I'm migrating to Tumblr in honor of my recent relocation to sunny Majuro. Check out http://thejduce.tumblr.com for the new Pandora's Box.

My dissertation is submitted and I've returned my books via suitcase to the library. I'm officially (most likely) never going to be a student again and, barring a disastrous dissertation, will soon be the proud owner of a master's degree from Scotland's oldest university. Freedom!What's next, you ask? Well, I'm glad you did. I'm moving to Majuro, Marshall Islands to work as the Program Administrator for a national youth health organization! Yes, that's right - a year on a small atoll in the middle of the ocean. Can anyone say 'seafood fest'?

But first, I'm off to Bra, Italy (in Piedmont) for...wait for it...a cheese festival. Yes. I will be attending an event that includes something called 'The Great Hall of Cheese' and 800 wines to sample. It seems a fitting way to depart for an atoll without the space, soil, or vegetation to feed livestock to produce milk to make cheese. My life is absurd.

In honor of this exciting new phase of my life, I'm going to retire from Blogger and migrate over to Tumblr because I feel like I should take more photos and Tumblr seems friendlier for that. Plus it's time to embrace new technology.

So look out for more pictures and less rambling. Okay, probably the same amount of rambling, but hopefully I've grown pithier and wittier over the years. So for future adventures abroad, check out the new Pandora's Box, soon to be filled with gluttonous photos of cheese. And then the ocean. And possibly even me working, but let's not get too crazy.

We went on an adventure last night and strolled around the Old Course. Gorgeous!

As a bonus - photos from last month's trip to the South of France.

Well, it's been a month. I've found a job, spent a week and a half in France (tres delicious!), started work, changed my computer to a UK dictionary, officially registered as a student, and started running (?!) again. And I love it. St. Andrews is rapidly becoming one of my favourite cities (okay, towns) in the world. The people are incredibly friendly, even if I'm not entirely sure what they're saying (a major challenge when taking drink orders in a loud, crowded pub), they're as nuts for dogs as I am, and the scenery is breathtaking. My running path takes me along the Old Course (near the hole with the cute little stone bridge), then along the cliffs to the castle ruins, past the old church and cemetery, through the harbour, on the path above the "beach," and back home through a quaint residential neighbourhood and town centre. (There are many, many words with screwy British spelling. This is going to be tricky). I'm going to take photos this week, I promise. The beach is especially amusing. The weather's been gorgeous for Scotland - 65 and sunny - which isn't exactly sunbathing weather. But, that's still a beautiful day, so families venture out to the beach in coats and the kids splash along the shore in rubber boots while their parents drink coffee on the sand.

This feels like a newly liberated phase of my life. After a spontaneous decision to confess long-repressed feelings before leaving the states (and a second follow-up weeks later, just for good measure), I've realised that certainty is more valuable than hope. And the hope was just a lingering vestige from a time and place long since gone by. I'm staying out here on this emotional limb - it feels good. I'm in love.

As for this blog, I'm going to try to keep it up while I'm here, but am still working out some sort of theme to keep me on track. I'm too poor (and uncultured) to review all the whiskeys on offer here and I think my grades might suffer if I venture onto a "try every pub in town" project, but I'll think of something. In the meantime, happy college football season to everyone. I've already met my first Gator here (the Gator Nation is everywhere!).

It's been almost eight months since I left Ethiopia and not a day has gone by where I don't think about my time there. It's virtually impossible to articulate what Assela means to me, but suffice it to say that it's never far from my thoughts. (Admittedly superficial) case in point: yesterday's near-tornado weather has left us without power for nearly a day and a half, but I'm still fixated on the fact that I got a ride out to Maryland so we could work today, during which I also charged my computer and am now amusing myself with Netflix. The fact that my neighbor, who's within wireless router distance, appears to have power, is an issue for another day. I, unlike many of my neighbors, am fully-prepared for two evenings of no power. I was in desperate need of an occasion to catch up on my knitting.

But returning to my original point - Ethiopia. I only spent a brief week or so with Chris and Jess, the lovely couple who took my place in Assela, but that was enough to be certain they were good people. One of my final projects was an attempt to find funding for a disabled cooperative that wanted to start a poultry farm. A Finnish NGO that I approached has apparently dropped the ball on actually paying out their grants, so Jess and Chris took matters in their own hands and have submitted an application to Peace Corps Partners, a grant program that enables PCVs to fundraise for projects outside of their assigned sector. If you're looking for a noble, worthy charitable cause to which to donate, then look no further than Abdiin Halaalissuu. I met them at the perfect time in my service - shortly after my herb garden project fell apart when the women discovered they'd have to work - and AH restored my faith in Ethiopia. They were so positive, and yet so realistic about the project. They incorporated as an organization and applied for a permit for land entirely on their own before they ever approached me about help finding start up funds.

The fact that the Finnish funding never came through during my tenure was one of my big regrets from Ethiopia and I'm so grateful that Chris and Jess have stayed involved with AH. Please read up on their project here. Every little bit helps - when dealing in birr, even 10 dollars is more than most families have to spend in a week. Aside from initial chicken and feed purchase, the majority of the funds will go towards building a proper chicken coop with a fence so that the group can raise chickens and harvest eggs en masse without risk of their chickens escaping or being eaten by local hyenas. The disabled have few rights in Ethiopia and are often sheltered or exploited by their families. The thirty people in AH who had the courage to come together and attempt to support themselves deserve a fighting chance. Every little bit helps, so please consider donating.

Donate Here

If you have any questions about the project, please don't hesitate to email me at jducey(at)gmail(dot)com. Thanks for your support!

Being here in DC for the World Cup is a strange sensation. Despite the age-old stereotype that Americans couldn't care less about soccer, people here are interested - bars were packed for the USA v England game, crowds gathered in Dupont Circle to watch on an outdoor screen (someone bothered to get the permits for that. Sure, he was an immigrant, but still - he expected enough people to turn up to make it worth his while). My personal favorite was the gang of men dressed in Revolutionary War uniforms marching through the circle and waving a giant flag.

But the best part? All the psuedo-political discussions of this rising trend in American interest in soccer and where it's going. Why we don't like soccer as a nation is an old topic (my personal theory: draws). Americans like dramatic, at-the-buzzer victories (like Donovan's goal), winners, and gloating. We'll happily sit through long, boring games with only fleeting moments of action (baseball, anyone?) or fast-paced/limited scoring sports (hockey?) as long as we can taunt our friends afterward. Otherwise, what's the point?

But as to why we're on board today and whether or not we'll be after the finals...here's an excerpt from Slate's "Dispatch from the US's Amazing World Cup Win over Algeria:"

Soccer may be the only sport left that allows us to be exuberantly and guiltlessly patriotic, which is perhaps why some progressives have trouble supporting the U.S. team. We can get away with such outpourings of nationalism because, in soccer, we're not a superpower. Imagine dressing up like Captain America and screaming your head off at a USA-Algeria basketball game. Not cool. But American soccer fans do scream. They bedeck themselves in flags and elaborate costumes. A national team game now looks like a cross between Carnival and a Revolutionary War re-enactment. And, thanks to Landon Donovan, Tim Howard, Clint Dempsey, and the rest of the U.S. national team, this wacky party will roll through South Africa for at least a few more days.

This is why I love the Olympics - unbridled, good-natured patriotism. Even Foreign Policy is in on the fun, suggesting that our attitude towards new sports is based on how well our team is doing. The Olympics are a great example - how many people cared about competitive swimming before Michael Phelps started collecting gold medals like discarded pennies? It's a bandwagon phenomenon - sure, no one knew Landon Donovan's name on Monday, but that doesn't make his goal any less thrilling or the victory any less sweet.

In this approach, the casual sports fan is using a strategy of "rational ignorance" -- i.e., not caring until the team is sufficiently successful. This is the kind of thing that political scientists tend to understand, but sports and politics junkies reject as somehow not representing true fandom. But it is how most people think about most things in life most of the time. So true. But back to work for now. Despite not watching a single qualifying match leading up to this game, I'll be in a bar on Saturday afternoon, decked out in red, white, and blue and cheering for my country.

I remember the first time I saw African dance. I was a freshmen at the University of Florida, taking a modern dance class on a whim. Our guest teacher spoke only French, and I'll never forget her standing in the center of the room, doing the same movement over and over while each of us placed our hands on her sternum and back to feel how her breath flowed with the movement. Even without a language barrier, words cannot describe the fluidity of dance. I didn't dance much after that semester, instead dedicating my spare credit hours to mastering Arabic, but that moment stayed with me.

Four and a half years later, I found myself in the banquet hall of a government hotel long past its days of questionable glory in the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. Nine months of paperwork and planning had led to my arrival in Ethiopia in October 2007 as one of 43 Peace Corps Volunteers working in HIV/AIDS prevention and control. The first volunteers in the country since the late 1990s and the first health volunteers in the program's history, we were bursting with idealism and excitement about diving into a new culture. Twenty minutes into our orientation, after discovering that the Amharic alphabet has 231 letters and "thank you" has seven or eight syllables, depending on how formal you want to be, we wondered if we'd ever be able to communicate, let alone begin to understand this new home of ours.

But then the dancing started. Ethiopia is home to some 80 tribes, each with their own languages and dances, but the eskista seems to span ethnic divides. Done almost exclusively with the shoulders, it lacks the spirited leaping I later found in Uganda and the lightening fast feet of West Africa. Instead, it is an organic motion that looks simple until you realize you've never isolated your shoulders like that before. But it is in this deceptive simplicity and repetition that you find eskista's charm. Anyone can do it (albeit with varying degrees of skill). One by one, all 43 of us tentatively joined the circle, mimicking our language teachers' motions. As they smiled and nodded their encouragement, we caught each other's glances across the room, shrugged, and threw ourselves into it. Suddenly, Ethiopia didn't feel so foreign. So what if we couldn't pronounce half the alphabet or read a street sign? We could dance!

Dance remained a stabilizing force throughout my two years of service. Sure, I eventually learned to read the language and eat with my hands without looking like the rejected aftermath of a Jackson Pollock studio session. But dance was always there to build a bridge when words only widened the cultural barriers, whether smoothing over the inevitable awkward moments when discussing my marital status (or lack thereof) or when making friends on an isolated island in southern Uganda. Like the chocolate cakes that became my trademark, dance brought me closer to my community, creating common ground when my atheism, independent streak, and disinterest in domestic bliss and motherhood brought only bewildered stares.

Bushara Island, Lake Bunyoni, Uganda

For a ballerina raised in a carefully planned suburban community, African dance was a window to a new world where passion abounds and "wrong" answers are in short supply. To me, African dance is about freedom. Freedom to dance as you see fit, to let out a ululation or shout if so moved, to embrace your body for what it can do, not what it looks like. The perfectionist in me still loves ballet - that sense of constantly striving towards a goal, the concrete rewards for improvement, a tangible, measurable standard by which to be "the best." But African dance is something else entirely - the drum circle is like a diary, a place for dancers to pour their emotions without judgment.

Today, that's what African dance means to me. A place to tell my story, whether joyful or sad, without the added burden of words. I may or may not have stumbled into love in the Arsi Mountains, but I certainly found compassion and an unwavering patriotism for the American values I hold dear. The complicated emotions Ethiopia provokes in me defy rational or verbal explanation. I'm still resentful of the adjective "African" to describe anything but a landmass. The "African" dance I've experienced here at Dance Place bears no resemblance to the eskista of my Ethiopian days. But the spirit remains the same. It's a way to commiserate with others, to dance united despite our different paths to the circle. A place where participation matters more than skill. But most of all, African dance is a trip down memory lane, to the life I led, the friends I made, and the lessons I learned in a small mountain town in Ethiopia.

Meskel (finding of the true cross) celebration, Assela, Ethiopia

If it turns out I'm wrong and there is an afterlife, I hope it's like this (Swiss segment starts around 2 minutes, fondue pong around 3 minutes).

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30cOlympic International Houseswww.colbertnation.comColbert Report Full EpisodesPolitical HumorSkate Expectations

My life is just less interesting when I'm not abroad. Or at least less entertaining. Snowpocalypse, despite the cabin fever, was not enough to destroy my infatuation with DC and winter. I love this city. I drifted off for a moment on the bus home from the grocery store last weekend and accidentally shouted "waraj ale" (the Amharic for "stop the bus") as we approached my stop. An Ethiopian guy on the bus recovered from his bewilderment in time to pull the cord for me. I repeat, I love this city. I can't see myself settling anywhere else. I mean, where else can you find random snow sculptures in front of phallic monuments?

In the last month, I've been promoted to a full-time staff member at Dance Place, so I'm in the process of leaving NARAL Pro-Choice America. But don't worry, you'll still get your fill of news on reproductive rights and sex education. (Kudos to the Department of Defense for finally providing emergency contraception to soldiers at overseas bases!).

As part of my new position at Dance Place, I'm overseeing the revival of the organization's blog. Check it out for interviews with artists performing at our theater and other news from the DC dance community. I'm especially excited about this weekend's performance from Tiffany Mills. Based on descriptions and her interview, it's the sort of dance I'd like to be doing if I wasn't so afraid of failing as an artist. However, after a recent conversation with an old college mentor, I'm recommitting to that hazy notion I've always had of venturing into the field of travel writing. Seems spending my days surrounded by artists is a good influence for chasing distant pipe dreams.

I've also started spending a few hours a week in our theater shadowing Technical Director Ben Levine and learning about the wonders of light and sound. Talk about an under-appreciated job! When watching a production, most audience members don't realize how much went into those dramatic lights that accentuate every movement. We spent four hours today rigging lights for a simple show in a small space. Every single light is individually hung, positioned, focused, and wired into the light board that allows the tech director to control them all during a performance. Most also get color gels, frosts, or templates added. Since they're positioned overhead, this involves rolling a twenty foot ladder around the stage and climbing up to adjust every light. So next time you're watching something on stage (concert, play, dance production - anything), take a moment to think about how those lights all got there.

In other news, I found a flat in St. Andrews - two bedrooms, right in the heart of the town, five minutes from virtually everything (If I'm willing to pay, I might also have it all to myself in the summer, so start planning your trip now!). The more time I put into preparing to move to Scotland, the more excited I get. Everyone has only the most positive things to say about the Scots and their country (weather and food excepted, but I can subsist on tikka masala, so I'm prepared for British food), and my experiences have done nothing to shake that warm, friendly image.

And finally, because everyone loves puppies...

It's not actually slow motion video - it's a series of stills from a marvelously high-tech digital camera.

Ridiculous.

I've been snowed in since Friday afternoon and the novelty is wearing off. It's beautiful to look at and two days off of work is never terrible, but I'm getting cabin fever. But the Metro's back today, even though the federal government's not, so I'm going to wander around the Mall and take photos. Anything to get out of the house. Especially considering that more snow is coming tonight...

In other news, the much-anticipated Tebow/Focus on the Family commercial aired. It was worth absolutely none of the hype, but the FoF marketing team gets a prize for creating controversy and guaranteeing everyone watched that ad (but then they get their prize revoked for spreading bigotry and inaccurate information). If they hadn't, it would have been one more ad in the mix, and not even a particularly interesting one. If you weren't familiar with Focus on the Family (which I'd bet a sizable portion of Superbowl-watchers weren't before the media hype began), it would have been just one more reason to make fun of Tim Tebow for bringing emotions into the manly sport of football. (Don't get me wrong, I'm a Gator and love the boy's football skills, but I think he should keep his politics out of the game. Raise money for the foundation and your values on your own time. Capitalizing on his celebrity is fine, everyone does it, but not on the job.) Epic fail for the women's groups who protested the ad and raised its profile and epic fail for FoF for blowing 2.5 million (est.) dollars on thirty seconds when there are families who could use real support. If I were them, I would have rode the publicity bandwagon leading up to the Superbowl, leaked the ad so it would end up on Youtube, and hence on the news, and just reveled in the free media. Good thing they didn't ask me.

One perk to being back in a country with no state-controlled internet: PostSecret. I also think flowers are for people who don't know what the industry does to the environment and water supplies in the developing world. Some grain field in Ethiopia is drying up because water went to the flower farms instead. I don't mean to sound preachy, I just feel really strongly about unnecessary waste.

Happy National Condom Week/Valentine's Day! This year, tell someone how much you love them in your own words and actions. It'll mean more to them, even if it's less poetic.

Today is the 37th anniversary of Roe v. Wade, the landmark Supreme Court Decision that established a woman's right to privacy and safe, legal abortion. Why should you care? Right now, jury selection continues in the trial of Scott Roeder, accused of murdering Dr. George Tiller, a long-time abortion provider in Kansas, last May. Despite a 1993 attempt on his life, Dr. Tiller continued to offer a vital service to women in need until he was fatally shot while serving as an usher at his church. He famously wore a button that said simply "Trust women." This is all I am asking you to do.

What does it mean to be "pro-choice?"

We believe that individual women know more about their own unique situations than politicians or religious leaders. We believe that every child deserves to enter this world into the arms of parents who are prepared to give him/her all the love, care, and support s/he needs. We believe that women are intelligent enough to make informed decisions about their reproductive health in consultation with their doctors, partners, families, and anyone else they choose to include. Choose. That's what trusting women is about. The pro-choice movement is not pro-abortion. This is patently absurd. No one wants a woman to have an abortion and we certainly don't advocate the procedure as a means of birth control. But the choice must exist so we can ensure that all the other options are also available.

I'm pro-choice because I believe in education. Given accurate information, women (and their partners) can and should be trusted to make educated decisions about their own lives. Given accurate information, abortion should become a moot issue. If children are raised in an open, caring environment where they are comfortable asking questions about sex and sexuality, if schools present accurate, age-appropriate, comprehensive information about abstinence, contraception, and reproductive health, if women and men have universal, affordable, and reliable access to contraception and healthcare, if emergency contraception is available in hospitals and over the counter, then we can create a society where every child is wanted and loved. At the end of the day, isn't that what both sides of this issue want?

