thought “Something could get hit by lightening tonight. What’s the highest point in Lalibela? Oh. That would be me.” You see my problem?)
This time, I took my camera, wrapped myself up in as many clothes as I could find, and ventured outside. I spent nearly half an hour taking video and pictures, unsuccessfully sheltering under an umbrella, and had a great time! It was only when I started shivering uncontrollably (wimp!) that I retreated back inside.
Sometimes, I’ve decided, it’s okay to get soaked to the skin and for your trainers to start smelling of wet dog. Like last week when I was watching A and H playing volleyball outside the office and, without warning, the sky started dumping litres of cold water on us. We continued playing, and then when the sun came out we saw the most amazing double rainbow any of us had ever seen. It arced over A’s house, over the mountains and down into a shimmering mass above the football field. We stood there for ages, grinning wildly, staring and pointing, and eventually taking photos of one another in front of the rainbow, as the rain soaked into our hair, our clothes, our shoes.
I know my Nan is sitting at home, shaking her head and muttering about pneumonia, but I don’t regret it for a minute.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
14th July 2009
When I first started telling people I was going to move to Ethiopia, the majority of people said ‘be careful’ or gave me advice on keeping safe. I’ve been worried about a few things since being in Ethiopia – amoebic dysentery, wading through a river, and mice in my bed, to name a few – but I’ve only once felt in physical danger from anyone here. I was much more likely to be stabbed or attacked whilst in London than I am in Ethiopia.
But I can’t deny that the word ‘violence’ is one that is often at the forefront of my mind whilst living and working in Lalibela.
Since I’ve been here, there have been several very nasty conflicts around our school. In one, two members of the community came on to the compound and beat one of our workers badly enough for him to be in hospital and unable to work for several months. As far as we know, it was do with the fact the worker had come from Lalibela town (which meant he wasn’t really that popular already) and was having a relationship with a woman from the village, which – presumably – the men weren’t very happy about.
In another instance, some teachers from a government school relatively near our school attacked a member of the local community (I don’t know why). In retaliation, a number of the community came to our teachers’ house armed with various sticks and rocks – they had heard it was a teacher, and so just assumed it was our teachers. Luckily, – with devotion to the job I’m not sure it deserves – our guard grabbed weapons of his own, and told the mob that they’d have to go through him first (I’m paraphrasing – I’m sure the Amharic didn’t sound like a dodgy action film).
The ‘mob’ were eventually convinced that it wasn’t our teachers, and the other teachers had run away from the area (to escape arrest) so they were unhurt. The police are still waiting for the teachers to return so they can be taken to the court.
Another time, when we tried to bring some skilled craftsman (skills the school community doesn’t have) from the town to work on our school, the local men in the community decided they didn’t like these ‘outsiders’ and attacked them, en masse, with sticks and stones. Fighting even broke out in the community after our Sports Day a few weeks ago. Nothing to do with the Sports Day itself, thankfully, but the community was together, there was drinking and violence followed.
It happens in the town, too. One night about four months ago, I heard shouting and screaming in the town, and the next morning I discovered a man had been killed by two men he’d spent the evening drinking with. The men knew he was carrying a large amount of money, and beat him to death before robbing him.
I feel like this a more violent place than back home, and a quick look around could back that up: children are disciplined with a clip round the ear, crowds are controlled with a whack from a stick, domestic abuse is considered acceptable (not in all places, but in some places I’ve been it’s considered the only way to keep a marriage running smoothly). However, when I actually think about it rationally, that’s ridiculous. For every example, I could probably think of one back home, in London or even in my home town.
I also want to say that people here are much quicker to resort to violence without thinking or actually understanding the situation – but I remember the news reports of a paediatrician in the UK being hounded out of their office when idiots started rioting outside because someone confused ‘paediatrician’ with ‘paedophile’. So that’s not true, either.
Maybe it’s just that physical violence is more visible here, on a day to day basis? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s accepted as normal, an understandable response to any situation? The only way I can explain it is that, to me, there’s a feeling that life here is very fragile and violence is always just under the surface, quick to ignite.
Ethiopians I’ve spoken to point out that life here is more fragile, there is less security, less to rely on. They have other theories, too, involving a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality, and a mix of poverty and alcohol. Others point to a lack of education.
Ironically, the catalyst for writing this piece was not any of the situations mentioned above, or any fight at all. It was two things. The first was that the man who tried to steal my bag out of the office and who tried to punch H, the guard’s son, came and apologised to me. He said he was sick at that time (which we knew already) and didn’t know what he was doing, and apologised for scaring and hurting me. I thanked him, but what could I say? I’m sorry for calling the policeman who kicked you in the head and threw you in jail?
The other thing was that one of the street boys here died. He had a growth disorder which made him very short and very wide, and he also suffered from diabetes. He often had money because he was a proficient gambler, and would win against nearly anyone at cards, but he only ever wore a filthy tee shirt and trousers and would beg from any tourist around. The other street boys would pick on him regularly, but he could give as good as he got, and was often as obnoxious as one person could possibly be.
A while ago, he spent some time in hospital after being involved in a car crash, and when I came back from Bahir Dar, he’d disappeared again. A. told me that while I’d been away, the boy had bought a huge amount of food and sat and eaten it all at once. His blood sugar had gone haywire, and he had gone into one of the little shops, lay down, and fallen unconscious. The owner of the shop took him to hospital, and he died there soon after.
It’s not a fight, or an attack, or a beating. But it felt violent to me.
But I can’t deny that the word ‘violence’ is one that is often at the forefront of my mind whilst living and working in Lalibela.
Since I’ve been here, there have been several very nasty conflicts around our school. In one, two members of the community came on to the compound and beat one of our workers badly enough for him to be in hospital and unable to work for several months. As far as we know, it was do with the fact the worker had come from Lalibela town (which meant he wasn’t really that popular already) and was having a relationship with a woman from the village, which – presumably – the men weren’t very happy about.
