Tesfaye has Landed

Pastor Tesfaye is here and will be at my church this Sunday. I'm so excited.

Mocha Club

Just watched a video from the Mocha Club. The video was titled, "I need Africa more than Africa Needs Me." Funny, that is how I am feeling this evening.

Inspired

Okay. So it has been far too long since I wrote anything, but I have been inspired by my friends the Baginskis to put something down. The Baginskis' and the Benkhert's are working in Ethiopia providing love and support to children there. Their blogs can be found at Drawn From Water and Five Family. Both families and their blogs keep my memories fresh. I can't believe that just a few years have gone by.
Pastor Tesfaye, Lord willing, should be here tomorrow morning as he has to have a special surgery on his heart. Knowing his love for the Lord and His people, having the surgery will really embue with an incredible energy and vigor. Pray for him.

Cool Sandals

When I show friends this photo they always ask if I took them home from my hotel room. I did not, but I did look for them in the markets.

This is Lidet Kifle - she lives just down the hill from the Masha guesthouse. Lidet's father was physically abusive and her mother is losing her eyesight. The father no longer lives with the. Lidet has a brother and sister; they greeted me everyday . . . like a father. We had tea and biscuts at her house, a tradition round house made of mud and straw. I miss them and worry about how they are doing. I recently wrote a letter and hope to hear back.

Which century are we in? Ironic thing - this guy would pull out a Nokia!

Over 11,000 Views

I stopped posting some time ago, thinking that people were done reading about my experience in Ethiopia. I just happened to stop by tonight to find that over 11,000 views are registered on my counter. The last time I checked there were just over 1,000, I think. Helps to have a facebook account I suppose.

I still think about my trip often and of the people there; I just sent a few notes overseas, one email, and had shay at our local Ethiopia Restaurant, Queen Sheba. Of course, my waitress, being a good Ethiopian, tried to feed me, but I had just enough birr for tea.

Amesegenalihu for reading.

Many Months

Since I last posted anything about my trip. But that does not mean that not much has been happening. Last Sunday I went to a regional meeting in Yuba City. We were shown two new possibilities: an inexpensive vehicle that could be used for microenterprise in Masha, and a handheld, wind up Mp3 that could be used for evangelism and teaching.

The Ethiopian Mission Network Conference will be held at Fremont Presbyterian on April 23-25, 2009. You can register to attend at the link on this site.

The Classroom

My friend Val was interested in seeing my Ethiopian classroom. I'm sure most thought I would be teaching in a room like this: I was prepared to teach under such adverse conditions but we were granted much better accomodations:
The first classroom you see belongs to the elementary school. Not that the secondary classrooms in the other buildings were all that much better. They were brick, but often had broken or missing windows. The classroom you see pictured above was one of the newer ones.

Globe Trekker Imitation

My best attempt to imitate globe-trekker. At first glance this film seems insignificant, until you listen carefully. The steepness of the hill was not captured on film. My batteries died once I passed the creek.

Message in a Bottle

In regards to my recent post, Asher at Team SIA wrote: "Didn't you love that slower pace of life? Didn't you say to yourself, "When I get back home, I'm going to live a little more like this?"... And the, BAM, you are home and off and running." A simple answer would be to say "Yes" and "Yes". But I'm not known for my simple answers (ask my poor students).

My response to the first part of your question is that after 21 days in the countryside I missed some of fast-paced nature of America. I missed the convenience of many of our services. I disliked having to negotiate over the price of a notebook or a shirt. I wish I could just walk in take it to the clerk and be done with it. I loved walking everywhere. I missed going out at night and being able to use the internet, which I consider like my own multimedia library . I missed my children, but not being attached to their busy schedules (just being honest here). I enjoyed having to go the phone office and have someone dial for you. I missed listening to music via radio, but enjoyed all the live singing. I missed the variety of experiences my country has to offer. like festivals in the park. A slower pace of life meant a lot of relaxing visits with people. It also meant that sometimes those visits were silent and simple, with very little to talk about (and this not just because of a lack of English) as illustrated by this photo.