I'd like to think so, but it's simply not true. The anti-choice (or "pro-life," as they call themselves) movement continues to oppose comprehensive sex education programs despite mounting evidence that abstinence-only programs are not effective. Studies of peer-reviewed, published research show that abstinence-only programs do nothing to delay sexual debut or reduce rates of STIs and pregnancy. Comprehensive or "abstinence-plus" education programs, on the other hand, consistently achieve positive behavior change, lower STI rates, and do not encourage young people to have sex earlier or with more partners. Abstinence is a personal choice that we are all free to make (and I encourage delaying sex until both partners are ready for the emotional commitment of sex and are fully educated about the possible risks and consequences). Learning about contraception and protection from STIs doesn't interfere with abstinence; it only ensures that those who eventually choose to become sexually active have the knowledge to do so safely. Where's the harm in learning how to protect oneself?

More than 85% of parents want schools to cover sex education topics like HIV, STIs, and contraception. Maybe it's just because they were raised in a generation that eschewed all talk of sex and want to pass the buck, but let's embrace the opportunity to give kids accurate information that could save their lives one day (and possibly ensure they raise children who feel comfortable talking about sex). Perhaps more importantly, 84% of parents believe (correctly) that giving kids information about contraception doesn't increase promiscuity. As I'm fond of saying, just because I distribute condoms and have, at one time or another, stored several thousand in my home, doesn't mean that I feel compelled to rush out and use them. I'm typing this post across from a room filled with condoms, and here I sit, urging restraint and informed decision-making. Only 39% of high schools taught their students how to correctly use a condom in 2006. Ten years ago, it was 50%. Do you know how to correctly use a condom? Do your teenagers?

Currently, almost half of all pregnancies in the United States are unplanned. Of those, the two thirds of women who use contraception regularly accound for only 5% of unplanned pregnanies. Access to contraception works. Knowledge about contraception works. Although the US teen pregnancy rate has declined by more than 50% since 1990, it is still double the rate in the UK and Canada and eight times the rate in the Netherlands. For a country that strives to be a gloabl leader, this is unacceptable. A quarter of women who use contraception get it from publicly-funded family planning clinics, and that number is rising due to the recession and increasing unemployment. The average cost of an abortion is $413 dollars. A year of birth control costs around $200 at a clinic like Planned Parenthood, even less with insurance or at clinics with sliding scales. Condoms are even cheaper and are commonly available free from health clinics, college campuses, and other locations. We cannot allow debate about abortion to interfere with funding for these vital contraceptive services.

Don't like abortion? Then do something to make it less necessary. Support affordable access to birth control. Lobby your state to end inaccurate and incomplete "abstinence-only" sex education programs and instead enact comprehensive sex education in schools. Tell your legislators to preserve or increaes public funding for contraception (and while you're at it, mention that servicewomen deserve the same access to emergency contraception that civilians enjoy). We shouldn't, as a country, be arguing about whether or not to make abortion legal (Criminalization does nothing to change abortion rates - they are roughly the same worldwide, regardless of legality. The only difference is safety). We should instead be working together to build a society where abortion is rarely necessary.

End the fight. Support comprehensive access and education.

Trust women.

---

Want to get more involved in pro-choice advocacy and comprehensive sex education? Sign up for action alerts at NARAL Pro-Choice America for quick and easy ways to support pro-choice legislation and policies nationally and in your state.

For more information on contraceptive services and education programs, visit your local Planned Parenthood.

All statistics are from the Guttmacher Institute. Become a fan of Guttmacher on Facebook for more facts like these every day.

So I was wrong. Being home finally got to me. The excitement and freedom started to wear off and I'm now nostalgic for the simplicity of Ethiopia. It started with the consumerism of the holidays and the announcement that the city of Orlando had, in a gesture of empathy for those laid off and unemployed this year, decided not to put up its $30,00 (ish - I can't remember the exact amount) holiday light display. Then, a "generous" businessman stepped in and offered to front the bill. For at least as long as I've lived in the state, we've had a teacher shortage and one of the nation's poorest-performing school systems. Why does it not occur to anyone to donate that money to a teacher's salary or textbooks instead?

It was all downhill from there...seeing the time and money we spend on decorations, on gifts selected and given out of obligation, not love. Are people really happier receiving a gift they don't particularly want or need than simply spending time with the person who gave it? I know I'm hardly innocent of spending money on superfluous things - I could have just as easily posted this from a free computer at the library instead of on the expensive laptop I'm currently using. I still intend to eventually own a dog and spoil it in the American tradition. I don't need an iPod or a digital camera or any of the other expensive electronics I own, but a starving kid in the Congo certainly could have benefited from that money. I'm not claiming any false sense of superiority here, just venting. But everything in moderation, right? I don't need these things, but they're at least useful, in a sense. Maybe we should have our major family gatherings around days that would allow us to just celebrate our relationships instead of trying to express them in material things - Independence Day or Thanksgiving, anyone?

What's more depressing is the realization that Americans aren't unique in this, we just have the means to take it to extremes. The vast majority of the world would follow in our footsteps - or at least the spirit thereof - given just a dash of disposable income. I saw it even in Ethiopia, one of the poorest nations in the world. I suppose I should find solace in the fact that maybe this is an inherent part of human nature, but I'm just sad. I desperately don't want to be one of those people who's seen "real poverty" and is forever a sanctimonious jerk to everyone she knows, but I have to say it once here because I can't just ignore it anymore. I'll spare you in the future.

This all spiraled out of control into my sobbing profusely cleaning out my closet for the first time since early high school and seeing firsthand how much I've wasted in the last decade. Seeing how far a dollar goes outside of the US just makes realizing my own selfish waste that much more disgusting (not to mention going through clothes that are a painful reminder of how much thinner I once was). Writing about it is incredibly cathartic, so thank you for reading.

In another shocking development, I had a sudden craving for shiro wat. I thought it would take a lot longer than that to miss Ethiopian food, but here I am in DC, evaluating reviews of Ethiopian restaurants online. I think John, a group 2 volunteer, summed up beautifully the hold Ethiopia eventually had on all of us:

As of late, I have been falling in love with Ethiopia. It’s stubborn, ungracious, dirty, dangerous and I absolutely love it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to move out here, but I definitely feel that Ethiopia will always have a special spot in my heart.

***

Friends, family, and readers of this blog have been asking me "what's next?" After two months bumming on the couch at home, I moved to Washington, DC, where I'm working for Dance Place in the development office and NARAL Pro-Choice America's organizing and affiliate office. So far, both jobs are going well. I'm particularly enjoying being surrounded by young, motivated, and socially conscious women at NARAL after two years of working almost exclusively with men. And I'm looking forward to free dance classes! My cab driver from the airport was an Ethiopian, so I was able to shock him with a few basic greetings and then we discussed Meles' merits (or lack thereof). I love this city.

As for what's next... After the Marshall scholarship debacle, I went ahead and applied direct to St. Andrews University in Scotland and hope to be studying for a master's degree in international security studies next September. I'll continue posting here as I come across interesting things, but probably less prolifically for a while. Thanks to everyone who's followed this blog for the last few years!

It's been a few days since I've been home, and it's not as weird as I'd imagined. I think I spent so much time thinking about what would be different and challenging that I over hyped the entire "re-entry" concept. It's been a busy week though - flew to Atlanta and was interviewed and subsequently rejected for a Marshall scholarship, only to discover that I was next on the list in a year where budget limited the commission to 35 instead of 40 awards, meaning that my region had seven instead of eight. That was a rough day. But getting an interview bodes well for being admitted to St. Andrews independently, and there are still a few scholarships out there for Americans, so I still have a good shot at spending next year in Scotland.

After that debacle, I went to the grocery store (deli & produce = glorious!), joined the gym, spent an ungodly amount of time trying to find a no-contract phone plan (for other returning PCVs hoping to move/find a job, Virgin USA had the best deal I could find), and am now reliving my old middle school days by riding my bike around the neighborhood (although that seems to confuse a lot of the cars not used to sharing a lane - apparently Hunter's Creek is not a "bike to work" sort of neighborhood!).

The only truly odd thing about coming back has been the little things I've noticed. In the Frankfurt airport (while enjoying my wheat beer and pretzel!), I was enthralled watching the interactions between the twenty-something waitress and the middle-aged male customers. It wasn't flirting, per se, but more of a friendly banter that made me realize how long it's been since I've seen men and women interact without awkwardness. Now I'm seeing it everywhere and realizing how incomplete life is when you feel uncomfortable around half the population. This relates back to my desire to take salsa or hip-hop classes - after three years, I'm tired of the idea that a woman's sexuality is something to be repressed or feared.

But best of all has been feeling as though I fit in again - walking through the grocery store and, despite my dopey grin at the cheese section, having no one really care. And then understanding the conversations happening around me - that's an unusual sensation. We'll see how it all goes - it might

Now that I've left Ethiopia, if you're craving more stories from the birthplace of humanity, I've linked to several of the more active PCV blogs to the right.

Gazing out over the scenery while riding the dawn bus from Assela to Adama, I found myself humming a vaguely familiar tune. As we rounded the curve and the full vista of shimmering gold wheat fields in front of distant mountains came into view, I recognized the opening bars of "America the Beautiful," a traditional American song.

"O beautiful, for spacious skies

O'er amber waves of grain

For purple mountains, majesties

Above the fruited plains"

In that moment, Ethiopia looked just like the vast plains of the American midwest where I was born and I realized that Ethiopia had become a second home to me. Looking back, I hardly remember my first frightened trips to the market, testing my fledgling Amharic as I bought a kilo of onions or found the grinding mill for the first time. Today, it all feels like second nature to me.

While my time here has been filled with challenges as I adjusted to living far from home in a new culture, now, just days before my departure, my mind is filled with only the joyous moments of the last two years. The young woman who stood up in an English class full of men and said she wanted to dedicate her life to campaigning for the rights of women around the world. The boy who shyly thanked me and told me that every Ethiopian he knew wanted to go to America, but I was the only American he'd ever seen in Ethiopia. The old woman who passionately taught her daughters that respect is a universal human right. The prisoners overjoyed to discover they deserved the same opportunities as anyone else. The teacher who said he can identify an American because we are always smiling and treat everyone the same. The bus passengers and cafe patrons with whom I shared countless humorous cultural exchanges. The list is endless.

My heart is torn as I alternate between excitement about going back to America and sadness for this new home that I'll be leaving behind. I believe that more unites us than divides us, and never has that been more true than after my time in Ethiopia. When I first arrived here, all I could see was how different Ethiopia was from America. But in time, I realized that deep down, we are all citizens of the world; we all want the same things - the opportunity to improve our lives and leave the world a little better for the next generation. The comfort and love of a family. I'll miss the Ethiopian family I've created here. I'll miss catching my breath every time I look up at the beauty of Chilalo Mountain silhouetted against the crystal blue sky. I'll miss being welcomed like a long lost friend in my local cafes and restaurants. I'll miss introducing dozens of Ethiopians to American chocolate cake and falling asleep to the sound of rain crashing on a tin roof.

In America, we say that "home is where the heart is." If that's true, then my home is scattered around the world, but there's now a little piece of my heart snugly nestled in the Ethiopian highlands. One day, I'll come back to find it again.

-my submission to Peace Corps/Ethiopia's program newsletter and my last post from Ethiopia.

I finally read The Poisonwood Bible, and although Kingsolver is much

too flowery a writer for my taste, I still couldn't put it down.

Perhaps because I'm here, but it turned out to be one of those books

that will probably forever stay with me. Part of me wishes the

preacher had tripped coming off the plane and sustained a brain injury

that would leave him forever mute, but I'm sure anyone else who's read

the book could have predicted I'd react in that way. There are

passages throughout the novel that I felt like were stolen from my own

thoughts. About trying to make sense of your own culture, lifestyle,

and beliefs in a world where they're frankly absurd. The daughters'

reactions to the lives and behaviors of the villagers. Reconciling

yourself to the reality that you must live under every assumption

based on everyone who's ever looked like you while knowing full well

you'll be lambasted for venturing any assumptions of your own. The

child-like fascination with the local food, dress, culture, lifestyle

- everything. The odd things you find yourself missing from home.

Your tiniest, most mundane action being fascinating, every single day

for months on end. Feeling like a regular in an establishment to

which you've never actually been. The notion that no amount of time

or language ability is enough to allow a white person to truly fit in

and be accepted. It's comforting to know that you're never the only

one.As I come down to my final weeks here, I'm starting to think about

what Ethiopia will mean to me - how do I take this experience home

with me? How have I changed? The five-person narrator style of the

book did a lot to set me reflecting on how people allow Africa to

affect them. (This will be one of the few times I willingly refer to

"Africa" in the broad sense - culturally, each country is drastically

different, but the overall effect on Western mores is similar, and

that's the only context in which I'll ever use the term). Some people

end up feeling forever guilty for the privilege in which they were

raised - I don't want to be that girl. There are aspects of America

that I'm sure I'll find overwhelmingly gluttonous - we probably don't

need twenty varieties of canned soup, but all I can see is the other

side of that equation. With rampant consumerism comes choice, and the

belief that all of those choices are equally (or at least marginally)

valid. I'd rather have twenty soups I don't have to eat than have to

justify my job, love life, children or lack thereof, eating habits,

what I do or don't do on Sunday mornings, or anything else to anyone

else. I now appreciate those choices more than I ever would have if

I'd never lived without them. I'll probably also forever appreciate

the tiny details of my privileged life that I've historically taken

for granted - running water, electricity, parents who allow me to live

my own life, friends who appreciate that I form my own opinions, a

government that allows me to publicly disagree with it. I'd like to

fall somewhere in the middle, not renouncing my own background to

become "African," but not also writing off the entire experience as a

closed chapter in my life, never to be revisited.Less than four weeks left. I just can't believe it's been this long

already and I don't even know how I feel about leaving. There are

reasons here for which I'd stay, not forever but for a time. But

there are also reasons at home for which I'd leave tomorrow. People

join the Peace Corps to "find themselves," but after life here,

everything seems feasible, so how do I weigh those reasons and figure

out how I'll carry Ethiopia with my for the rest of my life?

The links in the last post should actually work now - I finally

finished posting photos from the trip. Hope you enjoy!

Photos:Uganda: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2892561&id=2001205&l=a8e8ff8849

Rwanda: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2892547&id=2001205&l=bc92401ce9As the photos suggest, the trip was incredible. I've never met so

many ridiculously friendly people as I did in Uganda. Even the

immigration officials had enormous grins on their faces. When we

stumbled into the rioting in Kampala, people went out of their way to

make sure we weren't involved. Our bus driver warned us about streets

to avoid, and a woman ended up walking us a kilometer out of her way

to show us to a bus station we were trying to find. And this wasn't

limited to saving the mzungus from chaos - on Bushara Island, a

stunningly beautiful camp on Lake Bunyonyi (thanks Will for the

recommendation!), the staff were equally attentive (apologizing for

food being late? Inday?). Bushara was a Peace Corps Volunteer's

dream - sustainable, eco-friendly camp (composting toilets!) staffed

by the local community and where all profits go back into the

community. Scholarships for students, orphan caregiver businesses,

handicraft cooperatives, vegetable garden on the premises, dance

troupes, dugout canoe trips - the works. We further proved our theory

that if you're willing to make a fool of yourself, people will love

you forever. Ugandan dance is not beginner-friendly. Lots of

spirited leaping high into the air - exhausting. But more more free

and uninhibited than most Ethiopian dances, so it was refreshing to

move something besides our shoulders. We definitely felt it the next

day though! We stayed in a sweet little "treehouse" (although not

actually in a tree) with a balcony overlooking the lake and a gorgeous

outdoor shower. Glorious. I'm going back if I ever find myself in

Uganda again.Rafting the Nile is better described in photos (we successfully

navigated our way down a 12 foot waterfall!), but I'm now considering

abandoning all my academic plans and getting certified as a raft

guide. That would be the life, for a few years at least. One of our

fellow rafters was a Kiwi working for a charity that funds, among

other things, an NGO in Somaliland (not Somalia!) working on education

and rehabilitation for former Islamic militants. He found my

excitement rather odd, to say the least, but is putting me in touch

with the directors to see about possible teaching jobs. You meet the

most fascinating people wandering through Africa.And the mountain gorillas. Yes, it's worth it. A 400-pound

silverback walked within a meter of me. They're such breathtaking

animals, it's easy to see how Dian Fossey ended up spending her life

with them. I've never felt so poor in all my life though - we were

surrounded by middle age, high-end travelers decked out in all the

fancy trekking gear and wearing several thousand dollars worth of

camera equipment dangling off their belts, and there we were, the

backpackers in ratty clothes, staying at the ten-dollar a night hostel

and fretting over the cost of hiring a car to the park entrance. I

think the park staff noticed and took pity on us though, because we

ended up trekking the Susa family, the largest of them all (41 members

when most have 10-15) and also the family that Fossey studied. After

scrambling up wet undergrowth on a 45 degree incline at 2500 meters

for three hours, we walked up to a sleeping silverback, the family

matriarch, and her six-month-old baby. And it just gets better - we

ended up seeing at least 24 members of the family, including the

playful five-year-old twins who seemed to love posing for our cameras.

You're so close that a telephoto lens is actually a handicap.

Incredible.Within our group, we also had a very amusing travel companion, who

apparently had "the worst shower of his life" at a $500 per night

resort overlooking the volcanoes. We amused our fellow trekkers with

stories of Ethiopia, which was simply beyond comprehension for most.

Peter frightened them all describing how excited Karen and I got when

we discovered that sliced bread abounds in Uganda (seriously - people

walk around the bus station selling it! I haven't seen sliced bread

in two years!). Note the number of photos we took of us eating basic

grocery store food. And then there were the crisp green apples on

every street corner. We had a mild breakdown in a supermarket in

Entebbe trying to decided between three kinds of equally priced cheese

(it took us close to ten minutes to reason it out), then a similar

incident when faced with six varieties of sliced bread. We won't even

discuss our reactions to finding such a glorious supermarket. Just a

precursor to the odd creatures we're going to be when we come home.

Consider yourself warned.We also spent a few nights in Gisenyi, on Lake Kivu, a quiet little

lake town that has actually been slightly ruined for me since I

learned that it served as the HQ for the interim

government/genocidaires when the rebel army captured Kigali. But it

boasts a quiet lakefront beach, where we had picnics and made friends

with random Rwandan wanderers who asked us for, in order, a book,

lotion, and to take his photo with all of us. Plus a couple of

teenage boys who proved unable to speak directly to women, diverting

all their questions about Karen and I through Peter ("What book is

Jessica reading? How old is Karen?"). We spent our evenings at a

beach front bar enjoying the local Primus (served in 720 cl bottles!)

and playing with the resident dog and her seven (!) puppies. That's

an impressive litter anywhere, but to have that many survive in

Africa? Wow. I had to be restrained from taking one or more home

with us.All in all, an amazing trip, riots and all. Both countries are highly

recommended. Peace Corps officially booked my flight and I'll be home

November 15. Crazy. New VSO volunteers arrived last week and the new

PCVs arrive in Assela on Saturday (can't wait to meet you all!), so I

have plenty of distractions for these final months.

