Initiation

Dear all,

Where do I begin? Since I last wrote, I’ve been busy helping plan an international conference which has taken me hostage and given me heart palpitations faster than Oprah Winfrey on speed. The confrence is my excuse for having not written, but do not fear faithful readers, there will be a later update about the International Conference on HIV/AIDS and STIs in Addis Ababa. For now, let me tell you about my initiation to my current organization’s field work. Please be guided through past weeks experiences that led to hygiene horror, crazy adventure, and trembling fear. (Just promise me no matter what you will at least read the last half of this blog).

I had not yet been outside Addis Ababa except for a brief hike the first weekend, so this adventure lead me even further into the heart of Ethiopia to evaluate clinic and drug retail outlet supplies. I went to Awassa and Adema, two major cities in Southern Ethiopia. Awassa is famous for its gorgeous lakes and a resort owned by Haile Gabriel Selassie, whom you might recognize for winning every single long distance Olympic running event.  See lakes pictures below:

Adema is the Oromo tribe name for a town known by Christians as Nazareth. Adema has the same hustle and bustle of any city, with less altitude than Addis Ababa- therefore, I left my inhaler at home. In Awassa, I did not go swimming, which wasn’t even tempting because there were big ass birds the size of a Lincoln Diner “He-man” meal (shout out Lexi Kelly). All in all, the lakes were quite pretty to look at, but I had work to do. Here is a recap of my days:     

Step 1: Get around town to different clinics in a Bajaj (featured below). I love dodging incoming traffic and having my life flash before my eyes.  

Step 2: Arrive alive at our partner clinics and see all of the commercial sex workers, waitresses, day laborers, and truck drivers from our program await testing with their families. At least they are getting tested, but you have never witnessed such a nervous room (can’t blame them). In the 190 towns in which we operate along Ethiopia’s transportation corridors, we have at least one clinic in each location. I was disturbed to discover that some clinics did not have gloves or capillary tubes for testing. Also, the rooms were crowded and people often walk for miles outside the city to come to the clinic and seek treatment. After talking to clinicians and lay consolers who support or program participants living with HIV, I was greatly inspired by their dedication and commitment to people suffering within their communities. It is truly the local people on the ground working with our target populations who make a difference and ensure the success of any NGO program.                                          

Step 3: Walk to the drug retail outlet to check supply and see the place where our STI treatment kits were distributed. Any person who tests positive for STI is given a voucher to receive free treatment and condoms in the hope of curing the infection and preventing future exposure. I am told that one of the three kits we prescribe has never been issued to any of the clinic. We need to do better.

I just wanted you to have an overview of my work. Now for the interesting story:

A few weeks ago I befriended an older French woman who is a big shot in my organization for the entire Sub-Saharan African region. She is evaluating our programs and recommending new methods for us to achieve better results and reach more of our target population. Since I had not yet been to the field, she invited me to join her and help evaluate our clinical programs. How do I begin this story? This woman, let’s call her Madeline, wears perfume, scarves, eats bread and drinks coffee every morning- totally French…However, she married an American and has been working in development for years. When describing anything and everything, she throws in adjectives  such as “beautiful, wonderful, concerning, or worrisome”- black and white, no in between. Madeline is a very kind woman and thoughtful in that she looks out for my well being since I am the baby of the bunch at my current work. Now back to our adventure: on the drive back from Awassa (six hours outside of Addis Ababa), I am awed with the amazing beauty of the Rift Valley. We drive on the open road for hours next to the umbrella trees, tall grasses, green hills, tef (the wheat for injera), and banana trees. Every thirty kilometers we spot a few huts and herders with cattle, sheep, or camels returning from the bush.

The driver of the car, Girma, stops so I can take this picture, and an angry herdsman in a white robe runs up to the car waving a knife and stick above his head at me. He starts yelling in Amharic as I roll up my window. Like a genius, Girma decides to pick a verbal fight with the man, which leads to more window banging, Madeline yelling “drive,” and me too shocked to say anything. Turns out the herdsmen, who was very small in stature, as many people in the countryside were from childhoods stunted by the horrible famine, was hungry and Girma told him we would not give him any food in exchange for the picture. We had bread in the car, but did not understand the situation since it we don’t speak fluent Amharic.

A few miles further down the road, we got stuck behind cows for about twenty minutes further delayed our already late return to Addis Ababa. This picture was taken in a random town along the ride back. There is another random town, Shesheme, that is inhibited by a Rasta diaspora community from Jamaica. There was even a white guy with dreads. Ya mon’!

