Time Traveling in Ethiopia and Djibouti

Since coming to Ethiopia, I’ve gone back in time three and a half times. Before you dismiss this post as the ranting of someone in the throes of malaria medication induced hallucinations, let me explain myself. The first time, as you know, was when I landed in Addis at the second start of 2006. The second, third, and a half times were when I traveled to Lalibela, the Simien Mountains, and Djibouti, respectively.

A Country of Color

I came from a city of steel and glass. In the midst of the endless concrete and the piles of garbage on every corner, it can be easy to forget New York City’s beauty. It is only in those fleeting moments, a glance out of the subway car while crossing the Williamsburg Bridge or a pause while sipping a cocktail on the rare rooftop bar, that you stop, taken aback in awe over the glittering of millions of lights, a city spread out before you. But in the city where black is chic, color can be a rarity. There are the splashes of color in shop windows calling out to those passing by, the manicured rows of tulips that grace Park Avenue for a few months a year, and the yellow taxis weaving through the black cars and blue buses. But to see the trees change color, the yellow dandelions peeking through the grass, and turtles lazily swimming in a lake, you have to venture to areas of the city where nature is segregated from the steel and glass. Despite the autumnal shades in department store windows, I would still forget that the leaves were turning yellow and orange, the green grass losing its vibrancy.

Some Things Never Change

Ah, the back to school rituals of my childhood: making my way through the back to school section at Target, carefully selecting notebooks, pens, markers, folders, and glue; using all the powers of persuasion to convince my mom that although my backpack from the previous year was in fine condition, it was completely necessary to purchase a new one; shopping for back to school clothes, and then modeling each new purchase until the perfect combination was found for the all-important first day outfit. Even now, every fall, I feel the rush of excitement when passing through aisles of notebooks and backpacks, and then jealousy and sadness upon realizing that I can no longer partake in these annual rituals.

On first day of school in Gonder, Jason and I arrived at Fasilides Elementary School at the instructed time of 8am. Finding the schoolyard completely empty of students and teachers, we made our way to the teachers’ lounge, where we waited while students and faculty slowly made their way through the front gates over the next hour. There were no classes that day, only a flag ceremony for National Flag Day, which involved raising the flags (Ethiopian and Amhara region) and listening to speeches from the principal and faculty. During one of the more drawn out speeches, we joined another English teacher in the teachers’ lounge, eager to find out what our teaching schedule would be for the coming months. Although we had been promised the schedule the previous Friday, we were told that the schedule would now not be completed until the following Monday. “Maybe we won’t have school tomorrow,” the teacher said. “How can they not know if they will have school tomorrow?” I thought, suddenly remembering that the previous fellows told me that the schedule would change on a weekly basis (with no warning). “School here is nothing like in the U.S.,” I concluded, a thought that was reinforced by the vision of walking across the muddy school courtyard the previous week, making my way around dead goat legs and a broken bath tub on our way to the classrooms. Then I thought about something I had seen at the market a few days before.

Judging a book by its cover

It’s a warm, sunny afternoon and I am sitting outside on the balcony of my house reading a book about the AIDS epidemic in Ethiopia. Despite having earplugs in to block the noise of the raucous party going on somewhere in the neighborhood, I hear a child yell up to me from down below: “Hello, hello.” I look up briefly at the boy, about age twelve, wearing a blue soccer jersey, and yell hello back. “One birr,” he responds.  I continue reading. “F*#k you,” he shouts, “f*# you.” Unwilling to be spoken to like that, I look up from my book and wag my finger at him, not knowing anything in Amharic to say. A few moments after I have continued reading, I hear him return. “Motherf*#ker,” he shouts, and then disappears.

Hello, money

Have you ever noticed when you travel that every city has its own smell? The moment I walked onto the tarmac in Cambodia several years ago and inhaled the scent of flowers in the warm night air I knew I was far away from the city I had just left (Bangkok). Or when I land in New York City and feel right back at home the moment I am embraced by the smell of garbage and exhaust. For me, a city’s scent, as well as its cultural quirks and oddities set it apart from other places I may have visited. For example, in London I noticed that people ask “are you alright?” not when they think something is wrong with you, but as a “hello, how are you” type of greeting. Or in Japan, if you go to a traditional bath house and dare to wear your bathing suit in the hot springs, you will be angrily branded as a barbarian. I can Google images of anywhere in the world, but it is these experiences, albeit some that are minute, that really make new places come alive.

One of the first things loved ones have asked me is “what is it like there?” A handful of adjectives won’t do Addis Ababa any justice, as they would not to any city, so instead, I’ve decided to describe some of Ethiopia’s “peculiarities” that I’ve come across over the past few days.

No Easy Answers, Even Without a Stethoscope

On the first day in Addis, when Rick went to check on a patient who had been scalped by a hyena, I asked Dan if one of the interview questions for his position was whether he had ever actually seen trauma. I realized how problematic it would be for a fellow to get here, only to run away screaming the first time a gruesome case presented itself.  He replied that although he had never seen a trauma patient before, he felt he could handle it after his pre-med studies. “Good,” I thought, “then he will be prepared emotionally for what he will see when working with Rick.” As we joined Rick for clinic the next day I learned that I, however, was not.

Happy 2006: Starting the New Year in Ethiopia

The year 2006 was a milestone year for me in that I graduated high school, and then left behind my family and childhood friends to go to Colgate University, where I made new friends and began my college life. If I had to choose any year of my life to do over, I definitely would not have chosen 2006, but as fate, and the Ethiopian calendar would have it, I am going to repeat 2006. No I am not talking about Back to the Future 4, but rather, the fact that the Ethiopian calendar is 7 years behind our Gregorian calendar. So, I get to do 2006 over again, and although it has just started, I know that like the first 2006, it will be filled with new friends, and plenty of first-time experiences.

A Ferenji in Gonder

I remember the first time I truly felt British when I was living in London – I was riding the Tube after celebrating a friends’ birthday at a pub, and suddenly it hit me that I no longer felt like an outsider. Even when I was traveling around Japan during college as part of a study program there was a point, about two weeks in, when myself and other students would spot an out-of-place tourist, shake our heads knowingly and say to one another “ah, a geijin (foreigner)”, which is humorous as we were still very much tourists ourselves. Yet, every time I have traveled for an extended period of time, there has always been that moment when I realize that I no longer feel like a foreigner.