Most of the time their stories involved details about family or their life experience. Which again, was nice, but every now and then I wanted to be able to talk films, or books, or news. But I could not share many of the details of my life because they were tied to culture that my visitors would not be able to understand (How do you discuss the Tour de France and all its pertinent details to someone who has seen two bikes their entire lifetime?). My response to the second part of your question is that I did say I was going to live a little more Ethiopian. In fact, by the time I was home I was living a lot like an Ethiopian. The whole American system is set-up for busyness (especially in California) and our nature is to keep distance from one another. I wish we spent more time trying to understand one another and were friendlier, not finding threat in a simple greeting. Communicating with friends is more difficult here as we are all so busy and there are very little public places which anchor our social life. In the U.S., one of my primary means of communication with my friends is the internet. In Ethiopia I just have to walk into town.

The only social custom I can export from Ethiopia is having people over for tea or coffee. Then again, how many Americans find it worthwhile to come to someone's home for coffee or tea when they could meet at Starbucks and consume five gallons of Mocha Frappucino together and not have to clean up any mess? How many Americans want to pack up the kids, drive across town, just for a few hours. In addition, visiting in America is always a planned event, rarely spontaneous. Children complicate visiting further, as they too are on such rigid schedules, and can turn a calm visit into a frenzied one (Ethiopian children are not at all like American children are today).

In short, "Living more like this" requires a community who is willing to "live a little more like this". Part of the problem is that many of our cities are designed around the car. This leads us to a tremendous amount of isolation, lack of a sense of place, and an easy mobility that makes long-lasting friendship difficult. Consider this image. I found it under the search "Pedestrian Friendly". If it is so friendly where are all the pedestrians? (the logic of a simpleton I know.) But this is how America defines a space that is friendly to pedestrians. Europeans and Ethiopians have spaces like this which lend themselves to more community and friendship:

James Howard Kuntsler (CAUTION: bad language) and I agree that the we are killing our own civilization. As far as bringing back some of the pace and culture, I can only stand behind those who have louder voices than I. In the meantime, I'm like John Mayer, "waiting on the world to change".

In the meantime, my choices are a bit limited. I have to roll with the American pace of life OR change my job and lifestyle dramatically. Being a married man with three kids, this is not so easy. Smaller changes are easier.

So, simply said, I enjoyed the slow pace of life to an extent, appreciate much of what the USA has to offer, find that I can't import what requires a community to do, and have to support those loud voices (and be one myself) who are calling for us to become more of a community and fight against the rush, rush, rush of American life.

Anybody up for shay or machiatto?

Did I Really Go?

There is a large wall map of the world hanging in a colleagues room at school. When I visit I can't help but stop for a moment and look at the map. I then inevitably ask, "Was I really there"?

Work has been incredibly fast paced. My whole life has been, in fact. I am devoting much of my time to work, with some leftover for home. Consider my morning: I sprint to work on my bike, boil water in a hot pot for coffee and oatmeal when I arrive, change as quickly as I can, rush to the bathroom to groom, come back and eat quickly, and then prepare for the day. I type as fast as I can, talk as fast as I can, and make photocopies at the speed of sound. I am using one minute prayer series, and sometimes cut it down a minute. But, sometimes, there are these moments.

Like the time that I was biking behind a school bus and was doused with deisel fumes, or watching the sun rise with a few clouds scattered in. Then there are just moments when I stop, and think, "I was I really there"?

I push away the pain connected with missing so many of the people I met. I wonder what they are doing and how they are doing, and if they are thinking of me. I conclude that they must be, because I/we was such a high interest item for them. Before you go off the deep end thinking I sound arrogant, consider the following. Life in Ethiopia is very communal and very slow (especially when compared with America). Nobody is really concerned with time, or that much structure. Relationships are what matter. I wonder often if they are waiting for a letter from me.

I feel horrible that I have three letters sitting on the shelf, ready to be mailed. I want to take them to the post office, but find time slips away with work. Maybe this Saturday.

Ironically, one of my substitute teachers was from Ethiopia. I recognized his accent immediatly at impressed him with a "Dena neh".

Out of all the films I made I keep coming back to this one. I think you'll understand why.

