week 3

Here's a quality about myself that I am not sure whether or not I like. When I am with people who I love, my life has significantly less productivity. I am happy to mess around with friends, joking all day, and making absolutely no forward progress. If there are ever laughs to be had, I try to be the one having them, which is a quality that has high costs. This is the reason my grades in college are so mediocre. I can't sit down and work consciously knowing that somewhere in my dorm somebody is doing something idiotic and awesome. This attitude, however, is also what has probably led me to some of my life's greatest experiences, such as comedy, college crashing, and Africa. Anyway, the reason I am bringing this quality up is because on Monday a lot of the life of the Cherokee group left (Victoria, Page, Bethany, and Martha), leaving me with significantly fewer buddies in my idiotically awesome exploits (even though Mary Chambers, Matt, and "The Edge" have totally picked up the slack). This newfound free time began as something depressing because I had made some awesome memories with them, and they constantly kept fun levels "to the max"; however, the solitude has given me a great opportunity to completely reform my curriculum.The problem with all my students is that their English is awful. I've got a hundred rational minds, each expressing its thoughts in a language that the world doesn't care about (and why should we?). If I can cure the problem of English, every Ethiopian can get straight A's. Here's another issue I have encountered: the parents play almost no role in the educational upbringing of most of the children. I guess so much focus is put upon survival that parents aren't really interested in teaching times tables to their kids. What my students need is a way to learn English outside of school, so on Monday night as my thirst for idiotic awesomeness remained unquenched, a great idea popped into the void of laughter, an idea that would integrate the need for English with the need for education within the family unit! A new, daily, homework assignment... Write all of today's notes in Amharic.The best way to retain new information is to link the desired information with information that you already know; in the same way, I believe the best method for a resident of Addis Ababa to learn English is to build his understanding upon his primary foundation of Amharic. This new method will lead to understanding rather than memorization of meaningless Englilsh words. Unfortunately, this new assignment is very difficult for my students because they invariably have to ask their parents or older friends for help daily, and the homework has become a very hard sell. After I gave a speech to my classes, however, about the importance of my assignments to their understanding of English, they all began to turn in their homework with sincere effort. The last vestiges of opposition to my methods exists in the realm of the parents. Some parents are a little perturbed by the idea that a randar foreigner who doesn't understand Amharic has the arrogance to assign homework which requires fluency in two languages for completion. This disdain showed itself in two instances. 1) Nardos' dad helped her with her homework, but her Amharic translations were total nonsense. "Television, carpet, trees, car, basket"... her dad was justifiably skeptical of my ability to check the homework I had assigned (Benjamin checks it). 2) Abanezer's father wrote me a message that said "This homework too heavy. Do not assign it. I can not work." I responded "This homework is essential for understanding English." I then corrected the English in his message. Here's the awesome part: over the past week my students really have become more confident in their English, and my dream is that this knowledge will bleed into their tests.Yesterday was one of those ridiculously fulfillilng days. Here is why... two days ago I told a begging kid that he needs to feed himself, after he asked me for food, but after my rebuke he still helped me find the stop for Mexico in Tor Highloche. As an offer of my gratitude, I said "Inglisinya lamamarl efelligalla?" (Do you want to learn English). He said "Yes" and I quickly wrote down a bunch of useful phrases that came to mind, then hopped into the taxi to drive away. Inspired by this incident, Hareg helped me make a guidesheet after school which had about 40 useful phrases and translations in Amharic (the Elvish looking language), and we printed off 25 copies. The next day, as I walked back from a really stressful day of school with Jessica, some kid tapped me on the shoulder and said "Hello". I said "How are you?" He said, "I am fine thankyou, and you?" Surprised by the English response, I turned around to see the beggar from yesterday, holding the paper I had given him. His desire to learn really touched me, and I spent a good portion of the day meeting people and handing out the English guidesheets. When somebody asks for food I always say "This will give you food" and give them a sheet. I guess today I will find out if anyone learned from the sheets I had given them. I am about to leave for school, and I can't wait.On top of the inspiration and confirmation that my presence here is appreciated by the street kids, I had a very heartwarming visit to Tedros' house, where his father repeatedly thanked me for helping Tedros as a teacher. He told me that ever since I started teaching, Tedros has used nothing but English inside the house. Nothing could get me down yesterday. I really felt a sense of purpose, a lack of which is generally my only obstacle to being happy. Yes... I am really happy right now.