In another instance, some teachers from a government school relatively near our school attacked a member of the local community (I don’t know why). In retaliation, a number of the community came to our teachers’ house armed with various sticks and rocks – they had heard it was a teacher, and so just assumed it was our teachers. Luckily, – with devotion to the job I’m not sure it deserves – our guard grabbed weapons of his own, and told the mob that they’d have to go through him first (I’m paraphrasing – I’m sure the Amharic didn’t sound like a dodgy action film).
The ‘mob’ were eventually convinced that it wasn’t our teachers, and the other teachers had run away from the area (to escape arrest) so they were unhurt. The police are still waiting for the teachers to return so they can be taken to the court.
Another time, when we tried to bring some skilled craftsman (skills the school community doesn’t have) from the town to work on our school, the local men in the community decided they didn’t like these ‘outsiders’ and attacked them, en masse, with sticks and stones. Fighting even broke out in the community after our Sports Day a few weeks ago. Nothing to do with the Sports Day itself, thankfully, but the community was together, there was drinking and violence followed.
It happens in the town, too. One night about four months ago, I heard shouting and screaming in the town, and the next morning I discovered a man had been killed by two men he’d spent the evening drinking with. The men knew he was carrying a large amount of money, and beat him to death before robbing him.
I feel like this a more violent place than back home, and a quick look around could back that up: children are disciplined with a clip round the ear, crowds are controlled with a whack from a stick, domestic abuse is considered acceptable (not in all places, but in some places I’ve been it’s considered the only way to keep a marriage running smoothly). However, when I actually think about it rationally, that’s ridiculous. For every example, I could probably think of one back home, in London or even in my home town.
I also want to say that people here are much quicker to resort to violence without thinking or actually understanding the situation – but I remember the news reports of a paediatrician in the UK being hounded out of their office when idiots started rioting outside because someone confused ‘paediatrician’ with ‘paedophile’. So that’s not true, either.
Maybe it’s just that physical violence is more visible here, on a day to day basis? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s accepted as normal, an understandable response to any situation? The only way I can explain it is that, to me, there’s a feeling that life here is very fragile and violence is always just under the surface, quick to ignite.
Ethiopians I’ve spoken to point out that life here is more fragile, there is less security, less to rely on. They have other theories, too, involving a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality, and a mix of poverty and alcohol. Others point to a lack of education.
Ironically, the catalyst for writing this piece was not any of the situations mentioned above, or any fight at all. It was two things. The first was that the man who tried to steal my bag out of the office and who tried to punch H, the guard’s son, came and apologised to me. He said he was sick at that time (which we knew already) and didn’t know what he was doing, and apologised for scaring and hurting me. I thanked him, but what could I say? I’m sorry for calling the policeman who kicked you in the head and threw you in jail?
The other thing was that one of the street boys here died. He had a growth disorder which made him very short and very wide, and he also suffered from diabetes. He often had money because he was a proficient gambler, and would win against nearly anyone at cards, but he only ever wore a filthy tee shirt and trousers and would beg from any tourist around. The other street boys would pick on him regularly, but he could give as good as he got, and was often as obnoxious as one person could possibly be.
A while ago, he spent some time in hospital after being involved in a car crash, and when I came back from Bahir Dar, he’d disappeared again. A. told me that while I’d been away, the boy had bought a huge amount of food and sat and eaten it all at once. His blood sugar had gone haywire, and he had gone into one of the little shops, lay down, and fallen unconscious. The owner of the shop took him to hospital, and he died there soon after.
It’s not a fight, or an attack, or a beating. But it felt violent to me.
Monday, 20 July 2009
14th July 2009
I spend a lot of my time in Lalibela feeling foolish, incapable, helpless, and just a general freak. Often, this has nothing to do with my work – despite the fact I still have momentary panics about the fact people refer to me as the Director of the school, and the fact I am responsible for the quality of the education of 200 children, I do actually have all the skills, knowledge and abilities to successfully do my job
No, normally my ‘I’m an idiot’ moments come in my personal life and in my interactions with people. Of course, I feel a freak most times I leave the house, particularly when I find groups of grown men and women staring at me as if I am a two headed monster, purely because I’m white, or when I have small children plucking the hair out of my arms in wonder (“yes, I am farange, yes I have body hair, yes, isn’t that hysterical?”)
It’s not always the inhabitants of Lalibela who look at me strangely, either. Today I went to have some lunch at a hotel (I’d been living on injera for days, and desperately needed some faranji food!), and found it full of UK students dressed in football shorts. Listening to them chat and plan their football match made my day, and I said hi and chatted for a little bit. I have long ago lost my self consciousness about starting conversations with strangers, and people generally welcome the interaction … but again, this time I felt a little like I had two heads, and I soon excused myself to go back to my tuna sandwich.
‘Incapable’ and ‘helpless’ comes when I am in a situation where my baby Amharic is just not up to it, or the conversation is moving too fast and the sheer embarrassment at not being able to adequately express myself just takes over. Like today, when the Area Supervisor came to the office to collect some reports.
The power had just come back on, and I was alone in the office when he arrived. I knew he wanted a report about the final exam results of our students, and I knew S, one of the teachers, had compiled some statistics. I knew this because A and I have an endless fight with most of local government about the fact that they always insist on giving letters, requests for information and directives to the teachers (primarily S) instead of to me and A. No matter how many times we tell them (and they have to pretty much drive past our office to get to our school!) they still insist on doing it.
S always does whatever he’s asked with grace and willingness , and that’s great. Except that S doesn’t always have the right information, or he doesn’t know we don’t necessarily want that information made public at that point, or there is a vital context he doesn’t know about.
This was the case with these statistics. The request had been given to S, who had done it, but the numbers were wrong . So it was sitting on my desk, waiting to be corrected. I knew this, but didn’t have Amharic to be able to explain this to the Supervisor. He has no English at all, which is why he was unable to explain to me that the numbers were wrong, and I was unable to reassure him that I knew that and would be able to give him the right information on Monday.
As I got more and more frustrated at the language barrier, and more and more flustered, I was even unable to communicate that he should come back later when A was there, something I can say in Amharic. He just kept waving the form in my face, talking in Amharic and pointing out mistakes.
