Straying from the Asphalt

We have now passed through many tourist destinations of the world: The National Gallery in Washington D.C., USA; The Lucy Museum in Changsha, China; elaborate temples and parks in Bankok, Thailand; rock hewn churches and ancient lakes in Ethiopia; a slave fort museum in Cape Coast, Ghana; the Pyramids and Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Egypt; and ancient Roman ruins in Turkey.

We are tourists, oh yes we are.

Much as we like to put ourselves in a different category and call our travels “off the beaten path,” you will sometimes find us alongside the masses. It is fairly difficult for us to place ourselves so fully and intentionally on a path shared by so many people. But we go, for there is something to be said for a site or object that attracts tourists from all of the world: it is most likely remarkable and exciting and absolutely worth seeing.

There are extreme differences between travelers, and visiting tourist destinations highlights and defines these differences in new ways. We see tour groups and independent tourists, guides and translators, drivers and hotel touts, tour packages and buses. We see all different nationalities and hear all varieties of language being spoken.

And to be honest, we are terribly critical of tour groups. We poke unnecessary fun as the accessories of tour groups. Whether matching water bottles or baseball hats or t-shirts or stickers, they bear the club insignia with some sense of pride. I guess that in a foreign land, it feels good to belong to something.

I was stunned by the silent tour groups shuffling through the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Each member of the tour had a headset through which they could hear the voice of their tour guide, standing tens of heads away. Arms folded, faces dour, they all looked bored to death. It was easy to avoid these groups for they all moved as a great amoeba; stragglers were nonexistent.

A few days ago, caught in the tentacles of the tourist-driven Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, we burst (rather frantically) out into the normalness of a city street. There we saw the member of a tour group, a bright number 3 blazing on her shirt, obviously separated from her herd. We were delighted to see that her split was unquestionably intentional as she wandered the street with ease and comfort and interest.

In Ethiopia we saw tour buses speeding through the scorching desert sun of Ethiopia, the windows filled with pasty tourists cloaked in heavy sweaters to combat the icy bus air-conditioning. Tourism in Ethiopia was usually a packaged deal: tour and guide and hotel and shopping were all wrapped together, with comfortable shuttle buses ferrying to and fro.

While in Egypt, we visited the pyramids at Giza. We took the Cairo metro out to Giza Station, then caught a local bus, and walked the rest of the way. Our early morning efforts were rewarded when we arrived as the gates were being opened. However, the tour buses moved quickly through the site and soon left us in the dust. I was frantically urging Nathan along, “come on! We have to get ahead of all of these people!” I probably would have been running had he not been with me. But in fact, we were surprised not to have much interference from the tour groups at all. You might have been amazed by the lack of other people in our photos from the Pyramids. Want to know our trick? We strayed from the asphalt. Most other visitors to the pyramids drive from site to site in the tour bus, briefly alighting at each stop. We trucked through the entire place in flipflops, though heat and wind and dust. And it was magnificent; we felt like explorers.

While pausing at the ancient theater at Termessos, Turkey, we were joined at the space by a group of ten or so middle-aged American tourists. They were boisterous in their excitement, exclaiming with joy and amazement. We watched them, eating our bread and cheese and tomato sandwiches, comfortable in our distance. Though many members of the group departed after a few minutes, a trio of three woman dismissed the urgings of their guide and steadfastly refused to leave. “You can go ahead, we aren’t leaving yet. We have some chanting to do.“ The tour guide, slightly bemused, left them to their presumed insanity, urging them to catch up soon. The ladies sat together, chatting and laughing for a short while. Then they collected themselves and uttered harmonic chants into the acoustical vastness of the ancient theater placed high up on a mountain. I truly respected their intentions and appreciations of the space and the moment.

The truth is, while I criticize tourists and tour groups, there are always anomalies. And isn’t going to the Egyptian Museum with a tour better than never going at all? I think so. And I must give credit to all travelers, regardless of their style. For it takes work and effort and bravery to embark out into the world, outside of your comfort zone, regardless of the path.

So cheers to the travelers of the world, even though my path takes me off the asphalt.