Langano

I'm going to skip my description of the rest of the week, jumping straight to what was definitely my best weekend here, the weekend at Lake Langano. The Cherokee group, along with Reid and Jeremy, two randar awesome dudes we met in Addis Ababa, chartered a minibus for 2000 birr to take us to Wenney Lodge for a weekend of care free relaxation; however, the idea of a restful weekend in Africa is similar to Communism: it works in theory but not in practice. Before we got to Lake Langano, our dreams of a perfect vacation blew up in our faces, literally, when a front tire popped on our bus, sending us careening across the two lane highway before coming to a stop next to a field of grazing cows and pantsless kids. I mean, I knew in Africa that people walk around naked, but I thought that Donald Duck was the only entity in the world that was both shirted and pantsless. Either these pantsless kids were about to see a doctor or they had just discovered Donald Duck's sense of style. The latter theory makes more sense because one of them was wearing an old school Mickey Mouse shirt. You know what I mean by old school Mickey Mouse... the Mickey Mouse model that looks like he was drawn by a six year old coloring contest certificate winner. Three circles... one for the face, two for the ears. The only thing more idiotic than the attire of these disciples of Donald was the way we all sprinted into the field like a bunch of hippies. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by about forty tribal farmers who clearly didn't speak a bit of English or Amharic, a fact which was proven by a few terribly arduous minutes of awkwardness as we all stumbled for their word for "hello" (which, with incredible irony, turned out to be "nigga"... yes... nigga... the Omhoric word for hello is nigga). Anyway, we tried to break the ice with our idiotic dance, which went over about as well as using the Omhoric word for hello as a greeting in the US; the people just stood there looking at us with an expression that screamed "Why the hell would any human being do what you just did?"... which was probably a valid concern. Thank God, Jeremy and Reid cut the tension by turning back-flips. Before you could say "How do you learn to do a back-flip without paralyzing yourself?" we were sharing cookies, culture, and friendship with pictures, foot-races, videos, hut tours, spear-throwing, and, of course, marriage proposals by every Ethiopian group's "token sleezebag". Anyway, we walked back to the bus as I pulled Victoria and Rachel away from a creeper with the claim that they were my wives. Within a few minutes we were trucking towards Langano once more.Oh no... the obstacles are not over. The next obstacle took the form of a 45 minute section of Agro Krag that is called an Ethiopian road, the bumpiest road I have ever experienced, seriously, a nine year old bus-rider's dream. It felt like a rotting, wooden roller coaster during an earthquake. A bumpy road can be conquered through perseverance; however, no amount of determination or Vaseline will make a bus fit through a boxcar, which is what was used as a bridge, 4km away from our lodge. Just in case the bus would have fit through, there was the extra security measure of 2 guys with AK 47s, along with 2 guys with spears. We got out of the car and ambled towards them. I quickly seized the opportunity to say hello to them, figuring it would be the only opportunity of my life to say "Nigga" to a black guy with a big gun and live to tell about it. The mercenaries(?) offered to escort us to the lodge for 100 birr, but we declined to embark on the 4 km trek by ourselves. I don't know how other people feel around guns, but even when I know they are on my side, I don't feel protected in the slightest degree. I always just want to be away from them (however I personally value our second amendment rights). I mean, I also am for gay marriage, but that doesn't mean I have to start painting my nails and saying "fabulous". Anyway, the events of our hike were pretty awesome in the sense that it was now nighttime, and we had a 4 kilometer hike through villages, wilderness, and (the scariest part) the unknown. Our method for dealing with forks in the road was guessing, which paid off, because within an hour we had reached Wenney Lodge, a surprisingly nice (albeit hidden) touristy enclave in which we were the ONLY guests. The guest to employee ratio was about 1.5 to 1... pretty awesome.I was going to explain the next day with great detail and attempts at great hilarity, but my mood right now does not