Ethiopia

Millenium

“Ethiopia to celebrate millennium” Al Jazeera, 11 Sept 2007. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2007/9/11/ethiopia-to-celebrate-millennium

Ethiopia is much colder than I expected. I woke up last night, an hour after I had gone to bed with teeth chattering searching for a pair of socks and the fleece hostel blanket I packed. At first glance, in my sleepy daze I thought the city was charming. Now after stepping over a pool of blood, wading through countless swarms of beggars, fetid pools of ‘water’ and endless sprawls of shacks, I see the city as anything but charming. It’s atmospheric grit with the overlapping smells of feces and rotting flesh make it feel depressing and hopeless. However, I can see why a lot of Europeans prefer it to other cities. There are many places to hide from the extreme squalor including highend restaurants, cultural centres and bars packed with young, beautiful (by European standards) women. It is sad to see a population renowned for their history and pride living in filth, and also shocking that the whole city has so far been resilient to being wiped out by a cholera epideimc!

I celebrated the Millennium with Lana and a Swedish consultant lady staying at our guest house across the street at an Italian restaurant that served Ethiopian red wine mixed with Coca-cola and some of the most delicious homemade pasta I’ve ever had. We later met up with an Ethiopian guy I met on the plane, flying home from Spain where he now lives and he took us out on the town, which included an intimate local band session and then the Rodeo nightclub. Rodeo Night Club is the most overblown stereotypes from cowboy and western culture brought to life in a packed line dancing room full of bedazzled, hat and chap wearing Ethiopians- both amusing and comforting.

We have started our orientations after the New Year celebrations, although our boss, the Country Director, Berhanu is off for some extra family leave so the vacuum of authority left by him makes answering our questions slightly more difficult. When Berhanu is back, he takes us on a lot of outings to demonstrate his ease with Canadians that he is charged with receiving periodically. He is charming and even a bit flirtatious at times, he is also self-depreciating when he describes ancient Ethiopia, as a new evangelical, orthodoxy and history are so intrinsically bound together. We climb Mount Entoto, with the freshest of air and visit the oldest church with a cave which is meant to be the spot where the arc of the covenant was hidden and Emperor Menelik 2’ house. Oddly, we also visit an Italian Cultutral Centre for an evening of amatuer latin dancing, along with an awkward highschool type play starring Ethiopians as displaced Amazonians dancing to merengue and salsa. While in Addis, Lana and I are encouraged to get very cheap massages, which turn out to also be both very oily and surprisingly intimate!

Shashemene

A Visit to Ethiopia's Rastafarian Diaspora. September 22, 2007. NPR Weekend Edition Saturday https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=14620534

On our last day in in the Addis guest house, a very British Rastafarian on a 2 week holiday welcomes us to Ethiopia, the place we now live in. the rest of the day was spent on a 5 hour car ride with one of the NGO drivers, Isac, and a lot of American gospel music until we reached the Rastafari capital, Shashamene where we pick up 2 scrawny teenage cowboys, my new colleagues apparently, who shuffle into the back seat as we head to my new accommodation. Ephraim, the teenage cowboy who’s bloodshot eyes and nervous scratching make him look like he is struggling with an addiction, eagerly show me all the stuff they had got for me, an electric hotplate, a new mini fridge along with cookware and glasses oh yes, and a Valentines Day themed bedspread! Its sometimes difficult to follow the conversation, as the guest room is housed within an evangelical church compound and we arrived just in time for a top volume concert hall dinner hour sermon in the middle of the grassy gathering area, Habibi looks pumped as he watches the church gates for any arrivals. Its temporary until my boss/landlord finishes the renovations on his own personal guesthouse for me (and future interns). This guesthouse is about $100/month and includes a private shower, toilet, electricity and possibly hot water in the room – much better than anything I stayed in in Uganda but not as nice (or expensive) as Khartoum. This is great because Ethiopia turns out to be much colder and rainier than I could have ever imagined from those World Vision ads, the guys did well.

After a night of listening to what sounded like a monkey killing a cat on the corrugated iron roof, which I tried to drown out with some Amy Winehouse, with little success, I wake up all alone in an unfamiliar room, in a strange city, unaware of the time – which is apparently time for a electronic morning sermon. Its nice to be away from the filth of Addis but Shashamene is seedy, in a different way. It’s a rough town run by immigrant Rastas mostly from the UK, the US and the Caribbean and frequented by addicts, drug mules, sex workers and criminals from Kenya, Somalia and Ethiopia. Even the kids have a directness about them, not curious about foreigners and straight to the point of how much money they are demanding, but very nice – 2 girls help me pick up some stuff I dropped and hadn’t noticed. The town also has the highest HIV/AIDS infection rate In Ethiopia due to the transient and high risk lives of the migrants who come to this transportation hub

I meet my new boss today, Shambura, an educated farmer who is never in a hurry to do anything but accomplishes plenty. His name means chickpea, a crop that grows without water, because he grew up without milk. The office is small but well kept in the middle of 2000km of green acers. It is a really beautiful spot. There are many shy, dirty, curious kids hanging around the office waiting to be fitted for clothing, most with no shoes and too large t-shirts hanging off their chubby shoulders. As they were waiting in the office, they were drawing Christmas cards for thier sponsors and putting a lot of proprietary work in, making sure to hide their designs from opportunist copiers. I talk to Lana today and her time in Debre Zeit sounds comparable, we agree to meet on weekends whenever we can. I feel bad for Lana because this is her first time in Africa, I am so glad this is not my first time or I don’t think I would have ever come back.

The next morning the absence of the disco sermon and instead the sounds of the birds outside makes me remember Mbarara. I am using the hotplate for the first time to make oatmeal, at the same time I heat some water to wash my hair, and I guess the dishes… Shumbura isnt at the office but he dropped me off after failing to find a take willing to drive a foreigner for a reasonable price in the rain. I spend most of my time checking email and coming up with ideas for the next 8 months to incorporate into the reporting metrics and paper I have to write for the Canadian International Development Agency who is paying for the Christian NGO in Canada to send me to be here. At lunch I accompany the rest of the staff on a dirty horsedrawn carriage, called a gari, to a fly infested mud cave that happens to be the site of their favorite (only?) restaurant where we eat sheep and injera after washing our hands in what looks to be like collected grey water for some reason as we watch the national broadcaster play endless loops of cultural music video in an effort to create social cohesion. I honestly, and without judgement, have never seen a dirtier place in my life and the rain adds layers of rotting smell to everything. We sip delightful creamy macchiatos from a brand new shiny Italian espresso machine and if I stick my nose in far enough and close my eyes, maybe I’m in an Italian village before we get back into the muddy 3 seater buggy and get pulled back to the office by a horse reduced to bones by parasites and hunger.

This afternoon my old boss from Khartoum Travel called me. After feeling very lonely, cold and isolate with no plan for the future, his call couldn’t have come at a better time. He offered me my job back whenever I choose and that I am probably missing my Khartoum lifestyle – on which account he is not wrong. Maybe I’m not cut out for martyrdom as I had already concluded. Maybe ending up as a anonymous dismembered corpse in a bush war really shouldn’t be the goal of fulfilling my life’s purpose anymore. I told him we’d talk about it when I come back to visit Rna and her family on my holiday.

