26th February, 2009

I appear to be suffering from some kind of ‘culture shock’ (a phrase which I hate) that has caused in me a pathological hatred of all things Ethiopian. This is stupid, obviously, and I’m sure it will pass, but it has caused my recent blogs to be a little bit harsh.

Despite feeling a lot of frustration - and sometimes needing a good cry - I’m not depressed, and I’m lucky because no matter how hopeless I’m feeling, working with the children makes me feel much better!

The Water Project is going well, with the children getting more and more confident. My friend, A., also visited Lalibela and stayed for a week, running dance workshops for each class (with me, A. and the teachers joining in!). We based the lesson on The Lion King, so we learnt about all the different kinds of animals in Africa (and the English words for them!) before moving on to talking about the different movements those animals make, and eventually making it into a dance. It was fantastic fun, but the most exciting thing for me was that every single child got involved – even the shyest girls who were, the week before, hiding their face with their arms every time anyone spoke to them, threw themselves into being crocodiles and elephants!



It was also the most exhausting 4 hours I have spent for a while! Although I have done a few mountain hikes since I’ve been here, and walking up the steps to my house is knackering, I tend to go everywhere by car and so I don’t get the amount of exercise I used to in Addis. I do have my yoga mat with me but, well, it’s still in the suitcase it arrived in Lalibela in, which tells you how much yoga I’ve done since I’ve been here!

So spending 4 hours dancing to ‘I Just Can’t Wait to be King’ with groups of excited children knocked us all out. We’d brought water with us – an essential thing in the desert-like surroundings of the school – but it wasn’t nearly enough and by the time the car pulled into the town, A and I were nearly climbing out of the windows in our desperation to get water. However, after a fresh mango juice and a couple of gallons of mineral water we were rehydrated.

The children all fell in love with A – as did most of the project staff, to be honest! – and it’s always good for them to meet other faranjis and see them as nothing to be scared of. All of the sessions we do with the students will be turned into proper lesson plans, resources and schemes of work, so that the teacher can use them when they want and the input is sustainable. I will also run the workshops in Addis, at the orphanage.

I do love people coming to visit – 1, because generally they bring me chocolate and English newspapers, and 2, because I get to show them one of the most beautiful places in the world, but it is great for both the school and the orphanage when people can come and work with the children. You don’t have to be a teacher to spend time playing football or doing art work with them, and it is such a valuable experience for them.

I’m looking for people to run summer schools in Lalibela (and at the orphanage) – let me know if you can get yourself to Ethiopia!

An incident in the office

This afternoon I was catching up on some work in the office, when I was distracted by a man dressed in white rushing past the window, closely followed by H, the guard's son. I thought he was coming into the office, but when he didn't, I didn't think anything of it and simply carried on with my work.

A few minutes later he did come into the office - a tall Ethiopian man wrapped in a gabi, wearing a hat, and carrying a 'cow tail' stick which people swish around to get rid of the flies. He came over, shook my hand and said a lot of things to me in Amharic, while H sniggered behind him. I'm used to random people coming up andspeaking to me as if I am fluent in Amharic, so I went along with it, shaking his hand, saying hello etc. A totally normal part of my day!

Then he grabbed me and tried to pull me out of my chair, which is not so normal. I managed to rip my tee shirt out of his grip, and I pushed him away, more shocked that anything, while H tried to guide him out of the office, telling me he's got mental health problems (I believe the phrase was 'he's crazy'). Okay, I can deal with mental health stuff, no problem. So when he refused to leave the office and instead sat down at the desk opposite me, chattering all the while, I just got on with my work and left H to deal with him.

Then he started to grab things - my bottle of water, my roll of tissue paper, and then my bag …

This is when it started getting a little silly. H was holding my bag, stopping him from running off with it, and the man had stuck the bottle of water between his legs so we couldn't get it (well, we could, but this man has thighs like a vice!). Hafte had stopped him running off with my bag, but the man was now refusing to leave the office, just sitting at the desk causing as much havoc as he could considering H was pinning him to the chair.

Now, this was a bit of an inconvenience for me, in the sense that I wanted to get on with my work and the mad man sitting opposite me wasn't helping, but I didn't fear for my life or my things. He'd hurt me a bit when he grabbed me, but I guessed H would stop him from disappearing with all my stuff, and other than that he was just annoying. I managed to move my laptop out of his reach and take my passport, money and phone out of my bag, though, just in case.