One of my many character flaws is the fact that I cannot bear being blamed or thought responsible for something that wasn’t my fault. I realise there are many millions of reasons why this is a very bad character trait, but I don’t have the time to go into them now. I just point it out to emphasize how stupidly frustrated I was at the fact that I was unable to say to him ‘I’m sorry it’s wrong, but this is because S had the wrong information. If you’d given it to us in the first place, like we asked, it would be done!’.
And instead of being calm and not taking things personally, I get all het up and flustered, which does not help anybody – least of all me – and leaves me feeling and looking like a fool.
H, one of the guard’s sons, took pity on me and went off to get A who was finishing his coffee in a nearby café. He came back, we went through the report, made the corrections there and then, gave the info to the Supervisor and all was good. (A also told the Supervisor again to please stop asking the teachers for the information and instead speak to us, as we actually had the right statistics).
But I just felt so stupid and incompetent that I’d had to call A back to come and rescue me. Not being able to understand or explain myself in a simple situation is bad enough (I constantly feel bad that I’m working in a country where I am relying on everyone else to speak MY language), but then I feel like an idiot because I’m getting into a flap over something so stupid.
Such is life. I just have to live with the fact that the Area Supervisor has probably gone away thinking ‘that mad faranji girl, no wonder I don’t ask her for information …’
No, normally my ‘I’m an idiot’ moments come in my personal life and in my interactions with people. Of course, I feel a freak most times I leave the house, particularly when I find groups of grown men and women staring at me as if I am a two headed monster, purely because I’m white, or when I have small children plucking the hair out of my arms in wonder (“yes, I am farange, yes I have body hair, yes, isn’t that hysterical?”)
It’s not always the inhabitants of Lalibela who look at me strangely, either. Today I went to have some lunch at a hotel (I’d been living on injera for days, and desperately needed some faranji food!), and found it full of UK students dressed in football shorts. Listening to them chat and plan their football match made my day, and I said hi and chatted for a little bit. I have long ago lost my self consciousness about starting conversations with strangers, and people generally welcome the interaction … but again, this time I felt a little like I had two heads, and I soon excused myself to go back to my tuna sandwich.
‘Incapable’ and ‘helpless’ comes when I am in a situation where my baby Amharic is just not up to it, or the conversation is moving too fast and the sheer embarrassment at not being able to adequately express myself just takes over. Like today, when the Area Supervisor came to the office to collect some reports.
The power had just come back on, and I was alone in the office when he arrived. I knew he wanted a report about the final exam results of our students, and I knew S, one of the teachers, had compiled some statistics. I knew this because A and I have an endless fight with most of local government about the fact that they always insist on giving letters, requests for information and directives to the teachers (primarily S) instead of to me and A. No matter how many times we tell them (and they have to pretty much drive past our office to get to our school!) they still insist on doing it.
S always does whatever he’s asked with grace and willingness , and that’s great. Except that S doesn’t always have the right information, or he doesn’t know we don’t necessarily want that information made public at that point, or there is a vital context he doesn’t know about.
This was the case with these statistics. The request had been given to S, who had done it, but the numbers were wrong . So it was sitting on my desk, waiting to be corrected. I knew this, but didn’t have Amharic to be able to explain this to the Supervisor. He has no English at all, which is why he was unable to explain to me that the numbers were wrong, and I was unable to reassure him that I knew that and would be able to give him the right information on Monday.
As I got more and more frustrated at the language barrier, and more and more flustered, I was even unable to communicate that he should come back later when A was there, something I can say in Amharic. He just kept waving the form in my face, talking in Amharic and pointing out mistakes.
One of my many character flaws is the fact that I cannot bear being blamed or thought responsible for something that wasn’t my fault. I realise there are many millions of reasons why this is a very bad character trait, but I don’t have the time to go into them now. I just point it out to emphasize how stupidly frustrated I was at the fact that I was unable to say to him ‘I’m sorry it’s wrong, but this is because S had the wrong information. If you’d given it to us in the first place, like we asked, it would be done!’.
And instead of being calm and not taking things personally, I get all het up and flustered, which does not help anybody – least of all me – and leaves me feeling and looking like a fool.
H, one of the guard’s sons, took pity on me and went off to get A who was finishing his coffee in a nearby café. He came back, we went through the report, made the corrections there and then, gave the info to the Supervisor and all was good. (A also told the Supervisor again to please stop asking the teachers for the information and instead speak to us, as we actually had the right statistics).
But I just felt so stupid and incompetent that I’d had to call A back to come and rescue me. Not being able to understand or explain myself in a simple situation is bad enough (I constantly feel bad that I’m working in a country where I am relying on everyone else to speak MY language), but then I feel like an idiot because I’m getting into a flap over something so stupid.
Such is life. I just have to live with the fact that the Area Supervisor has probably gone away thinking ‘that mad faranji girl, no wonder I don’t ask her for information …’
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Feels Like Home
Just got back from Bahir Dar, the town which houses Lake Tana. Bahir Dar is around a day’s drive from Lalibela and is the regional capital, meaning it’s quite a cosmopolitan town – it has supermarkets, a cinema, a huge variety of bars and restaurants, all of that kind of thing. It also has Moenco, the place which services our car, which means we go there maybe every two months or so to give the car its health check.
I do quite enjoy going to Bahir Dar (it’s a change – and they have chocolate there!) but this time it wasn’t so fun. Power was the same as Lalibela (one day on, one day off), I didn’t have my laptop so I couldn’t do any work, and apart from the cinema, there wasn’t a lot of new things to do. I did do quite a bit of walking along the lake and around the town (Bahir is flat – bliss!), and I enjoyed the break, but I found myself missing Lalibela – the beautiful mountains, my house, my office, my own bed, my own cooking.
Lalibela felt like my home for the first time since I arrived (apart from those magical few weeks when I first got here and I was floating on the novelty of it all!). When we drove back, I jumped into the shower (there was water, albeit a dribble!), put on my comfy trousers and my kaftan thing, made a cup of tea, and padded around the house in a state of deep contentment.