Remember how I told you Lana and I met a friend on the plane travelling from Spain back to Ethiopia? Well Fekadu and I kept in touch, because English speaking was in short supply in Ethiopia and on Friday, he and a childhood friend who now works in economic development with the government are going to come down for a visit to check on me. Although I was grateful for the visit, I wasn’t able to stay up past midnight after 2 St. George beers. On Saturday morning we drive to Addis with a brief macchiato stop in Langano before picking Lana up in Debre Zeit. We spend most of the evening in my new favorite traditional cultural restaurant where the food isn’t great but the entertainment was incredible – hours of heaving shoulders in the audience. I’ve never seen such energetic dancers and the costumes were great, the band had a well rehearsed sound with so many instruments. Well past midnight we stop at another city priced, this time deafening club where I end up puking as we detour towards our room at the Harambe hotel. The Harambe is a 15 story vintage 1960s government hotel relic with an ancient elevator, antique furniture and decorations all meticulously maintained. On top of this we have a broad view of the city from the center of town on the 7th floor. Sunday is spent hungover on a 5 hour sweaty and humid public bus back to Shasemene only to be accosted by beggars, addicts and sex workers with sneers of Farinji! As I make a quick break for the church in the rain, now Sunday evening and the soggy grass is filled with best dressed congregants watching the screen displaying American praise GIFs behind the amplified preacher who translates.

As of noon today things have really turned around. I am now living at Shunbura’s compound in a beautifully renovated detached guest house. There is a sink but no bathroom, so I have to go inside their house to use the toilet and the space still smells strongly of drying paint- its definitely too much to hope that it is not lead based. I finally get to have a SHOWER with WARM water and his wife and kids are super sweet and insist that I am now family and should ask for anything I need as his 5 year old daughter Hanuka leads me around the house by hand before a delicious vegetarian dinner is served to us by 5 servant-relatives. This part of town is a bit far from the sleazy main street, and the ruckus of the evangelical church has been replaced with the familiar and soothing call to prayer from the nearby mosque. Its Ramadan and very surprising to see everyone going about their secular business, ignoring the call. Because of the power of the Orthodox Church in Ethiopia, few people realize that Islam is the second largest religion in Ethiopia ~25 mil people, which was about the size of Canada’s population at that time!

The next weekend is Meskel and Fekadu is back to take me on another adventure. He picks me up at the Rift Valley Hotel where Ephraim and I are having spaghetti on injera and cokes, Ephraim is not happy to see him, I wonder if it is because of the evangelical/orthodox tensions between them. We get on the public bus for an hour ride in the mid-day heat that amplified the smell of rotting butter and chickens to Wondo Genet. Wondo Genet is beautiful, aside from the “green drought” they are experiencing – everything grows here, it is as fertile, lush and green as southern Uganda, but everyone looks as if they are starving, kids have no clothes and are covered with scabs. They made the Kuyera kids in Uganda look middle-class. We stayed at “the hotel” with the natural springs on site for $30/per nigh (local rate). Only passport holders are allowed to pay the local rate and farinjis pay about 5x that, it seems fair to me. The one hitch is that the room is a ingle and we are a mixed gender duo - so Fekadu is happy to demonstrate we are engaged in Oromifa (which I don’t understand). We hang out with a couple from Spain in the Hot Springs, Fekadu, visiting from Bilbao is happy to be the one doing the translations for them. He also asserts his right as my pretend fiancé in that stupid single room, I am too tired, drunk and far from help to put up much of a fight and try to forget about in order not to compromise the friendship. The next morning at 9am a gari pulled by a horse about to keel over and covered in a collection of both old and new sores from the reigns and obviously poor health takes us to town where we catch a bus with no suspension back to Shashamene where I pick up a bag of stuff for the next bus to Addis Ababa with Fekadu. The country is on high alert for terrorist attacks, this being both millennium and Meskel weekend. The bus driver chews a whole bush of khat as he briefly strands the passengers at a roadside bar for lunch. Three police checks, 1 bus and 3 driver changes later and we are in the heaving centre of Addis filled with millions of people dressed in white cotton burning incense and candles.

Addis Ababa

When I first arrived in Addis I was shocked by how many street children there were. Never before or since have I seen so many clusters of children begging on the street. Now they weren't necessarily homeless, abandoned or runaways some of them just spent their time on the street while others lived on, around or even under the street. At night I remember being terrified to see small shiny eyes looking up from cracks in the sidewalks and other uninhabitable places. Most of the kids were good humored especially around expats and would sell tissue or other useful items rather than just beg but I did see school children in uniforms begging after class near my office in Arat Kilo.

There was a small boy with fluorescent green croc style shoes who spent a lot of time around the clinic where I would get check ups. I promised to help him. He was about 5 or 6. He seemed so sweet and small to be on the street with the older, meaner boys. My friend Lana and I would take him to a restaurant to eat a meal. We asked friends to translate for us so we could know the boys situation. He had a mother but no food and no school. We worked for a child sponsorship program! We could help him! But we couldn't, there was too much red tape involved. Would his mother consent, they didn't work in that area of the city- in fact none of the NGOs did, too affluent. I learned so much from that experience.

1. Never promise someone, especially a child that you will help them

2. Aid is always more complicated than it seems

3. There is a process for everything and everyone often for good reason, otherwise cute kids were picked up by young interns would fill up sponsorship programs

4. wanting to help is not enough and can often be harmful if imposing help.

I am glad I fed him. I feel that feeding him and greeting him was the most I could do.

An Irish journalist ‘friend’ from Khartoum is visiting and has rented an apartment with a full service girlfriend included in the price. I take them out to a place called Harlem Jazz which is more of a reggae vibe and then a euro dance party club called Memos, later in the week it’s an Italian strip club from the 70s called Concorde and an a place called Panda which can only be described as a red light style mall for working girls. The best thing to come from John’s visit was Sam. A polite storyteller from Belfast who’s been riding his motorbike around the world. I took him to his first Ethiopian cultural night when John left so we could have a proper conversation.

Arat Kilo

Blog post: “Since my last post, a lot has gone on- but I’m going to skip all of that and only tell you about the last week. To compensate for the lack of information I will instead post a photo.

I moved into a new house, the rent is about half my stipend, which is a lot more than I expected. My roommate Camesha – a fussy and assertive Torontonian who is also fun and chatty goes back to Canada in Feb. so I will find something cheaper by then.
My new job is great. I’m working on project proposals, networking with donors and encouraging community participation. The organization I’m with is old (1978) and really successful, so I’m glad to be part of that.

Now that I’ve been working for about 2 weeks and have my own office (a room in a long and very cold concrete building with a corrugated iron roof), which was painted robin egg blue at my request (they said I could choose any color I wanted), I have somewhat of a routine.

I wake up at 6am, at which time the dawn prayer from the nearby Somali mosque can be heard, I live in an area called “Mogadishu” because of the large number of Somalians living there, after all the Somalian embassy is just down the street. The neighbourhood is pretty nice and officially called Bole Rwanda, because the Rwanda embassy is located there, which is funny because other embassies including Kuwait, Cote d’Ivoire, Congo-Brazzaville, Palestine and Swaziland are also there. The neighbourhood is an eclectic mix of housing including grand mansions with elaborate gates, modest 1950s style bungalows (ours) and tin shacks. There are so many disgusting dogs everywhere, a sprinkling of hens, shy children, hard working women and lazy/drunk men and also friendly/helpful shop keepers who mostly speak impeccable English. The street smells like burning garbage in the morning and is REALLY cold (+5), but on my way home in the evening it smells like berbere (hot chilli pepper). I leave the house at about 7am after saying good morning to the guard/gardener and walk down hill to the mini bus (matatoo) stop. These mini buses are the best thing in Ethiopia! They are cheap (15 cents across town), they are quite, you never have to wait for long because there is no schedule, you can ask them to stop wherever you want and there are no negotiations involved! I get off near the university and walk past hundreds of “crippled” beggars parked outside a huge orthodox church, who sometimes quickly jump to their feet when they see me approaching mixed in with the devotees. It’s about a 10 minute walk to my office on a cobble stone street that smells like untreated sewage, although I really want to cover my nose to prevent my eyes from watering, I don’t because then I might offend the community members I’m working with and it’s hard to greet them!