However, he didn't leave (with or without my bag) and he started to get more and more aggressive, throwing a punch at H and screaming about 'faranjis' - I didn't ask for translation. So I went to get some help from my project manager's house, thinking a few men would be able to lift him out of the office. Unfortunately, only H, his girlfriend was there. She went to get the police, while a merry band of people gathered around my office - the female teachers from our school, who had just come back from market, Y, the woman who bakes injera for me, and a little girl who simply appeared from nowhere.

A little while later, as H continued to hold this man and stop him from stealing my things, one of A's friends arrived, closely followed by a policeman. Okay, I thought, they'll get him out. I mean, all they have to do is lift him out of the office - there are two of them and one of him, right?

I moved out of the way, while the policeman asked the man to move out of the office. He obviously didn't particularly want to go, and a few minutes later I saw him thrown out of the office by the two of them. I thought it was over, then the policeman smacked him round the head and pushed him so hard he fell to the floor. In a split second before it happened, I saw what was coming - the policeman kicked the man, hard, in the head. Then he did it again. I cried out - the man was out of the office, he was lying on the floor, he wasn't doing anything. Stop it!

Nobody else thought this was a problem. They all stood there and watched as the policeman kicked and beat the man who was lying on the floor, posing no threat to anyone. I tried to stop the policeman myself, but A's friend pulled me back, telling me to leave it. The policeman took two seconds to tell me 'it's no problem', then pulled the man to his feet and started to push him down the stone stairs.

What could I do? I didn't want the man hurt, I just wanted him out of the office and to stop trying to hurt me and H, or trying to take my stuff. The man is sick, not bad. Instead, I stood by, helpless (apart from the noise I made), while he was beaten and then dragged off to a prison, where he is likely to be beaten again.

As everyone stood around, totally unconcerned, telling me 'it's normal in Ethiopia' and 'it's no problem', I shut myself in my office and sobbed.

It's not seeing the physical violence that upsets me; I've seen dead children lying in the road in Addis, and I was there as a man drowned in front of his devastated daughter in Blackpool. What really affects me is the casual cruelty that Ethiopians are capable of inflicting on anyone who doesn't conform.

It's not the first time I've seen this here. I now refuse to go to John Café in Lalibela (which is a considerable sacrifice considering the size of this town!) after I saw the way the owner treated another mentally disabled man. My loud protests stopped her from hitting him in this instance, but she humiliated and treated him worse than a dog,and I refuse to give my money to someone who does that.

Objectively, these are isolated instances where two people have been cruel and violent towards someone they see is worth less than them. It's not unusual in any country. The thing that distresses me, though, is how 'mainstream' this attitude is. This afternoon, educated people who would tell you that they believe everyone is equal, and human rights apply to all, stood around and watched as a policeman kicked a man in the head simply for being mentally ill - and more than that, thought it was the right thing to do. In the café, a crowd of people which included the town's bank manager and members of local government, sat around and laughed at the spectacle. All of these people call themselves committed Christians. Didn't Jesus say 'what you do to the least of my people, you do to me'?

'He's not normal' is often offered by way of explanation. Anyone who is different is not considered a human being and not worthy of the protection everyone else expects. To be honest, it's not usual here to argue against a policeman - I can get away with it, because they know I'm protected by my British Passport in ways the average Ethiopian is not. But even after the policeman had gone, my tears were seen as something bewildering. He's not normal, you see, the policeman did what anyone would have done.

I know I am tired, shocked and hormonal, but it is afternoons like these that make me want to pack up and head home. Why on earth should I have given up all my home comforts, my friends, my life and my job to come and help people who treat others this way?

2nd February 2009

I started working with the students at the school today, with Session 1 of the Water Project. The Water Project is an educational project in partnership with Groundwork, a sustainability charity based in the UK. Children in the UK and children at my school in Lalibela will learn about water, and make art work to represent the role it plays in their life. They will then share their ideas and artwork, including exchanging photos they have taken of water and their school and home.

Session 1 for my children was learning about England. These children genuinely have no concept of a world outside their village – only one child out of the 100 I worked with knew that Addis Ababa was their capital city – so they have no idea what England is like. Consequently there were many answers that made both me and Ab, my colleague who was translating, laugh out loud. Here are a few:

Me: Are people who live in England Abesha or Faranji?
Student: Faranji
Me: And what colour is Faranji's skin?
Student: K'ai (red)
Me: (thinking about my sunburnt skin!) Yes, yes, I know my skin is red, but normally what colour is Faranji's skin …

Me: What do people eat in England?
Girl: Um … biscuits … manaman, manaman, manaman (whatever, whatever, whatever)

Me: What's in this picture?
Student: A tree
Jenny: Exactly. And what's on the tree? (pointing to the snow covering the branches)
Student: Clouds!