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Getting Our Groove On in West Africa

Life without music would be meaningless.” - Niezsche
[Taken from a marquee billboard advertising the Ghana Music Awards 2010

One night, as we were wandering through our Asylum Down neighborhood in Accra, we heard some great reggae bumping from a small shop with a corrugated metal roof. Being who we are, and feeling the ongoing inspiration of our portable hard-drive of collected music, we popped in to say hello. To our great delight, we found ourselves in the doorway of the local DJ studio, with DJ Black Shanti hard at work transferring music from records into digital form.

Shanti is promoting some great reggae artists from Ghana and has some ideas about creating an internet radio station. His office and DJ studio is one block from the circle of Asylum Square in Accra. If you are there and want to meet Black Shanti and some of his artists - just ask for the Rasta DJ, everyone knows him.

Thanks to Shanti, we have now have some fantastic reggae from West Africa…coming soon to a city near you! We really look forward to adding it to the 600GB collection at Hotel Oso Perezoso, and carrying it with us to share and enjoy on the rest of our travels.


We had similar good fortune in meeting another local musician in West Africa, again just by happenstance. One hot, sweaty afternoon in Lomé, as we were enjoying a cold Ekko beer at a local bar, a gentleman came up to invite us to his nightclub that evening to listen to some live Togolaise jazz! We started to speak about our jazz culture of New Orleans, but the conversation peetered out: our French was more limited than his English and we seemed to be getting nowhere. But our new friend popped into the doorway next door and emerged with his friend Yawo, who spoke both English and Spanish!. Almost immediately, our ‘translator’ became a great friend. We waxed on and on about music and the United States and cities around the world (Yawo Attivor and his Afro-Fun Band have toured and played with musicians in Africa, North America, Europe, Asia, and the Middle East). We talked politics and economics and global friendship. Yawo turned us on to some great music from Togo, and even shared some of his own tracks with us. We love it! You can get a bit of your own Yawo on youtube.com .

Another music exchange happened in Lomé, where we shared part of our collection to a budding young guitar player who managed the internet café one block from our hotel (La Patience) in Lome’.

And for the music lovers of this blog that need a bit of a soundtrack, here are a few of our other favorites (some of which you can listen to online for FREE!).

Listen to WRIU Rhode Island of Friday night, or Shepherd Mondays on 91.5 WTUL New Orleans. All of these great reggae stars of radio are ‘live’ on your internet dial streaming worldwide.


Pandora


Steve Greer’s awesome blues show on WRVU, Nashville


New Orleans' own WWOZ.


Listen to Black Shanti on radio 98.9 “Happy-FM” Ghana. Or hear it streaming on this site.

Check out our new friend Yawo on his site.

Get your groove on! And keep emailing your songs to us!

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Pink Sheets

written by Nathan, April 11, 2010

Two boys, young men really, dressed in color of dry blood smocks, wring out pink cloth on our veranda. Every cloth has the hew of blood, the heart color ranges of poppy, the pink of Irish cheeks, the rose of Ethiopia. They are not tattered. They are speckled in earthen yellow, faded ochre, stolen Persian golds, buttery burnt saffron,. Flecked in white and cream colored light, they wave against light breezes - laced in shadows and mirrored by dancing stripes of oriental coal black ornament. We share space, and, some days, laundry. Together, we all bend and twist and wring the buckets and buckets. We squat beside our large petrol tubs and night pans making rusted movement like seafarers. But ,we are far away from the sea. We are high in the mountains which build the seas’ breezes. Adena, Roja, Caspina, Muerdissia, India, Pacifica. Every day these boys toil this job. It is their duty. Sheets are soaked, rung, hung and back in business. As are we all.

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The Camel

Camels roam the lands and desert from the borders of Europe and the foothills of the Himalayas, to the far African plains, always accompanied by humans. They can be seen resting on shady coves and beside watering holes. Most people mistakenly think that camels are not smart. I think this comes from the way they chew. Camels chew slowly. And, like Goats, cows, and sheep. They grind their food against their upper jaw because, of course, they have no upper teeth. For this reason, all the animals who eat like this remind us of old people who have lost their teeth and must mash their food and gum it.

