International Womens Day

I've mentioned it before, but I think there is much more important work for me to do here than teach English.  Additionally, I've been thinking a lot about women's rights, because I see the lack of it all over the place and many conversations between PCVs involve the subject in some manner. Many PCVs, myself include, wish to change women's situtations here in Ethiopia.

But what I've noticed lately in my conversations with Ethiopians involving gender roles here and in the States, is that it's either a comparison (If we were in America Tadeck, you'd cook dinner at least sometimes) or an attempt to make others understand, accept, and internalize an American viewpoint (Analyem, you can be married AND go to school because women are capable of many things and your husband isn't your master) and forgetting the cultural issues that surround the Ethiopian viewpoint.  In either case, I can't help but wonder if I'm not necessarily trying to improve lives here, or just trying to Americanize Huruta and it's residents.

Not exactly what I came here to do.

 So I backtracked a little.  I can't force women's rights and gender equality on people here.  I can't explain the American way of thinking and expect Ethiopians to understand and then follow it.  It didn't even work that way in America.  Women didn't think we want gender equality, they first realized that they were equal and then demanded the country treat them as such.

Women went to work in WWII and learned they were self-sufficient.

Everything we try to teach girls here – confidence, self-esteem, leadership – weren't learned by American women in camps or workshops but in the real world when women realized just what they could do.  In Ethiopia, I was (and most likely still am most of the time) skipping a step. Telling a housewife that she is a strong woman who could start a business just like her brother if she wanted to isn't helping her take the step towards a gender equal society. She needs information to bridge her reality and dream.  She needs know how to start a business, to know that she can support herself and not relay on her male relations, before she can start thinking of herself as equal to them.

 International Women's Day, March 7th, I figured was a great day to not just teach women and girls about self-esteem, but practical skills so they could develop that self confidence themselves.  I set up a program with the woreda, specifically the Women's and Children's Bureau, where twenty girls who had failed the 10th grade exam and thus were sitting at home because they couldn't continue with their schooling, would job shadow twenty successful women business owners. This would allow them to find a role model in Huruta as well as ask question about how to reach a similar position themselves.  Along with the job shadowing, the girls would get a training on goal setting from another PCVs who was helping me and I would teach the women about effective money use.

Of course, this being Ethiopia things didn't exactly go to plan. Namely half the people showed up and most of the women the town had identified as role models were actually unemployed.

A little of bit of flexibility and inventiveness on the parts of me and Kyrie, we cut half our program and just did the workshops where every attendee received training in both subjects, made up mini sessions and an assessment on the spot, and have representatives from the micro-finance bureau talk about how the women could get business loans.

It wasn't what I had planned, but it worked beautifully in educating the women.  All of them left with a financial goal and a plan on how to use their money more effectively.  In the span of four hours I could see them grow, from the shy bunch who just stared at Kyrie during the first workshop to women who were eager to share their opinions and money use during mine.  And wonder of wonders they wouldn't say no to another gathering where they would love to learn about the legal rights of women.

This project almost didn't happen, but I'm so, so happy it did. I'm disappointed I didn't get something like this up sooner, I could have been meeting with these women monthly for a year teaching them finance and employablity skills. Regardless, it's trainings like this that make me feel like I can actually help the people here and that is one of the reasons I joined the Peace Corps.

Childhood books

You have a lot of time to think here, and as a result I probably over think everything now, but something that's been on my mind lately is just why am I rereading a bunch of books from my childhood when I have thousands of new ones to read?

I've reread the Chronicles of Prydian by Lloyd Alexander, as well as the Artemis Fowl books by Eoin Colfer. I've been craving to get my hands on copies of Tamora Pieces's Tortall books, Farley's Black Stallion novels, as well as the Dark is Rising series. Recently I got copies of Diane Duane's Young Wizard Series and am in the process of reading Harry Potter for, oh maybe the fourth time (total, not since I've been here!) and am delighting in reading a book and then watching the movie with Dani.

She is totally a Ron Weasley fan, because of the faces he made in the second movie. And while Dani doesn't always understand what's going one (something that's making realize that despite how many movie lines were taken from the books, the books do a lot better as explaining things, and setting them up so you have less surprises) I'm please to say she demands I pause a movie when she has to do something instead of letting it play like she will with other flicks.

But still, why in the world am I revisiting all these childhood worlds?

I wonder if it's cuz I miss home, still, even after having been here pushing 20 months and thinking about how weird sleeping in my childhood room will be when I go home. Back to the States. What did that historical romance about immigrants I just read say – we come expecting to go home, but then here becomes home. It's very similar here. I have friends and family here and as frustrated as three day power outages are, I know I will miss Huruta dearly. It has become as much a home to me as Wellington where I spent a semester. Though, I would much rather move there to live than return to Huruta. It's a rough, though lovable life.

These books though, they're familiar. Maybe that's why I return to them, because as homey as my compound is, I do live in Africa and that's very different than Michigan.

Or maybe because all these books and series, all fantasy (aside from Farley's works), are things that aren't found here. People don't know of dragons or magic or faeries. I know of people who saw an ad for Pixar's Cars and thought that cars actually talked in America.

Pretend, make believe, imagination, creativity are rare here. I asked students to create characters, and a third of the class simply filled out the profile format with their own demographics and self-portrait. There is no magic here, people don't dream or set goals. I love Duane's works because in it words control the world. In Rowling's series, you can see the effect of the individual. Pierce's characters are women fighting against stereotypes, Alexander writes about growing up and shedding childhood selfishness, Cooper about standing up to evil and temptation. Themes that all hard to find here. Maybe I'm seeking out what I miss in these old childhood friends, and turning to them instead of new books because I know they're reliable.