Because the founder of the organisation is also the preacher at the Baptist church located within the compound and all of the staff are recent converts, first thing in the morning is devotional which is conveniently conducted in Amharic and I am excused from. Mostly I stay at my desk, where I have a pretty fast internet connection (yippee!) although if anyone of the 11 or so staff needs to use the one office phone I have to disconnect. This means that I have to organize my research in advance to maximize the benefit. I try not to drink water during the day since the staff bathroom is a dark pit latrine in the back of a collection of tin shacks and behind the public pit latrines, which REEK; it is really hard to get the door to open and close! Too much information?

Sometimes I go to meetings at the country office which is near my house and different community events. For example, on Friday I attended a graduation for 16 street kids who completed a 10 day health and Micro Enterprise Development Workshop here. Although I couldn’t understand what they were saying, some of it was translated and their emotional thank-yous were self evident. They were then given 50 Birr (about $5) to go forth and start their small businesses. I’m interested to see how successful they are come next week’s follow up meeting. So one of my projects is to find funding for that program. Also I have been on some monitoring trips, and once a week visit the other community I work in, called Chancho, which is 45 km north of the city and I swear looks like Southern Alberta, only greener, with foothills and cattle ranches, I couldn’t believe my eyes! If I’m at the office all day then I eat my lunch at my desk by myself- just like in Canada, but if I’m visiting other sites then I usually eat local food with other staff. A nice lady brings me sugary tea at 10 am and 3pm and coffee right after lunch. I have quite a few discussions with my supervisors throughout the day and sometimes little kids will stand in my doorway or really brave ones (at the urging of their too polite mothers) will come in and nervously shake my hand (so I reward them with a cookie, haha, which brings a big smile). I usually leave at around 430pm because the sun starts to set around 5:15 and I don’t like to walk home in the dark if I don’t have to. Sometimes I stop at the Italian grocery store to pick something up for dinner or at one of the tiny shops to buy some cheap bread for my lunch the next day.

In the afternoon when I walk home from the mini bus stop after saying “warage” to the fare collector at Bole Rwanda, I pass a number of small clothing and food shops (owned and stocked by Ethipian Airlines staff, to avoid important taxes), a couple of cafes and many, many 24 hour bars. I turn up the street that leads to an area referred to as “Mogadishu” due to its decrepit condition and the many moneyed Somalis who resettled here in the first wave of conflict in the 70s and smells like berbere – which is so much better than sewage. Little kids pass wearing their school uniforms and will sometimes venture a shy hello, a bright smile and my response and occasionally will get closer and extend their tiny little hand for a shake. My house is at the top of the street with a garden that overflows from inside the compound to the outer wall. On the other side of it is “the Prestigious Youth Academy” and beyond that is the airport. The neighborhood is a peculiar mix of dwellings and embassies: Congo-Brazzaville, Rwanda, Palestine, Kuwait, Japan, Somalia, Ivory Coast, Tunisia an dthen a bunch of Chinese company houses, a Korean restaurant and government shacks which can be rented for $5/month glomed on tho the bigger older buildings for electricity and water access. Zeleka, my boss at work tells me to be careful walking home because a Somali man once cut his maid’s throat because she didn’t obey him. I’m more concerned by the packs of hybrid dog-hyenas that get bored of trash…

I had intestinal parasites for about a month and felt pretty sick but took some antibiotics and now they’re gone! Instead I have a sinus cold because of the season change.
I’ve stopped going to the nightclubs for a few reasons:
1. The cover charge
2. They are filled with fat old white guys and young Ethiopian prostitutes
3. The live bands play the same music in the same order
4. The taxis are double the price at night

Instead, I’ve been spending a lot of time with the country office staff – they are so welcoming and friendly and happy to indulge any cultural interest I have. The rest of the time I spend getting to know Sam and developing a crush on this fun and easy going guy who is also motivated, creative and compassionate. However like most guys here, he ends up dating an Ethiopian night club “model” who smiles, nods politely and sips her drink while he speaks. Maybe in the next post I’ll tell you about my average weekend, since I haven’t really had one yet! Last weekend I spent Saturday with my new Canadian girl friends, we went for a fantastic brunch at a place called La Parisienne ($4 for homemade waffles, macchiato, fresh juice, omelette and fresh cheese croissant), then we went to an NGO bazaar where the girls bought a bunch of great stuff made by local craftsman supported by organisations (think 10,000 villages but t the grassroots level), we met my friend for tea and cake at a cafe across from the African Union where he works as the representative from DR Congo, we grabbed some samosas and headed to the National Theatre where there was a free showing of the 3 hour film “Mother India” after which we argued with a few taxi drivers who thought they might have won the lottery when they saw 4 foreign women approaching, but eventually found someone who was somewhat honest.

So last weekend foregoing the bar scene, I decided to head an hour South to visit my friend and colleague, Lana in a town called Debre Zeyt. There are about 5 crater lakes and fantastic green mountains around the city. I brought two friends along with me (Sam & Eric)and the plan was to stay in one of the various hotels in town and then head out to a glamorous resort on Sunday. Because we caught the bus late and thus arrived late, and because there happened to be a conference in town-everything was booked, including the Air Force officers club (which rents out rooms?!) Eventually we found we found 1 room and convinced the staff to put a mattress on the floor.
The boys shared the twin bed and I slept quite cozily on the floor. For dinner we ate near Lana’s house, but despite the elaborate menu none of us got what we wanted. Turns out the taxis stop running after 10 in Debre Zeyt so we walked about 2kms back to the hotel, at least the roads were paved and we could see the stars. Some other walkers offered us some bananas.”
The next day was our reward for the previous, it could only be described as paradise- for only $200 split between Lana and I we got a gorgeous fully equipped room with a king sized bed, a patio, fireplace, giant hot shower etc and included a pool,(cold) jacuzzi, sauna, steam bath, and an hourlong full body massage, that was after the horse carriage ride to the farthest lake. Late in the afternoon, relaxed and sunburnt we walked to the Oromia’s Irreecha Festival on Lake Hora and then onwards to catch a bus back to the city.

By the time I left for orientation in Toronto I was sick with what I thought was a stomach flu. I had already gone to get a refill on my birth control, accompanied by a full sexual health exam, along with a supply of cipro to be taken daily to kill any and all bacterial organisms I might encounter. The orientation was maybe 7 days with all of the CIDA interns going to every content at the Christian children's fund of Canada office in Markham and then we all left for our respective placement countries we had made some pretty close friendships in that short period of time and stayed in touch. Lana, the other Ethiopia intern and I left together for Addis, she would go to Debra Zeit and I would go south to Shashamene.

When I first arrived in Addis I was shocked by how many street children there were. Never before or since have I seen so many clusters of children begging on the street. Now they weren't necessarily homeless, abandoned or runaways some of them just spent their time on the street while others lived on, around or even under the street. At night I remember being terrified to see small shiny eyes looking up from cracks in the sidewalks and other uninhabitable places. Most of the kids were good humoured especially around expats and would sell tissue or other useful items rather than just beg but I did see school children in uniforms begging after class near my office in Arat Kilo.

1. Never promise someone, especially a child that you will help them

2. Aid is always more complicated than it seems

3. There is a process for everything and everyone often for good reason, otherwise cute kids were picked up by young interns would fill up sponsorship programs

4. wanting to help is not enough and can often be harmful if imposing help.

I am glad I fed him. I feel that feeding him and greeting him was the most I could do.

