For one of the ice breaker sessions during mid-year seminar all of the fellows were asked to teach everyone our favorite word or phrase from the country where we work. I taught the phrase “denanesh” which means “are you fine” and plays a rather funny role in both Amharic and English conversations here as they usually go something like this:
Person 1: “Hello. How are you?”
Person 2: “I’m fine. Are you fine?”
Person 1: “Yes I’m fine. Are fine?”
Person 2: “Yes, I’m fine.”
Sometimes in the middle of a conversation the whole sequence repeats again, and I try very hard not to laugh when it does. I realized how Ethiopian I am becoming after I asked a ferenji friend the other day “are you fine?”
In the airport after mid-year seminar, I was reading a New York Times interview with a cyclist who rode through 32 countries in one trip. When asked what his biggest regret of the trip was, he said that in Ethiopia children threw rocks at him and harassed him, and so he just rode right through the country without stopping to explore. That the harassment of foreigners in Ethiopia made it into a New York Times article got me thinking about what could be done to put an end to this problem. As I imagined a potential conversation with community members about how to resolve the harassment issue, I realized that the community would likely respond with another phrase that I hear over and over again here: “It is too difficult” or “It is not possible.” I suddenly thought to myself, “how many times have I asked someone here how to resolve a problem (students not caring about school, discrimination against foreigners) and heard the reply ‘it is too difficult’?”
Yet, it often seems like the majority of the problems discussed are not impossible to solve and that the majority of people I discuss them with don’t seem to care enough to offer a solution. Where does all the apathy come from? Sure, it is easy to call people apathetic when I have been plopped down here for a year, with housing, transportation and medical care taken care of, and was lucky enough to make more than $75 a month (the average teacher’s salary here) in my last job so I have money in the bank. However, so many people I interact with on a daily basis complain about the conditions around them, but when asked what can be done, just reply “it is too difficult.” Some people blame the difficulty on the government, an area that I really do not know enough about to comment on. Even if I did, for my own safety it would be best not to comment anyway. Despite government policy on large issues like the curriculum at schools, there are small issues that can be resolved on a local level, like the fact that many students at my school cheat on their exams and parents often excuse the misbehavior of children instead of using discipline. Yet, when faced with these issues, the common response is just to say “it is too difficult” and continue to complain about the problem rather than do something.
In the midst of these thoughts I was reminded of a conversation that I had with a nurse I work with in the pediatric malnutrition ward at Gondar University Hospital. Standing outside the ward one day, he pointed out the unpaved and bumpy roads between the wards and explained how problematic it is to transport patients between wards. As he continued to tell me how the condition of the hospital made it difficult to work there, while offering no potential solutions, I wondered to myself why he was telling me this. Just for the sake of empathy or pity? Or is it because I am a white American, and as such am assumed to be rich or work for an organization with unlimited funds, and will offer to swoop in and fix the problems for him? In many areas, Ethiopia needs assistance, both in terms of knowledge and funds, from outside organizations in order to bring people’s standard of living on par with basic human rights. Yet are some of these organizations*, particularly those that impose solutions without community buy-in or fail to implement a sustainable project, creating a culture of apathy? When an American NGO decides that a community needs a well, but doesn’t train anyone in the community on upkeep and repair, when the well breaks will the local people feel empowered to deal with the issue on their own, or will they proclaim the issue “too difficult” and leave the well to rust away in a state of dis-use, hoping that sooner or later another aid organization will fix the well or build another? Likely the latter, and not unjustly so. Although people here struggle so much in their day-to-day lives, so that solving problems beyond the walls of their own homes can seem impossible, are aid organizations creating a culture of reliance on outside help rather than teaching people how to solve problems on their own?
When discussing problems in Ethiopia with Ethiopians, there is another common response that I, along with the rest of the foreigners living here, am more than tired of hearing: “it is our culture.” Last week as I was leaving school, a student shouted to me “you, come sex with me.” The incident was the last in a series of frustrating events that had taken place at the school that week, and so when I entered the principal’s office to tell him of the student’s sexual demand, I promptly burst into tears. Unfortunately for my dignity, I had been let into the office in the middle of a meeting of all the department heads. A few (male) teachers rushed out to my aid, and while they did try to find the student, who had run off as I approached him, they also told me that I was over-reacting. “All the students misbehave,” they told me. ”Yes, but this wasn’t just misbehaving and would they have said such a thing to an Ethiopian teacher?” I asked. Well no, but I shouldn’t be upset. “But I was upset,” I countered over and over again. “It is our culture,” they replied, or as one teacher said “Maggie, this is Africa, you can’t be upset.” As I gave a ride home to one the teachers, who I consider a friend, he once again said to me “this is just a cultural difference, you shouldn’t be upset.” All of the sudden I snapped: “I am sick and tired of everyone here excusing horrible treatment of foreigners by saying ‘it is our culture!’ Is it really your culture to treat people like sh*t? If that’s the case, then I’m going home.” He then tried to say that the government was to blame, but I just shook my head and told him that I was tired of the excuses.
Coffee ceremonies are a part of Ethiopian culture, not harassment.
Not that I can claim to be an expert on Ethiopian culture after living here for six months, but mistreating foreigners is absolutely not part of Ethiopian culture. Ethiopia is a country of deeply religious people, who are conservative and value modesty and respect of elders. Blatantly asking someone, who is your elder and to whom you are not married, to have sex with you is not part of the culture. Ethiopians share everything with everyone, even those they do not know, something that Ethiopian-Americans have told me they have had to un-learn after moving to the United States, so not being welcomng to outsiders can hardly be a part of the culture. So really, responding to the problem of discrimination or sexual harassment with “it is part of our culture” is no different than the response of “it is not possible,” although perhaps it is worse, as explaining away discrimination and harassment as part of your culture is a refusal to truly recognize that the issue is a problem.
The next day, as I returned very hesitantly to the school property, I still felt sick from what the student had said to me and the teachers’ responses. Then I sat down with the principal, who surprised me by looking at me and saying: “I am sorry, this isn’t right and it is not part of our culture. You were perfectly right to be upset, and while the teachers here face a lot of behavior issues with the students, you probably have it worse as an outsider and that isn’t right.” Suddenly, the knot in my stomach loosened a bit. The principal, who is less than perfect by any means, reminded me that there are people –doctors, nurses, teachers, local NGO workers –who don’t make excuses and try to find solutions for the problems in their communities. These are the people who give me hope that there is a better future for Ethiopia.
As I write this, I think back to when I used to watch Sex and the City. Whenever Carrie would be writing her columns, I would become infuriated that all she would do was ask a series of questions, which is poor writing if you ask me. Yet this post is filled with questions, maybe not as asinine and rhetorical as Carrie Bradshaw’s, that I can’t answer. I don’t know how to fix the culture of excuses here. But then again, if I had a solution, wouldn’t that go against the community learning to help themselves?
* I should be clear that I do not think JDC is one of these organizations. JDC does a wonderful job of involving the community in their projects.
A Ferenji in Gonder 
Maggie, I am sorry that you are having to face these kinds of assaults in your daily life there. But I continue to be impressed with how you manage through these travails. You are a reminder of the good that can be accomplished in the world by people who not only care..but make the extra effort to truly understand the roots of the problems.
Sadly it isn’t just Ethiopia that uses the cultural excuses for inappropriate behavior. We can all learn from your experiences. Parents of many cultures need to take responsibility and teach their children how to be respectful. That is the Human Culture….