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 ...
Saturday, 29 August 2009
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!
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