The clinic was a small white building located in front of a cafe called Le Parisienne, which had the most delicious croissants and other breakfast items along with fantastic, and affordable, macchiatos- making it a favourite spot for expats and locals alike. The clinic resembled an NGO, it didn't have that sterile atmosphere that one usually associates with healthcare. I didn't wait long before the nurse ushered me into the doctors sanctum of supreme knowledge, aka his office. He asked many questions about the symptoms I had been experiencing for months, and now thanks to a very helpful lonely planet guide book on tropical diseases, had concluded that I must have giardiasis .there was nothing else to explain my distended stomach, diarrhoea and nausea along with constant discomfort. I was sent for an ultra sound. The technician was quiet and focused.as she moved the wand across my belly. I asked if she had found anything. "Yes, a small baby." She replied. What an odd answer, she must be joking, Ethiopian's have a strange sense of humour, she must mean a parasite so big it is the size of a small baby, were the thoughts that came quickly to mind. I was quickly dismissed to wait for the print out of the ultrasound results to bring back to the doctor. As I sat on the bench in the courtyard of the clinic I started to process the words that had just been spoken. Can this be true? But I had a full pap at a family planning clinic in Edmonton before I left. I had even taken 2 pregnancy tests in the past 2 months just to be sure. All was negative. Who can I talk to about this? First on to the doctor because my ultrasound was ready.

The first question was "are you married" followed by "how could you not know you were pregnant?" Seemed more like accusations than inquisitiveness. I was informed that I was nearly 4 months along and was promptly taken to be further examined. "What are you doing in Addis?" I replied that I was working on a sexual and reproductive health project for youth in Arat Kilo. " who's the father, is he with you?" I told him a South African and no he's not. Suddenly the doctor's face brightened, "ah, we Africans are very fertile. This is why." My mind wandered while my weight and height were being taken. How many times had I gone out for a drink since I arrived? How many antibiotics had I taken? What about the round of vaccines I had before I left? What about the valproic acid I had been taking for seizures on top of all of this?

I left the clinic and asked my friend Lana to meet me at La Parisienne. As I waited I pulled out my calendar to confirm the conception date. It was in fact the weekend of a rugby tournament in Red Deer that I went to with my cousin and a few old friends from Lethbridge.

Breaking News

The Clinic was small but easy to find, on the main street a short distance from my house, recommended by a friend from work. When I felt well enough to get out of bed but not to get on the crowded matatoo, I phoned my contract taxi driver, Shivray, to pick me up. Shivray is one of 8 female taxi drivers in Addis Ababa; a divorced single mother, her unique decision to pursue a non traditional source of income kept her and her daughter from the fate many Ethiopian women in similar circumstances face, begging or prostitution. As usual she was prompt and waited outside my gate in her bright blue and whit vintage 4 door Lada. She asked me how I was feeling and I told her that I though I might have Giardia or parasites. I had a list of symptoms written down so I wouldn’t forget when I spoke with the doctor, I had felt sick since I arrived here and was finally feeling ill enough to stop taking the ineffectual antibiotics I had brought with me and seek medical attention in a crowded city clinic, a place I don’t like to visit even when I feel I have control of all my insides. The clinic was a small white building located in front of a cafe called Le Parisienne, which had the most delicious croissants and other breakfast items along with fantastic, and affordable, macchiatos- making it a favorite spot for expats and locals alike. The clinic resembled an NGO, it didn't have that sterile atmosphere that one usually associates with healthcare. I didn't wait long before the nurse ushered me into the doctors sanctum of supreme knowledge, aka his office. He asked many questions about the symptoms I had been experiencing for months, and now thanks to a very helpful lonely planet guide book on tropical diseases, had concluded that I must have giardiasis. there was nothing else to explain my distended stomach, diarrhoea and nausea along with constant discomfort. I was sent for an ultra sound. The technician was quiet and focused. As she moved the wand across my belly. I asked if she had found anything. "Yes, a small baby." She replied. What an odd answer, she must be joking, Ethiopian's have a strange sense of humor, she must mean a parasite so big it is the size of a small baby, were the thoughts that came quickly to mind. I was quickly dismissed to wait for the print out of the ultrasound results to bring back to the doctor. As I sat on the bench in the courtyard of the clinic I started to process the words that had just been spoken. Can this be true? But I had a full pap at a family planning clinic in Edmonton before I left. I had even taken 2 pregnancy tests in the past 2 months just to be sure. All was negative. Who can I talk to about this? First on to the doctor because my ultrasound was ready.

After paying the fees, blindly searching for the room at the back of one of 3 or 4 buildings and waiting squished beside an 80 year old leper with a TB cough, I finally got in to see the internalist who sent me to pay more testing fees and then to another hidden building to get an ultrasound. My next wait in the outdoor waiting room was brief and pleasantly solitary, and my butchered and barely audible but recognisable first name (Mel-ess-ey) was called. The ultrasound room was clean but small with two pleasant female technicians patiently walking me through the process. After a lot of cold Korean medical gel and pushing on my sore abdomen, the tech asks me some normal questions, “do you live here?” “Do you have children?” I reply and I ask her “have you found anything?” (ie parasites, a large tapeworm, etc.) In the calmest of voices she replies “Yes, a small baby.”

Well that’s a bizarre joke, and like most Ethiopian humour, not very funny.

The tech then indicates she’s finished and for me to return to the porch area to await my results to bring back to the internalist. I sit beside an old Muslim man who is talking to himself and notice my hands start to shake as I watch a chatty toddler waiting with his parents to get immunized and contemplate what that means if this technician was actually serious. I assure myself that the doctor will clear this misunderstanding up shortly.

Doctor: “Your 18 weeks pregnant.”

Me: “(nervous laughter) Sorry, what? How many months is that? (More nervous laughter)”

Doctor: “Its about 4 months, you mean you didn’t know? Your symptoms indicate pregnancy.” A look of astonishment mixed with disbelief occupies his face.

Me: “No, I didn’t. I took a test about 2 weeks ago to rule it out. I also visited a Planned Parenthood clinic in Canada before I left and have been on birth control for more than 4 months! ” “Is it ok? What about developmental problems?”

Doctor: “There is an American doctor at our affiliated hospital downtown I’ll send you to her for a detailed ultrasound to check for those things. I’m an internalist, I deal with gastro-intestinal problems only.”

Me: “Oh right, of course.”

After talking to a couple of friends who are also CIDA interns, figuring out the weekend of conception and finally eating after more than 24 hours; I stop shaking and start worrying about deformities and mentally going over the potential damage I’ve done in the past 4 months; which I conclude to be minimal since I don’t drink very much or smoke etc. I probably haven’t done much more damage than a woman in the 60s or 70s would have. 4 months! And I thought it was parasites! That movement wasn’t indigestion due to food poisoning, it was a baby. I left the clinic and asked my friend Lana to meet me at La Parisienne. As I waited, I pulled out my calendar to confirm the conception date. It was in fact the weekend of a rugby tournament in Red Deer that I went to with my cousin and a few old friends from University of Lethbridge. Lana convinces me to call Mbuy to let him know. Since long distance phone calls and Skype are banned here, in order to hinder opposition parties from organizing with tier diaspora members (whatsapp hasn’t been invented yet) – I need to go to a Somali owned candle shop and ask to use the phone, which is located behind a false wall in the back. The phone call to Calgary is rerouted via Somalia to make it look localish. Mbuy is scared to death, so I cant see hm being much help in the short-term. I assure him I don’t need anything from him and this is just a courtesy call, although he says he ‘ll be around so that the child knows hm. I hang up the call feeling sorry for him, buried under the weight of the news.

