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

Ethiopia Day 1 Addis Ababa

I stepped out of the airport to receive a high five from Matt Finnerman, the manager of the Cherokee House, who had gotten a private cab driver, named Habtamu, to take me from the airport. We rode across Bole road as Matt explained to me some of the details of what I can expect in Addis Ababa, inclulding the fact that he and I are not only roommates, but also the only two guys in the house, living with 12 girls. The girls in the house were more than accomodating, and I instantly felt like I had 12 Moms... not the kind of Moms who nag, but the kind that bake you banana bread and chicken pot pie (both of which were given to me upon entry). The house is nice, and I was surprised but pleased to find out that a mere nine hours after my arrival, I would begin teaching at a primary school called Destiny. The school was run by a couple who left very high paying jobs in Northern Ethiopia to start a school which, despite its very high standard for curriculum, is barely surviving its high city rent with its low tuition rate. After meeting my new housemates, and having a few laughs, I went to bed, only to wake up at 3 AM until 5 AM. I used the weird jet-lagged awake time to study Amharic so that I could surprise everyone with horribly mispronounced "Good morning. How are you?"s and "goodbye"s. I went back asleep at five and was awakened at 6:20.I was awakened again at 6:30 and was packed up and eating cereal by 6:35. Jessica, a 24 year old campaign manager for some Republican party guy and an English teacher (and my teacher) at Destiny walked with me to a street called Tor Harloche where we caught a taxi (what I would call a combi) to Mexico. Here are a couple of side notes. First, the taxis here are the same model car as the combis in South America, some Toyota made, toaster shaped, cross between a hummer and a minivan that any Westerner would find repulsive, but a denizen of the "third world" would find very useful. 12 people pack into these things and are driven around the city for .65-1.2 birr (8-14 cents). Second, there are actually no street names in Addis Ababa. You might find one sign labeling the street every 10 blocks. Instead, everyone knows of the general areas as certain seemingly random names... which is why I can say that I went to Mexico. From Mexico we caught a taxi/combi through Karas and into Gofa, where Destiny is located. The school has about 7 rooms, and a library the size of my dorm room with about as many books. Flies buzz around in the classrooms, and you barely feel inside when the doors and windows are shut. There is a tiny play area between the classrooms and even a little swing and slide that looks like it could have been purchased at your local Wal-Mart. Around the school are concrete walls with the broken glass of coke bottles lined across the top, providing a McGuiveresque barbed wire barrier to keep out any criminal who would want to steal the 150 outdated books and 2 PCs that don't have enough speed to run The Oregon Trail. Despite the economic depravity of the school, the helper sweeps every speck of dust from the floors, the two teachers file every book away in its exact place, and the children listen with a raptured awe and politeness that might just give Kitty a run for her money in a good behavior contest. Such pride is taken in this glimmer of hope, existing in the capital of the world's third poorest country because, quite frankly, this school is a huge step up from a lot of the city.Since no curriculum had been made up I just had to pick up books about science (which I will be teaching to the kids) and start reading to them with an assistant, and aspiring teacher, Benjamin, to translate the areas of text that the children weren't able to pick up, which ended up being about 80 percent of what I said in the first period. I nervously read/explained to my first class about space shuttles and landing on the moon, and my second class heard me yammer on about dinosaurs. Despite the fact that I could see tons of fallacies in the books, I really feel like they children learned everything that Benjamin translated. They listened without ever saying a word or taking their eyes off of the speaker. The kids in Ethiopia seem to crave knowledge as much as the kids in America crave all 150 poke'mon. Finally, in my last two classes I really started feeling like a teacher, when I asked Benjamin to pick out a book for the class. He chose weather and we taught the kids things I had forgotten that I had known, Troposphere, Stratosphere, Mesosphere, Thermosphere, the sun's absorption into the Earth and it's reflecting off the stratosphere's ozone... and at the end we asked them questions until half the class could answer them perfectly (minus pronounciation... it is never going to sound normal to hear an Ethiopian say space shuttle, molecule, and ozone layer). The highlight of class was teaching the fourth graders, who are only a class of 4, but they are the brightest students I had the opportunity to meet. They not only could remember the things Benji and I told them about wind, responding in English, but they could also deduce the flow of wind from areas of high to low pressure just by knowing the flow of wind from cold to hot areas after the heat rises.After my four classes, Benjamin, with the same diligence of the students, wrote lesson plans with me for tomorrow's classes, taking a break to meet Hareg, Matt, Jessica, Diane, and Jessica for lunch. We ate at a restaurant whose name I can't remember (Amharic is hard to remember because the sounds are so foreign, plus it uses an alphabet that looks more like Elvish). Anyway, we were served jaraar, which is bread on one big plate put in the middle of the table alongside beef, cheese, and bean sauces which is mixed onto the middle of the bread. Along the outside are also pieces of Kocho, bread made with banana-ish leaves roasted onto the sides. All the people at the table rip off pieces of the bread and dip it into the middle, then take it straight to the face. No plates, just one big pile of food. Ridonk. Hareg warned me not to eat the spicy beef because the oil could make me feel sick, but Benjamin teased me for "being afraid of a little spices" so I ate a few huge mouthfuls, then I felt sick. Benjamin and I stayed until 5 PM working on our lesson plans, then Jessica and I went shopping for supplies with Hareg, and I returned to Cherokee House, with Jessica, around 5:45 and sat down for my favorite Ethiopian dish, pizza... made by our incredible cook, Asni. Dinner's conversation was fantastic, and I really feel blessed to be with such a selfless and interesting group of people. Over dinner we discussed weekend plans, and laughed over a love letter, heartfully written, that our housemate, Molly, had received from an Ethiopian.The people here are some of the strongest people I have ever met, and in just a couple seconds you can feel true love for any one of them, and you know they feel the same way about you. All the nine year olds I met seemed to have more wisdom than my grandparents, and the men carry the aura of Buddhist monks, who have somehow achieved Nirvana. There is some ancient anomoly in this cradle of the human race where a society of Muslims and Christians are inadvertently practicing Daoism, or something that I read about in passages of the Baghavadgita. Their actions never seem to exist for the end result, but simply for the action. Nobody sweeps for subsistence, but for perfection. It's as if everyone here knows the elusive truth that all philosophers, starting with DeCartes, have seached for: the first principle of our humanity. I really hope to help my students as much as they are helping me.Zewbitu, the woman sitting next to me on the plane, who tirelessly answered my idiotic questions for hours, seemed to embody the spirit I have encountered in Ethiopia. There is a timeless quality here, where everybody is struggling, but self-reliant, and each person will stop in his tracks to solve the problems of another. Wow... I've been here for 24 hours, and there is so much that I still want to write. However, I assume at this point there is little more that you want to read, so... deuhna seunbetu.