match my desire. Either I am too lazy to write the paragraphs it would take to explain the awesomeness, or I am subconsciously aware of my inability to do so. The whole next day we had the kind of fun that doesn't make sense, stealing a boat (to return it later... kind of like Page's attitude toward restaurant materials), swinging vine to vine, seeing ancient graves, trying to communicate with a tour guide who had the vocabulary of a three year old, throwing more spears, seeing hippos, horseback riding, Martha teaching me to post, staring at wild monkeys and baboons, bringing justice upon men who didn't respect the girls, bathing in the red lake, stomping on nettles, overusing the phrase "one by one", mud fighting, chicken fighting, bone collecting, beehive watching, freaking out our horse-guides, being overtaken by mob mentality during a rainstorm (BOAT), guitar playing, getting hammered with a self proclaimed "bird expert-man", chewing White-out flavored gum from the inside of a tree, Matt's saddle breaking, becoming a human winged-anthill, learning to never trust the phrase "no problem", seeing some of the most beautiful views I have ever seen, and, of course, thriving. Each one of these experiences could be a blog post in itself, but instead they will be random memories that I always carry, perhaps popping up in the occasional humorous dinner story. If my description of the day is full of holes, just fill the blank areas with awesomeness, and you will have a clear conceptualization of our experience. Although our day was flawed in many ways, all the terrible and totally sweet experiences melted together to form a strange perfection, in the same way that low and high notes are necessary for beautiful music, crescendoing in this moment:Everyone was left behind as Matt, Martha, and I trotted up a mountain path as the sun set behind a couple gorgeous mountains. As I appreciated a breath of country air, Martha, who was probably feeling very introspective since her days in Africa were almost at an end, asked me "Hey, Watt, what has been your favorite part of your time here?" I answered as honestly as I could: "I guess... this is". We trotted forward, and I felt the kind of happiness that is so present that you get a little scared.

Tuesday and Wednesday

Yesterday I checked a major goal off of my checklist. I raced a group of Ethiopians! First of all, let me explain running in Addis Ababa. Simply to be a farranj attracts more attention than you know what to do with, but to do something unusual, such as running, (which is something you rarely see here) makes absolutely everybody stop what they are doing. Everyone stops to cheer for you, yelling things like "Michael Johnson", "Olympics", and of course, "You, you, you, you, you!" I have never been so encouraged to run in my entire life, nor have I ever felt so welcome anywhere. Imagine one hundred strangers vying for your attention, simply so that they can be the ones from whom you hear some random English word yelled... "Running!", "Good job!", "You want face wash?" and, my favorite, "Sweet Jeans!" A bunch of the younger Ethiopians followed us (I was running with Martha, an awesome friend I have made in the house) and it was very hard not to feel like Forest Gump with a trail of followers in my wake. Everyone here is so positive. Imagine how big of an idiot you would look like spontaneously asking Americans to race... here they are totally down with it. "Wanna race?" "OK". That simple, right? Wrong. It isn't that simple for me because when I race Ethiopians, I stack the odds in my favor. At a full sprint, I overtook a group of three Habeshas who were standing still. When I was ten yards ahead with 60 yards to go until the steps where I depart, I yelled "Na! We race!" (Come on. We race). As if they were waiting for a gunshot, the three Habeshas ripped across the sidewalk, overtaking me within thirty yards. By the time I had reached my finish line/the steps, they were 20 yards ahead, turning around to see if I was still within sight. I yelled "Ahun bet hidallo" (Now I go home). Before they were out of sight I yelled "Ante Olympic champions" as one of them broke the sound barrier.Here's a little side note about the people with whom I live: All the girls here are so classy and cool that I can't even complete this sentence. Seriously for five minutes I have been erasing various endings to "All the girls here are so classy and cool that...". I mean, I absolutely love these people, and I wish I could take them all, and Matt Finnerman, with me to Mary Washington and form the