About thirty minutes later we are back in the middle of nowhere with nothing ahead of us but the open, wild, and free Ethiopian road. Usually in rural Ethiopian communities, children do not attend school, but rather learn to be Sheppards/hearders, and are taught to tend flock at a young age. This young camel herdsman is thirteen years old. He chased down our car and asked me to take a picture of him because “he had not seen his reflection since he was small.” His father carries a gun and knife to protect the camels and they live a nomadic life in the Ethiopian bush. The boy is carrying a gourd filled with water for himself in his right hand, and a bowl for camel milk in his left hand. Fate led us to another weary young traveler.

As we continue down the road, the sun sinks beneath the valley and it becomes pitch black. At night in Ethiopia, people do not drive because there are no lights along the road and no traffic police to monitor speeds.  We are about an hour outside Addis Ababa, and still in the middle of nowhere- all I can hear is stray dogs howling, the sound of our truck’s engine, and Madeline complaining that we should stop in a small hotel because it is too dangerous to drive. The Beatles song “Ticket to Ride” is on the radio and I close my eyes with the satisfaction that life has led me to Ethiopia.                                                                                                                 

  All of a sudden I am startled and awakened by Madeline’s yelps of “Al Qaeda, Al Qaeda” as she points to dozens of men passing us wearing scarves over their heads slouched in the bed of a white Isuzu truck. They have dodged us and speed up ahead. “We must stop! We must stop! I see Al Qaeda! It is too dangerous to continue!” Madeline frantically yells to the driver, Girma.

Girma, a thirty year old stubborn Ethiopian driver has already started a fight with a herder holding knife near my face is insisting that we can continue driving. As he and Madeline argue, “Al Qaeda? I think to myself. I know there are Muslims here, but this is a Christian country… This does not make sense, but we are close to Somalia…I guess they could be here, but there is NO way I want to stop.” We continue to drive, Madeline starts talking to herself in French and Girma refuses to stop.

Then another Al Qaeda truck sweeps in front of us and hits a stray dog. Internally, I am freaking out and fear has already built up inside me after the past incidents of the day. However, I build up the courage to say, “I don’t want to stop if there is Al Qaeda on this road- I am an American and that just doesn’t work.” Girma and Madeline immediately start to roar with laughter like a stoned Sarah Palin at a drag queen show.                            

 Imagine in a deep, jolly, French accent this response, “Laura, Al Qaeda is a term we use to describe truck drivers who drive at night, and are crazy because they chew chat and drink alcohol the whole night.” Chat is kind of like Ethiopian red bull, but the only way to break the high is by drinking a lot of alcohol. Somewhat relieved, I agree with Madeline that we should stop because, hell, it’s an escapade and I have to work the next day (boring). However, little did I know I was about to experience the TransACTION program and interact with culture deeper than I have ever ventured in Ethiopia.

Imagine you are an outlaw, riding through the desert on a horse through the American West in the 1800s. After little sleep, hectic adventure, and in the dark, you see lights in the distance. Soon, you find a random town filled with gallows, swinging bar saloons, and an inn filled with prostitutes. Now imagine a more rural, unsanitary situation in Ethiopia, and I’d like to welcome to Lemann, Ethiopia. For thirty dirty birr (the local Ethiopian currency equivalent to a $1.60) Madeline and I were given the last room at the Lemann Hotel pictured below. 

  Along with the flickering light, rats prancing across the floor, the pot for all bathroom necessities, and a broken door, at least we would not get into a late night car accident with Al Qaeda. As pleasant as it was to share this bed with Madeline for one night only, I could not sleep because of the sounds next door of moaning truck drivers and waitresses. I can only imagine what’s been done on this bed.  