Camels chew slowly, one might say deliberately, but a closer look seems to prove this false. Because of this we call them lazy. They have straw hanging out of their mouth most of the day.
I think the way we think of camels as dumb, shiftless and lazy comes from the way we have been taught to view people. When we are growing up, we are raised with images that small children with long grasses dangling from their lips in countryside are lazy, maybe shiftless. Or old men, who chew and spit loudly, “Tang!” into deep metal spittons, like my grandfather Norman did after he moved West to California, acting determined to waste time (and health) with nothing more than machismo fraternity, act lazy.

I must debate these old ideas. People need breaks, camels needs break. We all need to rest. And, if a child chewing straw is their way of signifying to themselves or to others - rest, retreat, solace - then it is as it should be. Have you ever seen a camel work? They carry enormous loads. And if you take a good look at a camel, look at its knees and stringy long legs. Carrying a hump or two of water would be hard enough, carrying the rest of their body would be extremely difficult. Carrying anything extra, humans, loads of wood, goods to market, would be awfully tiring. So camels must rest. And that is the funniest thing you have ever seen, camels at rest. All of that weight, and funny neck, and lankiness somehow shrinks down onto the boney fragile knees of this great beast; and, somehow, it manages to tuck all those miles of legs beneath itself.

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Land Cruising

After three wonderful days in Kemba, we departed in the afternoon for Arba Minch, some 90 kilometers away, and the closest point for catching public transportation for our return journey north to Addis.

Our visit to Kemba occurred during a “green-drought.” This southwestern region of Ethiopia continually battles nature: the ground is arid and dry, and the eucalyptus trees that are planted for their sturdy wood and rapid growth serve to leech water from the earth in selfish quantities. The rain is unpredictable, even in the rainy season. Ethiopians hurriedly plant crops when the first rains come, but have no assurances that the plants will bear produce before the rains cease and the land dries up again. It’s a cycle of ongoing hard work with occasional gain. During our visit, the land was lush and verdant and the people of Kemba were well-fed.
The morning of our departure was foggy and drizzly, with occasional torrents of water cascading from the sky. The ochre paths winding around the Action Aid compound were slippery and sloppy. All along and among and around the paths are planted gardens: maize and sugarcane and apple trees. With the strong rain, they seemed to grow inches overnight. I made Indian chai for breakfast, rich tea blended with raw cow’s milk and a hefty spoonful of sugar in each cup.

It was cozy, sitting with the Action Aid group and listening to the rain pattering upon the metal roof and sipping sweet tea. It reminded me of home: that wet and lush Willamette Valley. Cambric tea and a woodstove. It seems that the rain will never end, that the sky will never clear, that the moisture will last forever.

But, as in Oregon, the rain did cease. For a moment. Midday, we went to visit the Kemba women’s co-op group. A total of 60 women have joined together to form a lending-program and the leaders invited us to their weekly meeting. Action Aid assisted with the organization of the group, bylaws, technical assistance, and the initial capital for lending. Each woman pays monthly dues, which helps to increase the total lending principle available for use. The ventures are very different: one woman used the loan to purchase two calves which she is raising to sell when they are grown. Another woman used the loan to build a strong barn for her animals so that they can be healthier and thus, garner more profit. The ten leaders of the project consider proposals based on outcome, goals, and level of need. Each woman is allowed to borrow no more than 10 times the amount of her savings: $10 will allow for $100 in loan. The project seems to be working very well. The women shared some of their feelings and thoughts with us, many centered upon their feelings of accomplishment and achievement. They are grateful to Action Aid for these opportunities and are committed to helping other women have the same experience that they have. They spoke about their increased levels of power and control in the homes. They are proud and involved. It was an absolutely inspiring meeting.

Quick dash back to the compound for lunch and packing, and then left for Arba Minch by 3:30PM. The rain had momentarily ceased, but the land was still very wet. The road to Kemba isn’t exactly smooth. Buses cannot travel there; most people walk and a few ride horses. The terrain is rocky and steep and the road climbs through and over and around beautiful hills. The hard work that is put into building and grading roads is foiled every year by heavy rainfall. However, Ethiopia is a very rocky country, so even when the soil washes away, there is enough rock remaining for the Landcruiser to lumber up the steep inclines and grab purchase on the descents.