For a lot of people, Rwanda exists as the genocide and nothing more.

In a way, that's true - it's impossible to be there without thinking

about it. But the country shows an incredible recovery. Kigali feels

virtually like a first-world capital - paved roads, shiny glass

buildings, and some of the cleanest streets I've ever seen. (Perhaps

the nationwide ban on plastic bags - in favor of paper - has something

to do with that). After the genocide museum and memorials, the

country's development seems that much more impressive. The museum is

one of the most moving places I've ever seen - the final room is

filled with enormous photographs of child victims, complete with

information about their lives before the war. Things like their

favorite toys or foods and personalities...and then how they died.

The one that made me lose it was a little six year old boy who liked

helping people, wanted to be a doctor, and who's last words were

"UNAMIR will save us." He was hacked to death by a machete. How?

Why?In only fifteen years, the visible signs of a violent civil war have

disappeared. But I don't believe the memory ever will. Eight hundred

thousand people - ten percent of the population - gone forever.

Walking down the street, you can't help but look at everyone and

wonder "Where were you?" Did you watch your family slaughtered in

front of you? Did a stroke of luck or the generosity of a stranger

save you? Did you betray a neighbor? Or worse yet, did you hack your

friends and neighbors to death? With every child over the age of

fifteen, you can't stop yourself from imagining what they saw. I just

finished reading Romeo Dallaire's (the Canadian general who headed the

UN Assistance Mission for Rwanda before and during the genocide) Shake

Hands with the Devil (a book everyone should read) and I've never been

so horrified by anything in my life. Rivers choked with bodies, rats

the size of dogs, dogs that had to be shot because they'd developed a

taste for human flesh and were no longer satisfied with carrion.

Trying to remove a moving person from a pile of bodies only to

discover that the maggots inside created the illusion of life. The

mission didn't have pens and paper, let alone troops and supplies, yet

they stayed, constantly urging the Security Council that they could

stop the killings with 5,000 troops. The inaction of the world was

shameful, and all the more so because it seems we've learned nothing.But what struck me more was the incongruity of it all. Rwanda is one

of the most naturally beautiful places I've ever seen. Lush green

hills, rust red dirt - it's the Africa a child would paint. There's

nothing impressively beautiful in the way the Grand Canyon or a

flawless beach is gorgeous, but more of a calm tranquility that makes

what happened even more unbelievable. More shocking is how much a

part of life the genocide reminders still are. In one of the most

densely populated countries in the world, where even steep hills are

intensely cultivated, there's simply no room to move away. We visited

a genocide memorial in a church outside of Kigali. You walk down a

residential road to reach it, which is difficult enough, only to find

that the gates face a school. Walking through the church, with the

stifling odor of death and decay and pews piled with a nauseating

volume of rags that were once someone's clothes, you can hear the

shouts of children in the schoolyard. In the back are underground

graves with piles of skulls and bones. They look the same at first,

then you notice the smaller skulls or the gashes or the shattered eye

sockets. A lone man silently leads you around the grounds and all you

can think about is that he has to have a reason to be there. You

don't want to ask in case it's guilt, but then what kind of person are

you for hoping it's "only" to remain close to the memory of those he

lost?What happened in Rwanda needs to be remembered, but it's unfortunate

that the reminders haunt those who can never forget instead of those

who stood by and condoned the atrocities. That church belongs in

Washington, DC, in Brussels, in Paris, in London, or on the grounds of

the UN building, not in the backyards of the survivors. Never again.

"Insensate cruelty to those you can whip, and groveling submission to

those you can't...It was inevitable that she should accept any

inconsistency and cruelty from her deity as all good worshippers do

from theirs. All gods who receive homage are cruel. All gods

dispense suffering without reason. Otherwise they would not be

worshipped. Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear

is the most divine emotion. It is the stones for altars and the

beginning of wisdom. Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers.

Real gods require blood...The physical impossibilities in no way

injured faith. That was the mystery and mysteries are the chores of

gods. Beyond her faith was a fanaticism to defend the altars of her

god. " - Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching GodI think I've recovered from my Toni Morrison-induced disdain for an

entire genre of literature. I've recently finished both Hurston

(above) and A Raisin in the Sun, both of which were excellent. Eyes

was set in Depression-era Florida, which was entertaining. I also

finished the Old Testament (!). Traumatized is a rather gentle word.

Read it cover to cover, not just the inspirational quotable bits you'd

get in a sermon, and I think you get a better picture of why I can't

believe. The indiscriminate punishments, the inconsistencies, the

violence (and let's not even get into the frequent rape and gender

issues), the holding of grudges and punishing the many for the sins of

the few. What's the use of worshipping primarily (or solely, one

might argue) out of fear? How is that a god in which anyone could

find solace, his non-existence notwithstanding? On a side note, I was

rather disappointed that all the allusions I was hoping to better

understand turned out to be only a few verses long.In less contentious news, I recently experienced the joy and

efficiency that is the Assela police station. When my wallet was

stolen earlier this summer, it seems I was right to think it was too

good to be true that someone would be returning it to me. It never

showed up and I can't get in touch with the guy who supposedly had it.

Alas. Anyway, without an Ethiopian resident ID, I can't get

discounted airfare and there are rumors that we have to return the ID

in order to leave the country, so I figured I should have that

replaced. Unfortunately, you need a sealed police report in order to

get a new one, which strikes me a rather silly, since I highly doubt

there's much of a market for a resident (not citizen) ID with a white

girl's photo on it. But I digress.I anticipated the process being torturous, so I went with our security

officer when he was in town. The "chief investigator," who I

sincerely hope is downsized tomorrow, refused to help us because we

said it was "lost on a bus" and there was no way of knowing if it

actually happened in Assela (never mind that we just wanted the piece

of paper, we weren't going so far as to actually request he

investigate the crime or anything crazy like that). Fikre (our

security officer) happens to be friends with the chief, so he went

over his head and talked the chief into forcing a report for us.

Fikre was angry enough to not even shake the investigator's hand when

we left, which is probably closest to the American equivalent of

defecating on someone's desk. I was told to call in a week to see if

it was ready. I did so. It wasn't, but would be the following week.

I went back. The chief was gone and no one knew what I was talking

about. I called Fikre to get the chief to share the situation with

his underlings. A week later, I was assured the report and chief

would be there the next day, so I showed up again. Chief was gone and

no one knew what I was talking about. Three calls to the chief

established that my ID had been stolen, but nothing else. While

refusing to sit in protest, I managed to make it clear that the report

was finished and I just wanted to pick it up. A fourth call to the

chief determined this was not the case.At this point, my standing was making people nervous (we were rapidly

approaching the hour mark), so the guy in charge ordered someone to

write the report for me. After verifying the name of the country (The

Federal Democratic Republic of Ethiopia) in which he was born and has

never left, he embarked upon the task. By hand writing on a piece of

double-wide notebook paper, with a sheet of carbon paper in the middle

so they could have a copy (I suppose I should be grateful I didn't

have to wait for someone to write a second one). Three stamps were

applied, someone signed it, and tore the sheet in half (not even cut).

At the last moment, someone was sent across the street to buy an

envelope. An hour and twenty minutes after walking in, I was solemnly

presented with a torn piece of notebook paper in an airmail envelope

with another symphony of stamps across the flap. How many people

would you guess it takes to reach this state of affairs? I'll give

you a hint. A normal person wouldn't have enough fingers to tell this

story with dramatic hand gestures for emphasis. We peaked at 11

officers, plus four random people in there for their own reasons (all

of whom arrived after and left before me, furthering my frustration).

Remind me to never be robbed again.I wish I wasn't such a slacker at staying in touch with old

professors. I'm going to have such horribly mediocre letters of

recommendation while applying for graduate school and a means of

funding it that doesn't entail black market organ donation. I had

also not opened my CV file since before leaving Jordan, which was an

unfortunate mess to clean up and update. I haven't brought myself to

start the even more excruciating process of personal statements and

the like. Baby steps.Funny how nothing ever seems to go according to plan and we always end

up better for the things and people that stumble across us. You'd

think we'd learn to just stop planning and live.Wishlist:

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or UK Office, series 2-onward)

-Cheese in any form

-Original cheddar goldfish crackers

-Hollandaise sauce

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-Fritos

It occurs to me that group 3 of the PC Ethiopia program has probably

received all of their invitations by now and are panicking as they

attempt to fit their entire life into 80lbs in the next two months.

If you've stumbled across this blog googling "peace corps ethiopia,"

feel free to email me if you have any questions, concerns, whatever.

That's what we're here for. You'll all be training in and around my

lovely town of Assela, 2600-ish meters above sea level in the shadow

of Mt. Chilalo (4139m), where the weather and scenery are gorgeous and

there's no oxygen. A great place to start running, if you're given to

such silly notions - Assela is the capital of Arsi Zone, birthplace of

all of Ethiopia's marathoners. One lap around the stadium track and

you'll understand why. A free word of advice - don't bother with

solar anything. Your house will have power, and electricity cuts are

most common in the rainy season, when there's no sun anyway (13 months

of sunshine, the national tourism board slogan, is a misnomer at

best).I've been reading Huxley's Point Counter Point and find myself

thoroughly entertained by that generation of literature's assumption

that readers speak several languages. Latin and French references are

never translated, and although I don't actually speak either language,

I enjoy the nostalgia for a time when English speakers weren't

necessarily monolingual. Ditto for references to classic literature -

one brief line, and the reader is just expected to understand all that

Morley or Proust encapsulates (if wishing made it so). Those were the

days. I also love the way he talks about sex and love in a poetic,

roundabout way - somehow it's sexier than the more explicit, direct

descriptions of modern literature.On that topic, I recently had a fascinating discussion with Eshetu

about homosexuality (and sex in general - after all, I AM an HIV

educator). Like all Ethiopians I've met, he's repulsed by the idea,

although less condemning than most. For him, it's more of a lack of

experience than anything else. Anyway, we've danced around this topic

a few times in the past, so this time he took the plunge and asked

about the mechanics and purpose of homosexuality. I made the argument

that in today's world (well, in non-genitally mutilating cultures at

least), sex is more about pleasure than procreation (and hence

penetration). Why else would we need and have bothered to invent

contraception? If it was only about babies, then there'd be no need

to prevent pregnancy. Eshetu himself admitted that he and his wife

have had sex more than their two children would require. From there,

I think it's a small step to suggest that homosexuality isn't any less

"normal" than foreplay or sex with no goal of procreation. Not to

mention that it's absurd to suggest that it's a choice - even in the

most liberal cultures of the world, who would honestly choose to be

treated that way by parts of society? Eshetu pointed out that my

explanation ignores all religious opinions, but that's hardly new for

me. Religion doesn't have to account for the opinions of

non-believers, so why should I?This led into a discussion of the wrath of the God of the Old

Testament (I'm into Lamentations now - I can see the light at the end

of the tunnel!) and my belief (I won't say "faith," because I have

evidence) in science eventually providing an explanation for all of

life's little mysteries. Historically, mankind invented a god with a

chariot to explain the sunrise and a few seeds of a pomegranate in the

underworld to explain winter, so I think it's only a matter of time

before other things follow suit. I was also halfway through Dawkins's

The Selfish Gene, so maybe that explains it (highly recommended). I

think hanging out with three science-loving atheists is really pushing

Eshetu to question blind faith and decide if he truly believes in his

religion or if he's merely following what his parents taught him.Wishlist:

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or UK Office, series 2-onward)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Cheese in any form

-Hollandaise sauce

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-Fritos

-Mac and cheese

Monday was t-minus four months, not that anyone's counting. Pat, one

of the Assela VSO volunteers in Assela, left this week, which makes me

the longest-serving volunteer in town. Time really does fly. She's

been here almost two years (arrived right before I did), so we had to

have quite a few farewell programs. As a result, I haven't done much

actual work in the last few weeks (although, one could argue,

two-thirds of Peace Corps' goals revolve around cultural exchange, so

I've actually been working exceptionally hard). We'll go with that.

There are lots of photos for everyone's amusement:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2835949&id=2001205&l=504cf6317bWe started with a Fourth of July "cookout" on electric stoves (but we

did at least keep the door open and eat outside). An Ethiopian friend

of ours who's always amazed by our ability to discuss food (even while

stuffing our faces) suggested we switch to politics, so we talked

about the upcoming election. He said he rather vote for a goat, so I

suggested we name one Barack Obama and try to get him on the ballot.

I'm confident he'd win. I was watching BBC coverage of Obama's visit

to Ghana and a woman said "he's everything we dreamed in a president,"

which is sweet, but sad because he's not her president. I have this

sinking feeling nothing he does will ever live up to the global hype.

I mean, at this point, world peace and an end to global warming would

just be par for the course. On the upside, maybe he'll inspire more

potential opposition leaders.The teacher's college also threw a party, at which all of us had to

explain in explicit terms several times over how white people

generally prefer informal parties with no speeches or special seats.

Most of our Ethiopian friends were confused, but we insisted that Pat

would want it that way. As a consolation, we decorated the room with

toilet paper (an Ethiopian party standard) and presented her with a

bouquet of garish neon plastic flowers (another tradition). Everybody

wins. We also had an entertaining photo shoot with the staff of the

tea house, all of whom wanted their photos taken alone or with us, but

never with each other (it's a mixed staff of young people, so maybe

the boys weren't ready to be that close to pretty girls?).Finally, we were invited to another friend's house for lunch, but Pat

couldn't come, so Susie, Peter, and I ate her farewell lunch at

Abebe's house. This was the first family I've ever met who could

compete with an American love of animals. The cats roamed the house

freely and we were encouraged to feed them bread (which worked out

well, since we had massive pieces of bread as an appetizer to a lunch

that could have easily fed ten people... Before the three refills.).

Birtukan, his wife, actually picked up the kittens and played with

them, which made us feel less awkward about talking to them after we

got over the shock. The chickens are also allowed to nest in the

corner when it's cold, and one of the hens laid an egg on the bed

during lunch. None of us had ever seen this happen before, much to

the amusement of the family. Another hen threw a fit afterwards, so

they gave her the egg to play with and she shut up. As we were

leaving, Abebe proudly pointed out one of the cows and explained that

she had given birth to twin calves. The dogs even got their bellies

scratched and have names, although they're still not allowed indoors.

Still, an impressive display of affection for the weakest members of

the family.On the topic of "real" work, I visited the prison farm this week to

discover that they made almost 1000 birr from the sale of the cabbage

crop, which warmed my heart. Tomatoes and garlic should be ready soon

as well. The staff is working on proposals to build a health center,

refurbish the school, and fund other improvements to the facilities.

I won't be around to see them through, but I'd like to help them find

some grants.Wishlist:

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or any part of the UK Office)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Cheese in any form

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-Fritos

-Mac and cheese

The past two weeks, I've been busy with the Christian Horizons

training for rural teachers, new and old (originally scheduled for the

first week of June, but then the delay shouldn't surprise my readers

any more than it does me). Although nothing started or ended on time

(again, something I should have learned by now), it was a rousing

success. These teachers are out in the middle of nowhere, so it was

nice to reach some people who can access areas I'll never see. I

helped with the HIV, family planning, and harmful traditional

practices session with a guy from the zonal health bureau and the

gender issues session with Zebenay, a hilarious woman who just

finished her master's thesis. She was the only female presenter

(besides Susie and I, who don't necessarily count because our race

matters infinitely more than our gender) and I thoroughly enjoyed her

because she appreciated my penchant for pointing out tiny details that

most people wouldn't relate to gender. For instance, I talked about

the common feature in many languages (Amharic and Afan Oromo included)

that creates one title for men regardless of marital status (Mr. Ato,

Obbo, etc) but two for women (Mrs/Miss). Shortly after I asked if the

men were married and many refused to disclose, one of the

non-disclosers asked how this was relevant to gender. I said he

didn't have to tell anyone he was married, but he knew my and

Zebenay's status before we walked in the room because our names were

on the schedule. One of many inequalities present in Ethiopia. I

realize I sound like a feminist here, but I can't help it in a town

where 85% of women believe a husband has the right to beat his wife if

she refuses sex (one of many appalling facts I learned from a baseline

survey done by Alliance for Development last year).I also brought up some of the religious origins of gender bias in

Ethiopia (thanks to my recent foray into the Old Testament - I just

finished Numbers and am thoroughly frightened/vindicated in everything

I believe), which ended in yet another passionate defense of my

atheism with Genene, the program director. He'd met people without

faith before, but never really had someone articulate why, so we had

an entertaining discussion (including that God, if he exists, has

gotten lazy since his days of unleashing plagues for worshipping idols

or questioning his will). The following week, Susie and I patiently

explained our belief in science but not god, indifference to marriage,

and lack of desire to have children to another staff member after he

suggested we just put our life in God's hands and everything will turn

out fine. We realized we're pretty fascinating/confusing people to

most Ethiopians, since many of our major choices and beliefs are

completely foreign here (and our family's acceptance or at least

tolerance of said choices, like moving halfway around the world). All

in all, I've been impressed with Christian Horizons and their staff -

I've never met anyone that open minded in a similar position at home.

Everyone asks us questions, wanting to know more, instead of just

insisting we're wrong and trying to convert us. Refreshing.And best of all - they let me, the heathen, oversee the HIV training,

which naturally (these were grown adults teaching children, after all)

included a condom demonstration. CH doesn't own a penile model (their

HIV program is new, but I'm not sure any of them would even be

comfortable doing a demonstration if one existed), so I brought

bananas, thus fulfilling a secret goal of my time in Africa. Quite

possibly two of the funniest experiences (I did it with both training

groups) of my service here. After my demonstration (and I now believe

that I am virtually impossibly to embarrass after standing in front of

forty people putting a condom on a banana with a straight face), I had

three or four of them do it as well, thus hopefully forever denting

some of the taboos surrounding condoms and sex here. Entertainingly,

two of my most eager male volunteers in the first group couldn't open

their condoms. Inspired by Salam of PSI, I've added a "stretching and

blowing up" segment to the demonstration, which relaxes even the most

uptight participants. Honestly, the most fun I've had in a long time.