My Ethiopian Students

Since I have been back I am thinking often of my students in Ethiopia. I refer to them several times a week in my Sacramento classroom. I wonder how they are doing, and how they will do in the future with such limited opportunities. Enjoy the photos. Please ask my permission before you use them. From top to bottom: Marry, Frezer, Hamelmal, and Enyou

Sounds

Someone once said that silence is deafening. This could not have been any truer than in Masha, especially on an overcast night. Most notably absent in Masha was the sound of automobile traffic. Many nights were silent as were many days. But it was not always quiet.

Most of the sounds of Masha were natural; the sound of various animals and the elements. Birds and cattle were the most dominant. The bird noises frankly were annoying as they announced the wake up call (I slept deeply in Africa). The rain on the tin roof could only be matched by Stewart Copeland's drumming. Cows really won my heart, especially the one who was parked outside my classroom grazing and lowing to be milked. On two occasions the silence of the night was broken by the sound of howling dogs (and not just a couple, but pretty much the entire community's). We were certain something was being eaten that night. I'm sure it was music to someone's ears.

Three kinds of music were ever present. There was the really intolerable sound of bellies filled with lentils. But for the sake of my readers, I won't go to into that right now. The Orthodox Church broadcast almost daily its chants and sermons. This would go on for hours and, frankly, became offensive, especially because it started at 6 a.m. Opposite this grinding chanting was the harmonic, authentic, and iconic sound of the youth choir; the yearning, crying (and unamplified) sound of worship would grace us nearly every day. Even though it was rehearsed its sound was so human, so un-mechanical. This is very different from the usual, technical sound of American worship, which tends to remind me of the last sounds of Masha.

On market days, besides the hum of all the excited buyers and sellers, the constant chug-chug of the mill could be heard through the entire town. There was the occasional land cruiser, and the honking of the buses headed for Tepi or Jimma. Every now and then we would hear a 747, but I'm not sure that it was one. I was spending too much time looking down at the ground, trying not to trip over the many rocks which made up the road. Can you hear their laughter?

Smells

Ahh . . . the sweet smells of roses, the spicy smells of berbere, cinnamon, and cardamon, and, of course the earthy smell of grass after a light rain . . . wait, wait . . . that is not right.

Why you might ask? Because there are four dominant smells which I found constant, at first offensive, and then eventually comforting.

Those three smells would be diesel exhaust, kerosene, woodsmoke, and charcoal. The former belongs to Addis and the latter two to Masha, while charcoal belongs in both.

Diesel exhaust has a life of its own. It seems to settle on the ground and then get kicked up into the air as people walk and drive over it. Without meaning to insult my fine Ethiopian friends, the closest description I could come up with for describing Addis' exhaust is the Peanuts character, Pigpen. For me, the diesel dustiness of Addis quickly became part of its charm, just like Pigpen.

Sacramento is a smoggy place, known for its many asthma patients and spare the air days, but it differs from Addis in one respect - distance. Here the smog seems so off in the distant or so high up, whereas in Addis it seems to always be in your face, particularly while traveling on the road. But that is not the only smell which eventually became a smell of home for me.

Kerosene was used to cook our food and boil our water. It too had an incredibly strong smell which wafted through the house even when Almaz and Yenenesh were not cooking. Tasty meals were cooked using only the cooking stoves you see in this photo, using kerosene. Kerosene was also used to burn our toilet tissue, but that is another story altogether.

Woodsmoke is the third smell that I remember. Sometimes the whole valley behind the guest house would fill with smoke as it mixed with the moisture in the air. Houses smoked. If you did not know that someone was cooking inside you would be inclined to toss water on the house for fear it would burn down the neighborhood. Traditional houses do not have an exhaust or chimney for letting smoke out. Besides, I was told, a traditional house requires the smoke to chase out the bugs and the heat to dry it out after the rain. Living amongst smoke is a very common experience for many Ethiopians.

But the best smoke of all is the smoke of charcoal mixed with incense. Out of our four coffee ceremonies the one most pungent was at Alazar's house. His sister tossed copious amounts of incense on hot coals, filling the entire front room with smoke. I'm pretty sure most of us Westerners would never allow our whole house to be filled with the white smoke of incense and charcoal. But for our Ethiopian friends it was a joyous occasion.