awesomest group of random ass friends in ever created. Classy and cool... I really believe in that combination as part of the recipe for awesomeness. They all have the self respect to form their own opinions and love themselves and others, while at the same time, they are able to forget all that stuff and be total laughing idiots, which is often equally rewarding. (Example: the idiotic dance which I will show anyone who asks.) End of tangent.Well, today I went to the markado, and got a little lost from my group because my taxi stopped for 20 minutes making me 20 minutes late. I talked to tons of people, who were all very kind and helpful, and I ended up following the trail of faranji by asking "Guadenochi sost wayum erat leyla farranji tamas assay enhe nacho. Markado ust nacho, niegargin yet alloukem". (My friends are 3 or 4 other foreigners the same as me. They are in the market, but where they are, I do not know.) Everyone pointed me in their direction, but meeting somewhere in the market is like meeting somewhere in Texas... it's big. I ended up calling Mastaol from a payphone, and waiting for him for 45 minutes. During this waiting period, I decided to do something I have been talking about doing for a few days: street teach. Across all of Addis Ababa the streets are lined with kids who are either jobless or shoeshining and selling trinkets, but definitely none of them are in school. So, I just asked one of them "Ante Inglisinya lemowk falligallo." (You want to learn English?) He said "No" to which I responded "Llemen aidellum? Inglisinya betam assfeligee no. Ante teroo sera falligallo?" (Why not? English is very important. Don't you want a good career?) At this point, one boy came up to me and asked "Binglisinya kit minalik" (How do you say ass in English?) I said "Ass". Ten kids laughed and walked over, and before a minute was over, I was absolutely surrounded by 40 to 50 kids, all learning "Hi... how are you". Rich people would walk up, asking me if I was being robbed by these street kids, to which I responded "Ai. Tamarioche nacho enha betam gobez nacho." (No, these are my students and they are very smart.) A bank manager walked out and asked me to leave because the crowd was bad for business, so I said to the kids that class was over, and I walked 50 yards away... and they all followed me. A woman came up to me, saying in Amharic, "If you are a teacher, take my child to school with you". I told her I would try to find a place, but I had no power to promise anything. Anyway, I had no idea that street teaching would be such a success. People want knowledge here so badly, but they are all forgotten by the intellligencia of the first world, only receiving the refuse of American and British textbooks. The crowd got even bigger at the new street location, and the police came to break it up, telling me not to do this in the Markado. I left at their request, but I am incredibly excited. Their thirst for knowledge was large enough to get the attention of the police. Street teaching is just beginning! Seriously... I feel so awesome about this. Do you know how valuable it is to learn English? REALLY VALUABLE! This is the best idea I have ever had!Gosh... I am leaving so much out. Seriously, if I didn't have so much to do each day, and I had time, I could write ten pages a day. Catch 22... because I can only have ten pages to write a day if my days remain busy. Who cares... I don't want anything to change. I live with great people. I have a very fulfilling job. Talk about fulfilling... Teodros, that really bright second grader, has been getting IMPOSSIBLE extra assignments from me after class and completing them flawlessly. His questions for tonight (among five others) were "What is the chemical equation for photosynthesis?" and "What is the theory of relativity, and who invented it?" He told me to ask him questions about space travel, so I am trying to get him thinking about quantum physics. His English is better than anyone else's in the whole school, and wouldn't it be crazy if the next Hawking were from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia? Seriously, this guy's brain is awesomer than a TI 83 Plus with every program on it (including Druglord and Space Invaders). I keep trying to add adjectives because his homework keeps getting better, but my encouraging vocabulary is already stretched, and I've only been here for nine days. Today I wrote on his paper, "Very good, Gold medal, Olympic Champion of Intelligence!" with an "AWESOME" sticker on top of it all. What else can I say? DABE LA JHONNY!