Because I’d been away, I didn’t have very much food in the house to have for dinner – a bit of pasta, some packet spices, and some questionable potatoes. I didn’t want to have to go out as I’d spent the whole Bahir Dar trip eating out, and I couldn’t really afford to anyway, for the same reason.
Around 6, while I was still umming and ahhing, H, A’s girlfriend, came to the door with a steaming bowl of Dorro Wat (Ethiopian chicken curry) for me. Fabulous! Dinner sorted. Then Y, the lady who makes injera for me once a week, came with a large casserole dish filled with Kai Wat (meat stew), potatoes and injera that she’d made for me. There was way too much for just me, so I gave some to Ab and G, the guard’s son, and called a few of the street boys who we try to look after.
I was so touched by the fact they’d thought of me, and that I could pay forward their kindness. Neither H nor Y had to bring me food, and for the first time I really felt part of a community here, not just the stupid farange (which is how I normally feel and, some would say,act!)
Silly – or maybe not – how curry and potatoes can cause me to feel all that!
I do quite enjoy going to Bahir Dar (it’s a change – and they have chocolate there!) but this time it wasn’t so fun. Power was the same as Lalibela (one day on, one day off), I didn’t have my laptop so I couldn’t do any work, and apart from the cinema, there wasn’t a lot of new things to do. I did do quite a bit of walking along the lake and around the town (Bahir is flat – bliss!), and I enjoyed the break, but I found myself missing Lalibela – the beautiful mountains, my house, my office, my own bed, my own cooking.
Lalibela felt like my home for the first time since I arrived (apart from those magical few weeks when I first got here and I was floating on the novelty of it all!). When we drove back, I jumped into the shower (there was water, albeit a dribble!), put on my comfy trousers and my kaftan thing, made a cup of tea, and padded around the house in a state of deep contentment.
Because I’d been away, I didn’t have very much food in the house to have for dinner – a bit of pasta, some packet spices, and some questionable potatoes. I didn’t want to have to go out as I’d spent the whole Bahir Dar trip eating out, and I couldn’t really afford to anyway, for the same reason.
Around 6, while I was still umming and ahhing, H, A’s girlfriend, came to the door with a steaming bowl of Dorro Wat (Ethiopian chicken curry) for me. Fabulous! Dinner sorted. Then Y, the lady who makes injera for me once a week, came with a large casserole dish filled with Kai Wat (meat stew), potatoes and injera that she’d made for me. There was way too much for just me, so I gave some to Ab and G, the guard’s son, and called a few of the street boys who we try to look after.
I was so touched by the fact they’d thought of me, and that I could pay forward their kindness. Neither H nor Y had to bring me food, and for the first time I really felt part of a community here, not just the stupid farange (which is how I normally feel and, some would say,act!)
Silly – or maybe not – how curry and potatoes can cause me to feel all that!
Monday, 13 July 2009
Sports Day
Today was finally our sports day, and what a wonderful day! We’ve had a really busy few weeks, with interviews for new teachers, reports due, summer school planning, plus my normal training schedule with the teachers, and various admin and organisational issues which are constantly on everyone’s mind, so we were working flat out to get everything ready. But as we left for the school at 7am Sunday morning, we were as prepared as we could be.
(Of course, half way to the school, we suddenly realized we’d forgotten to bring the honey - a Lalibela specialty - the Parents Committee had requested. But in the scheme of things it wasn’t a disaster.)
When we got there, the school compound looked fantastic. The teachers had spent hours clearing the compound of stones etc, marking out a running track with white cooking ash, making a high jump stand out of wood, and putting up banners and balloons. The whole place looked amazing! Loads of students were already there, and their parents started to arrive about 8.30am. There were also political meetings going on in the area at the time (the local government office is next to our compound so they tend to come and sit under our trees or use our classrooms for meetings), so there were quite a few people milling around.
The parents committee had been working hard to make talla (local beer)and kollo (nuts and seeds) for the guests, and alternated manning the refreshment stall with doing crowd control for us!
Sports day started at around 9.30am (the plan was 8am – ha!) with a presentation from the music and dance club. Then we had
- wrestling, with some great skill, but also some seriously dodgy ‘grabbing’ tactics! I was concerned for the future child-creating ability of some of the boys
- The high jump – my God, these kids can jump! Everyone – farmers, government officials, parents, other children – were on the edge of their seat when M cleared the second highest level with ease. Sadly he didn’t quite manage the highest, but he won by a clear margin and there was a huge cheer anyway
- Gymanstics, using the mats kindly loaned to us by the Circus. There was walking on hands, backflips, handstands and the truly terrifying team activity where they built human pyramids. I couldn’t bring myself to watch – apparently I can watch the Circus do it, but not when our children are involved! – but it was apparently all very good and Am. and As. acted as ‘spotters’ to make sure nobody fell (they didn’t)
- Running – split into boys and girls, then again into ‘big ones’ and ‘little ones’, we had four separate races. They ran round a pre-arranged track either once or three times (depending on age groups). No sprints, please, we’re Ethiopian! This was another huge crowd pleaser, despite the few drops of rain
- Football: the big one! Our Project Team, the teachers and G, a local Government member, made up the Adults Team, and the majority of the bigger boys from both Grades made up the Students team. An exciting game, with everyone in proper football gear (including the referee, a volunteer from the local Farmer Training Centre) which was sent from the UK last year. Many new talents were discovered – for instance, who would have guessed that Ay., one of our female Grade 1 teachers, is such a demon in goal?! There were a few own goals scored, including one by As., a Grade 2 teacher! Understandably, he wasn’t very popular with his colleagues, although his students loved him! I didn’t count on S and Ab being so good – or so competitive! – so the adults team won easily, but it was a great way to finish the Sporting part of the day
After this we all moved over to ‘Tree’ which is our meeting/presentation place. It’s a huge old tree on the edge of the school compound, standing tall in the middle of a tumble down stone wall, and with a natural mud and stone ‘platform’ in the front of it. It’s an ideal place to hold meetings as the tree’s branches provide good shade, and the mud and stone provide a stage or a seating area. For this day, Tree had been decorated with balloons and a big fabric banner painted by S. Various shepherd boys had climbed into the branches to watch the action from a comfortable and privileged vantage point, and our Parents Day Helpers had put out lots of chairs for the audience.
