Hanna’s Orphanage Fundraising Gig – TOMORROW!

Slightly late notice, sorry!

If you’re in London, please come along to our second live music fundraising night of 2009 on 29th April, 7.30pm – 11.30pm. We have the customary raffle, a silent auction and of course top notch live music from some truly amazing acts plus some lovely little treats along the way too.

Playing for your ears’ pleasure are:

Lee MacDougall - lee is simply amazing. He causes quite a stir wherever he plays. Have a little listen at www.myspace.com/leemacdougall

Rhys Morgan - Rhys is signed to Sony/BMG and is about to embark on tour supporting the group 'Ben's Brother'. A truly amazing performer and a hit with the laydeez! www.myspace.com/rhysmorganmusic

Lotte Mullan - A meltingly gorgeous singer / songwriter who combines folk, blues and pop to create something truly sensational. Catch her at www.myspace.com/lottemullan

Jamie Abbott - a pop artist with songs that resonate. With influences ranging from Dizzee through to Lamontagne he has a unique sound which is complimented by a distinctive vocal. He'll have that foot tapping away! www.myspace.com/jamieabbottmusic

Molly and Charlie - a gorgeous blend of pop, dance meets acoustic folk kinda vibe. Truly unique. Fans of chart topping dance music will recognise Molly as the voice behind several chart topping, floor filling tracks such as 'Raindrops'. Check them out at www.myspace.com/mollyandcharlie

We are looking for a great turnout, so please tell friends and colleagues. Spread the word! The more the merrier and the more we can raise for a worthy cause.

Music starts at 7:30, but get there early for a bite to eat and take advantage of happy hour (e.g. all cocktails are £3.50 between 5-7 and Wednesdays carry very special offers on all wine!)

It's all in aid of the Hanna's Orphanage charity and all profits will go towards supporting our work in Ethiopia and the educational work we do with young people in the UK. If you want to know more, visit our facebook group, website (www.hannasorphanage.org.uk) or myspace (www.myspace.com/hannasorphanage) or feel free to get in touch (maria@blueskyonline.co.uk).

Venue:
Abbey Bar
30-33 Minories
EC3N 1DD

Nearest tubes are Tower Bridge and Aldgate

For more details see www.abbey-bar.co.uk

Changes

As you will have noticed, I have ‘spruced up’ the blog slightly (got to take advantage of the UK internet connection). There are a few photos, a new title, a different layout, and links to the charities I work with. I have also gone through and made a few changes – obscured names where I’d forgotten to, and reworded some things where I’d been careless.

Until about a month ago, I was under the impression that only my Dad and a few other family members read this blog and so wrote it accordingly. Rather naïve, possibly. As it turns out, quite a few people read it, and it’s about to be circulated a bit more widely, so I want to make it suitable for everyone to read.

I also want to distance the blog slightly from Hanna’s Orphanage. The content won’t change at all, but the original plan was for the blog to be just about the charity – and it’s quite clear things have deviated slightly! I share a lot of my own personal ‘journey’ on here, and it’s not right if my (not always correct) views appear to be the official views of the charity.

So there we are.

25th April, 2009

Slightly unexpectedly, I’m back in the UK for a few weeks. A family member is ill, and I quickly decided to fly home to be with my family (not that I’m much use, but it makes me feel better) arriving last bank holiday Monday. All being well, I will fly back to Ethiopia next week.

Being home in the UK is always an interesting experience, primarily for the opportunity to do all the things I miss while I’m away - eat chicken fajitas, watch Have I Got News For You, see my friends, walk around without people pointing and laughing, you know the kind of thing.

I’m mostly staying with my mum, but I’ve just spent a week in London which was simultaneously thrilling and confusing. I spent the entire journey there staring out of the window with a lunatic grin on my face, despite being lumbered with a replacement bus service (the joy of weekend UK travel!) and a backpack, and once actually in London I was transfixed by all the different types of people (I know I’ve only been away 5 months but it’s honestly overwhelming!)

I had a lunch and dinner date with a different friend every day, and luckily some of them offered me beds/and or sofas for the night, complete with breakfast the next day. So in between meals I was able to wander around London and do all those things that I’ve been dreaming about during power cuts in Lalibela …

Except, at first, I couldn’t really remember what it was I wanted to do. Ridiculous, as just a month ago I wanted to be in London so badly it felt as if I could transport myself there if I continued to think about it hard enough. I would wake up imagining I was walking to the station near my old house, or going to the gym with a friend, and it would be a physical pain. But by the time I’d made the decision to come home, I’d developed a kind of resigned contentment and was scared that if I went home I’d disturb it and the feeling would disappear as quickly as it had come.