My first wekend in Addis Ababa

The past two days have comprised the first period of time where I have been able to just chill out, drop my responsibilities, and take a minute to look around me as a tourist rather than an unqualified teacher, but, in doing so, I continued to play the role of student. It is really amazing to be around people that have absolutely no possessions beyond what is necessary for survival. The difference between Ethiopians and Americans is similar to the difference between a bike and a freight train in the sense that Americans are constantly pulling a huge train of possessions behind them, so much that we all have a lot of diffuculty stopping to relate to and help each other, whereas Ethiopians have nothing weighing them down, making it easy for them to stop and listen to each other. Possessions really are a trade off. Where my life has been blessed in economic areas, it has been depraved in the sense that my upbringing has not really made me cognizant of man's humanity, which is so present here. People will instantly stop and talk to or help total strangers for hours on end. There is a kind of comradery here that just isn't around in America. For example, during the basketball game to which I went with Mastaol, I was curious why people weren't cheering for specific teams, and Mastaol told me "Ethiopians don't cheer for one team. They cheer for good plays. If a person makes a good play, even coach from other team will cheer." The highlight of cheering was when somebody missed a shot, and the crowd erupted into a unanimous applause. I asked Mastaol why and he said "because that pass that she made was so amazing." Again, inadvertant Daoism... nobody cared about the result (scoring points); they all just cared about the action itself (the game).After the game, I met up with the rest of the people from Cherokee because the water is off in many parts of Addis Ababa for the next few days (including our house), and we all desperately needed showers. We met at a beauty salon to get massages, into which we all smuggled in shampoo and shaving cream to use in our pre-massage shower. OK- so massages are awesome in third world countries. An expert massage followed by coffee and food outside, two hours of total awesomeness for $6.50. I guess the additional $73.50 in the average American massage goes to the protection of your ass. The Ethiopian massage conquered virgin territory in the massage world, probably even virgin territory in the real world. This lady massaged my ass as if it were my shoulder. I had five straight minutes of various ass-rubbing tactics. Anyway, during lunch Mastaol told me that I had shaving cream under my ear, following this statement with my first Habesha terrat (Ethiopian Proverb):Teroo guadenya mestaut no. (A good friend is a mirror.)This has sparked an unquenchable interest in Habesha terrat, which has only been slightly satiated by the five that I have been able to write down, which I will share with anyone who asks. Something about the Ethiopian/African accent seems so wise, so I think I am going to get video footage of some Habesha explaining these proverbs.We ate dinner that night in a resaurant called Paradise where we all had wine, appetizers, an excellent piano player, and top class food for about the price of a Chipotle meal (without a college drink discount). I had Nile Perch in some kind of mango sauce, which was by far the best meal I have had this summer when it comes to service and qualilty. Since Matt was not at the dinner, it was basically me with all the girls, and seeing so many American women always excites the Ethiopians. In one situation a man said to one of them "Hey sexy lady." To this I responded "Yih misteh no." (This is my wife). Then I said "Mistehochi" (They're all my wives) pointing to all the girls. He responded "And setine" (Give me one). To this I said, "Sintino" (How much will you pay?). Although it was obvious that this was all said with a joking manner, the girls here were shocked when I confessed that I had tried to sell one of them, but hey... dinner was expensive... I gotta get paid... and that's the way it is... that's just the way it is... things will never be the same... Funny thing, all the Ethiopians that are from 10 to 17 love Tupac, but all the Ethiopians my age love Celine Dion. Seriously, they are obsessed. If you ask any of them to sing the Titanic song, they will gladly butcher it for you.I'll go over sunday quickly so that I can get to bed. I went to the Emperor's Palace in Northern Addis Ababa with Abanezer and Benjamin. Benji and I ate for under a 88 cents (2 cakes and 2 macchiatos... probably would be 15 bucks in USA). The signs at the musuems here say "Habesha and birr; Farrenji acer birr" (Ethiopians, 1 birr; foreigners 10 birr). Feeling like a victim of one dollar's worth of racism, I said to the ticket man "Enhe tomas assay waga enda Habisha faligillo." (I wan't the same price as the Ethiopians). He responded, "Americana misteh faligillo" (I want an American wife). Then I said "Enhe Habisha machiatum Amharimya alloukum" which I thought meant "I am Ethiopian because I speak Amharic," but it actually means "I am Ethiopian because I don't speak Amharic." Benji laughed at me as I handed over the ten birr.The museum was interesting. It showed some of the idiotic and admirable qualities of Ethiopia's tribes, from ritualistic whipping of women before marriage to the protection of personal freedoms. Then I left and went to Abanezer's house for chat and tea. Chat is a chief export of Ethiopia which provides the country with about 100 million dollars a year. It is basically chewable pot. I chewed half of the typical dose and felt nothing but slightly dizzy, but I definitely intend to try the full thing, just once because Mrs. Stalk says "Try new things" (that's how my parents get my little sister to eat her vegetables... so I guess it will help me eat my greens as well)!During this "chill session" an 11 year old kid named Daniel popped in to Abanezer's house/room. People here are so funny in that they can be friends with everyone. Abanezer, a 23 year old, high fived the kid and said "This is my best friend. He knows everything about soccer." Since I was wearing my La U jersey from Peru, he thought I was a Manchester United fan. In fact, it is tough to wear a jersey here without everyone expressing their opinion of the team they think you are advocating with your clothes. Still, it started many conversations, and by the end of the day, 4 people had given me their phone numbers and invited me over for a coffee ceremony, which includes three very strong shots of coffee that supposedly leave first timers shaking by the end. I'll probably call a couple of them because I really can't get enough of the people here, and I wish there was something I could give them, but they seem lightyears ahead of me. Maybe, when I have learned enough from them, I will be mentally equipped enough to start repaying this debt of knowledge that I have incurred.