They're doing another training in October and giving me a longer

session, so I think I'll incorporate broader issues of diversity into

HIV and gender. But the bananas are staying, even for organizations

that have models. Highly recommended for anyone in a similar line of

work.Last month, a group of Americans (mostly from Texas) on an english

teaching/mission trip arrived in Assela, so it's been disconcerting to

see white people all over town. But kind of fun to be the

knowledgeable, crazy one who actually lives here. After we all

finished the CH training last night, we were at the fancy hotel (where

they're all staying) in town for a celebratory dinner. Susie got up

to smoke as one of the guys was leaving, and he held the door open for

her. She stood in front of the door for an awkward amount of time

until she realized he was being chivalrous and it made me nostalgic.

Pat, one of the VSO volunteers, leaves next week, making me the senior

ex-pat in town - yikes. Time flies. We're on the every other day

power schedule, and on the off days, it doesn't come back on until

midnight or 6 am. Word on the street is we're switching to one on,

two off, which is frustrating enough for me but really making me feel

for the IT volunteers. On the upside, I'm honing my Scrabble skills

by playing against myself by candlelight- I broke 500 points last

week. Don't judge me.Wishlist:

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or any part of the UK Office)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

-Cheese in any form

-Cashews

-Popcorn salt

-Hollandaise sauce

-Hot cocoa mix

-Cream cheese frosting

I will always envy those who can dance like no one's watching even

when they're well aware someone is (although life here has brought me

much closer to a genuine ability to overlook what others think of me).

I love those who play instruments as thought they've filled a

stadium, even when the stadium is a pub the size of a living room

filled with friends. I wish I could sing. I like country music

because it reminds me of home and the people who taught me to

appreciate the South. Flaws and deep-rooted social problems aside, I

wouldn't trade my origins for anything. I completely reject the notion

of "out of sight, out of mind" - absence really does make the heart

grow fonder. This applies to everything from people to traffic laws

to fried mozzarella. I don't think race should matter. Ever. I'll

never again criticize consumer culture because it means the freedom to

choose, and I'd rather face seemingly absurd choices than lose the

ability to control my own life. The word "firenji" (or nech or kayo,

its other incarnations) invokes in me the same visceral reaction a lot

of people have to the word "cunt." I'll never find it quaintly

amusing. Old couples who still hold hands and dance together give me

hope that maybe love really can last forever, despite all the evidence

to the contrary. I believe the creation of religion has been

mankind's tragic flaw."I want the cultures of the world to blow freely through my house, but

I refuse to be swept off my feet by any." - M. GandhiI have exactly two photos from my Peace Corps experience in which all

of the subjects are still volunteers. This, coupled with yesterday's

t-minus five month countdown (!), has left me contemplative. This

honestly has been "the toughest job I'll ever love," emphasis on the

job aspect. A 50% attrition rate is considered acceptable (although

hardly desirable) for a first year program. We're at 55% and quite

possibly still falling. Ethiopia's been a valuable experience, but I

couldn't live here forever. I don't want to live in the ex-pat Addis

bubble, driving between enclaves of Western culture while turning a

blind eye to the 80 million people in this country, but neither can I

make a life of being a spectacle in a small town. I'm an American. A

curiously worldly and restless one, but I know where home is. Above

all else, I treasure the uncompromising American individualism that I

think defines my country more than any other single trait. I miss

just being Jessica, without that having to represent any greater

notion of white or female or liberal or young or any other adjective

I'd choose to describe myself. The people who've remembered that I'm

here and taken the time to keep in touch have done more than they'll

ever realize to keep me sane. I'll never be able to repay you or even

make you fully understand how much that has meant to me.On a lighter note, I've been watching Scrubs and I think I'm a little

bit in love with Zach Braff. My landlord built a souk next to our

compound. Now we all know where I won't be buying my household

supplies. The fabled bagel shop in Addis really does exist and it's

delicious. And it only took us two hours to find it (which is

honestly impressive in a town with no street names or numbers).Wishlist:

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or any part of the UK Office)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

-Cheese in any form

-Marshmallows

-Cashews

-Popcorn salt

-Hollandaise sauce

-Hot cocoa mix

-Cream cheese frosting

I've officially set my COS (close of service) date for 15 November, which means I should be flying back to Orlando on or shortly after that day (in time for Thanksgiving!) - five and a half months left! Time flies... Start making party plans now. My only request is ungodly amounts of cheese and decent wine. I think I've lost interest in traveling after I finish (save perhaps a quick stopover in Europe) - it'll be the holidays, I'll have a ton of luggage, and I think I'll be pretty burnt out on traveling Africa-style - riding in 12 passenger vans with 20 other people.

In other news, we've submitted our application to fund the poultry farm, which is exciting. If all goes well, this could be up and running by late summer and wrapped up before I go home. That would make the rainy season feel more productive. On that note, the textbooks being brought in by the group of RPCVs, among others, are due to be shipped any day now and scheduled to arrive in Addis sometime in August. Also exciting!

Recently, I took the plunge and visited Christian Horizons in Assela, which already sounds like a poor match for me. They focus entirely on projects involving children (including "Christian & moral education," two adjectives which, in my experience, are often mutually exclusive), so this was definitely outside my comfort zone, but unlike the last time I volunteered my services to a faith-based organization (a Gainesville youth group that shall remain nameless), I wasn't brutally rebuffed. Christian education aside, they're also interested in HIV prevention and life skills, and having read much of the faith-based literature on the topics, I'd rather those lessons came from someone who believes in scientific, comprehensive education. Yes, I'm biased. Sue me. Abstinence is a personal choice, but I believe everyone has the right to accurate information regardless of their sexual behavior. Scare tactics only ensure that people are unsafe when they do decide to become sexually active. But I digress.

Among other things, CH runs 25 schools in the extremely rural, isolated areas of Arsi zone (an excellent project in and of itself) and are bringing in the teachers next week for a refresher training. Susie's doing English teaching methods and I'm doing HIV prevention/life skills training, using my own materials. I must say, I'm impressed thus far with the organization - I haven't been asked about my religious views and most of the staff are (Ethiopian) volunteers, which was refreshing after that girl's education project imploded last month at the prospect of teachers having to donate an hour a week of their time. I'm also working on some HIV-related English conversation materials. All in all, a positive experience with a religious organization.

On the topic of things surprisingly positive, I had my wallet stolen on the Jimma trip two weeks ago. We were some of the last people to leave the bar, so I assumed a staff member had probably picked it up at closing and wrote it off as a stupid mistake on my part. As luck would have it, one of the guys we were with is friends with the bar owner, who then spent a week tracking down my wallet. Successfully. It's in the mail on its way home! Not sure if the money's still there, but replacing a resident ID in Ethiopia requires filing a police report, so I'm just happy to avoid that probably-joyous experience. Naturally, Birhan called me shortly after I got the emails saying my credit cards were cancelled and new ones were on the way, but it's not like those were useful here anyway, so I'm just glad to get it back. A very nice, heartwarming moment for me.

While in Addis for Steph's goodbye party, we discovered Rodeo Addis, a restaurant run by an Ethiopian who lived in Texas for a few decades. They feature "The Best Frozen Margarita in Addis," (among a breathtaking six-page cocktail list) which is a bit of a misnomer since it's the only one, but it was still delicious. Took us forever to drink them since we haven't really had ice in 20 months. Apparently tooth resistance to cold is NOT like riding a bike. Later that week, I was at the in-service training for group 2 for a "permaculture/bio-intensive gardening" training. Our trainer was so excited about composting and double digging that now we are all too. Who'dve thought that a profound love for rotting leaves was contagious? Not sure if I'll be able to actually get a garden started, but I'm hoping Christian Horizons will be interested and Susie and Peter can see it through for me. Maybe I'll actually attempt to compost and grow things at home. He made it seem so easy! I suppose Peace Corps Volunteers can generally be expected to be saps for eco-friendly initiatives. Don't judge me.

Wishlist:

See 14 April Post

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - Season 5, episodes 16-end (or any part of the UK Office)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

-Cheese in any form

Sorry for the long delay - with my computer in a coma, I didn't have

the opportunity to ramble on in my usual fashion. But I'm back and

promise to make up for lost time. It's been an interesting month.

Peter, Susie (the Assela VSOs), and I all have birthdays within a two

week span, so there was a lot of cake, much to the delight of some of

our Ethiopian comrades. FYI, if you forget the baking soda in a

chocolate cake, you end up with a fudge-esque brick, which is less

tasty than one might hope. We threw a party for the staff of the

teacher's college and crammed 50 Ethiopians into Pat's house (which is

larger than the three of ours combined, features a water heater, and

costs the same as mine. But that's neither here nor there). In

keeping with the slightly-absurd features that have become normal to

any gathering here, one of the guests ran down the street to get his

TV and VCD player so we could continue the dancing when our speakers

died. The dancing went until 10 PM, which in US terms is probably

comparable to the 4-5 AM range. I'll put some pictures up soon. I

then watched one of the funniest films I've seen in a long time - The

Incredible Zohan (maybe not the precise title, but it's an Adam

Sandler movie and Zohan is definitely in the title). It features Adam

Sandler as an ex-Mossad agent who moves to New York to become a

hairdresser and gets caught up in Israeli-Palestinian rivalries in the

US with a former terrorist who wants to sell shoes. Hummus plays a

prominent role as a very versatile substance. A cameo by Mariah Carey

and a Hezbollah terrorist hotline further add to the comedic genius.

I almost soiled myself. Highly recommended.Sarah and I also had the last of our HIV seminars at Rift Valley

College in Adama, plus a final "health fair" to squeeze in a bit more

prevention education. We brought in Salam, a woman from PSI (an

international NGO), to do an HIV discussion in Amharic and are now

convinced we'll forever be useless at this language. She had students

volunteering to demonstrate condom use in front of a classroom full of

people - we have to battle to get people to name the four fluids that

transmit HIV. In a brilliant refutation of most anti-condom

arguments, she also had the students stretch and blow up the condoms

to demonstrate how strong they actually are (photos of that also

coming soon - hilarious). Fun (well, perhaps not if you're an

American or Asian man) fact: condoms produced for Africa are two mm

wider (in diameter) than those for the US and Europe, and those are in

turn two mm wider than their Asian counterparts. I'll leave you to

some silent reflection on cultural stereotypes.I found a possible grant to fund my disabled poultry farm, which is

exciting, and am still searching for one to fund the rehab center's

vocational training program (thanks Jennifer for all your help!).

Karen, the PCV in Agaro (or Sudan, as we affectionately call the

region), and I are working on a partnership between health workers in

her zone (approximately two days by bus from Assela) and the ARC.

We're going to train people in her area to identify and refer patients

to Assela since the ARC staff doesn't have a budget to travel out

there for recruitment. I'm making the journey tomorrow, which will

mark my first multi-day bus journey. On unpaved roads. I'm spoiled

living four hours from Addis down a newly paved road, I know.Peace Corps staff came to Assela for the initial pre-service training

visit and met with all the zonal administrators. It was a wild

success - Girma, our beloved training manager (who once told us that

he wished he could write to everyone so we'd all have mail every day

in training), is a few more positive experiences from just up and

moving to Assela, I think. But the town is excited and there are lots

of possible training sites and villages, plus cafes and things to do,

so I'm looking forward to it. Sarcasm and rough days aside, I really

do love my town. Seven volunteers have left since my last post, plus

our medical officer (who is basically the reason those of us who are

left are still here). Two of the volunteers are going to China to

serve in the new English teaching program, which is exciting, but not

doing much for morale.In non-work news, I've recently emerged victorious (well, almost) from

my month-long battle with the mouse who moved into my home. She could

sense my inability to harm anything cute and furry and repaid my

generosity by giving birth to two garlic clove-sized furballs.

Sensing that this could easily spiral out of control, I started

hunting for a cruelty-free way to evict them. While obviously waiting

a for the babies to grow up a bit so they'd have a fighting chance in

the big cruel world, naturally. After I balked at the suggestion of a

mousetrap, my landlord's back-up plan entailed luring a cat into the

compound, a notion that, after the turd-in-my-sheets incident last

year, I wasn't eager to repeat. So, I baited the bottom of a

cardboard box with peanut butter and sat there while I waited for a

mouse to crawl in, then stood the box up and released the mouse

outside. Time consuming, but lower-risk than chasing them around my

not-spacious house. I caught both babies and am now waiting for the

mother to either leave to look for them or smell them in the box so I

can take her to where I released her babies, thus reuniting the

family. Everybody wins.Wishlist:

See 14 April Post

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - last 5 episodes of Season 3, Season 5 (or any part

of the UK Office)

+30 Rock - Season 3 & 4

-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

-Cheese in any form

I recently read Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. Call me heartless, but I

really liked it. Maybe it's because I've spent the last 18 months as

a spectacle, but I really identified with the notion that "not a

single second of my life belongs to anyone else." And I don't think

she's arguing for "selfishness" in the sense of overtly hurting others

in the pursuit of your own happiness. Her point isn't that you

shouldn't care about or help others. It's that you should do

something because it make you happy, because you're good at it,

because you want to - not because others will be impressed with the

selflessness or nobility of the act (and honestly, isn't that more

selfish than not caring what others think of you?). If others are

helped along the way, that's great. But live for yourself.

"Selfishness" in the sense that you shouldn't sacrifice your own

happiness for the admiration of others. I also read David Sedaris' Me

Talk Pretty One Day and almost soiled myself, especially during the

story mentioning the town of Mojo, Ethiopia. Small world.On that note, it's been a rough week. My CSW herb garden imploded on

Friday when the women realized that the grant would be used to start

the business, not distributed as cash to the group. They're not

interested in starting a new business, they just wanted money. I'm

trying to recruit a group of people with HIV so it doesn't have to be

a complete wash, especially since Bekelech, the woman who initially

proposed the idea, is doing this for free and I want to encourage

volunteerism in all forms here. Ran into a similar problem with a

group of high school teachers who want to start a program to help

female students with extra tutoring (75% of female university students

flunk out in their first year), but only if they can be paid. The

program entails an extra hour or two per week of specialized classes,

meaning each teacher would have to donate an hour of their time. No

one's interested without payment. That night, a power surge fried my

computer power cord. All in all, not my best 24 hours.But life is looking up - Easter was a delicious feast of lasagna,

hummus, and apple crisp (perhaps not Easter-y, but American/British,

and that was the point), where I tried eggnog for the first time

(without contracting salmonella, which is impressive). I'm now

wondering where it's been all my life. The HS teachers are

developing a way to make the tutorial program sustainable - some sort

of income generation done by the students to pay the teachers since

volunteering is so distasteful to everyone. They do have a point - if

it's not free, students are more likely to take it seriously. Trying

to look on the sunny side...Photos of Zecharias, my newest family member!

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2762214&id=2001205&l=9a32263860Wishlist:

(see last post)

-Man deodorant (sheer roll-on)

Since my last post, I've been on safari and gained a new habesha

family member. It's been a exciting couple of weeks. My aunt and

uncle adopted a three-year-old Ethiopian boy named Zecharias,

which meant I got to visit with them in Addis (and take hot

showers!) and now have no need for souvenir shopping since I have

a cousin from Ethiopia. I also liked an infant. Not enough to

have one of my own, but still, a big victory for those hoping I'll

one day have some semblance of maternal instinct. Photos coming

soon...Afterwards, my mother and I went to Kenya for a safari. We had

some difficulties with the travel company (under no circumstances

would I ever recommend Planet Safari Adventures), but the actual

trip was incredible. Masaai Mara, Nokuru, and Amboseli national

parks. The photos speak for themselves, but some fun facts in the

meantime. A 3-month old rhino is the size of a large golden

retriever. Kissing a giraffe is like kissing an unshaven man.

Lions won't interrupt their siesta for something as incidental as

a car, so you can get within a few meters. 6-month old elephants

are only waist high on an average adult. Camping includes tents

(some members of our travel group weren't aware of this shocking

fact). Impalas and gazelles live in groups of 20-30 females to

one male. Monkeys don't fear humans and really do like bananas.

A 200 mm telephoto lenses is invaluable (I seriously regret not

buying one before this trip). Warthog sex is one of the most

awkwardly funny sights on earth.Safari photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2755922&id=2001205&l=906a664c73I'm back in Assela now, trying to get back into the swing of work

(and ration the cheese carried over by my visiting family). The

new supermarket in Assela is selling strawberries. While I was

gone, Abebe, the town crazy, was apparently attacked and killed by

hyenas while sleeping outside the hospital one night. I'm not

really sure how to feel about that.An interesting (read: non-Ethiopian government sanctioned) look at

the food crisis in Ethiopia:

http://www.ethiomedia.com/adroit/2052.htmlWishlist:

I'm planning to go to Rwanda this summer to see the mountain

gorillas, so if you were going to send me a birthday package, I'd

love for you to consider donating the money you would have spent

to my travel fund instead. Just a thought, I'm not actually

begging for money here, just proposing an alternative use of it.

Email me if you're interested.But if you wanted to send a smaller gift...

-Burned/bootleg AVI files of the following TV shows:

+Weeds - Season 4 & 5

+The Office (US) - last 6 episodes of Season 3, Seasons 4 & 5

+30 Rock - Season 2 & 3

-cheese in any form

I spent the last two weeks not-so-subtly encouraging my colleagues to get moving on our new projects (herb garden, poultry farm, dairy production, and vocational training) while I'm in Kenya (on safari!). It's one of those things I should (and did) see coming, but somehow still bothers me when I explain that I have eight months left and we all saw how long the prison took. I'm trying to step back this time and take more of a consulting role so that my presence is a bonus, not a necessity. It's going to take longer, but then the point of Peace Corps is to build local capacity, not for volunteers to take over their towns. I'm trying to ensure that I'm only actively involved with the steps that require my help (hence pushing for progress while I'm away), despite my almost-insatiable desire to run the whole project and get it done faster. The thing is, there's not a lot even I can do to influence speed. Sure, I can write or send a proposal faster, but I can't make the local government be less inefficient (oh, but if wishing made it so!), so it's still going to take weeks to get a land grant (but the disabled cooperative just got theirs and the CSWs submitted their request this week, so things are moving). I'm not sure I'll ever again be able to muster up any frustration with American "bureaucracy." Even the lines at the DMV don't take more than a day and you can be reasonably sure the post office will keep to its posted hours. Hell, it posts hours.