I soon got into it, though. In London I sat in parks and people watched, whizzed around on the tube, browsed for hours in shops and bookstores, and ate all kinds of wonderful food (there goes the ‘becoming size 8’ plan!). It was sooooo good to spend time with my friends, too – although there is a slight danger that some of them may disown me due to the change in some of my opinions since I left … but that’s another blog post!



So now I am trying to summon the energy to be excited about going back next week. Not that I don’t want to go back. In a lot of ways I do – there’s a lot of work stuff I still need (and want) to do, and I don’t think I’ve got everything I wanted to out of the experience - but I’m having trouble finding that excitement and inspiration I had before about living in Africa.

I then did what I always do when I’m looking to shift my mindset – read! I’ve been looking through books and articles on Africa, travelling and expat life, trying to ignite that spark again and I’ve made some progress. But the thing I’ve found really frustrating is that there is so little written by single women living an expat life in Africa (I have found some in Aisa). The majority of women’s blogs I come across are written by women who are living there with their husbands or partners, some working but the majority accompanying their husbands on their journey. Obviously there is nothing wrong with this, and I enjoy reading the blogs, but it isn’t the same when you’re on your own. You don’t have a built in support system which a spouse provides you with, for a start – and I’m sure if you’re on your own you don’t have to deal with many irritating things you may have to deal with when travelling with someone else.

Whatever, it’s different. And I really want to find writing by a woman who is doing something similar to me, also on her own. I think it would be really helpful to ‘jump start’ me!

But hey ho! I shall just try to concentrate on spending my time watching as much ‘Mock the Week’ as humanly possible, gathering books and haribo, and spending time with the people I love.

Officially an Abesha (kind of!)

I am now officially an Ethiopian resident – albeit on a temporary basis – and have the fabulous laminated green ID card in my wallet to prove it!

I have spent an exciting few days going from government office to government office (with a few trips to internet cafes in between to print things out), and at one point I actually started to give various departments marks out of 10 for efficiency (Ministry of Immigration and Ministry of Agriculture scored highest, if you’re interested).

Having a residence permit is important as it allows me to keep working in Ethiopia, but it’s also going to save the NGO I work for some money as I will now pay ‘Abesha price’ not ‘faranji price’. For example, there are two different prices for things like internal flights or hotel rooms; one for visitors to the country, and one for people who live in the country. Sometimes it feels a bit like it’s ‘you’re white, pay more!’ (and sometimes it’s implemented as such) but if you think about it, it makes sense – otherwise prices would either be so cheap tourists and visitors would be paying practically nothing, or even the best paid Ethiopian would be unable to afford their own country. As I am now resident in the country (and getting an ‘allowance’ in birr) I am allowed to pay Abesha price. Hurrah!

Anyway, back to the residence permit.

When my boss came to Ethiopia, she got the information and forms from DPPC (the department who gives the NGO permission to have me!) and gave them the documents they needed (including copies of my qualifications etc). In theory, all I needed to do was complete the form and hand it in to the Ministry of Labour and Social Affairs … but nothing could ever be that easy!

First I completed the form wrong. When it said ‘work experience’ I assumed it meant work experience before I got to Ethiopia … but it turns out it actually means work experience since I’ve been in Ethiopia. Then I discover that the letters collected from the Ministry of Agriculture (or of Rural Development, or something) weren’t authorized properly.

The whole ‘important documents protocol’ is something I’ve had to get used to here. When sending letters or important papers (or applying for residence permits!) signing an application is not really important. In fact, I get funny looks of the ‘faranji’s are weird’ variety when I submit a report with my signature on in Lalibela! What’s important to ‘authenticate’ your letter is having the letter number on there (how many letters has your office sent out before this letter?) and the letter being stamped with the organisation’s official rubber stamp.