Anyway, before we went to sleep, we dragged ourselves into the hotel and town’s only restaurant and ordered Shiro and injera (kind of like Ethiopian chick peas) for dinner. The waitress who brought the food was 19 years old, had two children, and had moved to Lemann from a herding community a few months earlier. How do I know all of this? Well, in Ethiopia, waitresses at many restaurants serve food during the day, and men throughout the night. Although this sounds funny, words cannot describe how disturbed Madeline and I were that our driver, Girma, and the truck driver in the restaurant kept hitting on the waitress. With step she made past our table the men were touching her, flirting with her in Amharic, grabbing her hand and stroking her thighs while getting rip roaring drunk. She could not fend them off because her manager would fire her for irritating the customers, leaving her without a home provided by the hotel and food for her children. She could not return home from fear of other villagers gossiping about her, her family shunning her, or worse.  At nineteen years old, she has little escape, trapped in a bar filled with sin, vile men, and the stench of alcohol in the middle of Ethiopia.                                                                                                                                   
The restaurant where the nineteen year old waitress worked had mud floors, red earthly walls, and was filled with scents of frankincense, burnt wood, and alcohol. With every sip of St. George’s beer Girma and the other man chuckled, and repeated this nineteen year old girl’s life story in English to us. Every time the nineteen year-old girl walked past they pinched her backside and grabbed at her breasts.                        
 This is how transactional sex and rape occur in Ethiopia. It often starts at with girls from rural communities coming to towns to earn more money and search for a better life as waitresses and day laborers. Often, they are taken advantage of by men who pass by labor sites and offer to give them a ride after work, or waitresses are tipped extra by drunken men with the expectation they will have sex. In the culture, men see it rude to be refused by a woman, and if rejected in front of his peers, the result is emasculation. Our program works with waitresses, commercial sex workers, and female day laborers to empower them economically and provide learning tools for testing and prevention of HIV/STIs.

After the meal, a visit to the smelly, disgusting, unkempt latrine, and the loud Tegga music blaring from the bar speakers as sex workers danced on loose men, my exhaustion kicked in, and I fell asleep in a room smelling of sweat and human feces next to a room filled with moaning couple- perhaps the waitress and other man from the restaurant. This incident was my initiation to field work. Welcome to my world, welcome to NGO work, welcome to rural Ethiopia.

All in all friends fear not, I actually value these experiences, but no matter where I travel, this incident is just a testament and reminder of my luck for being born in the U.S.A. In less than two weeks I will be home for Christmas, but Lemann will be far from a distant memory.

Until next time,

Laura

Lessons in the bizarre

Hello faithful readers:

Hope this blog post finds you fabulous. I have had a bizarre couple of weeks, both in actions and circumstance. Although, this is my fourth trip to Sub-Saharan Africa, my second trip to East Africa, and my first trip to Ethiopia, adventure never ceases to find me. Addis Ababa is a city filled with culture, hustle and bustle of normal cities, and I’ve tried to not be trigger happy on my camera and live my life outside of Polaroid’s. Instead, I have decided to fill you in on the struggles and triumphs of a young expat settling in a city of the unfamiliar.

Although I am no longer an Africa rookie, I continue to make silly mistakes of a freshman.  For example, this evening after the gym, I walked into Kaldi’s (which is sort of like an Ethiopian version of Starbucks) wearing sweats. As I walked past a not so random, yet gorgeous array of live Ethiopia’s Barbie lookalikes, all whom just happened to be in the same section as our table, I never felt so ugly. The shock on Ethiopia Barbies faces when they saw my ponytail, running shoes, and full out sweats, I imagine was similar to a runway crowd at a Marc Jacobs show if he sent models in a collection inspired by Hilary Clinton’s suites. Lesson #1: don’t wear sweats to a restaurant in a country of beauty.  (Below: a delicious cup of Kaldi's coffee)

On another cultural note, Ethiopians are extremely polite and mind their “p’s and q’s” almost as well as the British.  Upon visiting St. George’s Cathedral, one of the most famous places of worship in Ethiopia, foreigners can tour the museum and inside of the cathedral for a small price.  Joining me on the tour were a few Italians, some Russians, a Ugandan and a Canadian (there is always one neighbor from the North). After entering the Cathedral, our church guide told us that all the paintings at the altar were destroyed by the Statsi in the 1930s. Of course, the painting was not destroyed by the Italian colonizers because that would not be a polite statement to make to our Italian guests. After the Italians left, the guide told all of us that his previous statement was false, the SS version of Mussolini’s henchmen had more important issues than ransacking a church- the ancient painting were for sure ransacked by the Italian military. Lesson #2: when you’re ferenje or foreigner, people often tell you what you want to hear. (Below, St. George's Cathedral)

I love American efficiency. If there is one thing that’s patriotic about me, it’s Chipotle, but if there is a second thing, it’s the beautiful assurance that things work and are fixed when broken. This is the opposite of my housing situation in Addis Ababa. I live in a house with two other girls that looks like Eric Foreman’s on That 70s Show, minus the cool room in the basement filled with smoke and stories of being awesome.                                                                                                                                                                   

  On the way home from a day exploring the city, my cab driver, let’s call him Solomon, told me that my house was located in a part of town called “Little Russia.” Upon inquiring the reasons for this distinguished title, he told me that my house was part of a development built by Russians in the 1960s. Yes, Mr. Kreuschev’s finest installed all the plumbing and electricity in my house meaning, number one, it sucks, and number 2, replacement parts are impossible to find for obvious reasons.