The Parents Day was officially opened by the Head of the Kebele (like local council), who came out of a meeting to come and make a great speech about how the community need to look after their school, and how important it is for them to send their children to school regularly. There was more music and dancing from Asnko’s club, then we made the sports day presentations, giving tee shirts to 1st, 2nd and 3rd in each of the different disciplines, and baseball caps to the Adults Football team.
After those presentations, A and S gave a 10 minute Project Report, giving a summary of the last year of the school. One of the Parents Committee chose this particular moment to invite A. to come and have coffee with them … it was gently pointed out that he was actually a little busy, but it was fine for them to go ahead and have it without him.
After that it was a drama by the Child Rights Club which talked about the consequences of early marriage. I had no idea what was going on most of the time, but I could see the audience laughing and ‘oohing and ahhing’ at various points, so I’m guessing they got it!
I couldn’t get over how many people had come (many, many more than last year, apparently). There was everyone from mothers breast-feeding their toddlers, to farmers sipping talla, to government officials who should have been in a meeting, but were much more interested in watching what we were doing! A’s girlfriend and friend had come along, and our Guard from our compound in the town, Ato M., had also come. He caught sight of me taking pictures of the audience, and gave me a big grin, posing with his umbrella to shield him from the sun. I already have the picture up on my wall!
The final part of the day was to give out prizes for Semester Exam marks, participation in clubs, and just for general wonderfulness! We tried to reward as many people as possible with clothes, little bits we’ve had donated (colouring books etc) or even just with certificates, encouraging people who help, who get good marks, and who have made great progress by working hard
The 10 students who had volunteered to be ‘Parents Day Helpers’ for the whole day, lugging chairs and tables around, making sure everyone was in the right place at the right time, and generally helping Ab and I to ensure the day ran smoothly, all got Baseball caps and a huge round of applause. I also rewarded the teachers for their commitment and hard work, and gave them laminated photos we had taken of them all – the Grade 1 teachers were so happy I thought they were going to cry
When the students received their rewards, their parents often came out of the crowd and pressed 1 or 2 Birr into their children’s hands or onto their foreheads, as is the custom here. It was so lovely to see how proud they were, and that ended up making me a bit tearful
Lastly, Ab made a big announcement to everyone about summer school, and then it was all off to drink Talla and party into the night! Actually, we didn’t stay to party, we just went home as we were all knackered and I was running a full day training session the following day. Also, at least two of our party don’t drink alcohol anyway, and Ato M. was already a little bit tipsy!! However, most people stayed around the school and enjoyed a well earned celebration.
Everyone said the day was a huge success, including the Head Man of the Woreda, who is one of the local Government that I really like. He was amazed at how many people were there, and how well organised it was (apparently, I am much better at organising Sports Days than Music Gigs, which is why I leave the Hanna’s Gigs to the wonderful Maria!). He was also apparently surprised I was there and getting involved – I’m not sure if he thought I just sit at a desk all day?
It was honestly the most exhausting, most satisfying and most fun day I’ve spent since I’ve been here!
(Of course, half way to the school, we suddenly realized we’d forgotten to bring the honey - a Lalibela specialty - the Parents Committee had requested. But in the scheme of things it wasn’t a disaster.)
When we got there, the school compound looked fantastic. The teachers had spent hours clearing the compound of stones etc, marking out a running track with white cooking ash, making a high jump stand out of wood, and putting up banners and balloons. The whole place looked amazing! Loads of students were already there, and their parents started to arrive about 8.30am. There were also political meetings going on in the area at the time (the local government office is next to our compound so they tend to come and sit under our trees or use our classrooms for meetings), so there were quite a few people milling around.
The parents committee had been working hard to make talla (local beer)and kollo (nuts and seeds) for the guests, and alternated manning the refreshment stall with doing crowd control for us!
Sports day started at around 9.30am (the plan was 8am – ha!) with a presentation from the music and dance club. Then we had
- wrestling, with some great skill, but also some seriously dodgy ‘grabbing’ tactics! I was concerned for the future child-creating ability of some of the boys
- The high jump – my God, these kids can jump! Everyone – farmers, government officials, parents, other children – were on the edge of their seat when M cleared the second highest level with ease. Sadly he didn’t quite manage the highest, but he won by a clear margin and there was a huge cheer anyway
- Gymanstics, using the mats kindly loaned to us by the Circus. There was walking on hands, backflips, handstands and the truly terrifying team activity where they built human pyramids. I couldn’t bring myself to watch – apparently I can watch the Circus do it, but not when our children are involved! – but it was apparently all very good and Am. and As. acted as ‘spotters’ to make sure nobody fell (they didn’t)
- Running – split into boys and girls, then again into ‘big ones’ and ‘little ones’, we had four separate races. They ran round a pre-arranged track either once or three times (depending on age groups). No sprints, please, we’re Ethiopian! This was another huge crowd pleaser, despite the few drops of rain
- Football: the big one! Our Project Team, the teachers and G, a local Government member, made up the Adults Team, and the majority of the bigger boys from both Grades made up the Students team. An exciting game, with everyone in proper football gear (including the referee, a volunteer from the local Farmer Training Centre) which was sent from the UK last year. Many new talents were discovered – for instance, who would have guessed that Ay., one of our female Grade 1 teachers, is such a demon in goal?! There were a few own goals scored, including one by As., a Grade 2 teacher! Understandably, he wasn’t very popular with his colleagues, although his students loved him! I didn’t count on S and Ab being so good – or so competitive! – so the adults team won easily, but it was a great way to finish the Sporting part of the day
After this we all moved over to ‘Tree’ which is our meeting/presentation place. It’s a huge old tree on the edge of the school compound, standing tall in the middle of a tumble down stone wall, and with a natural mud and stone ‘platform’ in the front of it. It’s an ideal place to hold meetings as the tree’s branches provide good shade, and the mud and stone provide a stage or a seating area. For this day, Tree had been decorated with balloons and a big fabric banner painted by S. Various shepherd boys had climbed into the branches to watch the action from a comfortable and privileged vantage point, and our Parents Day Helpers had put out lots of chairs for the audience.