Day 4 in Ethiopia

Today was definitely the most eye opening day of the trip. School went well. So well, in fact that I ended up teaching all my second grade students at a fourth grade level, and I gave two of them an essay question on nutrients for the human body, in English. One of them was so excited by the challenge that he kissed me. (Let me restate this: In Ethiopia, you can act very gay, and still be straight). The other one asked "If I do this right? May I get sticker?" I said "I have no stickers, but I will draw you a smiley face." He jumped up and said "YES!" This felt very good, but this wasn't the eye opening part... that is on its way. I left school right after classes. My early departure meant no learning Amharic from Benjamin as we take three hours working on lesson plans that take me five minutes. We took a bus back to Tor Harloche and then walked straight to a hospital.Here is the eye opening part. The hospital was a fistula hospital for pregnant women, which is funded by various charitable donators, including Oprah Winfrey. The women at this hospital, which was very well equipped by Ethiopian standards, all had suffered damage to their vaginas from ignorance to the methods of proper childbirth, female circumcision, or rape. They needed to be stitched together because their reproductive organs were torn, often all the way to the rectum. It was heartwrenching to see the stoic women limping forward in blatant but concealed pain. The younger kids were obviously more traumatized because they seemed to be in a constant daze. The nurses told us that some kids had been raped as young as the age of two. Seeing the five year olds sitting and knitting, nervous and detached, brought about feelings that I have never felt. There just seemed to be a void of meaning in the room that I could only fill with sympathy, which is just such a useless emotion. I really can't explain how I feel about all of this... I just have no idea. I feel like I have misunderstood the entire world for my whole life. I thought I would be going to the hospital to cheer people up and wish them well; however, all I could do was pretend to smile, so that I couldn't cry. I mean, these are people... people who have been treated like slaves and animals, some of whom, after being inpregnated before their first period, have been given no reason to think they are different. My conceptualization of pain has been absolutely outlandish. The pain I had thought I had experienced in my life has actually only been a slight irritation, like an itch on my head compared to being scalped. I can't articulate what I feel from these people, but here is my most sensible attempt. I now have a desire to touch the physical deformities of all the beggars I see. Whether it be feet that are backwards, a burnt off face, or hands that are flat like pancakes, I want to rub my hands and face into them as if they were the most beautiful and wise things in the world because nothing seems more wise or beautiful to me.