But I digress. Staff has decided to hold next year's pre-service training (PST) in Assela (if anyone has an invitation for group 3 already, start preparing now for oxygen deprivation!), which is exciting. They're shifting to a true "community-based" model, where the trainees will live in small groups in satellite villages around Assela and do most of their training there, only coming to the hub site once a week for big meetings, medical things, etc. I think I'll get the best of both worlds - a chance to meet them all and make myself useful while my town isn't overwhelmed with forty new firenji. Although, I suppose since I'll be leaving at some point during training, the effect on Assela is sort of a moot point for me. On the upside, I'll be able to meet the volunteer replacing me and introduce them around town, help them get settled - anything for a smoother transition. At least I'll have a lot of distractions in those last months while I'm wrapping up my life here.

Last week, Assela had the equivalent of a county fair. They took over the bus station for a "bazaar" with a handful of cultural products and a lot of miscellaneous household supplies also available in the market, plus beer tents from all the major Ethiopian brands. No rides or kettle corn, but the Ethiopian Seed Enterprise had a large booth, bringing back memories of the 4-H tents at American fairs. Gizaw's cousin ran the St. Georges beer tent ("gore-geez" - the most common, but also crappiest variety of beer in Ethiopia), so we got preferred seating and cheap drafts (that were shockingly icy, which does a lot for Georges' flavor) all week. The moment I sat down, business tripled. I think the other tents were jealous. To my great joy, Hiwot Trust, the national condom brand, also had a little tent and was distributing free condoms. I think the health center may have been in and out during the day doing HIV testing, too. All in all, an cute little event that left me nostalgic for art shows and festivals and fairs back home.

I've mastered homemade mozzarella cheese (even debuted an herb variety last week) and I think the milk woman thinks I'm nuts since she knows I live alone but keep buying several liters at a time. She's getting plenty of business though and everyone on chicken street gets to be amused, so I suppose everybody wins. She dropped a liter last time I was there and shouted "Allahu Akbar" (god is great), which struck me as an odd choice of expletive. I watched the milk meander its way through the rust-colored dirt floor and felt a sudden urge to take a trip via river boat. Alas, I'm off to Kenya next week for a safari, so look out for photos soon.

In the meantime, Bale photos: http://s251.photobucket.com/albums/gg296/jessinethiopia/07%20Bale%20Mountains/

Wishlist:

-Cheese products of any kind (Velveeta, processed slices, squeezable, etc)

-Saltine crackers

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-big sugary easter egg candies

the history books forgot about us.Apples are now available in Assela! And cheese is in Adama!Really, what could top that news? I chased a cute little brown mouse

out of my house last week. When I heard the little footsteps, I was

terrified it was a giant spider, so I really couldn't muster up any

emotion besides relief when it turned out to have fur. Plus, it

didn't leave any smelly surprises like the cat did, so in the grand

scheme of things, a minor nuisance.I spent last weekend horse trekking in the Bale Mountains - gorgeous!

Photos coming in the near future. It was the first time the gloves I

brought here came out of the dresser, which made me feel vindicated in

packing them. GTZ (the German aid organization) organized the

community and built a series of campsites/cabins around the area that

are outfitted with beds, blankets, cooking supplies, etc. The

families who live in the forest and mountains supply the horses and

staff the sites, so the profits are divided amongst the entire

community, not just those who happen to speak enough English to work

as guides. Everyone was amused by our insistence on personifying the

horses. The first thing we did each day was ask our horse's name.

They're named for their color, which gets confusing when there are

three chestnuts. So we renamed them and spoke to them frequently

throughout the trip, much to the amusement of our guide and porters.

We tried to give them apples and carrots afterwards, but they've lived

their whole lives scrounging for grass and didn't know what to make of

treats. Cute, in a sad kind of way. We've made plans to go back in

the future, this time equipped with s'more ingredients. I've decided

that making horse-riding a regular part of my life is an incentive to

eventually have a real job and actual salary. Pity horses aren't a

cheaper hobby.On the downside, the government has put a cap on bus fares that the

drivers feel doesn't allow for fuel cost increases. In response,

massive numbers of drivers went on strike last Friday. Hence, by the

time we tried to get out of Doldola, a tiny little dust bowl of a town

that has one bus per day to Assela, there were four days of people try

to get on the same bus. Complete and utter chaos. Our trekking

guide, Yousef, was a great guy and stuck around to help us fight for

seats, so we ended up only spending an extra night in Doldola. He

made an interesting observation - he said it's sometimes hard to work

with tourists because they're accustomed to logic, which just doesn't

apply here. Case in point - there are no tickets for busses, no

departure times, no lines. I just like that he understands what it

looks like from our point of view.Work is going well - stumbled across not one, but three (!!) new

potential partners last week. A woman named Bekelech called who

wanted to train poor women in herb gardening. High-value,

low-maintenance, and small land requirements. Over the course of our

discussion, we decided to recruit a group of commercial sex workers

who are interested in getting out of the trade. Alliance is

recruiting the group from the pool they've trained in the past,

Bekelech will help them establish themselves as a legal entity, and

they'll ask the municipality for land. In the meantime, I'll request

money from the same PC fund we used for the prison farm. I'm excited.On my way to meet Bekelech, I ran into the representative from Land

O'Lakes (of butter spread fame), who I tried to contact months ago but

who hadn't called me back yet. He'd turned up at the office looking

for me. The organization does dairy production with poor people and

wants to expand into helping people living with HIV/AIDS. I get to

recruit and organize the first group of beneficiaries. I'm hoping for

cheese and yogurt as part of the "value-added" chain of dairy

production, but I suppose I shouldn't get my hopes up. At least I can

find a regular milk dealer to support my cheese-making habit.Last Wednesday, two Jewish groups came to Assela to meet with Alliance

for Development. One is an Israeli group currently working in Nepal

and looking to expand to Ethiopia, which is possibly exciting for the

future but unlikely to come to fruition during my tenure. The other

group, however, is a secular US-based volunteer organization that also

funds grassroots projects (their major interest is in human rights

advocacy, which warmed my heart, but left them uneasy about working

here because of the new law that forbids foreign organizations from

addressing human rights issues). They're interested in possibly

placing a volunteer with Alliance, which again, might not happen while

I'm here, but is still exciting. I'm more excited about discovering

another possible donor agency. The representative we met was an RPCV

(health in Uzbekistan), so it was nice to talk to someone with a

similar outlook on development. All in all, an incredibly productive

week (and it even included a vacation!).Eshetu, my old language tutor, suggested I come back to Ethiopia in

2010 as an election monitor since I won't be around as a PCV anymore.

He knows how I feel about democracy. If a monitor position includes a

plane ticket, I'd definitely come back for a few weeks to watch ballot

boxes. On a related note, I've also recently learned that

approximately half the faculty at the teacher's college have served

time in prison for being on the wrong side of a political debate at

one time or another. Susie, the new (ish - she arrived in October)

VSO volunteer, has been briefing me on some of the political drama at

the college - apparently, there have been quite a few suspicious

firings of opposition sympathizers and questionable promotions of

unqualified party members. I'm confident we're not actually supposed

to discuss these issues (in print here or over beers in Ethiopia) as

government-affiliated volunteers, but we've elected to view the law as

a restriction on our actions, not our thoughts. We're both of the

opinion that a government that bans human rights advocacy is probably

most in need of it. But I digress.Candace and Mom, I got your mail - thanks!Wishlist:

-Cheese products of any kind (Velveeta, processed slices, squeezable, etc)

-Saltine crackers

-Sourdough pretzel nuggets

-big sugary easter egg candies

Happy National Condom Day! Wrap it up every time!

It's also Valentine's Day, for my more prudish readers. Our new trainees swore in yesterday and are moving to site today (so now our program officially has 67 volunteers, which means additional computers at the PC office!). I'd feel bad for them, except they get to spend the holiday road-tripping with each other and we moved to site just in time to spend Christmas alone in our houses (if we were lucky - some of us were still in hotels or squatting with other volunteers).

Last week, Steph and I went to Ambo for the much-anticpated cooking lesson. Ethiopian food not being renowned for its diversity, they were looking forward to new flavors. The "real food" lesson was fun, but I wish I had video of the dessert session. Steph and I made three cakes and a banana bread the night before (because what kind of heartless, cruel people would we be if we expected 40 people to share one cake and one banana bread?), so these were sitting on our demonstration table during the entire lesson. I'd estimate that half the trainees spent the session staring at the cakes and scheming ways to innocently be standing next to the table when we actually let them eat. It was like lions on a wounded antelope. I found it very heartwarming - I liked this group already, but now they've endeared themselves to me. Absolutely no shame in smearing chocolate across their faces as they licked clean a piece of aluminum foil. The last cake was finishing cooling as they devoured the first ones, so a few enterprising trainees circled the table, picking up trash and bringing it to the trash box one piece at a time so as to stay within striking distance. The more creative stood directly in front of the dutch oven, asking me inane questions about topics we'd already covered. "Where can I buy baking powder?" "Can I lick the frosting bowl?" "So you've brewed your own beer? How do I do that?" "Can I have a piece of warm, gooey cake?" Fortunately for them, a handful of these guys are quite adorable and charming, so I couldn't resist sharing. I'm a sucker for a cute smile, I know.

Steph (the former dental hygienist) also gave a hilarious lesson on dental hygiene and proper flossing technique. "Not flossing is like taking a shower but never washing your armpits, butt crack, crotch, or feet." 'Nuf said.

Regarding my actual job (as opposed to overtly buying the affection of the new group), I met with GTZ (the German aid organization), who's running a program to improve the vocational training school network in Ethiopia. I want to start a vocational training program at the Assela Rehabilitation Center, so that might work out splendidly. The program director is also going to set me up with GTZ's HIV officer, so there's another potential project (mainstreaming HIV education is becoming part of virtually every development project, but it generally falls to people who already didn't have enough time on their hands, so maybe I can help fill that gap). And my love of Germany (its efficiency, beer, pretzels, and cleanliness) is no big secret, so maybe these contacts can help me find a way to spend some time in Berlin actually earning money, not just spending it.

The Chilalo HS improvement project is also moving forward - making contacts with groups in Addis who might help us out with funding (particularly for a computer lab) and we're anticipating delivery of a bunch of textbooks in March. We've officially formed the Assela committee of education and government leaders (plus me!) to oversee the fundraising for the "community contribution" and we'll be having our first meeting next week. It'll be my first time participating in a bureaucratic meeting, not just keeping a chair warm and being eye candy - should be interesting. I have exactly nine months left here, a fact about which I have increasingly not-mixed feelings. It's been (and continues to be) a valuable experience, but I'm looking forward to being home for the holidays!

To illustrate how much more emotional I've become in this country, I offer the following anecdote. After lending out much of my collection, the early disks of The West Wing recently came back to me, so I embarked on a nostalgic reunion. I'm sure most of my readers aren't as well-versed in the series as I am (you should be - start renting/downloading it), but I was watching the season 1 Christmas episode, where a homeless veteran wearing Toby's coat is found dead by the Korean War monument (and then he uses his influence to get him a proper funeral and a burial at Arlington) and Mrs. Landingham reminisces about her twin sons killed in Vietnam, and I cried like a baby. Granted, I was finishing off some of my homemade moonshine, but the point remains that I cried during a television program. That I've seen before, many times. I also sometimes get misty-eyed when my mailbox is full of mail that's not from Peace Corps.

Aly, Stephanie, Dad, Nick, and Erin, I got your mail - I love you guys!

I'm completely in love with Zanzibar. Impressively, it lives up to all its hype - beautiful beaches, charming town, delicious food, and warm, friendly people (including the children!). I actually enjoyed the smell of the fish market on the first day until I remembered that raw fish is, in fact, NOT an appealing odor. Whoops. None of the shouting and pointing at white people, which may be related to the fact that Zanzibar sees a lot of tourists. Although, by that logic, Lalibela and Addis should also ignore white people, which is decidedly not the case. Even when I wondered into a residential neighborhood, people just looked at me briefly to decide if I looked lost and wanted/needed help, and a couple of people asked if I was. Children walked by me without so much as a second glance. Even the local beach boys who latch onto tourists are more entertaining than their Ethiopian counterparts - their English is much better, so you can crack jokes and talk about more than the weather (I debated the existence of god with one) and they tend to take the hint if you turn down their offers of tours or trips. Only downside - when people asked what I was doing in Africa, I got more than a few lectures about how condoms don't stop the transmission of HIV. Crazy children aside, I'm glad I'm doing HIV work in Ethiopia - I don't think I'd be able to cope with constantly battling myths like that.

Stonetown, the capital, is a quaint little colonial town with classic whitewashed buildings, enormous terraces, and narrow alleys winding throughout the old city (much like Harar or other Arab-esque cities). Say what you want about the British colonial legacy, it at least left behind some charming architecture. Unfortunately, it also left behind a system of driving on the wrong side of the road, which confuses me to no end. However, the country DOES labels its busses so you know where they're going, which was both shocking and gloriously convenient. Sure, I tried to board them through the driver's side panel a few times, but at least I knew I was at the right bus. And they open windows on busses, a vitally necessary social practice in a country with both heat and humidity (I'd forgotten what that felt like!).

And the food - seafood everywhere! Every night in Stonetown, vendors sell skewers of fresh seafood for a couple bucks - shrimp, giant crab claws, lobsters, fish, squid, the works. And it only gets better in the restaurants (although sadly, not cheaper!). The only thing I couldn't find was coconut fried shrimp, which was an unexpected disappointment since the island is covered with coconuts. The fruit was a welcome respite from gorging myself on seafood. Enormous pineapples, passion fruits, and fat, juicy mangos. Plus more fruits that I'd never seen before than are available in the whole of Ethiopia. I've long suspected, but am now certain, that we got the short end of the culinary stick when the Peace Corps sent us to Ethiopia.

Traveling alone is a bit strange (especially around those romantic beach resorts!), but I met some fascinating people from all over, including, of course, a member of the Gator Nation. I ran into an older couple from Vermont on my last night, and in the course of our conversation about the election and safaris, we ventured on to the topic of butterflies and how they're un-appreciated in Africa. I told them about how I'd gained an (admittedly amateurish) appreciation thanks to UF's McGuire center, and it turns out the husband donated a lot of his specimens to the museum there and has willed the rest of his collection to UF. They'd also spent some time in Oklahoma, and ordered me not to tell them about the BCS game since they'd taped it and wanted to watch it when they got home. This discussion was not prefaced with questions about my interest in or knowledge about college football, because all loyal Gators know that such pesky things as an ocean, a sizable continent, and a painfully inadequate communications infrastructure wouldn't squelch our ability to follow our team. The Gator Nation is everywhere.

As for those beaches, a picture is worth a thousand words: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2711847&l=b2ad0&id=2001205.

In Ethiopia news, the short rains came early (being greeted by cold rain as I left the plane was NOT the best transition from Zanzibar), which is further wreaking havoc on the agriculture here. The new trainees have two weeks left until swearing in, then we officially get new neighbors. We're already planning a massive feast for the new arrivals to our little corner of Ethiopia - it's more of an excuse for us to binge, but we're marketing it as a welcome party.

Candace, Jason & Julie, Gil, Nick, and Kimberly, I got your mail - thanks!

"Isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to

believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it too? - Douglas

AdamsThere are aspects of life here to which I'll never adapt (that

independent streak just isn't going anywhere), but (not to stereotype

or anything) life in Africa does give you an appreciation of the

little things. Maybe something about seeing kids kick a ball of rags

around the street for hours on end (and never mind their ability to

run for hours on end at this altitude), but I've reached a point where

a particular email or letter can put me in the sort of good mood that

makes people steer clear of the mildly deranged-looking grin on my

face. And given the children here, that's precisely the mood I'm

aiming for - happy enough to not be affected by the staring. Knowing

that people back home remember that I'm here and actually enjoy

reading my rambling letters makes it so much easier to stick it out.

Moral of the story - I love and miss you all. And I'm probably going

to be uncharacteristically affectionate and painfully socially awkward

when I get home. I hope you'll still love me. I'll bake you cookies

to ease the transition.I was meeting with Belihu, a biology teacher at Chilalo HS, about

improving the school's library, and while we were waiting for the

librarian to come back from lunch, he launched into a discussion of

how much he just loves praising Jesus and how much he admires the

faith of such brilliant American "men of God" like George Bush and

Billy Graham. Shockingly, I managed to just smile and nod.

Fortunately, he wasn't interested in what I thought, he just wanted to

extol their virtues.We finished the water reservoir and have started planting at the

prison. Apparently, certain vegetables have to be sprouted in the

shade and then transplanted to their growing field. Learn something

new everyday. I was just excited to see tangible results of my

efforts.My tortoise friend came back - I was afraid he'd died. I saw a kid

carrying a chicken in his arms the way you'd carry a pet (as opposed

to the "upside down by the feet" technique that's the norm here) and

it warmed my heart. Later, I saw a man beating a crying boy with a

stick and felt nothing. I guess I have adapted to some things.Zanzibar was breathtaking - photos and update coming next weekend!Caitlin, Mom, Will, Gordon, Cassie, Pedro, Leah, and Grandma, I got

your mail. Thanks!

It's been a year since I signed my life away to the Peace Corps.

Tuesday will be 1 year in Ethiopia. Time flies....The new VSO volunteers arrived, and while a strapping young Irishman

with a sexy accent was not placed in Assela, I did get Susie, a

twenty-something British woman working on English language education,

which is potentially more exciting. And not just because it's a

friend who will understand what it's like to be a white woman of

marriageable age in this country. Since we're all here for the start

of the school year at the teacher college, we can work together on

programs and get them started from the beginning. I'll get to play a

bigger role in teaching English - we're planning a film club to help

get people used to english and provoke discussion in a stress-free

environment, plus some classes for the teachers. We're also doing an

HIV/sex ed orientation for the first year students, bringing testing

to campus, and reviving an info board where students can leave

questions anonymously and we can post answers for a little passive

education. I'm excited.Thursday ended up an unofficial holiday of sorts - the Olympic

medallists and president of Oromiya region came to Assela for a

ceremony and dedication of land for a new athletic village being built

just south of Assela. This is one of those times I love my

disproportionately famous little town, although lacking such amenities

as the cheese, customs agents, olive oil, and affordable internet

found in the big-city sites of other volunteers. Being white served

me well throughout the morning. I got caught up in the parade of

people entering the stadium (Ethiopians don't just walk into events

silently, they parade en masse - see photo link below) and instead of

getting held up with the pesky pat down searches, a cop just waved me

in (a valuable security lesson in and of itself). I was sitting in

the crowd along the edge of the stadium, but then other army guys kept

noticing me and moving me into gradually better spots. I ended up on

the field next to the stage with free reign. I guess carrying a

respectable looking camera made them think I had to be a journalist.