The next morning, I arrive with my friend early in the chilly morning to the hospital across from the National Stadium where we are directed to a number of small rooms by a couple of zealously friendly but unhelpful guards. I wait to pay a fee in one room then take my referral to an x-ray technician who tells us I’m too early for the ultrasound but to wait outside the door because I’ll be the first one to be seen. There is one older man already waiting in the room when we arrive, but it soon fills up with men and women of all shapes and socio-economic status holding referrals and results. The nurses dressed in 3 inch stilettos and 1950s blue polyester waitressing uniforms chat with each other as they scrape their heels across the concrete floor slowly walking from the x-ray and ultrasound rooms and back; they seem friendly but mostly disinterested. The Ethio-American Doctor arrives just before 9am looking annoyed and not making contact or greeting anyone, I wonder out loud why she decided to come back here; although she’s working in a private hospital, she would make more money in the States. Maybe she’s interested in contributing to improving health care in the country, although she doesn’t appear as if she has very much enthusiasm for the premises or the patients; I never so get to see here as she is preoccupied with US Diversity Visas. After about 20 other patients go into and re-emerge from the coveted room at the back (not the man who arrived before me though), and more than an hour of Lana becoming more indignant at the staff’s apparent overlooking of the “first come first serve rule” as time goes on I’m finally called. I gingerly approach the room which is much larger than I had expected and is filled with crowd of bleached and starched lab coat clad interns whose average age appears to be about 14. In the middle of them is a large and dignified looking man in a matching lab coat sitting on a stool surrounded by clean, bright, modern equipment. The man asks me to lie on the large and new examination table as the inquisitive horde positions themselves for better viewing of the small screen. They’re all surprised to hear that I just discovered the 4 month pregnancy yesterday and are equally amused to hear that I’m currently working on a family planning project proposal. The instructor tells us that the baby is playing and does not want to be examined, I think to myself, what a strange thing to say! As I attempt to stifle my seemingly chronic nervous laughter; the doctor zooms in on the perfectly formed spine, the normally developed brain and heart and concludes that there are no developmental problems whatsoever. A wave of relief tinged with excitement and nervousness rushes over me as I consider the fact that I am carrying a baby which will be born in 5 months.

I return to the first clinic with my new ultrasound results to see the aged in-house gynaecologist.

Doctor: “Well it seems as if everything is fine, but you should have been taking folic acid.”

Me: “Yes, I realize but I didn’t know until yesterday. What happens now?”

Doctor: “You didn’t!?” “Well, I want to send you for a protein test. But I don’t think they will do it at this clinic. There is a lab across the street where they send the results to America, I think you should go there to get it done. You’re educated so you’ll be able to read whether or not you’re in the acceptable range.”

Me: “Is it expensive?”

Doctor: “Well I’m assuming you’re rich- you’re a foreigner!”

Me: “Well I’m a volunteer on an Ethiopian salary!”

Doctor: “oh well.”

Me: “What happens until I leave?”

Doctor: “Oh, well you’re in the second trimester and past the most dangerous part, the baby is already formed. You should come in for a monthly check up to monitor your weight and blood pressure, etc. We’ll start today.””You really should have been taking folic acid.”

The doctor takes my blood pressure from across the desk and says that it is within a normal pregnancy range. He then tells me to get on the ancient scale in the corner of the room. I can see cats and children playing amongst garbage outside the barred but glassless window on the other side of the window.

Doctor: “You are not an Ethiopian weight!”

Me: “I never have been!”

Over the course of the remaining week while telling my various supervisors and calling some people in Canada, figuring out what to do and where and continuing my daily routine; which includes writing a project proposal on Sexual and Reproductive Health rights for young girls in a rural community who face forced marriages/abductions at 9, Female Genital Mutilation, prostitution as one of the only viable means of earning an income, Incest and Rape, Fistula due to births under the age of 15 and HIV/AIDS. My days also consists of walking through streets characterised by garbage and open sewers lined with beggars of all ages and genders, I particularly start to notice the women with small children and realize how lucky I am, and how callous it might be to think that way. Lucky that at 26 years old; despite owning nothing and having no savings or permanent and secure income; I do have access to government social services, a university degree and can obtain information and health options because I have been shown where to look and taught what my universal rights are as a human and as a woman and how to secure them. All of this makes me a little less nervous and overwhelmed and forces me to realize that like most things, I can handle this.

Sorry I couldn’t call everyone, I just didn’t have those kinds of resources. And to be quite honest, this written version is much better than the abridged, broken-up, interference-riddled, early morning phone conversation that some people got.

A more detailed ultrasound the next day revealed a healthy playful second trimester baby with a full spine and normal brain development, hence the constant indigestion. The formative months are over now and this trimester is all about growth. My biggest worries right now are money and where to give birth. My colleagues are so supportive and my family is not. If I go back to Canada I will have to leave in Feb and miss out on 2 months of salary.

Maternity Benefits

Dear Kristen,

Thank you so much for the book [what to expect when you’re expecting] and the chocolate, they are both great! From what Dan told me, it is comforting to know that you guys are thinking of ways to help. After some thinking and talking to friends, family, Berhanu and Dan, I would like to give you an update on my personal situation regarding my newly discovered pregnancy.

I have been to visit a clinic a few times, a pharmacy, a hospital and a lab and have collected receipts for reimbursement totaling Birr 670 (About $70 CDN). I would like to know who I should send these to, I believe it is provincial health care (i.e. PEI), as the medical insurance details only emergency care not covered by provincial health care as their responsibility.

I have spoken with an agent at Lufthansa and they have assured me that with a doctor’s consent (i.e. a signed form) I can fly up to four weeks before my expected due date, which is the first week of April. The flight change will cost $100 and should be done as soon as possible. My preference is to fly back to Canada in January as I need to find an obstetrician as soon as possible and sort out finances/living arrangements before the birth.

Upon arrival in Canada I will be faced with financial difficulties and am trying to plan for this now. I have done some research into maternity leave through EI benefits of which I am eligible to receive 55% of my income. I’m not sure if this would be my stipend which is hardly livable in Canada. Are there better options? Who can I speak to about this? None of the government of Canada websites accepts email enquiries.

I was planning to return to Sudan for a few days to recover some important items that I left there including my university degree. I will try and do this around Christmas, or as I return, finances permitting.

This is the plan I have come up with: I would like to return to Canada in January, Dan has mentioned that there is the possibility of part-time employment at the CCFC Toronto Office for me, if this is the case I could stay in Markham with a relative until I give birth, at which time I will go to Kingston and stay with my Grandmother or I could work from home. I am currently applying to International Development Graduate programs at Guelph, St. Mary’s and York- this way by September I can continue my education, work as a Teacher’s Assistant, qualify for daycare and family housing for 2 years. Let me know what you think.

Kind Regards and thanks again,

Dear Melissa,

So good to hear from you! Glad you enjoyed the book and I also have an additional card for you from Kathryn.

Thank you for your update, glad to hear you and baby are healthy and well. Yes, we have been going through the administrative steps of looking at alternatives for you:

I have been working with HR to look into part-time employment with CCFC.
Yes, please send your mat-related receipts to the P.E.I health plan, the booklet that you received from the insurance company outlines the steps to take when filing claims. They have recently (right before you left) changed the process, but I believe that, what falls under their realm of coverage would first be submitted to them. As this does not include mat-related benefits, I think it’s best to submit directly to your provincial plan.
I really like the idea of you attending a post-graduate program and think that it would offer benefits that you wouldn’t have access to otherwise. Smart idea! You will also, not only be increasing your knowledge, but also your earning potential!

It sounds like you’ve really thought this out and done a lot of research. I’ve done just a little bit more for you:

Regarding benefits available to you after your baby is born:

Every family is entitled to the Universal Child Care Benefit ($100/month). I’m sure you already know about this.
You probably know about this one too – but just in case: Families with a combined income of under $100,000 are entitled to the Child Tax Benefit. Under this benefit families may claim up to $272/month/per child (I believe) until the child reaches age six. These benefits are assessed based on last year’s income tax assessment. So, July 2007-June 2008 is based on Income Tax Assessment 2006. This benefit may start to be received the month after the child is born. You may receive both the Child Tax Benefit and Universal Child Care Benefit.

In regards to EI during your Maternity Leave, this is what I pulled off of the web-site (I’m sure you found this already):

Maternity benefits

Maternity benefits are payable to the birth mother or surrogate mother for a maximum of 15 weeks. To receive maternity benefits you are required to have worked for 600 hours in the last 52 weeks or since your last claim. You need to prove your pregnancy by signing a statement declaring the expected due or actual date of birth.