So to solve the problems this time, I went to the Agriculture office, who sent me into one of the most terrifyingly efficient and organised offices I’ve ever seen, where they stamped and scribbled on my letters (I have no idea what it says as it’s in Amharic – it could be saying ‘this woman is a pain in the arse, do not allow her to stay’ for all I know). This pleased the woman when I went back to the Ministry of Labour and I thought I’d cracked it – only to be told I wasn’t authorised to submit the application on my own behalf. The discussion went something like this:

Important Office Lady: Do you have permission to collect this documentation?
Me: Well, yes, I’m applying for the permit myself
IOL: But you need permission from your organisation to do that
Me: They’ve given me the documents, and the country representative has signed the form like it says …
IOL: You need a letter from the Project Manager to give you permission to apply
Me: (desperately) but it doesn’t say that! My Project Manager’s in Lalibela and I’m in Addis!
IOL: You need a stamped letter.
Me: Well, I have the organisation’s stamp, it’s my stamp! So if I go and write a letter giving me permission to apply for this, and stamp it, that will be okay?
IOL: Yes, that’s fine.

So I did. They accepted it and I breathed a sign of relief. Then the lady (who, I suspect, was trying not to burst into tears every time I reappeared in the office, waving yet another piece of paper …) said ‘the permit will be ready in a week’.

What? A week! Noooo! (yet another thing I should have forseen …) I begged and pleaded and explained that I was returning to Lalibela at the end of the week and needed to become a signatory on the account before going back, so I couldn’t wait a week … and God bless the lovely office lady, she said she would get it done for the next day. Possibly only so she wouldn’t have to deal with me any more.

Then came my next surprise – the little green book I was picking up? Not my residence permit at all! Instead it’s my work permit, which I had to take the Immigration Office (along with another form) and apply again for my actual residence permit. Argh!

But it’s all good. The Ministry of Immigration aspect of it was much easier than I anticipated (and they didn’t send me off to get more pictures or anything, as they had a photo booth at each one of the desk – a very good idea!), and at 5pm on my last day in Addis I finally went to pick up my residence permit.

I am obviously very pleased I have the permit as it makes travelling around much cheaper, and it means I can be a signatory on the Addis Ababa bank account, which will help the NGO … but I have to admit, the most satisfying moment was when a café tried to charge me ‘faranji price’ for a juice and A. argued, slapping the residence permit onto the table as proof of my ‘Abesha-ness’! Does that make me a bad person? Probably!

Eat, Eat, Eat!

I was going to start this blog by saying that I don’t want to make generalisations about Ethiopia … but hey, I’ve been making enough sweeping generalisations just recently, that another few (positive) ones won’t hurt, so here we go ..

Ethiopians are possibly the most hospitable people I have ever met. Ever. I remember coming home from Lalibela (the first time I visited) with the overriding impression of generosity - you give someone a tip and they give half of it to the beggar sitting next to them, while people who clearly have nothing want to invite you in for tea and ply you with piles of food. Every celebration or visit is full of offers of food or drink, and I know this isn’t just because I am a ‘faranji’, it’s a default way of treating guests of any nationality.

As someone who is notoriously uncomfortable in groups and actually not that sociable, I am a rubbish hostess and sometimes find it a bit overwhelming to be the focus of so much hospitality. It can also sometimes conflict with my need for schedules – I swear, if we stopped every time someone asked us in for a drink or some dinner, it would take us more than 4 hours to do the 1 hour drive from the school!



The hospitality of the Ethiopian people is one of the reasons I am drinking so much in Lalibela, too. Home made beer called ‘talla’ is very popular here, and it’s kind of rude to say no when it’s offered – even if you’re a lightweight who doesn’t normally drink, and it’s 10.30am and you haven’t even had your breakfast. Last week there was a celebration in the local area where the school is based, and one of the students brought me two litres of talla. I accepted it with thanks, but if I’d actually drunk it, Abiy and Aman would have had to carry me up to my house!

However, the hospitality and generosity shown is one of the things I love about Ethiopia, and one of the things I think makes it such a joy to spend time in the country. Personally, I experience it every time I come to Addis and I stay with E and M, where they treat me like the most valued guest on earth.

The hospitality gene does seems to increase after childbirth - since having her baby, E has developed an obsession with feeding people. I come to her house and the conversation goes something like this:

E: Have some lunch
J: Oh, it’s okay, thank you, I had lunch already
E: Just a little bit …
J: Honestly, I’m fine, I’m full
E: Well maybe have a banana
J: Okay, I’ll have a banana
E: And maybe a mango?
J: No, no, honestly, I’ll just have a banana …

She’s turning into a feeder!

But in general, my hostess and hospitality skills are a disgrace compared to those of the people I live and work with – I never have nice food to offer my guests, and I would prefer all visitors arrive after CSI on a Monday evening. I’m hoping I might gain the ‘hospitality gene’ through osmosis …

Thoughts and Prayers

Two of the children from the orphanage are very sick, and although they are on the mend, they are still in hospital. Please send your prayers, or good thoughts, or best wishes (or whatever you do!) to the children, and to everyone else at the orphanage who are very worried about them.