I also managed to get myself interviewed by ETV, the Ethiopian state

channel. I'll be famous.(edit: On Saturday, I was in Adama for some grocery shopping and

someone recognized me from Friday night's news broadcast.)As a result of being mistaken for someone important, I ended up within

a few feet of Tulu Darartu (of Darartu Hotel fame, Assela's equivalent

of the Ritz) and Haile Gabreselassie, Ethiopia's most famous

marathoners and former (possibly still current) world record holders.

It motivated me to not embarrass myself at the Great Ethiopian Run

next month. They had a 3000m men and women's race for some of the up

and coming athletes in the area - some of the runners were barefoot,

which befits Africa. All in all, a fun morning. I'll try to get some

photos up on facebook in the next week or so, but no promises.If you don't believe religion should be subject to the same discourse

and challenges as other ideas, then you should probably skip the rest

of this post. This is a culmination of spending the last two years in

highly religious cultures and there are just some things I can't

handle being silent about anymore.I was reading Dawkins in a cafe when a guy asked me what it was. The

children had been rather touchy and demanding that morning, so I was

in a "take me as I am, I won't lie to win your approval" mood. I gave

him one chance and said it was about religion. He responded, "Oh,

you're a Catholic." Not so much, so I said it was a book about how

there's probably not a god and religion has a negative impact on the

world. He gave me that awkward, pained smile people resort to when

you tell them something shocking that they're not sure how to take.

He asked if I knew about Orthodox Christianity and said I had to

believe it since I lived here. If you know me well or have ever tried

to convert me, you can probably see where this is going. I told him

that in my country, we respect people's right to hold different

beliefs. That's probably rude, but we all have a breaking point and I

can't handle being preached at like I'm incapable of reasoning for

myself. In my book, forced conversion is equally rude.I've realized that when you move to a new culture, you have to examine

your personal values and decided what's nonnegotiable for you - what

you won't compromise to fit in. For me, it's how I feel about god and

religion and attempts to convert me. (We can discuss whether I should

keep spending time in devout countries another time, but I'd say that

beliefs are strengthened by discourse). I won't stand for having my

opinions belittled. People tell me that's insensitive, so then why is

it courageous and noble for a Christian to continue practicing in the

Muslim world, or for Catholics to worship in Orthodox areas like

Ethiopia? My rejection of his faith would be just as strong if I were

a Catholic. Stronger, even, since I'd believe he was destined to

eternal hellfire and now I just think he's wrong. I'm tired of having

my beliefs rejected when I'm not allowed to do the same.Anyway...moving onto our religion discussion in English class. Eid

Mubarak. The holiday fell a few days earlier than expected, so

Tuesday ended up a day off and class was cancelled. Lunar holidays

can be tricky. I celebrated with a Owen Wilson mindless comedy, some

instant broccoli cheddar soup, and a few beers. I tried to have a

meeting with the HIV-postive prisoners in the afternoon, but was shut

down, despite the fact that neither I, my counterpart, my translator,

nor any of the prisoners, are Muslim. I suppose I learned my lesson

about trying to work on holidays. Alas. I also learned that Ayalew,

my translator, was just released after serving seven years for killing

a man. I knew he was an inmate working in the prison administrative

office because he spoke english and was well behaved, but I had no

idea of his initial crime. I sort of wish I still didn't know.In sum, I'd like to reiterate that you all should read The God

Delusion. Seriously.Wishlist:

-freeze dried mangoes

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-powdered drink flavorings (gatorade, crystal light, etc)

-hot cocoa mix

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-dried seasonings

-sourdough pretzel nuggets

-sour jelly bellys

-baking products (chocolate chips, frosting, mixes, etc)

-yarn

-books

Last week, I was eating leftover new year's cake with Negash and

Warake (my landlord and his wife). We had a brief discussion of

how Ethiopian cakes are generally pretty bad, and I was glad they

can at least recognize the weakness, even if they're not clear how

to fix it (hint - add sugar). I'll make them a chocolate fudge

cake sometime soon and see how it goes.Cake aside, the conversation turned down a very interesting road

after talking about the little spawns of satan - oops, I mean

children - returning to school and thus having less time to follow

me down the road. Warake, who speaks virtually no English, was in

and out cleaning up the kitchen, then sat down and said, in

Amharic, that she was tired after the new year. She said had to

make the tella (moonshine), dorro wat (holiday chicken dish), and

all the other food, then clean up the house, all while the men

(pointed look at Negash, sitting in the comfortable chair in the

living room) sat around. Negash said that the men work outside

the home while the women work in it, so I countered that he's a

teacher, and hence hasn't been working for months (summer

vacation), plus he gets evenings and weekends off. Warake, on the

other hand, works all day, every day. I said he should help and

she agreed, but he said that other people (read: men) would make

fun of him if he did housework. I said that the only opinion that

matters is his and Warake's - she agreed - but he wasn't buying.

I told them I wouldn't marry a man who refused to contribute and

the daughter agreed, so at least the younger generation is on

board. Funny how the women tend to want change before the men

do.This week in English class we started talking about the role of

the West in development. My views can be summed up as: "Give a

man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, you feed

him for a lifetime." Hence why I came here and why I don't give

money to children or beggars (besides not having enough for the

sheer number who ask). I saw a few students writing it down, so I

think a lot agreed. One brought up the Marshall Plan and I think

that's the model we ought to use - the recipient nations need to

play much larger roles, from project development to implementation

to monitoring and evaluation to accountability. No handouts and

no forced ideals - change has to come from the ground up, with

community support, to be sustainable. It might take longer, but

it'll last, and I think that's the goal we ought to keep in mind.Someone brought up the question of whether the West really has an

interest in helping poor countries. I think there was a time

where a source of cheap resources outweighed any real humanitarian

interest, but I think we've reached a point as a globalized

society where security is a bigger priority. Rogue states are all

underdeveloped. No one's threatened by Sweden. I believe with

development comes stability, and with stability, security. We

can't expect people fighting for their next meal to think of the

future, let alone tomorrow or any notion of "greater good." But I

digress.A couple of students suggested that it's the responsibility of the

West to fix the problems of the developing world. Bantie, the

teacher, in particular is a big proponent of the notion that the

developed world is somehow superior - he uses the term "backward"

to describe Ethiopia and Africa often. I cringe every time. I

disagree - I believe developing nations need to have a stake in

all stages, and the developed world should only come in to fill

resource gaps and provide guidance as requested. Imposed

solutions rarely (never?) work, especially in the long term. I

asked these students if they would be willing to accept my

solutions just because I'm an American. A handful said yes, then

I said that one of my solutions would probably include turning all

religious buildings into schools or hospitals and removing all

semblance of religion from laws and government. They disagreed.

I rest my case.It turned into a rousing discussing of American foreign and

development policy - shouting, interrupting, the works. I was

proud - Ethiopians aren't generally accustomed to passionate

discourse because so much is taboo here. I explained that moments

like that illustrate why I defend my country and why I get riled

up when it's blindly criticized. I'm allowed to disagree with my

government - in print, in a public forum like this or in a

classroom, even - without fear of retribution. They don't have

that privilege but I think they're starting to grasp why I value

it so dearly.Next week we've decided to tackle religion. I'm so excited! I'm

currently reading Richard Dawkins' The God Delusion, so I'll be

bursting by the time class rolls around. Dawkins is basically the

CS Lewis of the atheist/agnostic community, so if you've ever

suggested I read Mere Christianity, I have - now I urge you to

read Dawkins. It's the sort of book that would change my life if

I weren't already on board. It's joining Middlesex on the list of

best books I've read thus far. I also finished the Harry Potter

series and I'm sorry I ever made fun of anyone who waited in line

at midnight to buy the next book. Unless you did it in costume.

Then I still reserve the right to judge you, but just a little.Wishlist:

-freeze dried mangoes

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-dried seasonings

-sourdough pretzel nuggets

-sour jelly bellys

-Right Guard extreme invisible solid deodorant

-baking products (chocolate chips, frosting, mixes, etc)

-yarn

-books

Happy New Year! We celebrated with a reggae party in Adama until the

wee hours of the morning. Not a very Ethiopian celebration - here,

the holiday is only on New Year's day, they don't do the "countdown to

midnight" aspect, but then I'm not into the church services, so it

seemed a fair compromise. The hotel that sponsored put up tents for

those too cheap to shell out for real rooms - that turned out to be

just us, but it was a good night and the tent remained waterproof

during the dawn downpour, so everybody wins. Plus there was a pool,

and we won't even discuss how much I miss water activities. Seems the

band we saw is sort of a big deal in the Ethiopian Rastafarian

community. Quite a few people from Jamaica and the US attended, but

only a handful of "real" (read: white) firenji were there, so it was a

pretty interesting experience. I have virtually no experience with

the Rasta community, but we had a great time. In true Peace Corps

fashion, we ate before the party and smuggled in our own liquor.While waiting to meet up with Sarah and Suzi at a cafe in Adama, a

group of guys at a neighboring table attempted to attract my attention

by playing cell phone ringtone music, making noises (and laughing in

response), and finally, by taking photos of me reading quietly with

their cellphone cameras. They forgot to turn off the fake camera

noise, so it was pretty obvious. What do I have to do to be seen as a

human being? They wouldn't do that to an Ethiopian woman, so why am I

any different? I hate how angry this makes me, but things like this

are so common, I can't just write it off as a handful of rogue

individuals. It just helps to vent, so pardon the negative tone.

It's not all butterflies and rainbows over here.After sleeping most of the day after New Year's (some things cross

oceans and continents), I went up to the fancy Darartu Hotel cafe for

the afternoon. It's no Maude's, but it's nice to have a change of

scenery and they don't do enough business to force you out if you want

to read for a few hours while only ordering tea. While there, a man

and his three kids came in for sodas and donuts and I had fond

nostalgic memories of my brother and I going with my dad to Dairy

Queen for Blizzards or Mister Misties after playing miniature golf.

I'm not sure if we ever actually did those two things in the same

evening (Adam/Dad - did we?), but in my mind, they're associated. Or

maybe I just really miss ice cream? Probably a combination thereof.Sarah, Suzi, and I are working together on a series of HIV seminars

for the nursing students at Rift Valley College, a private school in

Adama. We had our first session this week - HIV basics and ARTs. We

had a good turnout - about 100 people for the two sessions, although a

lot were pharmacy students instead of nursing. At least we focused on

ARV drugs, so hopefully they learned something. We're offering a

certificate program for those who attend 3 of 4, so I think that was a

big incentive. Offering certificates in Ethiopia is like offering

free food and cash in the States - everyone will show up. If the

certificate might be relevant to your career, even better.My latest group of prisoners was exceptionally interested in HIV's

possible monkey origins. They assured me humans got HIV because

someone had sex with a monkey (cue giggles). I tried to explain that

we don't really know where it first came from because of the long lag

between infection and symptoms, but they were having none of it. I

suppose if you're going to cling to strange myths, I'd rather it be

that than "HIV is an invention of the west to kill Africans" or "HIV

is in the condoms, so don't use them." There's really no harm in

being amused that a man may or may not have made sweet love to an ape.

The following day, another group got on the topic of "double-bagging"

(using two condoms, for those readers not fluent in modern sexual

colloquialisms). I managed to get that message across (don't ever do

it, unless you want two broken condoms!), so I'll call the week a

victory.Amisha, I got your package - thanks so much! Mom, your box and letter

arrived as well. Thanks!Wishlist:

-freeze dried mangoes

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-dried seasonings

-gummi Lifesavers

-sour jelly bellys

-baking products (chocolate chips, mixes, etc)

-yarn

-books

Happy Ethiopian New Year (11 September)! Party like it's 2001.Last week I met with the women at the prison. Gender inequalities

persist right down to the penal system. Their compound was

haphazardly built and lacking most of the facilities that the men have

(like tables and chairs). We had our session in a glorified barn -

one real wall, the rest more of a stick fence - with most of the women

crouching on the dirt floor, breast feeding children to keep them

quiet. Conditions aside, they were just as polite and grateful as the

men, perhaps more so. Especially when we talked about how part of the

reason women are at higher risk for sexual transmission is that they

have very little control over their sexual decisions. It's one of

those things everyone knows but few actually say. My translator even

did a little double take when I said it. This remains one of the most

rewarding projects I've ever undertaken.The following day, while back on the men's side, I stumbled across a

"Government and Civics" textbook. I only made it through the first

few pages discussing the rule of law and origins of democracy, but I

was thoroughly intrigued. I was just about to get into the

independent judiciary section when my class arrived. Pity. If I find

it again, I'm tracking down the teacher and offering my services.23 November: The Great Ethiopian Run. Most all of the PCVs not

traveling then will be huffing and puffing our way through a 10K at

8500 feet. I think the altitude is getting to us.Living here is turning me into a total sap. I find myself misty eyed

at every corny romantic comedy I watch. Even ones by the Farrelly

brothers. For shame.I watched the documentary "Jesus Camp." Horrified, traumatized, and

nauseous don't even begin to cover it. I honestly had to stop it and

walk away several times. Bad flashbacks to that <a

href="http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2351095&l=b18d7&id=2001205">website</a>

I found last year. Fortunately, Harry Potter 6 and Richard Dawkins

arrived the following day, so I have more than 1000 pages of blasphemy

in which to drown myself. I threw in Fear and Loathing too, just for

good measure. I'm immensely proud to be the "enemy."Obama...Biden 2008? Not my first choice, but hey, go Dems. Figures

the Republicans would once again (potentially) have the first woman in

an important position.I made donuts, guava jelly, homemade ravioli, and my first layered

cake recently. FYI, donut recipes have a high yield and the "jelly

stage" takes quite some time to reach. Fortunately, it wasn't like I

had plans for any of those evenings.Nick, Will (and Illana - love the cookbook!), Caitlin, Candace, and

Jason/Julie, thanks for making my week. I may not feel nostalgic for

icy showers and muddy roads when I'm home again, but I'll miss the

excitement of opening a mailbox to more than bills and junk mail.

Speaking of junk mail, kudos to those political staffers who bother to

send ads to the international absentee addresses. I don't now nor do

I ever intend again to live in Orange County, so I won't be voting in

the local elections, but I do appreciate the thought.Wishlist:

-mac and cheese

-freeze dried mangoes

-Gillette Venus razor refills

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-dried seasonings

-gummi Lifesavers

-sour jelly bellys

-yarn

-books

Jenny, one of the VSO volunteers in Assela, started a community

library at the teacher's college. I was in her office (also the

library) last week talking to her about the private school plans for

Assela when a group of kids crowded the door, waiting for her to open

for business so they could get more books. Apparently our meeting had

run past opening time. It's the only time since arriving in this

country that anyone besides me objected to an establishment opening

late. It was pretty cute, and I don't even like kids.Nod and I watched the Olympic men's 10,000 m finals last week in

Assela. It's pretty exciting to watch crammed into a satellite TV bar

with fifty other people, many of whom probably know or went to school

with the Ethiopian runners (who took gold and silver, with Kenya

taking third - shocking, no?). I'm still backing the Americans in

every other event, but after watching the white guys get lapped in the

10,000, I'm comfortable rooting for my temporarily adopted country in

long-distance running.Someone at the prison filled in the holes on the path to the classroom

I use each week. It was formerly a muddy obstacle course, but now

it's relatively smooth. I felt loved.During English class last week, we somehow found ourselves on the

topic of "dating," which proved amusing. It's a basically nonexistent

notion here, so the students were thoroughly amused. And intrigued.

Seems they'd like the opportunity to get to know people before

settling down for marriage. That's odd. One kid asked if I was

married, and when I said no, asked what I thought of the teacher.

Contrary to popular belief, Ethiopians can, in fact, blush. They had

a hard time understanding that finding a husband is not a priority for

me. Another student suggested that since women outnumber men in the

world, men should be allowed to take multiple wives so the women don't

have to go into prostitution. I explained that not being married

doesn't necessarily mean you have to sell your body to find

fulfillment in men, but he wasn't buying. To each his own, I suppose.In a related discussion, Hiqma, my favorite student, said that she

wants to make encouraging Ethiopian women to stand up for their rights

her life's mission. I love Hiqma. Another kid wants to study

computer animation so he can make movies about Ethiopia's long

history, which I thought was interesting in a country where the

ability to use MS Word makes you an expert. Then on the walk back

home, a random guy asked if I wanted "the fucking" with him. I wish

we'd export more romantic comedies and less pornography to the

developing world.The week before, we were talking about Ethiopia's historic sites

(specifically the churches at Lalibela) - one student asked why I

though Ethiopia formerly had advanced civilization and was now one of

the poorest countries in the world. I said that although the churches

are beautiful, all I can see when I look at things like that is the

time, labor, and resources that could have been put into schools or

hospitals or other considerations of the future generation. I think

that plays a large role in the collapse of civilizations (thanks Jared

Diamond) - expending resources on venerating gods or kings that (I

believe) could be put to better use elsewhere. Worship as you want,

but put the cement and labor towards a school. Ethiopian culture is

still very religious, but they were all silent for a bit pondering

this idea. I wonder if god would really care if you became a doctor

while worshiping him in a field instead of a gilded church. And if he

would, is that really a notion in which you can find salvation and

comfort?We had a three car accident at the intersection by my house.

Unremarkable, except that area generally sees about ten cars per day,

so three of them attempting the turn simultaneously is pretty strange.I just read Middlesex (Jeffrey Eugenides) and everyone should do the

same. It's in the running for best/favorite book I've read thus far

in Ethiopia, an honor I don't imagine Orientalism will achieve (still

suffering through that one). Adam, thanks for indulging my need for a

properly organized iTunes. You're my favorite brother.Invitations are starting to go out, so howdy to any Ethiopia invitees

who've stumbled across this blog. See you in December, but feel free

to email me with any questions/concerns/etc you may have in the

meantime.I've outsmarted the computer and am now capable of compressing and

emailing the volunteer newsletter on the excruciatingly slow dial up.