Here’s a list of problems I’ve had over the past four weeks and the number of days it took to fix them:

1. Flooded house, 3 inches of water- 2 days before someone arrives to help
2. No water in reserve tank and no plumbing in general- yay, three days without a shower
3. Broken toilets- 5 days using the bathroom at a local restaurant

Now, I know you are thinking, she’s in Ethiopia, living a luxurious life in the developing world, don’t complain. However, in a rural area, I would have a place near a natural water source where I could haul water, neighbors would help me if a house flooded, and lastly, I would have a nice pit latrine for all my bathroom needs. Houses in Babylon are a frustrating thing…Lesson #3: If you move into a house, make sure that Soviets didn’t build it. (Below: for your viewing pleasure, a Mosque that the Soviets definitely did not build).

Perhaps the most bizarre incident happened in the TransACTIOn office. The other day, my boss told me that we needed to do more bar outreach or condom/information distribution. Gay groups in the US call these outreaches “Bar Raids.” To most of you bar outreach likely sounds awesome, especially if I get to do it, but unfortunately in our programs outside of Addis, no woman steps into a bar unless she is a prostitute. Therefore, we need to find sex workers to do outreach for us.                                                      

Long story short, my boss tells me to set up a meeting with a group of commercial sex workers (whose group name I will not mention for the benefit of the women). The day of our meeting the women came upstairs dressed in more revealing outfits than J-Lo at the Oscars two years ago. Although they were sporting big smiles, an eagerness to participate, this was all I gathered since we only conversed in Amharic. Note: I am in charge of this meeting, and setting up a contract for TransACTION to hire these women to conduct bar outreach.
As the group was deeply immersed in a serious conversation about the importance of using condoms (I know this from the condom packets that were being waived in the air), I suddenly felt fingers gently gliding through my hair. Whose nimble fingers were massaging my scalp? It was the chubbier, young, Mick Jagger lipped sex worker sitting next to me and dressed in a cut off “Bebe” T-shirt. Wow, I was not a satisfied customer (since we were technically hiring the group). The language/cultural barrier only intensified as I attempted to shrug her off- Ethiopians have a thing for playing with my hair, but this was just freaky. I eventually left the room weirded out. I had the translator assure the women that I don’t really care what they do for a living as long as they strap it before they tap it… and don’t stroke my hair. Lesson #4: When setting up meetings with local groups, make sure you always have a translator present who understands your unwillingness to have your hair stroked.  (Below: another Ethiopian Orthodox Church, where I felt like I should go after this whole incident).

It’s been an exciting but strange few weeks. Will write soon!!!

<3 Me

Orientation

Ladies and gentleman,  

It’s great to be back on my 2^nd favorite continent! Since I last wrote, some interesting, but not untypical things have occurred.  This morning I was sitting at a bunna “coffee” house, which looks like a roadside shack with cool mini stools, resembling those on which my American girl dolls currently sit. As I was savoring each sip of my coffee from the ceremonial jebinah pot, the other people in the bunna house were staring at me the ferenge “foreigner.” What is wrong with me, I thought, and then I realized that I was head bobbing to the loud speakers blasting Little Wayne, who like many other American artists has overtaken the Ethiopian radio. For many readers, this scene may sound awkward, but to me, this is what makes cultural exploration extremely special.                                                                                                                                                                                            Believe it or not, those Ethiopian unaccustomed to seeing Westerners are flattered when one sits amongst them enjoying their food and drink. To break it down further like Missy Elliot, Frantz Fanon, African militant philosopher envisioned that Westerners were outsiders when they came to Africa because they were wearing heavy armor. What is this armor your might ask? Well, in Ethiopian society, this armor includes my gender, my skin color, language, physique, and style of dress. So, how does an outsider explore the culture and build relationships with other Ethiopians?  Clearly from this picture at Lake Kono outside of Addis Ababa, you can tell I am not Ethiopian.                                   