We bounced through the afternoon, slipping in some places, sliding in others, but always remaining on the road. The Action Aid driver was magic and amazingly adept at his job. The pace increased as the sun sank lower. Ethiopians do not drive at night. Ever. The country roads are dangerous enough during the day; the population is terrified of being out on the road after sunset.

Just as the sun was setting, still 30km from Arba Minch (but on a mostly paved road and easy road which might be plausible to traverse at night) we reached a river. Now, we had already crossed a few rivers, but none higher than the hubcaps. This one was bigger. And powerful. And surging over large boulders that had washed down the hillside. We all got out of the car and slipped over to the muddy scene. We surveyed the water and talked about the possible depth. We threw in rocks. N waded in a little ways and really freaked everyone out. Darkness set in and we remained indecisive.

Suddenly, the darkness was lit with flashing lights: an ambulance skidded to a halt next to our vehicle. Although I don’t speak or understand Ahmaric, the guys in the ambulance said that they were crossing the river and that we could follow them. We (westerners) are inclined to trust in emergency vehicles and I was delighted by their enthusiasm and assurances. They charged right into the water, full speed ahead. Halfway through, their Landcruiser lurched to a stop, lodged upon a boulder. They tried reverse, they tried gunning it, and the truck only slipped deeper into the water. In the dim gleam of taillights and headlights, I could see exhaust fumes bubbling up from beneath the murky water. Soon a few Ethiopians, stripped down to undies, waded into the water to try to move the stones that prohibited a smooth crossing.

N remarked that at least if someone was hurt in this crossing, there were plenty of paramedics on hand. Mr. B looked at us strangely. “You know, because they are ambulance drivers?” He laughed. “They are working on an election campaign, they aren’t ambulance drivers. They use anything they want when an election comes up.”

Thanks to our fantastic driver, we had remained on land, instead of following them directly across (or to the middle as it was). With a puny rope doubled up and tied between the vehicles, we pulled them back out. After a few moments of assessing motor sounds, tires suddenly squealed and they surged across the river, petal to the metal. They made it across and disappeared up the dark road. We stayed behind, choosing to wait until first light, when our understanding of the crossing would literally be illuminated.

We circled back to a spot on the road where we had passed some heavy machinery, grader and tractor, knowing that the security guard assuredly on duty would give us a bit of extra protection on the lonely empty road. N and I pulled out our trusty sleeping bags and nested down in the back of the Landcruiser. We each ate our dinner: an apple from the Action Aid yard. The headlamp was in action as I pulled out my book. The Landcruiser floor was ridged and pocked with exposed staples. The night was long and uncomfortable. But as the sky lightened, we set off down the road, to see whether the water level had changed in the night. It appeared to be the same, but a safe crossing was easier to see in the daylight.

Mr. B hopped to an island in the middle to assess the depth. He gave the signal. The Landcruiser bumped across without a hitch. Mr. B got a piggyback ride across on the back of a kind shepherd.

We arrived in Arba Minch an hour later, very ready for breakfast.

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Ethiopia for Travelers

Ethiopia is wonderful, but heavily impacted by foreign influence, NGOs, and tourism. We spent nearly one month in Ethiopia (March - April 2010) and traveled as far north as Gonder and Lalibela, and as far south as Arba Minch and Kemba. We also spent one week in Addis. Please note that this is not intended to be a comprehensive travel guide, but is limited to our experiences and some tips that we think might be helpful for travelers.

Overall, I would say that the north is great for those who love tourism-packages, churches, guided tours, etc. The south was much more up our alley. The effects of tourism were less, the people seemed more genuine, and the presence of other foreigners was greatly reduced. But that’s just us. The north was beautiful and incredible and the stone-hewn churches of Lalibela were spectacular. But Lake Tana was a drag (rather expensive and not especially incredible), and most of the other tourist-towns were overwhelmingly tourism-focused: nearly everyone you interacted with had an agenda or something to offer: a guide, a translator, a coffee ceremony, a hotel, it was hard to just “make a friend.”

In a culture that has been so impacted by foreign-influence, aid, and tourism, I think that it’s important to be educated and responsible about giving. Although each person is entitled to their own opinions and ideas on this, we have written a few blogs about aid and giving. Check them out here and here and here if you’d like.