Email me if you want copies.Wishlist:

-mac and cheese

-freeze dried mangoes

-Gillette Venus razor refills

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-gummi Lifesavers

-yarn

-books

A while back, Yahoo! published an article

(http://news.yahoo.com/s/csm/20080425/ts_csm/opeacecorps;_ylt=AjH.oCVEqOGhNjRa3lG9HNys0NUE)

criticizing the youth of Peace Corps volunteers in general and their

inexperience in Ethiopia in particular. Nicholas Benequista called

for "professionalizing" the Peace Corps along the lines of the UK's

Volunteer Services Overseas (VSO) in order to better address the

increasingly complicated issues (i.e. environmental degradation or

HIV/AIDS) that now fall under the umbrella of the Peace Corps.The Peace Corps would certainly not suffer from greater numbers of

older volunteers, but it is a fallacy to suggest that age or

experience causes or is even correlated with success in the Peace

Corps. The issues volunteers are facing in Ethiopia are incredibly

complex and, as the article pointed out, quite new - experience in the

American professional world doesn't necessarily translate to

experience combating the spread of HIV in a culture almost entirely

unlike that of the United States.A significant portion of the young volunteers currently working in

Ethiopia have lived and worked in developing nations around the world,

including Burkina Faso, Swaziland, Tanzania, South Africa, Guinea,

Argentina, Mexico, Vietnam, and Jordan. Volunteers are currently

organizing zonal home-based care programs for HIV patients, starting

income generation projects for reformed commercial sex workers and

people living with HIV, creating job and health training programs in

prisons, reforming hospital record-keeping systems, writing

curriculums for health education in schools, and developing

eco-tourism programs to support and fund development projects.Age is not the only measure of experience, nor is it an accurate

predictor of success. With age comes experience, perhaps, but then

with youth comes innovation. New, creative solutions don't come from

a lifetime spent in the same career; they come from a fresh pair of

eyes looking at a situation from a new angle. Some of the world's

most successful companies (including, incidentally, Benequista's

employer, Yahoo! and its chief rival, Google) were founded by young

professionals who looked at a blossoming industry and saw gaps they

could fill. Young volunteers look at development in the same way -

connecting and combining resources when new ones can't be afforded,

challenging social practices that perpetuate problems. Today's

twenty-somethings were raised to believe they can do and be anything -

is that really an attitude that doesn't have a valuable place in

development?There is a practical reason the Peace Corps attracts "youthful zeal" -

it is a volunteer agency. Volunteers live on no more than three to

four dollars a day, often in conditions unfathomable to the average

American, and earn less than $2,500 a year for their efforts. For

recent college graduates, the experience outweighs the meager pay, but

for older professionals, it is difficult to walk away from a five- or

six-digit salary for a couple of years in a developing nation. The

problems faced by Ethiopia (and other Peace Corps countries) are

complex and deep-rooted. It will take passionate, dedicated

individuals who can "afford" two years away from the comforts of the

Western world to make lasting contributions. They should be applauded

for taking on a task most wouldn't even consider, not criticized by

those who've never walked in their shoes.These young Peace Corps volunteers, the vast majority of them female,

are working in a culture that values youth and masculinity above all

else. Women don't question their husbands and children never

challenge their elders. These women face near-constant sexual

harassment in their communities and even their workplaces. Many

struggle to work with counterparts who are reluctant to take their

ideas seriously and to genuinely work with them. Yet they're still

there, striving every day to be seen as individuals with something to

contribute. If your boss commented on your body, your bus driver

tried to grab your breast, and children threw stones at you every day,

would you persist in your work? They do. It would be absurd to

contend that they were incompetent by virtue of their sex - is it

acceptable to suggest the same because of their age?While the Peace Corps would certainly not be harmed by an increase in

older volunteers, it would be remiss to abandon the passionate young

people who have formed its heart and soul for the past forty years.

The Peace Corps applicant pool isn't exactly overflowing with older

professionals - should the young really be turned away?

First sessions with the prisoners were great. They made a captive,

curious audience, even without an armed guard in sight. The following

day, a group were convoying (by foot) into town and those in my class

said hi to me. I felt loved. They had some entertaining questions:

"If a person with HIV uses a condom and throws it away, then a chicken

eats it (not out of the questions - there are no garbage services here

and the chickens run free), will you get HIV from the eggs?" Good

times all around.Later that first day, I discussed HIV prevention with my English class

and I was betam (very) proud when two of them figured out why women

are at higher risk for HIV transmission. (If you don't know, you

should write me a letter and I'll explain it to you.) One of the guys

asked if masturbation was bad for you. I said it was sex with someone

you love. Well, I think Woody Allen said it first, but they had no

way of knowing. Half the class didn't know what it was (or pretended

not to, it's still pretty taboo here), so it resulted in a

particularly entertaining episode of charades. My life is absurd

sometimes.Fun Fact: It takes approximately 4 hours to download a 52.8 MB file on

a dial-up internet connection. I don't want to talk about it.re: Beijing '08 - go USA!Wishlist:

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Gillette Venus razor refills

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-gummi Lifesavers

-yarn

-books

Last week, my english class and I had a free discussion period. They

asked about US-Iranian relations, climate change, the undemocratic

nature of the UN, race relations in the US, and post-war Iraq and

Afghanistan, among other things. They may have never heard of

censorship, but they're better informed than Americans with

near-constant access to television, internet, and print news. That

saddens me.My prison education program starts next week - twice weekly small

group discussions until we get through everyone. This will keep me

occupied for quite some time. The prisoners are prepping the land

while we wait for the grant to be dispersed - they're so excited they

don't need any prodding at all. Either that, or the administration's

so excited that the free labor is motivated by proxy. I don't ask too

many questions.Biofarm hired a new education director (not actually his title, but

definitely his job) to oversee the development of schools in Mekele

and Assela. He's an Irish man (a conspiracy to remind me of a certain

Irish volunteer who's no longer eating my brownies...), which means

he's blessed with a western work ethic and understands my insatiable

desire to start now, instead of next week. We're in the market for

funds to build a network of schools in Assela, Mekele, and hopefully

in the southern Sudan as well. The primary school will be in a

converted existing building and should open in the fall, while the

secondary school will be built on the lake near the Biopark. From

there, we're hoping to use the school as a springboard to start

ecotourism projects and get the community to use the space. Biofarm

offered me a job overseeing the school when I finish PC, which made me

feel good about myself even if I don't have a serious interest in

staying on in Ethiopia after I finish Peace Corps.My landlord fired another maid while I was on vacation, lettuce and

corn arrived in the market, and I think it might snow. I'm adapting

to the new, lonelier life here. On the upside, my Amharic is

improving and I'm saving money on phone minutes.photos from the northern circuit:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2574749&l=1501d&id=2001205Wishlist:

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Gillette Venus razor refills

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-gummi Lifesavers

-yarn

-books

After 10 days in northern Ethiopia, I've decided that this country,

despite some transportation and culinary flaws, is beautiful. Of

course, this is the rainy season and everything is lush and green, but

I think my ability to love it while wading through ankle deep mud is a

testament to its beauty. I had my first visitor, the lovely Alana,

and we tore up the historic circuit, Gator-style. This included not

one, but two, hikes up muddy mountains in flip-flops and a nearly-lost

shoe in a deep puddle the local shepherd boy was kind enough to point

out as a breeding ground for malaria mosquitoes before retrieving the

shoes. For a price, of course.The inappropriately named Bahir Dar ("house of the sea") on the shores

of Lake Tana is a charming city with good food, dancing, and palm

tree-lined boulevards. Although the last bunch of volunteers to go up

there got robbed on three separate occasions and hence holds a grudge,

I'm in love. I'll be back. I impressed (amused?) the clientele of a

local "asmari beyt" (traditional dance house) by joining in the

dances. Ethiopian traditional dancing involves primarily

shoulder-shaking, which is humorous for any white person, but the

sight of Levi, the giant linebacker, was almost too much. Alana and I

would have had the hottest YouTube video since the stoned UF

management professor, but for our lack of a camera and YouTube's being

blocked in this country. Alas.We celebrated Steph's birthday, then headed to gorgeous Gondar,

perhaps my favorite city in Ethiopia thus far. Castles, a trek to the

Simien mountains to see the endemic gelada baboon, and the fabulous

Tara Center, an animal-rescuing/poverty-reducing NGO that I wish

desperately had a branch in Assela. We played with dogs who actually

love people and lovable, if mischievous, monkeys (photos coming soon)

while being wildly jealous of the three PCVs who actually live there.

I was minutes away from adopting Lulu, a hyperactive little brown

puppy who stood up to the big dogs even though she was half their

size. Alas, I had no means of getting her back to Assela, but I'm

keeping an open mind. A monkey farted in my face and attempted to

remove my clothes, which is always amusing. I'm now fully committed

to going to Rwanda to see the gorillas - anyone want to join? In

another life, I'd most certainly have been Jane Goodall.Lalibela turned out to be a bit of an overpriced disappointment, but

we still had a good time crawling through the towers and tunnels of

the church complexes. Orthodox Christianity continues to frighten me.

It's the icons. We met a German and Italian guy who'd just finished

a few years working in Kenya and were in the process of driving from

Nairobi to Italy. After a night of tej (honey wine), we discovered

the bus we planned to take neglected to show up, so we rode in the

back of their ancient Land Cruiser, thus cutting our travel time in

half. They had little patience for the ubiquitous livestock in the

road, which made for a thoroughly amusing trip. We spent the night in

Debre Tabor, stuffed our faces, then headed back to Bahir Dar, a trip

covering half the distance but taking twice the time of the day before

due to the dilapidated bus. Can't win 'em all, I suppose.After nine months, I'm starting to actually like (as opposed to just

tolerate) Ethiopian food. Just shiro wat so far (chickpea puree), but

it's a start. Perhaps there's hope for me after all.I read The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J Maarten Troost - perhaps one of

the funniest writers ever. I want to be him. If I wrote a book about

living abroad, I would want it compared to his. I also read Collapse,

Jared Diamond's sequel to Guns, Germs, and Steel, and although he's as

long-winded-but-thorough as ever, I respect a man who lists religion

as a major reason societies make irrational decisions and slips not

one but two subtle critiques of US family planning policy abroad (or

lack thereof) into a chapter about hope for the future.I'm currently back in Addis, saying goodbye to my site buddy, Candace,

who's leaving to take a job as a flight attendant with Emirates

Airlines in Dubai. Two other volunteers also left this week, one also

from my area, so it's been a rough week for the Peace Corps and me in

particular. I suppose I expected PC to be a lonely and isolated two

years, but after 9 months of being pleasantly surprised with my

proximity to other volunteers, it's hard to return to that mindset.

Hamda allah for knitting, I suppose.Jason, Dad, and Mom, got your mail - thanks!Wishlist:

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Gillette Venus razor refills

-original cheddar goldfish crackers

-instant broccoli cheddar soup mix

-non-refrigerated cheese products

-yarn

-books

Week two of language class: Censorship. Once I explained the term to

everyone (teacher included) - a fact that I think says more than the

discussion ever could - we had a lively discussions, much of it

focused on the famine and former Derg government. I won't go into

more detail, but read the article I linked to in my previous post.Week three: Comprehensive v abstinence only sex ed. Everyone should

be well aware of my feelings on this matter, so suffice it to say that

if certain policy makers had consulted much of the world before

implementing PEPFAR, we'd be looking at a very different (and much

more effective) HIV-prevention program on this continent. Alas.The prison program is off to a good start - thanks to the health

center, testing is in progress and everyone is surprisingly eager to

volunteer for testing. I'm working on a proposal to fund vegetable

farming and chicken coops for the HIV-positive prisoners - nutritional

support, income generation, and job training. Next month, we'll start

weekly small-group discussion classes, which will hopefully eventually

expand into a peer education program, but that's tricky since it's

such a transient population. Even if they're just bringing prevention

education back to their hometowns, that's progress.I'm off to Bahir Dar, Gonder, and Lalibela for the next 10 days - back

in Assela 20 July. I'll be taking my first domestic Ethiopian

Airlines flight. Wish me luck. Although, given that Ethiopia is the

most dangerous place in the world to ride in a car, I'm looking

forward to my first peaceful transport experience in 9 months.24 is only getting more stressful. I read Tucker Max's I Hope They

Serve Beer in Hell and almost peed myself. Degrading, offensive, but

oh-so-hilarious. Wouldn't recommend it for fathers though.I learned to make cornmeal pancakes, which puts me halfway to arepas,

one of my favorite foods. Now all I need is a regular supply of

cheese. I also successfully had pants made in Assela, thus solving my

increasingly hole-y and baggy pants problem. Victory.Ruby, thanks for the excellent reading material!Wishlist:

-Vanilla frosting

-Gummi LIfesavers

-Non-refrigerated cheese products

-Original cheddar goldfish crackers

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Dried fruit

-Right Guard extreme stick deodorant

-Gillette Venus razor blade refills

-Yarn

-Books

Barack '08! And I found broccoli again, twice in one month. To put

that in perspective, it's a bit like finding a hundred dollar bill in

the gutter...twice. And since I'm probably the only person in the

country, and definitely the only one in the greater Rift Valley area

who gives a damn about broccoli, it's dirt cheap. Unlike the

cauliflower, which was 12 birr/head. I've never watched inflation

happen before my eyes like this. I did notice that US postage

increased - thanks to everyone who loves me that 4 extra cents.After a crappy day involving both screaming children and the town

lunatic chasing me down the road while raving about what a good lay I

was (as bystanders just laughed), I went to a night school english

class run by a former student of my Amharic tutor. What a day

brightener. The students were nervous to practice with a native

speaker, but you could see how excited they were that I was there.

One guy thanked me for being there, saying that there are big

populations of Ethiopians in America and everyone he knows wants to

go there, but I'm the only American in Ethiopia. I felt loved, and in

the good way, not the sex object way that is the norm here. I'm

starting them on a weekly debate club, which should provide fodder for

an endless supply of amusing anecdotes.Week 1: "Is it easier to be a man or a woman in Ethiopia?" One girl

got riled up and passionately explained how even if women are going to

school and wearing pants these days, she's still expected to come home

and do all the chores while her brother keeps the couch warm in front

of the television. Then one of the guys used the word 'revolution'

unprovoked, and I was smitten. This is going to be great.A Swiss organization toured the Assela Biofarm last week, and I met

this amazing American woman who's on their board but also runs an

educational exchange in Mongolia. Perhaps something to do in that

lull between my close of service here and grad school eight months

later... She also spoke German and is basically my hero, thus

bringing me closer to committing to applying for a year-long

fellowship in Germany at some point in the near future.Wednesday through Friday last week, I went to Welenchiti to

theoretically break ground on Sinead's vegetable farm for reformed

commercial sex workers. TIA. Like Eeyore, I managed to bring the

grey cloud that perpetually hangs over Assela to a desert town that's

seen three days of rain in the last month. It rained all three days I

was there, someone attempted to steal our land, no one told us to

plough, and the trainers showed up late for the program. Needless to

say, we weren't as productive as we'd hoped. For some reason, after 9

months in Ethiopia, that still frustrates us. But the land is

ploughed and ownership is clear now, so hopefully we'll plant later

this week. We also watched the movie North Country, which was great,

but not such a good idea for Ethiopia because it puts you in a sort of

zero tolerance for harassment mood.Edit: Tuesday we were scheduled to plant, but it seems in desert

towns, you have to plant the day after it rains. It didn't rain all

weekend in Welenchiti and the phone network was down, so SInead

couldn't call to tell me not to come, so I showed up in Welenchiti

only to find no one at the land. Fortunately, the town is tiny and

Sinead's the only white person to have ever lived there, so everyone

(when they weren't confusing me with her) could tell me she was back

at her house.I read David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim and had

to restrain myself from laughing hysterically in public. I was a mess

reading "Nuit of the Living Dead" in my house - "I was on the front

porch, drowning a mouse in a bucket when this van pulled up, which was

strange." Anyone wanted to send some more Sedaris my way, I'd be

eternally grateful.Perhaps the most awkward moment of my life: Gizaw, my 50-something

counterpart at Alliance for Development, after the lengthy Amharic

greeting process, asked, "What are sex toys?" Somehow, he'd gotten

his hands on an HIV prevention brochure printed in the US that, among

other things, urged you not to share your sex toys, and if you do, use

a fresh condom each time (good advice, in case you were concerned).

These things aren't available in Ethiopia (at least not as far as I

know), so he was utterly baffled even after I explained the general

notion. He didn't get why people would have them, which led us into

the touchy subject of female masturbation. I decided that was

probably traumatizing enough and he wasn't ready for discussions of

homosexuality. He's already appalled that I don't go to church, have

divorced parents, and have no immediate plans for marriage, so one

step at a time. On the upside, I now feel confident in my ability to

discuss any aspect of HIV and sex with any person - bring on the

priests.Thanks to the wonders of rental VCDs (a technology that completely

bypassed the United States in our transition from VHS to DVD), I've

started watching 24. I don't understand how people handled watching

it with a week delay between episodes. But rentals are 1 birr each

(about ten cents), so at least I'll stay more or less up to date on

film and television while I'm here.I went to Addis and now have two balls of mozzarella cheese and black

olives to my name. Life is good.Pouya, Gordon, Krzysztof, Kimberly, Nick, WIll, Claire, Mom, and

Grandma, got your mail - thanks!Wishlist:

-Vanilla frosting

-Gummi LIfesavers

-Non-refrigerated cheese products

-Original cheddar goldfish crackers

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Dried fruit

-Low rise athletic socks!

-Right Guard extreme stick deodorant

-Yarn

-Books

Summer is upon us, which means a large number of people are packing

their bags for the Peace Corps. If you're anything like me, you've

been googling Peace Corps blogs for a while now, so I figured I'd

offer my thoughts (and a few packing ideas). Granted, I'm in

Ethiopia, so your experience will probably differ drastically, but

it's the spirit that counts.Training sucks. It's hard, it moves excruciatingly slowly, and you'll

find yourself wondering why on earth you signed up for this torture.