                                  

  It all goes back to that old adage that Enzo, Ariana, and I followed the past summer in Durban, South Africa: “When in _________ (Rome), do as the __________ (Romans) do…” You can fill in the blanks on your own trip my little explorers, but overall this sageful saying means, participate in community events, eat the local cuisine, learn basics of the language, and be open to new ideas. By following these cultural norms, Angelina Jolie has even earned her place as an honored guest amongst the Ethiopian people (she was all over the wall of a restaurant I ate at over the weekend). Seriously, they love her- skinny, pretty, a “humanitarian,” (evidently, so is Herman Cain), and she has an Ethiopian daughter Zahara (even though that desert is far from Ethiopia- great one Angie). I’ve personally always been team Jennifer, but that’s another story. Having said that, maybe Angelina Jolie will adopt me since I live in the developing world?                                                                                                                                                         

        Of course, I am not totally becoming Ethiopian. I live in a quaint little house with two Americans in the diplomatic compound, which is a gated area with doormen. I enjoy the privacy of the home, but I don’t particularly like barbed wire, and a gate as high as the walls of Servo (Gettysburg’s dining hall) separating me from the excitement that lies outside my house. Therefore, I have been exploring Addis Ababa, and its surroundings, in an attempt to become more familiar with my new home. For example, her is a monument to the Ethiopian Army for kickin Italian booty during W.W. II.

First, a little background on Addis Ababa: with a population over 3 million, Addis Ababa is the capital of Ethiopia, and is located in the Entoto Mountains making itself one of the highest capitals in the world.  Addis Ababa has the architectural charm of a classic Italian village on a movie set, but also the cubic, gray, stucco buildings of Eastern Europe. Of course, Eastern Europe enthusiast Leon Trotsky (who bears a shocking resemblance to Cornel Sanders, the KFC man, right?) would not approve of the social inequities that leave more than half of the Ethiopian population living in extreme poverty, or, on less than $1 a day. Well, Trotsky and the world actually have something in common, we hate poverty, however our methods for eradicating this horror (word play), are a bit different.                                                                                                                                                                     

The method for which I advocate in poverty alleviation is perhaps a method of the anarchists- solve problems outside the government. I am not saying that government should be completely out of the loop on such issues, but I think efficiency is maximized when nonprofits or NGOS work specifically with at-risk populations. The project on which I am assisting for Save the Children USA is called TransACTION.  Although the HIV rate in Ethiopia is between 2-4%, Ethiopia has the fastest growing rate of HIV cases in all of Africa. To remedy the quick pace of the epidemic, TransACTION targets the most at-risk, mobile populations including: truck drivers, sex workers, people living with HIV, waitresses, male day laborers, and female day laborers. In a nutshell, TransACTION uses peer education through local NGOS to educate the at-risk populations, promote condom use, and give out vouchers for testing and treatment. Overall, the program has seen some amazing results and has spread to 110 towns and eight different regions in Ethiopia. I am currently working a desk job for TransACTION proofing proposals, grants, and helping set up for the International Conference on AIDS, which is being held in Addis Ababa. Eventually I will be heading to the field to experience local NGO’s implementations of the project. However, for now, I am grateful for the experience, and I am thankful to be learning from such a talented group of individuals.

Enough of this seriousness, here are some pics from my first couple of weeks in Addis Ababa:

The square of Pizzia in Addis Ababa- the location of many stores that sell gold, silver, and leather- some of Ethiopia’s most famous exports.

Somewhere along the famous lakes along the Addis Ababa-Djibouti road. In the mountains behind lies Addis Ababa. We hiked around these lakes one Saturday which were filled with locals who thrive on the fishing industry.

Firewood was a huge problem in Addis Ababa before the introduction of the Eucalyptus tree. Still, people continue to struggle year round to gather enough firewood for cooking and warming the home.

Well, that's enough for now! I will write again next week- hope everyone had a Happy Halloween!!

<3 Laura

 

Welcome to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

Salem Everyone!

                If you are reading this blog, you are a concerned family member, a curious friend (what up?),  or a stalker (please look like James Franco). These posts are meant to record my experiences interning for an international NGO in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, so advanced apologizes if this seems to resemble a Tina Fey dialogue at some points (I wish), and an economist article at others (double wish).  