Day 3 in Ethiopia

Today was probably my favorite day here, but I am so tired that I won't do it justice with this post. The day started with classes, and for the first time, I tried to teach a topic with very little success. The curriculum required that I teach third graders about the parts of a seed: the cotyledon, dicots, monocots, etc... this was stuff that I got a D on in biology. Anyway, at the beginning of the class these kids didn't even know that plants came from seeds. The feeling sucked. It feels awful to just see a concept bounce off a kid's head, over and over. Seriously, I had no idea how disappointing it can be to be a teacher. I was in a terrible mood until a second grader, named Jeratuan, absolutely dominated the distinction between man-mad and natural/living and non-living things. I passed out homework; to him first... when I was finished passing it out, he had completed his assignment, and he said "This is easy". I asked him if he would like to have extra assignments, and he said yes. Three other students asked if they could be included in the harder curriculum, so I am now going to try and educate four second graders at a fourth grade level, which I think may still be too easy for Jeratuan, but the other three students will find it challenging.We ate lunch today at Hareg's house, and her DVD player had been broken so we fixed it using tape. Not to brag, but I was VERY proud of myself for completing a couple of sentences during the meal (injara... of course). Her daughters, Ruth and Abigail, are very smart, and somebody said they can teach me Amharic, which led me to my first full sentence in their language. "Ehne yante tamarine". (I am your student). Then, somebody told me I was a good teacher, and I responded: "Ehne teroo astamarine machienatum tamarioche betam gobez nacho." (I am a good teacher because my students are very clever). I totally felt like a badass, even though each sentence took me 20 awkward seconds to say.Since the girls had a mouse in their room, I promised to buy a mousetrap; however, the only mousetrap (yite wutmeg) that they sold at the stores in Gofa and Kara were big enough to catch a monkey. Seriously... Paris Hilton's dog wouldn't set this trap off. If a person got caught in one, he would gnaw his foot off. So Benjamin took me to the markato, a 24 hour a day market that claims to be the biggest market in Africa... and I have absolutely no reason to doubt that claim. It was a total jungle. Benjamin held my wrist the whole time because straight friends here just do that kind of thing... either that or Ethiopia is the San Francisco of Africa. Everyone is touching and hugging up on everyone here. I bought a shirt for 3 bucks that says "Legend of the huge ocean: Pirate Crem" (Yes, Crem). I couldn't find a smaller mousetrap. Apparently one cattrap factory makes all the cattraps for the whole country. I ended up buying that glue that the mouse will get stuck in when he approaches the food. I said dehnahun to Benjamin and took a taxi (minibus/Toyota toaster) to Tor Harloche, feeling pretty confident about my Amharic... dare I say, cocky. I asked a man next to me, "Yih Tor Harloche no?" (This is Tor Harloche?). He said "I don't speak English". I responded "Ai Inglisya. Baraminya. Yih Tor Harloche no?" (Not English, in Amharic, is this Tor Harloche?) This time the guy next to him said "He no speak English." So... apparently I have the pronounciation skills of Helen Keller.To make a long story short, I got lost in Tor Harloche for 2 hours, without Jessica's fearless leadership. I also made conversations with a ton of kids, one of whom showed me some expert karate. At one point I got swarmed by the karate kid and his friends as they shoved their hands at me begging for money. I absolutely NEVER give to people I don't know personally (plus most of my money is my dad's so that is like embezzlement (sp?)). Anyway, I yelled "HIT! ZOORBELL!" (Go away! Turn back!) and they went scattering. The karate kid followed me for another half mile, and showed me more moves, after each move saying "money?" I said "Igzabier yistallen" (God will provide for you". He then did a Japanese karate bow and walked away. I bowed back and said "Amiseganallo sensei" (thank you sensei). The fun stopped when night time rolled around and I started to get very scared, even though almost everyone here is very nice. Suddenly a solution hit me: since I had facebooked a guy from UNC to give him Cherokee House's number, I could look it up online. All I needed was to find a place with internet! Easy, right?... not in this country. First of all, all the internet is dial up... a connection that gives you information only slilghtly faster than driving to the library and finding books with the Dewey Decimal system. In fact, the only reason I post on facebook is because the internet here does not let me connect to my blog sights. Secondly, nobody has a computer. I ended up having to ask tons of local shops if they had the internet, and if I could pay them to use it. Finally, I was able to look up the number then call somebody from the house to come get me. After my rescue party so graciously walked me back, we tricked the rest of the house by sending the four who had found me to tell the other people in the house (who were all in the common room) that I was nowhere to be found. During this time I snuck around to the kitchen behind the common room, and at the high point of worry and tension I opened the fridge and said "Where the heck is the banana bread?" As Borat, or almost any Ethiopian who is good at English would say "We make joke!"