Then again, I'm probably just over thinking again.

English Club

Last semester, for various reasons, despite wanting to have my student English club every week it was only every other.  This semester, I really want to have it every week, but I had no idea it would be such a hassle.

First off, when I arrived at school 90 min before club on Wednesday, I realized there was a student meeting to address student behavior. Kay, no big deal. I just had to find the teacher with the key to the chemistry lab that I use for club.  Only, he wasn't with the Amharic students. Or the Oromic students. Or in the staff room. Or the tea house.

Right, I'll use a different classroom. Or rather, a different room because the conference hall is the only spare space in the school.  Except, yes, there was a district staff meeting going on in there. No can do.

What followed was a search through the school compound for a spare blackboard that I could prop up somewhere so I could teach outside. Failing to find that, I went looking for an exterior wall that I could write on with chalk.

When the student meeting ended, I was standing in the small garden around the staff building wondering what to do.  I sorta hoped that students wouldn't come, but nope, here were two of them on the other side of the fence asking 'where will we be?'. They had no doubt seen me pull uselessly at the chem lab lock and crisscross the grounds several times lugging my supplies.

I made an executive decision and pointed at three blue painted cement blocks in the teacher's garden. “Come sit here.” And so I proceeded to pull out my speaker and other supplies and used a piece of A4 paper with a folder as a brace for a blackboard. It is really hard to write on your own chest.

I have to give my students lots of credit for coming to club. We obviously were in an unusual setting, and had also gotten started late due to the meeting.  And yet, they threw themselves into my story lesson on characters.  Picking them out from books and then creating their own, they all stayed an extra half-hour to work despite noon and lunch being two hours past.

While I am here to improve the country's English skills, it's not a goal my personal thoughts have aligned with. Many people in Huruta will never see another foreigner, or if they do will never have a conversation beyond “Hi! What is your name?” There are more important things to teach them than the English language.

But apparently, I can do that through English.  I can inspire a desire to go above and beyond an assignment.  My club students are learning to enjoy lessons. They are also learning creativity and critical reasoning, something this country is solely lacking. These are cross-subject skills, what I have wanted to inspire in students for ages.  It's nice to see my frantic thoughts of trying to make things work here have benefits.

A Wedding in Amina

On Sunday, I went to a wedding and pulled a Sherlock. By which I mean I left early, not solved a murder.

It started like this. Dani and I were talking about weddings, because I've missed two since I've been here. And apparently, there was one Sunday for Tadeck's cousin. Did I want to go? It was close to the River Boru, so maybe a 30 minute walk.

What else was I going to do? Laundry? Psh.

But I quickly realized that 30 minutes was a underestimated guess. Try closer to 50.

And of course, we were the first ones there.

I don't mind weddings, I've been to a few already here in Ethiopia but they had all been during PST. Nothing in about two years. And all of those insentiences had been brief. Two hours, top. Here it was, noon, and Dani explained the day to me.

We were at the groom's house. A car was coming from Huruta, picking people up to come here, including the groom. Then, we would eat. After that, we'd all pile in the car and head to the bride's house for a second lunch. Then come back for dinner, music and dancing. Dani estimated that we'd be back at 7. That is, 7 international time, not 7 Ethiopian time (aka 1 in the afternoon) like I thought she meant back at the house.

Oh man.

At about one, the bus arrived and in came a flood of people. I'm not entirely sure who they all were. I gathered from the high class suits there were only two groomsmen (and no bridesmaids, they were at the bride's house). I figure some were family, some friends. It didn't matter much. They were all rhythmically clapping their hands, cheering for the groom, and bouncing on their toes as they did so.

We ate lunch, which was quite a spread, and I was beginning to get really uncomfortable. Sure, I had Dani and Tadeck to talk to, but I was surrounded by Amharic in a stuffy tent with a hundred people that kept staring at me. I'm considered a source of entertainment here. Oh my! Look! There's a foreigner here! You'd think I'd be used to it now, and while walking down the street I usually am. It's harder when you're in a crowd.

There's never any after meal conversation in Ethiopia. You eat, you go. Within 30 mins, everyone was finishing their meals and the groom was being escorted out of the compound with more clapping and a three toned honk from the bus waiting to take him to his bride.

Really? Isn't the bride just down the next street in this tiny village? Can't we just parade it?

Nope. I somehow found myself squished into a private car with Dani, one of Tadeck's brothers, a strange man and women, the driver (who actually lived in Addis and was rented for the day), and two random kids (which belonged to none of us). Apparently the bride didn't live in the village. Nor did she live in Huruta. She lived beyond it. And we were all going to get there thanks to two motorcycles, this private car, and a bus meant for 26 people.

Sorry, I love free food, but I can only take so much.

Dani supported my decision to get out of the car in Huruta. It was too hot for me, she could tell by the way I had guzzled qeneito (I think the most appropriate way to describe it would be barleyade). The only problem was, the caravan didn't go through Huruta. They went through the rural areas instead.

So I hopped out at the bridge just before the river, very grateful I had brought my umbrella to keep the sun off me, and watched the rest of the party go on. Dani later said she wished she got out with me.

I walked home, washed my feet, they were filthy, and then watched movies, crocheted some of my shawl, and wrote. Dani and Tadeck didn't come back till 8, well after dark, looking exhausted and a little peeved there hadn't been coffee. Still, the rest of the day had been nice, if nothing new, as faces changed at the different locations. The couple was happy, and now if I didn't mind, they were going straight to bed.