The mother can start collecting maternity benefits either up to 8 weeks before she is expected to give birth or at the week she gives birth. Maternity benefits can be collected within 17 weeks of the actual or expected week of birth, whichever is later. Please note that the date you file your claim is very important in order for you to receive the maximum maternity benefits you are entitled to. If you are unsure about your most advantageous maternity period to receive maximum benefits, please contact us. If the actual date of birth is different from the expected date of birth, it is very important that you provide this date as soon as possible after the birth of your child. Please contact us at 1 800 206-7218 from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm and press "0" to speak to a representative. You can also write us or go in person to your Service Canada Centre. This way we will be able to determine the most advantageous maternity period, in order to receive the maximum maternity benefits you are entitled to.

If your baby is hospitalized, then the 17 week limit can be extended for every week your child is in the hospital up to 52 weeks — following the week of the child's birth. You will still receive benefits for a maximum of 15 weeks, but payments can be delayed until your child comes home. However, if you received maternity benefits prior to the birth and wanted to receive the remaining benefits when your child comes home, call our telephone information service at 1 800 206-7218 from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm and press "0" to speak to a representative. You can also write us or go in person to your Service Canada Centre to have the necessary adjustment done to your claim.

The weekly EI payment and the number of weeks to be paid remain the same even if you give birth to more than one child at the same time.

At the same time you present a claim for maternity benefits, yourself or/and partner can ask for parental benefits.

I have tried calling the 1-800 number in order to ask about people in your situation who have, for example, been doing internships and hence have a low income upon which to base the % for EI. So far, I have been unable to get through, but will keep trying and will let you know how it turns out! So let’s keep in contact and do our best to find some more answers for you!

All my best to you and the baby!

Cheers,

Kristen

Soundtrack: teddy Afro, Ethiopia jazz

December

Lana left for her Christmas holiday this afternoon. Although her petty quarrels with Camesha and her constant complaints were starting to get on my nerves, I’ll miss her when she’s gone as she has been my biggest advocate and she really takes care of me, even though its annoying when she asks for my clinic results and if I’ve been to see the doctor. She is the only one who does. She has named Susan as her replacement. Susan is having a harder time than a lot of the inerns in Ethiopia because she is Chinese- Canadian, her parents are from Hong Kong and Ethiopians are not very nice about new Chinese arrivals in the country. Many people assume she is not Canadian and does not speak English – but does she ever stop speaking in English is my question when she explains all the neighborhoods and fun spots in the city when we first met in October!

With my thoughts primarily occupied with another impending birthday (yours!), I nearly forgot about my own. My worried thoughts primarily focus on all the complications that may arise as a result; labour, epidurals, episiotomy which is commonly referred to as “the unkindest cut of all,” and the resulting fistula that can occur and of course other things like birth defects, still birth, SIDS, breastfeeding problems and the stress of worrying which could be a contributing reason for any of the previous. There are also the day to day worries, which I wasn’t worried about before; being attacked by the numerous packs of stray dogs in my neighbourhood, falling while walking over dangerously uneven cobblestones on the way to my office, car accidents while in a mini bus or as a pedestrian as I am much slower than I used to be and can’t dodge malicious traffic the way I used to be able to, and waiting from bosses here and in Toronto to decide when I can return to Canada.

Part 1

The day was fast approaching and I had made no plans, two friends were having a going away party and suggested I tack my birthday celebration on to that one. The event was Karaoke at “Rainbow,” the Korean/Japanese restaurant with an Ethiopian chef, so every menu item is mildly disappointing but still “Asian.” Susan and her roommate Tania who was returning to Mauritius after completing a very chaotic one year contract filled with abuse from her colleagues, land lady and the general population. I have yet to meet anyone who has had a rougher time while being here than Tania which included being kicked and spit on by strangers, pushed by her landlady and treated like a second class citizen by her organisation, nor have I met anyone who is so continuously optimistic (she is a politician in Mauritius now). The evening was filled with equally bad fluent and ESL renditions of a variety of songs sung incredibly loudly by representatives from Scandinavia, the Netherlands, Mauritius, Ethiopia, Tunisia, Jamaica and of course Canada.

Part 2

The following Sunday was the end of a 3 day NGO event hosted by the Christian Relief and Development Association, which my organisation is a member of and set up a display I spent Friday and Saturday helping out with that and was delighted to be treated to a day at a local spa by my roommate Camesha and our friend Robin, both CIDA Interns. The place was small and a little rundown, but the staff was friendly; we had our own room with reclining chairs which had a relaxing citrus smell. With all of the water changes, I think there were about five, our manicure/pedicure and foot/leg massages took about 2 hours. I left feeling incredibly relaxed wearing a hideous combination of shimmer pink with gold sparkle detailing on my fingernails, by the time I walked home the oil on my legs had collected so much dirt that my feet were black and by looking, it would be impossible to tell that I had even gone. Dinner was an invitation to Camesha’s friend’s house; she works for BBC World Trust and pulled off an amazing pork roast with Jamaican rosemary, seasoned potatoes, cinnamon/ginger carrots, Yorkshire pudding and gravy- I hadn’t had anything like it for I don’t know how long.

Part 3

On Tuesday, I woke up late and was primarily occupied with finding change so that I could pay our rent which was due the next day. The mornings are pretty cold here and it is worsened by our uninsulated concrete walls which keep the place feeling like a basement even on the warmest of days, so I skipped a shower knowing that I had an appointment at 10 for a tour of an organisation’s projects. I ate my German “Honey Champs” and packed a lunch in case I wouldn’t have access to one and picked something to wear that was “slum appropriate”- conservative, nearly fits and is easy to walk in. I made my way down the hill past squatters, bars that open before shops, haggard old men asking for money, taxi drivers getting their shoes polished by adolescent boys, women drying peppers, girls washing their hair, open sewers, maids buying cleaning supplies, small shops playing American and Ethiopian music at top volume, dead cats, kids playing a version of tetherball while donkeys stand nearby, chickens and sheep with their 1 week old lambs sorting through heaps of garbage for anything edible; towards the informal bus stop. In Addis there are 3 forms of transport from most expensive to least:

· Contract taxis, the ancient blue and white Ladas with private spacious door to door service at a negotiated price,

· Normal taxis, the same Lada’s which only travel up and down a particular busy street and will fill with 4 passengers before moving

· Mini-buses, which have both formal and informal stops (one asks the fare collector to stop ahead and he will) and take passengers from one neighbourhood to another with a fixed price based on distance and are fairly comfortable depending on traffic, age, maintenance, passenger hygiene and location of seat

· City buses, I have never been on one because of the stories of fleas, bad smells, pickpockets, molestations and the evident overcrowding. Apparently they have formal stops and go across town.

This particular morning I had difficulty getting on the mini bus because of a crowd of pushy men who were going to the same place I was. Luckily it is a popular destination for drivers; after 2 buses and approximately 15 minutes standing on a busy street on a sunny morning while being reminded all the while by shoe polish kids across the street that I’m a “feiringe” (foreigner) I finally squeezed into the back of a newer and fairly clean 10 passenger vehicle, past a barely yielding older women with a traditional white mourning scarf and a finger busily digging in her nose. When she got off she was replaced by a hijab wearing Muslim girl making out with her boyfriend.