Me: (pointing to Ethiopia and England on the map) So we know Ethiopia is here and England is here – if I want to go home, how can I get there? Can I walk?
Boy: If you're fit, you can.

Bless their hearts!

These children that I'm working with are very, very different to those at the orphanage, not just in situation but in attitude and knowledge. Both groups of children are – by our standards anyway – poor, but the children in the orphanage are much more wordly wise. Partly, I guess, because of the things they've been through (which I wouldn't wish on any child) and because they are living in a fairly diverse capital city. They live in close proximity with a lot of other children from different races, religions and family situations, so they learn to accept everybody. The children at the school live in the tiny community they were born in, have barely any contact without anyone outside their village, and certainly never mix with anyone from a different race or religion in any meaningful way. This is shown in the bewildered looks on their face when I ask them where Ethiopia is on a map, in the girls who hide their face when anyone asks them a question, or in the confusion when they try to understand that there are children in England, and that they go to school just like them.

I'm hoping the Water Project will be the beginning of the children realising there is a whole world out there that they can learn about – and ultimately, be part of.

Orphanage update and staffing changes

Blogging has been difficult just recently as the internet and electricity have been temperamental (as usual ….) and I've been busy – my boss was here, then I was in Bahir Dar for work, now my friend A is here. However, I want to update you on the orphanage and the changes that have been happening there.

I went to Addis in January and was really pleased to see Hanna back from America, where she had been speaking to the American charity that supports them (the American equivalent of us, really!). I have said before, Hanna is the driving force behind the orphanage, and when she is away, something changes. We are looking for ways for us to work with this, and to ensure the sustainability of the orphanage, and our vision for this involves training staff and working on building capacity. So Hanna and I have discussed how we can help – starting with paying for computer training and project management/planning training for staff, if wanted. I know it can seem like the money we raise could be better spent directly on clothes or toys for the children, but training staff ensures that the orphanage continues to be a safe, happy and effective place to bring up children, and that the money we raise is used effectively, not wasted through bad management and planning.

Some staff changes have already taken place. S, the project officer, who was in charge of communications with donors and project planning, has left the orphanage and D has taken his place. As much as S and I drove one another crazy, I respect his devotion to the orphanage and will miss him being there.

One of the men from one of the branches of the orphanage has also left – and in slightly less benign circumstances. This man had actually become a particular worry of mine. He encouraged the children to pray for hours, and the Religious Education he provided seemed incredibly intense, something that even my very Religious Ethiopian friends found slightly worrying. He also made a point of telling me that unless I was religious, I should not be helping the children – praying to God is the most important thing. I pointed out that although praying is important, God works through actions and people (pray to catch the bus, then run as fast as you can!). Anyway, my religious beliefs need not concern him – all he needs to know is I love these children and will move mountains to help them.

Before I managed to speak to Hanna about any of this, she discovered that this man was in a dubious relationship with one of the staff at the same orphanage site. Hanna dealt with this with great dignity and professionalism, and he has now been asked to leave. The children there have all been spoken to, and luckily he never mistreated them or harmed them in any way. At the moment, he has not been replaced –instead, staff from the Wollo Seffer branch take it in turns to visit, making sure someone is there every day.

So there have been many staff changes, and I think the focus this year (for us at Hanna's Orphanage) will be on helping to strengthen the administration and organisational systems, to make sure the orphanage works in the best way it can!

28th January 2009

I've been in Lalibela for over 2 months now, and I think I've finally started to get to grips with my job. My boss has been in Ethiopia for a while, which has been an exhausting but invigorating experience. As I've said before, things work really slowly in Ethiopia and Lalibela is an extreme example of this – there are a lot of dubious working practices, inefficiency and truly inadequate infrastructure, not to mention the fact that no department speaks to one another, so you often receive contradictory orders or instructions. I'm lucky I have a very good project manager to work with, but I still sometimes feel like it must be me who's mad, as nobody else seems to think this way of working is a problem. Having S, my boss, spend time with us reminded me that actually the things I'm proposing make perfect sense, and I'm not the only one in the world who wants to cry every time someone announces a 2 day meeting (yes, two days. People sleep and the meeting still continues!).

