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