Living with a host family is the hardest part. If you're a recent

college grad, you're at least a few years removed from your mother

force-feeding you at every meal and imposing an early curfew. If

you're older, it's been even longer since you didn't have control of

your daily activities. Write yourself a letter about why you joined

the Peace Corps and mail it with your favorite candy right before you

leave - depending on the quality of your country's postal service,

it'll arrive sometime during training and will remind you what you're

doing there (and give you a chance to eat some feelings). Push

through - it's only three months of a 27-month commitment and it'll be

over before you know it.Prepare yourself for massive amounts of solitude. You'll soon learn

(if you haven't already) that being alone is not the same as being

lonely. In time, you'll probably come to crave that solitude - you'll

be on display every moment of every day you leave your house. Say

goodbye to the ability to be invisible. Every move you make will

fascinate those around you - buying groceries, speaking the language,

riding local transport - it's okay to not always find that quaintly

amusing. It is, in fact, annoying sometimes. You're only human.

Take time for yourself.On the topic of solitude, bring hobbies. With that much alone time

comes serious introspection - when you have enough time to analyze

every word of a letter from home, you better have something with which

to distract yourself or you'll go 'round the bend the first month at

site. Pick at least one or two that can be done by candlelight - even

if you have electricity, it probably won't be that reliable. Knitting

is becoming increasingly hip - I'd highly recommend it."Integration" means fitting the person you are into the context of

your host country, not becoming that culture. You hold certain values

that are probably foreign to your host country - don't feel you have

to sacrifice those to fully integrate. You wouldn't change yourself

to make someone like you back home, so don't feel you should to better

"fit in" at your site. It's okay not to love all the food or to be

annoyed by the children sometimes or to just want to spend the day

curled up writing letters home. That doesn't make you a bad volunteer

- in fact, it probably makes you a more emotionally stable one. I'm

sure you could make a list of dozens of things you don't like about

America - why would another country suddenly be perfect? On the other

hand, some of your thoughts may be better kept silent or at least

artfully vague (sex and religion?).In much of the world, it's incredibly difficult to be a woman

(especially a young one). Sexual harassment, endless discussions of

your marital status, and general fascination at your independence will

quickly get old. Chance are, in your country, women your age do not

live alone, are not accepted in society unless married, and rarely

have the kind of independence you take for granted. Male coworkers

will probably find you intimidating or have a hard time treating you

as an equal. Stand up for yourself, but be patient with them. On the

bright side, women with whom you work will find you inspirational.If you don't already find poop funny or feel comfortable talking about

your bowel movements in detail, rent a few toilet comedies now or hang

around a preschool and get over it. Poop will dominate much of your

conversations with other volunteers (along with sex and foods you're

craving). If you can't describe your excrement in vivid detail, how

will the medical officer ever know what's wrong with you?If, like most volunteers, you write letters home, you'll quickly learn

some valuable lessons about your friendships. People will surprise

you, both with their commitment to write and their lack thereof. It's

okay to be angry, but try to focus on the positives and let people go

when their silence demands it.Be patient. The American work ethic is unlike anywhere else in the

world. In your eyes, you only have two years to achieve as much as

possible, but for the people with whom you work, other issues will

often take priority. Keep at it and don't let false starts get you

down. Pursue multiple projects so you always have a fallback when one

inevitably stagnates for a time. In Africa, at least, nothing starts

on time, so carry a book and it'll make the wait more bearable.Don't be afraid to cry. Peace Corps is emotionally draining - let it

out. Talk to other volunteers. Bake cookies together (or just eat

the dough). You're all in the same boat, so find comfort in each

other. Two years is a long time. It's overwhelming sometimes, but

what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?Packing:

-Teflon fry pan - you'll probably have one burner to cook on, and it's

so convenient to be able to cook multiple things without having to

stop and soak a crusty pan.

-A good pillow

-Sharp paring knife and vegetable peeler - you'll prepare many

vegetables in your two years. Make it easier on yourself.

-Music (with speakers! Silence is oppressive sometimes, but braying

donkeys and crowing chickens are always annoying)

-Measuring cups and spoons - even if you don't bake yet, this is a

great time to learn)

-Board games/sporting equipment - you'll develop a lot of pent-up

energy during training, so it's nice to have a release (and something

to do on the weekends).People often ask if I'm having "fun" in Ethiopia. Most days, the

experience is stressful and frustrating. It's not "fun" in a

day-at-Disneyworld sense of the word, but in the "this is the most

challenging thing I've ever done and I can see myself growing every

day" sense. Survive this, and you're ready for anything. Good luck!

Pardon the almost-certainly nauseatingly bubbly idealism...it's been a

good (couple of) weeks. I even had broccoli and a vegetable woman in

the market is now bringing cauliflower and lettuce to Assela, saving

us trips to Adama. On the downside, we seem to alternate days with

and without electricity, hence the long delay in posts.Our current record-longest dry spell is approximately 12 hours. Two

hours away, in Welenchiti, is a desert that's seen two days of rain in

the last two weeks. A few thousand feet of altitude makes all the

difference. Speaking of altitude, I had my first "I live here and am

used to the lack of oxygen" moment during a tour of the Assela Biofarm

with a group of NGO and AU representatives. As we were hiking up a

steep hill of terraced gardens, a breathless American asked about the

altitude and I realized I'd stopped noticing. Well, only while

walking - I still can't run to save my life.On the topic of that tour, Biofarm is an Ethiopian NGO that does

research in sustainable agriculture and trains farmers in low-cost,

eco-friendly, organic techniques. They have eight sites around

Ethiopia, including a massive one in Assela, all of which are powered

by biogas (derived from the fermenting excrement of a dozen cows or

so). I'm just bursting with excitement about working with them - they

espouse a well-rounded approach, adding some conservation, health

education, and family planning into farm training (because what's the

point of growing extra food for profit if you still have too many

mouths to feed?). They run a kindergarten and college (degrees in

natural resource management and environmental science) in Addis and

are basically my dream work partner. The director is a jolly

energetic man who is almost as excited as we are to work with Peace

Corps volunteers and is incredibly supportive of even our most

outlandish pipe dream proposals. It's so nice to feel productive and

useful at last!I'm working with Biofarm Addis to develop a partnership with UF (the

Gator Nation is everywhere...) and create a eco-tourism branch of the

organization to increase publicity and provide some income to fund

start-up grants for farmers and other groups. In Assela, I'll be

working on a resource library and establishing an information-sharing

network with the other sites. Since their primary purpose in life is

training people in sustainable farming, I'll be trying to partner them

with a variety of groups for income generation - PLWHAs (see below),

commercial sex workers, and prisoners, for starters. So excited I

could soil myself.When it rains, it pours (literally and metaphorically). The PLWHA

group I met with months ago about income generation has woken back up

and things are suddenly moving forward again. A group of commercial

sex workers has joined, but since giving up that work is a

prerequisite for membership, starting IG projects has become more

urgent. They were recently evicted from their office (since these

groups rarely have money, any land or facility they use is usually

gifted to them by the municipality, who can reclaim it at their

pleasure), so while a VSO volunteer and I attempt to guilt the local

government into donating some new, more permanent land, the members

are preparing budgets for start up costs so we can apply for grants.

I think we'll start with chicken-raising (eggs mainly, but also meat)

since it's low-risk and has been extremely successful with other

groups. If we can get the money and/or land, we want to expand to

cows and vegetable gardening (with help from Biofarm, naturally) for

both nutritional support and profit.I just stumbled across a new English Language school in Assela that's

looking to start interactive teaching (as opposed to the strictly

lecture-based style prevalent in Ethiopia), so that'll be a fun

project too.It's such a refreshing feeling to have enough going on in my work to

warrant scheduling in advance. I'd almost forgotten how to say, "No,

I can't, I already have something that day."At long last, photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2480158&l=25661&id=2001205Sarah and Mary Ann, thanks for the packages!

Happy (belated) birthday to me...Being white in small town Africa is like what I imagine it would be to

be born either stunningly beautiful or horribly disfigured. Everyone

makes no effort to disguise their blatant staring, whispering,

pointing, laughing in an unabashed way that suggests that, to

compensate for your striking appearance, you had been denied the

faculties of seeing and hearing. Some days this is ceaselessly

amusing, other days it makes you want to hide in your house and read

Russian literature.In-service training was long, but it was fabulous to see the other

volunteers and swap stories. The hot showers were great, but we were

all excited to get back to site by the end - talking to other people

about work and life gave us new motivation to push past the

difficulties of working in a bureaucratic system and start the new

projects we all inspired in each other. I've been riding a new high

back at site trying to get projects off the ground. A group of us

also watched the first three seasons of Grey's Anatomy in their

entirety, and I'd like to extend my apologies for ridiculing fans of

the show - it's great. If anyone wanted to burn the fourth season and

mail it this way, I wouldn't object...Over the course of a three-day weekend in Addis producing our new

volunteer newsletter, I managed to almost lose my camera, lose and

recover my flash drive (after a two week delay, hence the long hiatus

in blog posts), and permanently lose my sunglasses. But, I also

discovered great pizza and salads and went to the movie theater, so

all was not lost.We (half the Rift Valley zone) spent Ethiopian Easter weekend in

Harar, the fourth holiest site in Islam, which seemed a fitting choice

for an Orthodox holiday weekend. Since I'm technically banned by

virtue of my gender and heathen status from the top two, I think this

is the best I can do for now. The actual site is a small shrine to a

famous imam, a bit disappointing visually if you lack faith, but we've

now made the pilgrimage popular among those who can't afford Mecca.

The city is very different from the rest of Ethiopia - it's

predominantly Muslim, and the historic walled section feels more like

Jerusalem or Chefchaoen (Morocco) than Africa proper. There's a

definite Arab flair to the town, most obviously seen in fetira, the

delicious Yemeni bread (and of course, the occasional 'salam alekum').We spent the weekend posing as Slovakian missionaries (Slovakian to

account for the whiteness but avoid the rich American stereotype, and

missionaries to stave off the creepy men). Sinead and I had a

detailed conversation with a police officer about Bratislava

(fortunately I spent two days there once) and how the breakup of

Czechoslovakia was like Ethiopia and Eritrea. On our tour of the

Harar Brewery (the best of the Ethiopian beers), we discovered that

the factory had been built with help from the Czechoslovak government

under the Derg, which explains why everyone had heard of our adopted

country.Harar's most famous tourist attraction (at least for infidels) is the

quasi-tame hyenas that gather on the edge of town every night for

feeding. A group of "hyena men" know each hyena by name and feed them

strips of raw meat from their mouths and hands. Of course, they

encourage the tourists to join in the fun. I've now communed with

hyenas, and I must say, for such an absurd-looking creature, they're

adorable.One of the VSO volunteers left yesterday, so we combined my birthday

with her going away party for a gluttonous feast last week. We

introduced the teacher's college language department to the wonders of

chocolate fudge cake, American style. Eshetu, my tutor, was so

enamored of it that he scraped the pan clean. That's what I call

sharing cultures. The two-year-old girl at the party, however, wanted

nothing to do with the gummi worm garnish. She wouldn't even let it

touch her cake. I guess some things can't cross borders.Fun Amharic fact: when you describe something pretty, small, or you

feel a fondness for, you use the feminine. If it's big, strong, or

anything else, you use the masculine. If something is both (like a

big, pretty house), masculine prevails. In Ethiopia, women are

expected to defer to men in all situations. I should have been a

psycholinguist. This fascinates me. On a related note, Ethiopia is

always feminine because Ethiopians love their country.It seems the whispers of drought were premature (at least for Assela)

- it's been raining almost constantly for a week and the temperature

has dropped some twenty degrees. Good thing I've been knitting those

scarves. This is putting a strain on my supply of clean clothes,

however, since the rain hasn't stopped long enough for them to dry.

My living room (and by living room, I mean entire house) is covered in

wet clothes.Photos: coming soon.Matt, Will, Kimberly, Stephanie, J^2, Caitlin, Dad, Grandma, Mom, and

Rhonda, thanks for the recent influx of postal love. Nothing like

checking your PO box after a three week absence - I love you all!Wishlist:

-Books (especially):

...Martin Amis, The Second Plane, other novels

...David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

...Gary Shteyngart, Absurdistan

...Tom Robbins, Still Life With Woodpecker

...Peter George, Red Alert

...Aldous Huxley, Eyeless in Gaza

-Yarn

-usual snacky foods

I saw a hippo. In the wild, yawning in a river against the sunset. Wow.

On the bus home from Adama last weekend, I sat with this jolly old

Ethiopian man named Mesatu who works as an economist for a Texas A&M

research project. He had a pretty solid grasp of English, so we had

an interesting hour and a half discussion of Ethiopia, America, and

the world. He asked me who I supported in the election - Barack or

Hilary. This is a pretty standard question - for most Ethiopians,

McCain and the Republicans don't really come up. I suppose most of

their experience is with left-leaning development workers, but it's

still amusing to me. He was at least familiar with McCain and said he

would have supported him "because he's a hero" if not for his

continued support of the Iraq war.Ethiopians I've talked to about the US election generally back Hilary,

which is interesting to me since I've read a lot of editorials about

how the third world would support a candidate who looks like them.

Not so here - they loved Bill and associate Hilary with his triumphant

return to the world stage.Like most Ethiopians who speak English, it turns out he was taught by

a Peace Corps volunteer back in the 1960s. She was black, and he went

on for a while about how pretty she was and how it was the first time

he learned that Americans came in "black." It never fails to amaze me

how many people's lives were touched by PCVs and how many still

remember their volunteer vividly. They ask if we know "Bob" or

"Ashley" - usually forgetting that I'm at least twenty years younger

than them and their volunteer is probably older than my parents by

now. But still, it's exciting to be in a place where Peace Corps has

such a long and respected history. Certainly makes our job easier.As befits any conversation with an Ethiopian, we eventually turned to

marriage and children, but unlike a lot of Ethiopians, he wasn't

appalled that I had reached the ripe old age of 22 without husband.

(He did, however, remain shocked that I shop, cook, and clean all by

myself.) He asked how many kids I wanted and was impressed with my

desire for two. He said he had five, but that it was too many because

he was old now and still had two at home. I told him my brother,

step-sister, and I were all in college (well, in a few more months) or

graduated, and my dad had retired since we were on our own and no

longer demanded constant feeding. He was impressed, and more than a

little jealous, I think. Chances are, however, his kids will learn

from him and cut back, so I suppose learning from experience is more

effective than lectures. Fond memories of Simret, my host mom in

Woliso, who said two was bakka (enough!).Fun fact about Assela - turns out there's a prison on the road behind

my house. Neat. Maybe I'll do some peer education and HIV talk with

the prisoners - starting over after prison is a great time to initiate

behavior change. Plus, I suppose it's always better to have prisoners

on your side in case they escape, right?Strawberries magically came back into season, as did grapes. Of

course, they're not in Assela, but they are in Adama. Our fruit

selection has virtually doubled in a week. Strawberries and cream

oatmeal! Is it sad that Sarah and I attracted a crowd in Adama when

she yelped and spotted grapes across the road? The guy selling them

was excited that we noticed - otherwise, it looked like he hadn't had

any customers all day.Sunday, Eshetu (my tutor) and I had a make up session that turned into

a hilarious discussion of cultural standards of beauty. We started

with the part of the body vocabulary lesson, which led into what those

features mean in Ethiopia. As it turns out, women try to bleach their

skin, draw their eyebrows thicker, and girls wear extra pants to make

their butt bigger. "Fat" is a compliment here (but only because thin

usually means sick). He was amazed to discover that American women

lay in tanning beds to darken their skin and will risk starvation to

lose weight. This led into a discussion of the phrase "the grass is

always greener" and more giggles.In Ethiopia, if you want to hint to a man that he's probably not the

father of his kids, you tell him the baby has his shoulders - since

you can't really see your own shoulders, it's a subtle way of saying

there's no facial resemblance. Eshetu thought it was funny that

identifying bastard children is easier in the West since we have

recessive hair and eye colors that make it even more obvious. We also

swapped fables about the creation of man - Amharas (the dominant

ethnic group in Ethiopia) say that god first made white men, but

forgot to fire the clay, then made the Somalis and Sudanese but left

them in too long and burned them, and finally made the Ethiopians just

right. I responded with "you always make a rough draft before a

masterpiece, that's why men came before women." Amharic class is

always a good time - it's fun to swap cultural oddities with someone

who understands colloquialisms. He's also amused by the difference

between pants in the states and pants in England. We sometimes

regress towards a little toilet humor, but in general, we're learning

a lot. Plus, he appreciates my grammatical fanaticism, so we're

getting along splendidly.This week, I started co-teaching English at the teacher's college. My

partner teacher is a blind woman named Freihewot (which in and of

itself is fascinating in a country with no ADA legislation and

treacherous streets for the sighted). I'll be leading

discussion/conversation sections with the students. For my first

class, I picked abstinence only vs. comprehensive sex education, based

on a US News article (thanks Stephanie!). I felt it was appropriate

for an HIV worker in Africa. They were a little shy to speak and not

used to an American accent (I think I'm the first American working at

the college in quite a few years), but those who came out of their

shells unanimously defended comprehensive sex-ed. Take that,

PEPFAR/Global Gag Rule! Now the rest of the department is clamoring

to get me into their classes too, so I'm feeling quite loved.I'm off to Sodere (the hot springs town) for two weeks of in-service

training (and swimming!). Figures - just as I'm bombarded with people

wanting to work with me, I leave. We've got a few days in Addis for

dinner at the embassy, bingeing on good food, and partying for

Sinead's birthday. I'm not sure I'll have internet access while I'm

there, so you may not hear from me until I get back to Assela April

19. Then I'll be starting my garden, so that'll probably be amusing

as the neighbors stare at Sarah and I turning pink and sweating in the

sun. Not to mention my actually eating the strange vegetables that

come out of there.Leah, you certainly know how to brighten an African day!

Mom/Grandma/Grandpa, I got the Easter boxes - thanks!WIshlist:

-Green, yellow, and red yarn (Ethiopia's flag)

-Cheddar goldfish crackers

-Fritos

-Sour Jelly Bellys

-Kraft mac and cheese

-Gummi anything

-Frosting

-Popcorn salt

-Dry pesto seasoning

-***SPF 15 body lotion

-Any other yarn

-Books