I arrived at “Mexico Square” where Woldemaraim, the Director of Mehal Family Helper Program, Tigist, one of the Project Co-ordinators, and Shemeles, a Social Worker I had met on a few occasions met me for a tour of their neighbourhood. Woldemariam is an older man with 6 daughters, the youngest is my age, a son who is a Doctor in Sweden; he has a degree in Topography and is also engaged in business across the border in Sudan, I had met him at a few CCFC meetings at which he had invited me to visit their office. Our first stop was a school with classrooms, a library, toilets and 11 water taps paid for by CCFC sponsorships. Next we saw a clinic with a sewage system donated to contain the spread of communicable diseases, the one Doctor there was a tiny friendly woman who relied heavily on the nursing staff to help carry out the numerous tasks she was responsible for. A woman with an injera (local bread) making business which provides money for her and her 2 daughters who are now in college, she started it with a loan from Mehal and insisted that I try some before I leave. The biggest project was a drainage system to evacuate a “green lake” formed during rains which seasonally displaced all the neighbourhood residents and claimed the lives of 2 children. While hearing the explanation and results (no one has had to move in 5 years) of the undertaking I received quite a few calls and apologised, explaining it was my birthday. “Why didn’t you tell us?! We could have arranged a celebration” exclaimed Woldemariam. I remarked that I had kind of forgotten about it. Back at their decaying office I met the rest of the staff and discussed funding opportunities while we waited for Tigist and Shemeles to return. We then go for lunch at a beautiful outdoor restaurant which reputedly had the best shiro around. Shiro is a blended vegetable sauce (kinda like baby food) served with injera and is one of my favourite foods here (which I had mentioned at a previous meeting). After the meal Tigist takes me to wash my hands and remarks about things like the air freshener and gives me pregnancy advice, as she is the mother of 3, says she wants to check something and after a couple minutes she brings me back to the table which now has a beautifully decorated cake in the centre with, party hats around it. I was shocked. These people, whom I barely know, have just managed to pull together this beautiful surprise birthday party in literally ½ an hour. They even bought me a gift and wrapped it, a locally made leather pocket book. I felt like my numerous stunned thank-yous were pathetically inadequate as they remarked that it was their pleasure and that they hoped I would come back and stay in touch; I promised I would.

Later that evening, about 8 friends met me at Aladdin, one of my favourite restaurants because it is down the street from my house, has clean delicious Armenian food and really comfortable chairs. Being that it was a Tuesday we didn’t make reservations and found 80% of the restaurant booked. We got there just in time; shortly after a Turkish airlines crew arrived demanding a table despite not having a reservation, citing their relationship with the owner as justification for kicking someone else out. Despite the waiter’s meek stance the crew members were forced to wait, seething, while a new table was brought in and crammed in the corner. Dinner was fantastic, but the best part was the Maersk Shipping Lines Christmas party which occupied the majority of the room and hired a Cuban singer/piano player. The boss gave me a corporate box of cookies (we still have the tin in our living room) and Jimmy, the singer, belted out a personal birthday song he wrote himself as I enjoyed an ice-cream filled crepe with friends. The day had ended and I finished my birthday with feelings of contentment and reassurance that often things that are unplanned are the most enjoyable.

Only my mom called me on my birthday but I got a lot of emails, one stupid one from my step-dad which said “Got your letter, HAPPY BIRTHDAY anyway…” That is not an an apology, which I made very clear must come first, so I will not respond to it.

Camesha has invited two of her very unfriendly friends to stay with us over the holidays, one an intern in South Africa, the other in Ghana. At least she is happy now that she has people to talk about boys and fashion and other 16 year old topics with.

Through Tania and Susan I met Ziad, a diplomat with the Tunisian Embassy. A kind, shy guy, he’s impressed with my interest in African politics and my eagerness to continue to learn Arabic. Last night we went for coffee where he told me about his family and I told him about when I moved to Europe when I was 19. Later we met up with Eric and his girlfriend at the New Cinema and throughout the first part f the film I thought he was moving his arm to get more space. Next thing I know he is holding my hand. Ziad, who knows full well I am pregnant, offers to bring me anything I crave during my pregnancy is now holding and dare I say, caressing my hand! I’m a bit shocked but also comfortable and flattered. In the taxi on the way back he kisses me and I stop him. He apologizes but I tell him I’m just not ready for that. I’m confused – how can anyone be remotely attracted to me? I’m feeling repulsive these days and not the least bit interested in sex. Surely there are millions of less complicated and available women in this city. The next afternoon he called to invite me for coffee but I declined, saying I was sick. I’d like to see him again but am afraid he he’ll try to kiss me again.

With Lana, Robin and Susan (and soon Camesha) out of the country or further north within the country enjoying the ancient historical remains of Ethiopia’s glorious past, those of us left in the city (Dariusz and Stephanie), along with a eclectic group of Europeans, a North African and some Ethiopians became fast friends. It was a great opportunity for us to branch out from our ordinary routines and meet new people. Jorike, from the Netherlands; Anna, from Sweden and I organised a fantastic Christmas dinner complete with homemade Glug wine and Saffron buns (Anna), Christmas cookies (Jorike); Eggnog and apple strudel (Me). The evening included a potluck dinner, gift exchange game and festive house decorating. However, being that most of the attendees were men- I guess mostly female expats leave the city for holidays- we were forced to schedule a cleanup event for the next day, in which the three of us, along with Jorike’s visiting parents, were the only guests.

On Boxing day I went for my check up to find out that I’d lost a kilo since the last month when I actually should have gained 5! I’ve had diarrhea since Christmas and got sick just from carrying groceries and had to take a break from the festivity planning preparing curry, apple pie, egg nog, etc because I have diarrhea again and for the first time while recovering from the Christmas dinner execution I want to leave this continent. Anna and Jorike offer some help before they leave for the next 5 days and I’m alone, that leaves Dariusz and Eric, whose visiting brother I cannot stand. I’m anxious for Lana to get back and angry that Berhanu hasn’t checked on me.

New year, New life

New Year ’s Eve was planned with the recent effort of Christmas in mind. My new European friends had taken off for their northern adventure around the same time some Canadian friends arrived home. While ordering some Indian take away one evening I noticed a flyer for a big New Year’s eve “all you could consume event”, complete with DJ and prizes for around $10 a person and signed everyone up for it. The man working at the restaurant when I bought the tickets told me the event was nearly sold out with a very international crowd attending- Ethiopians, Japanese, Europeans; the event was well attended but the only other foreigners we saw were each other. This was a nice change from the primarily Western expat/Ethiopian events we usually attended and the Indian crowd was fantastically energetic, colourful and friendly with amazing food, dancing families and dazzling saris everywhere.

Whenever I feel kind of useless in my position because I hardly make it to work, other interns tell me how completely useless they are despite going everyday. I can’t remember the last day I went into the office but I do remember that I had to leave early because I was sick. This morning I couldn’t make it in again and my taxi driver Shivray called to check up on me. About an hour later she came over to the house with oranges and roses – it was incredibly sweet. I invited her in and we had a little chat about the house and how sick she was when she was pregnant. She assures me it’ll be all worth it. I needed this conversation so much as I sit around thinking I had some help and wishing I didn’t have to do EVERYTHING myself. No one even calls to checkup on me to see if I’m alright. I think I would if one of my friends was in the same situation.

I saved a village! Well, not really, it’s fun to say. But I worked really hard researching and writing a funding proposal for the local NGO I’m now working with. I created a rural project (out of the guidelines of course) for a variety of youth clubs addressing education, treatment and community action on issues including: bride abductions, child prostitution, FGM, fistula, early marriage, HIV/AIDS & STIs, and non-consensual sex. The project includes a drop-in centre with a youth constructed constitution and a governing body of elected members (half of whom MUST be girls). The centre will also act as a facility for income generating activities and training for community health care workers. The scope and budget requested were fairly high and I was expecting the donor to modify them, but they didn’t! This proposal was not only accepted in it’s entirety (only 3 out of 30 applications were accepted) but was also doubled to include our site within Addis Ababa after they had originally declined funding for any urban projects! I am very excited, because this is the first major funding the small organisation has recieved outside of their sponsorship program- it will be well managed and many people in the community (espescially young girls) will benefit from it.

Langano

I have been feeling good for quite some time now, almost normal, well enough for weekend trips, sunrises and dinner parties. Also well enough to go to the office.