The Parents Day was officially opened by the Head of the Kebele (like local council), who came out of a meeting to come and make a great speech about how the community need to look after their school, and how important it is for them to send their children to school regularly. There was more music and dancing from Asnko’s club, then we made the sports day presentations, giving tee shirts to 1st, 2nd and 3rd in each of the different disciplines, and baseball caps to the Adults Football team.
After those presentations, A and S gave a 10 minute Project Report, giving a summary of the last year of the school. One of the Parents Committee chose this particular moment to invite A. to come and have coffee with them … it was gently pointed out that he was actually a little busy, but it was fine for them to go ahead and have it without him.
After that it was a drama by the Child Rights Club which talked about the consequences of early marriage. I had no idea what was going on most of the time, but I could see the audience laughing and ‘oohing and ahhing’ at various points, so I’m guessing they got it!
I couldn’t get over how many people had come (many, many more than last year, apparently). There was everyone from mothers breast-feeding their toddlers, to farmers sipping talla, to government officials who should have been in a meeting, but were much more interested in watching what we were doing! A’s girlfriend and friend had come along, and our Guard from our compound in the town, Ato M., had also come. He caught sight of me taking pictures of the audience, and gave me a big grin, posing with his umbrella to shield him from the sun. I already have the picture up on my wall!
The final part of the day was to give out prizes for Semester Exam marks, participation in clubs, and just for general wonderfulness! We tried to reward as many people as possible with clothes, little bits we’ve had donated (colouring books etc) or even just with certificates, encouraging people who help, who get good marks, and who have made great progress by working hard
The 10 students who had volunteered to be ‘Parents Day Helpers’ for the whole day, lugging chairs and tables around, making sure everyone was in the right place at the right time, and generally helping Ab and I to ensure the day ran smoothly, all got Baseball caps and a huge round of applause. I also rewarded the teachers for their commitment and hard work, and gave them laminated photos we had taken of them all – the Grade 1 teachers were so happy I thought they were going to cry
When the students received their rewards, their parents often came out of the crowd and pressed 1 or 2 Birr into their children’s hands or onto their foreheads, as is the custom here. It was so lovely to see how proud they were, and that ended up making me a bit tearful
Lastly, Ab made a big announcement to everyone about summer school, and then it was all off to drink Talla and party into the night! Actually, we didn’t stay to party, we just went home as we were all knackered and I was running a full day training session the following day. Also, at least two of our party don’t drink alcohol anyway, and Ato M. was already a little bit tipsy!! However, most people stayed around the school and enjoyed a well earned celebration.
Everyone said the day was a huge success, including the Head Man of the Woreda, who is one of the local Government that I really like. He was amazed at how many people were there, and how well organised it was (apparently, I am much better at organising Sports Days than Music Gigs, which is why I leave the Hanna’s Gigs to the wonderful Maria!). He was also apparently surprised I was there and getting involved – I’m not sure if he thought I just sit at a desk all day?
It was honestly the most exhausting, most satisfying and most fun day I’ve spent since I’ve been here!
27th June 2009
When I first decided to come to Ethiopia, I wanted to come and work with the orphanage, oversee the spending of the money we’d (you’d!) raised, and learn about how we could help even more. There was another motivation though.
I wanted to live somewhere where all those things I relied on to entertain and amuse me in the UK were not available. There were times in London when I would realise I was sitting on the train reading a book and listening to music, and flitting between eating a chocolate bar, typing a text message, and looking out of the window. It was ridiculous - I was incapable of concentrating on one thing at a time, let alone sitting and do nothing. I would panic if I left the house without a book just in case there was a split second where I might have nothing to do and I would want something to fill the space.
Not that this made me unhappy, it’s how I like to live (still, secretly, the idea of concentrating on one thing at a time bores me.). But there was a little voice in my head that wondered what I was hiding from – and what would happen if I took away all the outside stimulation I relied on.
Moving to Addis Ababa was definitely the first step. Life was at a much slower pace, I learnt to sit in a café and just drink a cup of tea; not read a book, write my diary, listen to music and drink a cup of tea. I didn’t text people 300 times a day as my phone didn’t receive texts, and I had very few people who wanted to text me in Ethiopia anyway! However, I still had books, music, TV, internet, and my computer.
Moving to Lalibela was the next step.
I say all this only to explain that I actually wanted to be in a place where internet and TV weren’t on tap, where I didn’t have an unlimited choice of food and books. And apparently, Lalibela has listened to my musings and decided to grant my request – with bells on
Current situation: one morning and evening of power every other day, no internet access, running water at a bare minimum (sometimes there isn’t even any water at the outside water point), phone network 4 hours on, 4 hours off (ish) and running out of books (although thanks to T who sent a box of 6 a couple of weeks ago!! 6!). I eat shiro (kind of like a chick pea sauce) with injera pretty much every day, with some potatoes or pasta (prepared with a variety of different spices) thrown in for interest. Occasionally I find some meat or some rice. I would kill for some proper chicken fajitas and nachos with cheese … mmmmmmm.
And then last week, in the midst of all this, my computer got sick. Despite several attempts at resuscitation, it was pronounced officially dead on Saturday 27th June at 7.34pm. It was very old and had had a good life, but what on earth was I going to do without my trusty laptop to keep me busy?
Luckily, in a rare moment of common sense, I had backed up most stuff on A’s computer about 3 weeks ago, so I don’t need to worry about losing all of my work and writing (although I have lost some). However, A and I now have to share the desktop computer, and considering we have such limited hours of power, that’s easier said than done – and it involves me doing a lot of late night typing!