We traveled exclusively over-land while in Ethiopia. The buses take a loooong time. When you are given an estimate of how long the bus will take, double it and hope for the best. The roads are bad, the buses are ancient, and the livestock just can’t resist wandering in the middle of the highways. Plus, the buses make frequent stops to pick up travelers and items for transport. But, aside from the discomfort of eight and nine hour bus rides, it’s a great way to see Ethiopia. Also, we never found that the minibuses arrive at the destination much faster than the large buses, so keep that in mind when you are comparing prices.

Addis Abeba
Tsegereda hotel - Assefashi kinfu Kidane (Piazza behind Cinema Ethiopia)***
Tel - 011-157-4755
Very good service. Really a beautiful Garden Patio. Chilled-out vibe during the daytime transforms into loud music and “ladies and gents of the night” in the evenings. Shared bath is absolutely awful, best to use the chamber pot. Shower situation was questionable: staff told us that we could use the showers at the National Hotel next door, but it was much easier (and nicer) to use the Taitu hot showers next door. Honest. Helpful. Smiling. 40 birr night is a great price for Piazza, even with the negatives.

National Hotel (next door to Tsegereda and several doors up from TaiTu). Best coffee in Addis - rich, dark, divine. The mokiato and sweetened steamed milk are also good bets. Best to go early in the morning and get a fresh biscuit: lightly fried twist of buttery bread with a few rye seeds cooked within.

Baro Pension 125 birr, clean w/ Private bath, tours. **
tel. 25111155, 011-1574157
Email abenet@baro.com.et

Wutma email wutmahotel@yahoo.com **
tel. 251-111573163 Mgr Chernet Agonafer
105birr Priv Bath, Restaurant, book exchange

D.S. Guesthouse, across from Axum Hotel. (tel 001-6-18-92-00, mobil 09-11-64-08-54)
Following some notes from our friend Benson’s Lonely Planet Ethiopia, we took a minibus from the airport to a hotel called Debre Damo in Addis Ababa. We were thoroughly disappointed with the place: 240birr for a crappy hotel where all rooms led onto a concrete parking lot. Even through our plane-related and airport-sleeping delirium, we hit the street trying to find a better option. We were delighted to find the DS guesthouse, just a few blocks away. It was a world different, and SO worth the 60 birr upgrade. A shared minibus from airport should be less than 10birr per person to DS. Peaceful, serene, very kind and gracious family, private bath, hot shower, cable television. Kitchen available for guests upon request. Breakfast is included. 300-400 birr/night. One minute walk to minibuses that go all over Addis.

A.A. (Addis Abeba) Women’s Association Café, Piazza. On the second floor of a large restaurant and shopping mall right in the midst of Piazza. Excellent food, very fair prices, very friendly and sweet staff. We went there more often than was appropriate, and usually ordered the Tibes with Spagetti with spicy tomato sauce. And plenty of Ambo.

Lalibela
Blulal Hotel: Lalibela. We got our hotel room for 50 birr per night for two with shared bath and shared hot shower. Shared bath was for three rooms upstairs. Hotel also has rooms with private baths and hot shower for 150 birrh/night. Beautiful views of the mountains from two large windows (that even opened!!). Sophie (the owner) is especially gracious and friendly, and has a restaurant (Chez Sophie) on the first floor. Perhaps a bit noisy for some, as the nightclub two doors down can get a bit raucous on the weekends.

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Action Aid in Kemba

Our trip to visit Action Aid Ethiopia’s field operations in the town of Kamba proved fruitful an rejuvenated our feeling for work taking place in Ethiopia. There, more than 70 projects display their commitments to useful, harmless work that improves the life of entire communities. They work diligently with few resources and smaller staffs to produce results that have social, political, and economic ramifications and should yield even more sustainable and long-lasting results far beyond their mission.