Also, one of our trustees has also just had some serious surgery and, although she is on the mend, she could do with some good wishes and prayers, too.

Thank you!

2nd April 2009

This weekend, a nice Ethiopian living in America emailed me to say that the blog I’d written about the mentally ill man who came into the office has been cut and pasted and put on an Ethiopian website which is considered political (I don’t know, I can’t log on to it from Ethiopia – which suggests it may be!).

They didn’t ask my permission or tell me it was being used (although as it’s on the internet already, and I don’t have anything saying ‘do not use this without permission’ presumably I don’t have a leg to stand on?!). If they had asked, I would have refused. Not because I have a problem with anyone commenting on my writing (people are free to comment here) but because I work for a politically neutral NGO, and my writing being put on a website such as this may compromise them and their work (although the NGO Directors have seen the original blog). And I don’t want that.

This blog is entirely my own experience and thoughts; mistakes, banalities and opinions included (I write about dead rats in my wardrobe for heavens sake!), and that particular blog was written directly after the experience, when I was still shocked and upset. It didn’t occur to me that someone may cut and paste the blog into their own websites! If I’d known, I would have toned down the sweeping generalisations and given it some context and background!

Ah well. And there was I thinking only my dad read this blog!

Thank you

To …

Mum and David – for doing everything from answering emails, sending tax forms, booking flights, buying ink cartridges, sending new underwear (and chocolate!) and calling often

Anthony – for posting blogs

Danyele – for posting photos

Patrick – for doing whizzy things with websites at two minutes notice

Nicola – for sending magazines and newspapers, and the offer of her sofa

Lisa – for sending parcels of wonderful goodies!

Paul – for always being at the end of an email

Maria – for inspiration and listening

Ute – for letters and emails … and for ‘getting it’

The Hanna’s Orphanage team – for doing all the hard work back home

The Tavern – for company at any time of the day or night!

Amie – for coming and visiting me in Lalibela!!

Karis and Nicole – for answering SOS distress calls.

Sirgut – for the support and understanding

Dad – for religiously reading my blog!

The New Statesman and Telegraph weekly for keeping me sane … and the Ethiopian postal service for delivering them.

And everyone else for the love and support they send!


I don’t always remember to thank people enough, so here it is. I am eternally grateful!

Farewell to an old friend

I didn’t really know what to write for this blog. Things are trundling along here – one day follows another, one power cut follows another, one meal of pasta follows another. Nothing new.

And then I remembered the rat.

For the week before I went to Addis, I was putting down the rat poison mum had sent me and attempting to rid my house of George, the rat, and Rita, Sue and Bob, the mice. It seemed to work, as the number of mice I saw scuttling around was greatly reduced, and no mouse came to help me cook. Hurrah!

However, even though he was eating the poison I was putting down, I could still hear George gnawing away in the top of my wardrobe at night. The noise continued to keep me awake, and although I called ‘die, damn you’ every time I heard him, he still didn’t (die, that is). But then I went to Addis for a week and a half and didn’t think anything more of it.

When I came back, I put all my stuff in the living room and, with A. and Ab., did a quick sniff-check around the house. Everywhere was okay except my bedroom – oh my goodness, the smell! It was a terrible, terrible smell … even worse than my old socks which, as my family will tell you, is fairly bad.

Ab. conveniently had somewhere to be, which left A. and I to brave the stink and look for the dead rat which we guessed had expired somewhere in my wardrobe.

Luckily the clothes in my wardrobe were free of rat corpse, but as A. started to take out all of the stuff (which belongs to someone else) from the top cupboard, the smell got stronger and eventually, a furry mass was indeed discovered. There was a lot of girly shrieking from both me and A., particularly when we saw that the rat was crawling with maggots!

So we did what we always do in a crisis – call H., the guard’s son. He came and scooped the rat up in a piece of paper and took it to its final resting place; the rubbish heap behind A.’s house. Meanwhile, A. and I started to scoop maggots out of the wardrobe with a dustpan and brush.

We were a pretty picture – standing on chairs, rubber gloves on, trying not to drop wriggling maggots on the floor, and carrying them outside at arms length.

But the good news is, George is finally dead, and I don’t have any more mice in my house! Woo hoo!