However, considering my personality, I’m dealing with this all very well. I’m slightly ashamed to say that if this had happened even a month ago, there probably would have been tears and tantrums and stamping of feet (I may have wanted those things taken away, in theory, but I can’t say I was particularly happy about the reality). Of course, it does help that summer school planning can be done with a pen and paper, so I always have something to do, even without power.
But right now, I’m not even moaning when the electricity goes off without warning in the middle of the evening, and I’ve only complained a little bit about the fact we’ve had no internet access for a week and a half (and that’s mostly because I am trying to do things for Hanna’s Orphanage) . I’m not quite at the stage where I can sit and do nothing without fidgeting, but I no longer need to do 27 things at once. I also appreciate things a lot more: when the power came back on in time for me to watch the Vietnam Special of Top Gear on Saturday, I was ecstatic, and when A and I discovered six English books in the library in Lalibela (a library! I know!) I nearly died of happiness. Mondays are currently my favourite day as I normally have a chicken from the weekend market and can make something approximating a chicken curry, and the lady in the post office thinks it’s very funny that I get so excited when I get letters and magazines in the post.
Having said that, I don’t think I want to tempt fate and ask for anything more to disappear from my life. I am currently treating my MP3 player like gold dust, just in case that breaks too …
I wanted to live somewhere where all those things I relied on to entertain and amuse me in the UK were not available. There were times in London when I would realise I was sitting on the train reading a book and listening to music, and flitting between eating a chocolate bar, typing a text message, and looking out of the window. It was ridiculous - I was incapable of concentrating on one thing at a time, let alone sitting and do nothing. I would panic if I left the house without a book just in case there was a split second where I might have nothing to do and I would want something to fill the space.
Not that this made me unhappy, it’s how I like to live (still, secretly, the idea of concentrating on one thing at a time bores me.). But there was a little voice in my head that wondered what I was hiding from – and what would happen if I took away all the outside stimulation I relied on.
Moving to Addis Ababa was definitely the first step. Life was at a much slower pace, I learnt to sit in a café and just drink a cup of tea; not read a book, write my diary, listen to music and drink a cup of tea. I didn’t text people 300 times a day as my phone didn’t receive texts, and I had very few people who wanted to text me in Ethiopia anyway! However, I still had books, music, TV, internet, and my computer.
Moving to Lalibela was the next step.
I say all this only to explain that I actually wanted to be in a place where internet and TV weren’t on tap, where I didn’t have an unlimited choice of food and books. And apparently, Lalibela has listened to my musings and decided to grant my request – with bells on
Current situation: one morning and evening of power every other day, no internet access, running water at a bare minimum (sometimes there isn’t even any water at the outside water point), phone network 4 hours on, 4 hours off (ish) and running out of books (although thanks to T who sent a box of 6 a couple of weeks ago!! 6!). I eat shiro (kind of like a chick pea sauce) with injera pretty much every day, with some potatoes or pasta (prepared with a variety of different spices) thrown in for interest. Occasionally I find some meat or some rice. I would kill for some proper chicken fajitas and nachos with cheese … mmmmmmm.
And then last week, in the midst of all this, my computer got sick. Despite several attempts at resuscitation, it was pronounced officially dead on Saturday 27th June at 7.34pm. It was very old and had had a good life, but what on earth was I going to do without my trusty laptop to keep me busy?
Luckily, in a rare moment of common sense, I had backed up most stuff on A’s computer about 3 weeks ago, so I don’t need to worry about losing all of my work and writing (although I have lost some). However, A and I now have to share the desktop computer, and considering we have such limited hours of power, that’s easier said than done – and it involves me doing a lot of late night typing!
However, considering my personality, I’m dealing with this all very well. I’m slightly ashamed to say that if this had happened even a month ago, there probably would have been tears and tantrums and stamping of feet (I may have wanted those things taken away, in theory, but I can’t say I was particularly happy about the reality). Of course, it does help that summer school planning can be done with a pen and paper, so I always have something to do, even without power.
But right now, I’m not even moaning when the electricity goes off without warning in the middle of the evening, and I’ve only complained a little bit about the fact we’ve had no internet access for a week and a half (and that’s mostly because I am trying to do things for Hanna’s Orphanage) . I’m not quite at the stage where I can sit and do nothing without fidgeting, but I no longer need to do 27 things at once. I also appreciate things a lot more: when the power came back on in time for me to watch the Vietnam Special of Top Gear on Saturday, I was ecstatic, and when A and I discovered six English books in the library in Lalibela (a library! I know!) I nearly died of happiness. Mondays are currently my favourite day as I normally have a chicken from the weekend market and can make something approximating a chicken curry, and the lady in the post office thinks it’s very funny that I get so excited when I get letters and magazines in the post.
Having said that, I don’t think I want to tempt fate and ask for anything more to disappear from my life. I am currently treating my MP3 player like gold dust, just in case that breaks too …
Friday, 10 July 2009
30th June 2009
I had so much fun today!
We have our Sports Day on Sunday, and one of the sports the children are competing in is Gymnastics. So we invited the Lalibela Circus to come and work with the students, to encourage them to practice and to give them some tips. Yes, you read that right. The Lalibela Circus. Nearly every big town in Lalibela has a circus, apparently, and there are Regional and National competitions, too. Of course, before I moved here, if anyone had asked me whether Circus was big in Ethiopia, I would have laughed, but it’s really popular.
I first realised this in Addis when walking along Bole Road last October. Suddenly, I could hear music, which is not unusual as many cars drive round promoting films or conferences at an ear splitting volume, but then I thought I could see two people walking along the road on stilts. I had clearly had too much sun and was hallucinating. But no, as they came closer, I realised that there actually were two people walking along the road on stilts – followed by people doing forward rolls and backflips and leaps and all kinds of things. They were all followed by a big car with two booming speakers on the back.
Lalibela Circus doesn’t quite have all that (I haven’t seen them walk on stilts, for a start), but it has a band of around 10 incredibly talented people aged from around 13 years old, I would guess, to mid twenties. They do all kinds of flips and jumps and acrobatics, but they also do drama and sketches to teach people about HIV and Aids, and other traditional practices considered harmful (such as child marriage).