Although S is Ethiopian, she has lived in England for a long while, and is very definitely faranji on the inside! When she's around, things get done – government departments print letters in 10 minutes that would normally take days, buildings spring up fully formed and obstacles melt away. It's a refreshing – if slightly startling – experience!

One of the really satisfying things was talking with her about the way forward with the teachers and the school. The teachers are lovely, and I was pleasantly surprised with standard of teaching compared to a lot I have seen in Addis Ababa. However, the teaching is almost entirely of the 'chalk and talk' variety, and there is very little student participation – and although I am not a traditional teacher, student participation is definitely something I can help with. So I am effectively the 'alternative education and student voice' consultant, something which I am enjoying very much.

Next week I start working with both the teachers and the students. I have no idea what kind of reception I'm going to get, but I'm looking forward to finding out!

More of my musing...

All things considered, I've always thought Ethiopia ranks reasonably well for the position of women in society. I don't have all the statistics or information, and I would never presume to speak for Ethiopian women so this is my own personal opinion, but women can work, they don't have to cover themselves and at first glance, they are treated very respectfully.

But look a bit closer and the traditional roles and restrictions are still there. For instance, men don't cook in Ethiopia – and it's definitely not for lack of skill! I know many Ethiopian men in the UK who are fabulous cooks, much better than me! Admittedly, most middle class Ethiopians here have housemaids to prepare food, but still it is all down to the women – the men come home expecting their meals on the table.

As a white women, I escape a lot of the expectations of an Ethiopian woman (although obviously I have my own hassles such as small children following me down the road calling 'you, you, you, you, you' incessantly). However, it was only recently that an Ethiopian explained that the reason I often wait aaaaggggees for someone to serve me in a café is not that Ethiopian service is slow (far from it, in fact!) but that as a woman on my own, I must be waiting for a man, so I can't possibly be ready to order yet!

When you drive around, you do notice that the cafés and restaurants are full of men, even in the middle of the morning. When I mentioned this to D, my cab driver, he said that it was changing slowly, but that still most women stayed in the house. The house is for women and the outside is for men!

He's right, though, things are changing – albeit slowly. There are lots of twenty-something Ethiopians who have studied or lived in Europe or America, and have returned with different ideas about women and their place in the world. Previously, an Ethiopian women would never have gone to a bar unless she was a prostitute, and although bars are still full of prostitutes or 'bar girls', you now see groups of women going to clubs or having a drink together which is apparently something you did not see as recently as 8 years ago.

I still get jealous of male travellers, though, who can easily do things that are difficult for me, purely because they are men. For instance, when N was here, D took us both to have some lunch at a tiny café on Ethio-China Road. It was barely a café, just a set of benches in an alley way, but the food was fantastic and very cheap. However, the place was full of Ethiopian men who spent their lunch staring at us, and both N and I acknowledged that we would not have felt comfortable coming in here on our own. A man, though, probably would have had no problem.

It was a similar situation when Ute and I went to Harlem Jazz one Saturday night. Although it's a jazz club, on a Saturday night it has a fantastic reggae band from Shashmene playing. I really wanted to dance, so we decided we would go for a drink, then head to the club.

The minute we arrived, we were surrounded by Ethiopian men. We weren't the only faranji's in there, but we were the only women there on our own, and we were considered easy pickings. Okay, so it's not unlike going out in London (well, for some people … I don't generally have to bat away male attention!) but at least in the UK men generally take no for an answer, and they certainly don't attempt to grope you before even speaking to you! One man came and sat with us, and I had to move his hand from my upper thigh THREE TIMES before I finally had to tell him to go away.

Going on the dance floor had the same problem. There was a white guy in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by Ethiopians, really getting into the music and properly dancing. That's what I wanted to do, but the minute I moved from the edge of the room, I was pushing away groping hands and fighting to be allowed to dance on my own, without some Ethiopian man grinding behind me. It was exhausting.

The men I spoke to saw no problem with their actions – we were girls having a drink in a club on our own (never mind we were only drinking coke!), which meant we were 'available', not to mention the fact that we were white so therefore they consider us much easier to get than Ethiopian women. This situation is exacerbated by the fact that many faranji's do indeed come to Ethiopia and have a fling with a local – some men even leaving local girls with a baby as a leaving present …

I wasn't dressed provocatively (I had jeans on!), I wasn't drinking alcohol and I wasn't trying to pick anybody up. I simply wanted to dance and enjoy the music. However, my evening was completely different to the experience of the white guy dancing in the middle of the floor, purely because of my gender. And that makes me frustrated!