Day 2 in AA

Day two in AA Class was a totally new experience after working on my lesson plans with Benjamin. Even though yesterday was a throwaway class that basically consisted of me making up facts as I went along in a book, I asked, just for fun, what the students had learned. They answered correctly, even though I had forgotten that I had taught. Period one, "The space shuttle, and how astronauts go to the moon." Period 2 "Dinosaur. Herbivore, carnivore, omnivore." Period 3 "Cold air has high pressure. Wind goes from low pressure to high pressure... I mean high pressure to low pressure". Period four... you get the idea. Seriously, every student listens intently and fights to answer each question. They act like Americans do when a magician needs a volunteer at a middle school magic show. There isn't just the handraise... there is the hand having a seizure a yard over each head. Some students stand up and yell "Meester, meester. I know it!". It is too bad that all the kids who want to learn have idiotic teachers like me, while idiot students like me have some of the world's best teachers. I met a couple of Americans, from UNC, randomly at the school this morning, and I think they are coming with us this weekend to this little lake next to a dormant volcano 45 minutes south. If I had enough light to read the name of it, I would tell you, but I don't. Anyway- these dudes will definitely be a couple of rafts in the pool of estrogen that is Cherokee House. Not to say that the girls aren't the kindest people in the world... because they are great, but I just need somebody with whom I can talk about America reclaiming the hot-dog eating title belt.After school I worked on lesson plans with Benjamin, and the differing values of time became very apparent. First Benjamin said, "You stay. I come soon." "Come where?" "I come back soon". 1 hour later... he returned to the room and said "I can not find the worksheets". (Aye cannough fine zee woarkshees). After studying Amharic for 59 minutes I responded in his language eloquently with "yes... I sorry... Ok... fine". Then, an hour and a half past before I asked him to retrace his steps for the fourth time. He finally said "Oh yeah... hahaha. Is in my bag". He walked away laughing, saying "I forget! haha". I guess time doesn't mean much to a country when hours are worth a birr, 11.12 cents. Not to insult Benjamin either because he is the cornerstone to the classroom, translating all the gray areas, which have significantly reduced as the classes get used to my accent and vice versa. During my hour wait, Hareg offered me a Coke but apologized for not having a bottle opener. I joked "It's ok, I will just pop it off with my teeth." Her response was an utterly serious "You can do it." So I did it. The whole time I worked at it, I was thinking about Dad giving me the 5000 dollar smile speech, but I persevered, and now I feel a little more Ethiopian (and a little less enamel-protected). Also, during the lesson plans Hareg's daughter, Abigail (who speaks better English than my 3rd graders) came up to me and showed me her plastic jewel that she had found. I told her that if she found string, I would make her a necklace. She found some, and I made the necklace, adding that if she found anything else she wanted on the necklace, I would put it on for her. She ran off into the gravel play area and came back with a mini-deflated basketball. Surprised, but true to my word I put another hole in the broken basketball and strung it on. She then made the necklace into a bracelet and asked me to string on one more item. I never would have imagined this happening to me, but I am now proud to say that I have made a jewelry, basketball, pencil, bracelet. It looked great (and kind of dangerous) so I made her take the pencil out, and she replaced it with a crayon.One more thing, I gave Benjamin, who wants to be a biology teacher, my old biology textbook (which is state of the art... it has 800 pages, a cd, and a ton of excercises). Anyway... his response was laughing every 5 seconds for the next hour saying "Oh... I so excited!" He then proceeded to read to me every word of the table of contents, saying "I learn about all these things." When he began to read chapter 1 to me, I decided I had to go. I had no intention of rehashing C- memories. That's about it. A couple of Ethiopians came to dinner tonight, which was Ethiopia's only dish, Injari (what I called Jaraar last night). lt was awesome because I got to learn all about Ethiopia's MILLENIUM, new year celebration (since they are 8 years and 3 months different from us). Meg, which I bet is short for something I can't spell, told me the best drinks to buy are dudge (alcohol, honey, and spices) or tellah (alcohol, spices, and pieces of bread). I predict that I will try both, and go straight back to Bud Light... or probation.Deuhnahun!
draft
by Watt Smith