They also create human pyramids! When they came a few months ago and did a display for the children of our school and the nearest government school, and the local community, there were many grown men with their hands over their eyes as one girl climbed up three people to do a handstand at the top of the pyramid!
This time they did do a little display, but mostly they worked with our children. We were slightly late arriving (as usual) so it was a bit frantic trying to set up, and then we noticed that loads of other people – adults and children – were walking over to our school and settling down to watch the show. A and I soon realised the government school were holding their Parents Day celebration, and everyone had decided what we were doing was a lot more interesting so they wandered over. Oops! We tried to dissuade people, but gave up eventually and just stuck Ab on crowd control duties.
The Circus set up their mats in the compound and Grade 2 were bought forward to have a go. I was proud that quite a few students had a go, even if they could only manage a front roll, and we saw some students do some really exciting acrobatics. Some children were very shy and content to watch, no matter how much we tried to encourage them. I guess it’s a little intimidating to have your whole community watching you as you attempt to do something you’ve never even seen before.
This kind of activity can also be especially problematic for the girls, who are wearing dresses and risk all kinds of modesty mishaps while hanging upside down. Some put trousers on underneath their dresses, which offers them some protection. We do have some athletic kit for them to wear for Sports Day though – just normal trousers and tops donated from a school in Scotland, but it means they can take a full part in the gymnastics without worrying.
Of course, as so often happens, when Grade 1 were allowed to have their go, we had to fight to keep them back! The two Grade 1 teachers were stationed either sides of the mats to give students a quick swish of a stick as they got too far forward in their excitement. (yes, yes, we shall talk about the whole stick swishing stuff at some point …)
Not all students could back up their enthusiasm with the skills required and there were some very funny moments as children skidded off the mats or got themselves in a tangle of arms and legs. One particular boy was struggling with a backwards roll so one of the boys from the circus lifted his legs to help him over. Except the student decided that this was his cue to take his hands off of the floor, leaving the Circus guy supporting his whole weight by his ankles!
Nobody was hurt, though, and I must confess to spending a few moments during the sessions thinking ‘hmmm – can you imagine the risk assessment I would have done for this back home …!’
It was very clear that the children had gained skills from the Circus lesson, but the really great thing was that as we drove away, circus mats and instructors piled into the back of the car, the students who had finished their lessons for the day were still around, practicing forward rolls and handstands and all sorts. That was the aim of the game!
We have our Sports Day on Sunday, and one of the sports the children are competing in is Gymnastics. So we invited the Lalibela Circus to come and work with the students, to encourage them to practice and to give them some tips. Yes, you read that right. The Lalibela Circus. Nearly every big town in Lalibela has a circus, apparently, and there are Regional and National competitions, too. Of course, before I moved here, if anyone had asked me whether Circus was big in Ethiopia, I would have laughed, but it’s really popular.
I first realised this in Addis when walking along Bole Road last October. Suddenly, I could hear music, which is not unusual as many cars drive round promoting films or conferences at an ear splitting volume, but then I thought I could see two people walking along the road on stilts. I had clearly had too much sun and was hallucinating. But no, as they came closer, I realised that there actually were two people walking along the road on stilts – followed by people doing forward rolls and backflips and leaps and all kinds of things. They were all followed by a big car with two booming speakers on the back.
Lalibela Circus doesn’t quite have all that (I haven’t seen them walk on stilts, for a start), but it has a band of around 10 incredibly talented people aged from around 13 years old, I would guess, to mid twenties. They do all kinds of flips and jumps and acrobatics, but they also do drama and sketches to teach people about HIV and Aids, and other traditional practices considered harmful (such as child marriage).
They also create human pyramids! When they came a few months ago and did a display for the children of our school and the nearest government school, and the local community, there were many grown men with their hands over their eyes as one girl climbed up three people to do a handstand at the top of the pyramid!
This time they did do a little display, but mostly they worked with our children. We were slightly late arriving (as usual) so it was a bit frantic trying to set up, and then we noticed that loads of other people – adults and children – were walking over to our school and settling down to watch the show. A and I soon realised the government school were holding their Parents Day celebration, and everyone had decided what we were doing was a lot more interesting so they wandered over. Oops! We tried to dissuade people, but gave up eventually and just stuck Ab on crowd control duties.
The Circus set up their mats in the compound and Grade 2 were bought forward to have a go. I was proud that quite a few students had a go, even if they could only manage a front roll, and we saw some students do some really exciting acrobatics. Some children were very shy and content to watch, no matter how much we tried to encourage them. I guess it’s a little intimidating to have your whole community watching you as you attempt to do something you’ve never even seen before.
This kind of activity can also be especially problematic for the girls, who are wearing dresses and risk all kinds of modesty mishaps while hanging upside down. Some put trousers on underneath their dresses, which offers them some protection. We do have some athletic kit for them to wear for Sports Day though – just normal trousers and tops donated from a school in Scotland, but it means they can take a full part in the gymnastics without worrying.
Of course, as so often happens, when Grade 1 were allowed to have their go, we had to fight to keep them back! The two Grade 1 teachers were stationed either sides of the mats to give students a quick swish of a stick as they got too far forward in their excitement. (yes, yes, we shall talk about the whole stick swishing stuff at some point …)
Not all students could back up their enthusiasm with the skills required and there were some very funny moments as children skidded off the mats or got themselves in a tangle of arms and legs. One particular boy was struggling with a backwards roll so one of the boys from the circus lifted his legs to help him over. Except the student decided that this was his cue to take his hands off of the floor, leaving the Circus guy supporting his whole weight by his ankles!
Nobody was hurt, though, and I must confess to spending a few moments during the sessions thinking ‘hmmm – can you imagine the risk assessment I would have done for this back home …!’
It was very clear that the children had gained skills from the Circus lesson, but the really great thing was that as we drove away, circus mats and instructors piled into the back of the car, the students who had finished their lessons for the day were still around, practicing forward rolls and handstands and all sorts. That was the aim of the game!
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.
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