   Let’s begin by documenting some info I've learned/experiences from my first week here in Ethiopia, which is truly the land of contradictions. From a historical perspective, Ethiopia is the only African nation to never be colonized by Europeans- not that Mussolini’s Italians did attempt to conquer the land, however, in the 1930s and after, spaghetti and pizza failed to make the world drool, and fill the bellies of the Ethiopian masses. In short, the Ethiopian military overthrew the Italians and were rewarded after World War II by the allies with Italy’s former colony, Eritrea. Ethiopia’s identity as an independent African national transformed into a role as the brutal colonizer of Eritrea, which led to a bloody civil war in the 1990s.                

From a religious perspective, Ethiopians affiliate themselves mostly with Islam and Coptic Christianity, but Ethiopia is home to the last tribe of Israel (where my black Jews at?).  In fact, the earliest common ancestor to homo sapiens sapiens is a lass named Lucy who is almost as short as me. I know we must be related since she was probably a Jew (see picture and note our similar looks).                                                                                   

Let’s talk about another cultural contradiction, which I actually find quite depressing. The women here are incredibly beautiful. I feel like I walking down the street next to models during New York Fashion week. These babes are tall, skinny, have high cheek bones, beautiful skin, possess a delicate flow in their walk, and, despite terrible poverty, do their best to dress in fashion forward outfits. The women of course carry umbrellas, so that they don’t expose their flawless skin to the sun. The Queen of Sheba, Solomon’s wife, and rumored in a New York Times Best-Selling book called, The Bible, to be the most beautiful woman in the world was Ethiopian. Why is the beauty of women a contradiction you might ask? Well, although the men are the fastest runners I’ve ever seen, (Coach Cantele would recruit them in a heartbeat) I wish the men took a tip from their women. They are a bit too fast for me (see below).

 

                Another pop culture/cult/ religious contradiction: although, Westerners are obsessed with Rastafarians, and give them the reputations of being fun lovin’, dread wearin’, ganja smokin’, reggae enthusiasts, Addis Ababa is the place from which Rastafarian Christ-like figure Haile Selassie descends. There worship of Haile Selassie by Rastafarians emerges from his leadership against white colonial attempts, from which he was dubbed by Bob Marley and others, the Lion of Judah. The worship of Emperor Haile Selaisse is only an international phenomenon, since his true reputation amongst his people as a Gaddaffi minded dictator, which led to a military coup that left the Lion of Judah murdered in his imperial palace by his military (at the direction of the people).  I cannot overemphasize the  tragic implications of Selassie’s rule on his people including the murders of those who opposed him, the communist rule that followed his reign, as well as the suffering of his people through famine, drought, and poverty. On the other hand, some argue, Selassie modernized the county, and brought international business to Ethiopia including Ethiopian Airlines (which yours truly flew to Addis Ababa). Despite the modern vibe of Addis Ababa, on one hand to most, Selassie was a brutal authoritarian, and on the other, you have a Christ-like figure.                                                         

                                                                

                Finally, in the high altitude of Addis that leads to the stunning Rift Valley that passes from the Middle East through Africa, Ethiopia is a land of aesthetic beauty (except for the naked man I saw walking down the street yesterday). I went on a hiking trip with other expats the past weekend to the Lake Kono area, and was awed by the vast amount of green jungle, grass lands, and once active volcanic sites. The land is truly beautiful, but the pollution in Addis leaves my asthmatic lungs in desperation for some clean air. Seriously, when you fly over the city and look down, there is a disgusting green/brownish smog that covers the city- add the altitude, and by the age of 50, I will be sitting on the couch and breathing via oxygen machine, which will make me resemble a female version of Michael Moore.

 Now that you have read through all of this, there are two statements I must make: ever had Ethiopian Coffee? No, no, not the synthetic stuff you buy at Starbucks on the way to work in the morning, the REAL stuff- Buna or Macchioto? The best advice I can give you readers as a gift for making it through this entry, go to your local Ethiopian Restaurant, order coffee with a little bit of milk, some injeera, wot, and ENJOY! The food is truly incredible, and it’s probably a major reason the Ethiopians even resisted Italian colonialism. I am not knocking Italian food, but if you are in for a cultural experience, take my advice and sample one of the world’s finest culinary achievements!

 

Check in later this week for some more updates! Miss everyone at home!!!

<3 Laura

*Note: For legal reasons, some of these pictures may not be mine, and I in no way intend to take credit for such talented photography. My less awesome photos will be posted on the next blog. I just want my dedicated readers to get the best impression of my experience. Don’t harsh my gig bros.