Their entire plan has no footprint except to honor and empower the community they are serving. While I found it awkward that they also aspire to affect cultural norms, they are careful to only tentatively, and with great community ‘buy-in’ take on what are termed by the NGO and the Ethiopian government as “Harmful Traditional Practices.” Some of these which were described to us go against the grain of western norms: wife and child beating, excessive slaughter of livestock at occasions of deaths, female castration of girls, all are much too violent and nonsensical to weestern minds and values but are actually very ancient tribal rituals here.
Action Aid’s staff is superb, from Birhanu the District Manager, to Markos (guard, farmer, general labor & resident dad). They employ locally as much as they are able and when they post positions for professionally qualified managers they receive 400 applications per position. This is a privilege of being ferenge (foreign) ngo’s and is also a burden of responsibility to make certain the right persons are selected to enhance their programming and teamwork.
Action Aid also has an affirmative policy of preferring women and other marginalized groups and classes (making their policy operational beyond secretarial, cook, or household positions is problematic, however, due to Ethiopia’s limited and recent history of allowing women’s education to exist; much less be encouraged).

We were truly inspired and amazed by our trip to Kemba with Action Aid; many thanks for the incredible experience and wonderful friendship.

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Coffee and Ethiopia

written by Nathan

 

Another quick note on coffee loving and Ethiopia. For those who love coffee, Ethiopia is your Jerusalem. Not only is this birthplace of humanity also the origin of wild ‘Arabica,’ our coffee ancestor still growing in forests here, Ethiopia still produces the meanest Cup o’ Joe that I have practically ever had.

For those readers who know that I proudly decamped (½ time) for Colombia almost ten years ago, this comes of course as a shock to all of us…. Especially me. Not that I did not love or know coffee before Colombia, café culture is a pride of my childhood new Orleans and Francophile Louisiana.

Of course, we have not found Starbucks or Dunkin’ Donuts even trying to compete with this 1000 year old coffee culture. Not that you can’t get a soy double latte here, just don’t ask for sugar substitute. Soy lattes are called ‘macchiato fasting’ indicating refrain from drinking cow’s milk (2-4 birr or less than 30c).

*** As we try and cull what themes come from our blog as it moves abroad (now transferring our content again subjects from East to West Africa the North Africa this next month), obviously travel - it's thrills, chills, strains, and magic moments of discovery - always rings true.

Focusing on aspects of each place, we are aligning our experiences with what we think other travelers may be interested in; and, writing more reviews.

Look for our 'Picks and Pans' list of favorite spots we have found along the route thus far in upcoming blogs.

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Encountering Poverty while Traveling or as a Tourist

Poverty is just what you imagine if you see Ethiopia from the most common western perspective or media. Poverty is pervasive here. Throughout our travels, we refuse to give money to children, adults, or anyone else who approaches us begging for monetary gifts. But we do try to carry around food as gifts. What can we do to have a real impact?

The easiest gift you are brought up with is money: it’s simple, it’s easy, and really, what’s a birr to us (less than 10 cents). And when you can obtain gratitude and a smile for only 10 cents, why not? Because money comes with responsibility, and by distributing cash, one contributes to the cycle of bad tourism. Is it responsible to hand out money to children? As soon as you do, their behavior is reinforced, and their actions continue. They come to expect that every foreigner they meet will give them money. They spend their time on the streets asking for money, rather than going to school, spending time with their families, or learning sustainable and valuable skills that might someday allow them to be successful and independent people. This just doesn’t seem fair; it doesn‘t seem that money is much of a gift after all. Giving money is not really giving at all, it’s taking. While traveling in impoverished lands, it’s hard to determine how individuals can help. From our experience, cash is seldom a help. When you donate cash, you must be responsible; you must do research and determine that your donation is going to an organization that is truly helping to alleviate poverty not reinforce it.

While in Ethiopia, I have been amazed at the effects of foreign tourism. Children in Ethiopia know two words: “You,” and “Money.” I have watched beautiful children skipping down the street with their friends, all smiles and laughter. The moment they see us, a performance begins. Happy faces disappear and are replaced by sadness and desperation and pleas for money. It’s an act, and it must work on many foreigners, otherwise they wouldn’t try. We shake hands with them and talk with them and tell them that our friendship is free. But no money.

People like to help. Often times they help because of their innate kindness; sometimes they help because other people are watching. Sometimes their help has not a shred of altruism and exists only for personal gain. But how do we make our donations last? Donating resources is a huge responsibility, not to be taken lightly, for without thought, cash donation can be detrimental. It may cause waste and new suffering. It can perpetuate cycles of corrupt bureaucracies that do not truly provide the assistance being declared.