So Jorike & Anna met Marion and “Mr” Dag at a GTZ Christmas party, being that they would be around for Christmas day the girls invited them to our party. Although not big talkers, their personalities and kind hertedness was revealed in the way that they listen and the genuienely friendly manner of greeting people – much like Anna herself. After Anna had met them for lunch, on what later turned out to be a date with Dag, the 3 of us were invited to stay with them at Bekele Molla in Langano, we didn’t know what to expect, these men were after all nearly strangers. But we outnumbered them. I fear that had it not been for Jorike and I constantly chattering about anything, there would have been no conversation at all the entire first day. I took the bus down with the girls, about 4 hours trip and Dag picked us up in his Land Cruiser near the dirt road entrance. They had reserved a separate room for us which Anna and I shared and they paid for. The afternoon was spent at the beach after snacks and small talk. We didn’t actually get to know each other until the disastrous dinner where everything on the menu was something different than it seemed (spice bolognaise with pasta on injera) and our evening bonfire under the stars with marshmallows and a fire guard appointed to us. The next day was more intimate and friendships were forged – it was actually nice to put work into building these friendships. We all drove back to town late in the afternoon in Dag’s Land Cruiser, stopping in Debre Zeyt/Bishoftu for dinner with the Canadians. Debre Zeyt at Epiphany (Timkat) was less relaxing than LAngano with the 5 of us merging with the 3 Canadians at a Mexican restaurant (of all things); Susan who was in a bad mood, Lana was constantly and loudly complaining and Robin was her usual slow and indecisive self. The dynamic was horrible and I was a bit embarrassed of the Canadians in the eyes of my more mature European friends who were content with the basics and who could enjoy comfortable silences while in each other’s company. Dag & Marion are not aid workers – they are professionals, architects who have chosen to come to Ethiopia to work for GTZ on a university capacity building project. They could be more comfortable anywhere else. But as Robin and Marion coupled up after Dag and Anna did, there wasn’t much room left for Jorike, Susan and I on future European lunch dates – although Marion declares that I am the “power station” of the group. The next week is spent shopping for a traditional dress for my Sudanese mother, Alowiya, as Susan and I get ready for our trip to Khartoum.

Bureaucracy

For those of you who knew me in university you will recall that I had a strange fascination with bureaucracy (i.e. I wrote a paper on the national history of Ugandan bureaucracy before we arrived in said country). Ironically, I have recently been burnt by the “b” word in 2 separate countries in East Africa in the last 2 months.

It all started when Susan and I “applied”/struggled to get Sudanese tourist visas- this all day event (9-530) required surviving pushing officials, begging/demanding in English and Arabic, running to the Canadian embassy and pulling a favour, panicked phone calls to a former boss in Khartoum and finally the next morning we received the coveted sticker. I wish that was the end of it, but little did I know that it would be far more difficult to leave Ethiopia then to enter Sudan.

All NGOs and their foreign staff must navigate a series of hurdles to legal stay in Ethiopia for longer than 3 months. Since I was initially supposed to stay for 9 months I had started this process 2 months ago and it had not moved since. All my paperwork was sitting at the Ministry “Disaster Planning and Preparedness Agency” and everyday for 2 weeks the staff would think of another piece of paperwork they would like me to produce (one at a time)- after begging the Canadian Consular to sign my University transcripts it was evident that something more had to be done about these delays and in the middle of a workshop I was facilitating for social workers I left to confront the bureaucrat responsible. Magically, my application was pushed through to the last stage (at that office) however- the one man who stamps the paper work (signatures don’t count for some reason) decided to leave the office early that Friday forcing me to delay my flight to Sudan since I would face court if I tried to leave Ethiopia without the government saying it was ok.

On Monday morning the stamp man refused to stamp- citing missing paperwork or something else ridiculous, so I decided to try a new path and headed to the “Department of Nationality and Immigration,” for an exit visa a giant castle-like building at the top of a hill surrounded by a moat of sewage, scores of hustlers and beggars, and Ethiopians patiently lined up at the side awaiting passports (some of them for weeks). I walk into the women’s entrance where the security guard asks me if I have any bombs, and is satisfied when I laughingly say no. The rest of the afternoon is spent being bounced around from room to room collecting small notes, waiting for my supervisor to deliver a (stamped) letter, talking my way out of a court date scheduled for next week, and falsely admitting to the head official that my 2 month visa expiration is in fact all my fault- not the DPPA’s. Finally, I pay the $80 fine, get my new visa picture taken and am ready to pick up my passport and proceed to the airport for my already delayed flight. But Wait, not so fast, there is a 24hour processing time and I can’t get my passport until tomorrow! So I start to cry, because I’m tired of negotiating and arguing and I’m hungry and thirsty, I have to pee and I want my damn passport! Despite the attempt of the mostly female staff to assure me that all I have to do is change my flight to tomorrow after picking my passport up in the morning- I leave defeated and sobbing, heading to the airline.

Customs in both Ethiopia and Sudan are a breeze, I enjoy a shortened stay in Khartoum which includes great food and friends and hot weather- no smell of sewage, no beggars. However the nightmare is not over. Arrival at the Khartoum airport begins with begging in English and Arabic for a pass without paying “airport tax” cause we are out of cash (why would I bring Sudanese pounds with me). Next we are fined for not registering at the Ministry of Interior, despite the fact that we tried but were told by officials at the Ministry that we weren’t there long enough to bother. We don’t HAVE $100 to pay that fine and after standing in the office surrounded by military officers for a good half hour while our plane starts boarding- I exhaustedly negotiate our way out and onto the plane, but not before the next official asks me about my pregnancy- ie how many months am I? I say 4, knowing I need a doctor’s permission to travel after 7. “you’re very big for 4 months!” She replies in understandable disbelief, “We’ll, I’m a very big person” I say with a smile as I push my way past her walking quickly to the waiting bus which will take me to the plane.

The airport in Khartoum is nicer than I remember, I guess because of the renovations and everything has become much easier since Susan and I arrived here. Rna met us at the airport and brought us to her house, they moved from their giant house to a smaller one in a neighborhood called Riyadh, named for the remittances that flow from there– of course she was surprised to find out I was pregnant. WE spent the afternoon at her aunt’s house in a coffee ceremony with a little non-consensual fortune telling, which reveals that I am definitely carrying a strong willed, spiritually connected girl who will change my life, followed by a lunch which ironically included injera and doro wot. We later went to the newly renovated hair salon for henna and the women marvelled in amazement that I “would chose a black man for my baby’s father!” Later on we meet my Jordanian factory owning friends, Joe and Mazen for dinner at the new Solitaire. When we get back to the house, I get a lot of forceful advice from Rna’s doting family about when to get up and walk around, what and how much to eat, how much weight I need to gain, etc. It was nice to surrender to their experienced will. On feb 11 with just a few hours before we leave and I feel as if I didn’t spend my short time here as effiently as I could of – Im feeling a bit panicked. I miss everyone and everything already, knowing that I wont be back for a long time breaks my heart.

One more problem- my residency, which was stuck at the DPPA was supposed to be finished while I was away, but wasn’t- it’ll take another week and my flight to Canada is in 2 days. My visa expires the day before I leave so I have to go back to the immigration castle and beg for a one day extension which is granted and ready the day I leave. With only a few hours before we leave and I feel as if I didn’t spend my short time here as efficiently as I could have. I’m feeling a bit panicked. I miss everyone and everything already, knowing that I wont be back for a long time breaks my heart.

I recognise the difference between travelling in Africa and the West immediately as I check in with Lufthansa. No longer do I get help with my huge suitcases unless I run someone down and plead. Ethiopian airlines helped me regardless, they also brought me more water and even fellow passengers assisted me with my carryon luggage. Both Lufthansa and Air Canada were much more uncomfortable and even the Canadian guy beside me, who I had chatted with and knew I was 7 months pregnant let alone the flight attendants (who also knew), completely ignored my struggle to reach for my laptop etc. Very disappointing but a good reintroduction. No longer do people get up and offer their seat, nor do the help me carry things or inquire about my well being- I will miss that about Ethiopia.