I find myself snickering at our "spare the air" days. The next time I find myself cycling behind a Mercedes Diesel, I'll take a big sniff, and the next time I'm camping and some old timer brings out the kerosene, I'll tell him about lentils and cabbage, and the next time we light a fire or the bbq, I'll be tempted to thrown some incense on it.

I know, I know, it sounds crazy that I would find comfort in the billowing and wafting scent of pollutants which are helping to create "global warming", but I can't help but be reminded of my great, smoky experience in Ethiopia.

Ethiopia Night

You are invited to attend Ethiopia Night on September 2 at 6:00 pm. Some Ethiopian food will be served, an Ethiopian youth choir will perform, and the team will share it's stories. We plan on giving the highlights in 5 minute snippets; with titles like "Barry Barry" and "Charismatic Lutheropalians" how could you resist? The grand entrance fee is all of 50 Birr, or 5 dollars.

Italians were in Ethiopia, you know.

So I've been a little busy, and a little down. I know you're thinking that guy does not look live Mike (well we did share the same brow and hairstyle, but . . .); no, it's not me but my now deceased friend Dino Scoppettone. I planned on blogging this weekend, but Dino passed away earlier this week. He died of Liposarcoma at the age of 38.

Dino was a boyhood friend from elementary to secondary, and he stood in my wedding as a groomsman. Although we lost contact, I thought of him often. We did make contact via email a few times and it was if we picked up where we left off. Suffice it to say, Dino was not a casual acquaintance, even as our lives took different paths.

His death has really hurt. There are so many memories. I'm not sure yet how to piece it together,or if I ever will. I just see his picture and think he should not be dead. I'm just glad I've had school to keep me busy (I have been working a lot getting ready for school and sleeping very little). Although, just the other day the colleague next to my classroom was playing some song from the Police (Dino's band) and I nearly asked him to kindly turn it down. His death comes as a real blow, not only to me, to my many High School classmates who loved him so dearly, and who never lost contact with him.

This Sunday I will travel to Santa Cruz for his funeral and memorial service. I will see many friends I have not spoken with in about 15-20 years, and I hope I will cry and mourn with them. I've got to get out all these emotions which are bottled up inside. It will of course be a bittersweet reunion as I say hello to so many and goodbye to one.

I wish I could have shared my Ethiopia experience with Dino. I would have listened with great joy as he made some smart-aleck remark about it, or about me.

In the meantime, please be patient. I will write about Ethiopia soon, I promise.

MuLuMart

I have not ordered anything from this website, but am coming close to ordering. This post is for those of you who are missing the material culture of Ethiopia. I stumbled across this site while searching for Addis Tea. I'll put them up as a permanent link. Can you believe they sell Kolo? Good stuff!!!

Can't vouch for the women's clothes - not very traditional and a bit racy - but if you want to buy an injera cooker . . .

After many hours of half-awake thought on the plane home from Ethiopia, and in the early morning hours here in the U.S., the way to write about my experience finally dawned on me - themes.

I expected this blog to be chronological. I kept a journal of daily events while in Ethiopia. But after reading it a couple of times I found it too mundane for reading. There are some highlights of course, but they don't make up for the mundane nature of the trip. So the best course of action is to write periodically in themes or vignettes even; "Masha City Cruisers", "Food", " Gas- both mechanical and human", "Church", etc.

It is tempting to "firehose" it, that is give it to the readers all at once. But, I think the better course is to stretch out my posts a couple times a week. I'm hoping to include video as well as still imagery.

I thrive off of your feedback and comments, so please keep those coming. Thank you for all the comments you made while I was in country. I hope that you'll be able to maintain that level of momentum over the next few months.

The photo above was taken a few days before I left Masha. We were dining at the home of one of my students. We had Siga Wat, homemade made wheat coca, and lots of coffee. We left stuffed.

Excuses, excuses!!!!!

I have been home a week, and have not had much to say about my trip. But as events unfold at home, I am running into some new experiences. No one seems to understand what I am experiencing, especially not my family, who frankly hoped I would come home much happier and "higher". Thankfully, John Lambert at Mission Minded understands. Sounds like an excuse, but it is real.