There is good help, and there is bad help. There is help that is lasting and sustainable, and there is help that is simply a quick-fix. There is help that has wellbeing of beneficiaries as the foremost tenet, there is help that seems to lose the good intentions along the way.

We have created a note which we hand out notes for begging or speak English. “Do not become dependent on foreign toursitm ($).” it reads, “work hard fro yourself. Build Confidence and freedom. We will not give money to children who beg in the street. But we give you our friendship and friendship is precious. Free Africa. Ras.” Children are surprised by our notes. They take them as they are, as gifts. Many times they respond quickly having gotten some jist. Some ask, “What is this?” “It is a note to help you practice your English And it has messages which we use to make us stronger. You are welcome to keep it or give it back.” I instruct them. They have all kept it affectionately.

But it is a challenge to find ways of helping that are positive, especially as an individual. How do you help people? Perhaps you have experiences that can help us and others to give in positive ways? 

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Ferenge

Sometimes I am overcome by the exhaustion of being a foreigner. Of always being different and new and unusual. In the lands through which we have thus far traveled, there is no hiding our foreignness. Even if we do not speak, our faces and our eyes and our bodies and our skin speak for us. And we follow in the paths that similar shapes and colors have already laid for us; oftentimes we haven’t the option of choosing a different path, it has already been chosen for us.

First impressions are always based upon appearances, it is human nature. It is human nature to utilize past experiences and knowledge and information to make quick assumptions and presumptions about the people inside of those outward appearances. Humans are categorical by nature, it’s how we make quick decisions that historically perhaps meant life or death: dangerous lion / harmless marmot, boiling water / shade under a tree, armed enemy / smiling friend.

But is it innate human nature to put people in categories of “us” versus “them?”

“Us” versus “them” has proven to be a common thread in our travels, partly because we are crossing such great distances and visiting such different lands. And always there are assumptions and presumptions and sometimes blame or solutions placed on “Them.” But how can this language be bypassed? How can you speak about “the people of Ethiopia” without automatically speaking about “them,” for they are a different people that “we are.” Or are they? More and more I find myself amazed by how un-foreign some of our destinations have been. Have I grown numb or non-plussed by the ability to communicate in my language? Or has it to do with the fact that so much of the world is now connected and shares so much of the same general information and habits? Or is the fact that we are all just people? The world is shrinking and I am wide-eyed with the realization that my comprehension of “us” versus “them” is fragmenting. It seems silly. People are the same. People eat, drink, love, feel joy and sorrow and apprehension. People have friends and families and want to lead happy lives. People have memories and dreams.

Yes, food is different, faces are different, customer service is different, climates are different; we can expound for a lifetime on the differences between people and places. But really, can you believe it, they are incredibly superficial differences. Mostly, when you get right down to it, food is the same. Whether using chopsticks, forks, or your right hand to eat, the food is still the same: your belly rumbles when you are hungry, you look at food, you put it in your mouth, you chew, swallow, and the food nourishes your body. What’s so different about that? Sometimes our tongues and eyes seem stronger than our rational thinking.

But who am I to be a critic. I turned down Sheep Brains Masala at a nice Indian restaurant. I tried my hardest (with no guarantee as to my success) to avoid ordering dog on a Chinese menu, and my entire self recoiled at the story of eating juicy chunks of raw meat stripped from an Ethiopian cow moments after it had been slaughtered. But give it enough time in each of those places, and I might be devouring such delicacies with relish.

People change. People assimilate. Cultures are refigured and forced to evolve, for better or worse. Someday, a ferenge will walk down the streets of Bahir Dar and be as invisible as I wish I were. It seems inevitable. And I bet that foreigner will wish that she were a bit more foreign, that she were a bit more special.

But maybe, at that future point, the world will have shrunk so far that “us” and “them” do not even exist as concepts any more.

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The African/Asian Universal Understanding

written by Nathan

In Asia and Africa, life is based on a fuller sense of universal understanding. Each is different, complex, and individualistic by interpretation. Each is complete in itself. Taken together, however, these universal belief systems and acculturations demonstrate core human values which we are all affected by. 

In China, we gained first hand appreciation of the wisdom of Chinese peaceful social cultural norms and their power to organize and direct large populations. The grace of Chinese interactions can be seen in its tea ceremony. The commonality of life’s necessity can be understood in a common enjoyment of green tea. 

Chairman Mao famously wrote proverbs including many which still are present in the work and family edicts of the Chinese. “A man tells his sons one morning: Sons, I cannot move this mountain alone with my hoe; but, together we can move this mountain.” And, they did. We have met many peoples who planted trees with the idea that they would never know its majesty, but that their grandchildren could enjoy the tree. And, the tree lives a thousand or two-thousand years and is used by a village and is revered. 

India balances China’s productivity with its long history of political reason and discourse. Much influence of British rule left many lingering educational influences. It is a gentler land of equitable dignity with total inequity of power. 

In India, Ghandi’s generation left a legacy of peaceful democracy. Both countries have had the least enfranchised benefit in socialist, capitalist, and communist forms. Both have newly combined wealth, existing powers, corporate military industrial complexes, democratic educational systems, raising enormous new middle-classes. All of these leave their marks as mass physical appropriation of resources accelerates. 

In Ethiopia, there is a mesh of peaceful religions. there is a pathway to families of shepherds and priests. Impacts on the 19th to 21st centuries are less. Religious belief is everywhere. Yet, Ethiopia experiences Africa’s history of ‘development through total impoverishment’ by behaving in acts of colonialism on its neighbors and its own diverse populations. The largest natural and human disasters here are entirely preventable, yet persistent. But, their overarching philosophies carry only worry from growing season to dry season and from day to day. 

Ethiopia being Africa balances the Asian history with its own biblical ages…history again stretches into sandy footsteps of time. Instead of social or economic capital, Ethiopia has practical experience and righteousness, carried with the pride of a lion heart. 

There are modern dilemmas facing all these grand countries that each hold origins and histories of the world. Each has been affected by dangerous physical development. Each has vowed to create a healthier, more sustainable natural world. All are vastly different. 

Ethiopia, India, and China need plans to achieve cleaner development while also increasing their living standards. What they don’t need are lectures on social thought or universal understanding. 

If we could mesh the economic power of unified China, the common cause and social decency of India, the proven spiritual agedness of Africa, with the practicality and rationality of the western mind, perhaps we could produce cleaner thoughts and science. 

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Call To Prayer

 written by Nathan

We have seen so many sunrises this trip. Every one is unique, often their setting tells a story.

One thing new that we have gained from the sunrises of Asia and Africa is a desire to live life near a mosque - to hear daily the Muslim ‘call to prayer.’ Sunrise, sunset and prayer fit.

People are pious here. Most places, the singing verse and howls of prayer signify day break and the waking of a city or town. Addis Ababa if different. Addis mixes prayer with the end of night.

If my hometown, New Orleans, was half Muslim like Addis, it would likely wake up the same as this city does - mixing imens’ howls with a muffled drone of fading dancehalls and occasional street crackles from the last patrons’ revelry. As night haunts wind down, mixing pulses quietly provoke the early dawn light along with mosques and church bells, nudging ladies and gentlemen who are night people back into the wastes of last night’s streets. They spill out in conversations where fear of the brightening sun sends them scurrying home toward their private shadows at a crack of dawn.

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As I write this, I am reminding myself what a city person I am. I have loved being in small towns. I love other places, rural places, too, where morning prayers wake up first roosters, rising cantonances with the holy sounds until the mutual efforts of guarding the earth sweep out above the mountains and across valleys in dulling muted harmonies. Cadences when so muted, whisper of our lot shared together. Why does the image of Jesus on a cross have this rooster crowing? What about our rooster causes no alarm?

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Here in Addis, in the heart of this Ancient country’s hundred year capital, as the prayers whirls into a morning din that is mixing bus engines, wild birds, and rising human movements and early conversation, I am always being reminded of my natural embrace of urbanity.

This morning, like most mornings, I think of other people like me. I remember friends and family when it occurs to me what they might like , what they would want to see, how differently we might approach a place. One of my favorite people to think of these past months as we pass through all these capitals of human urbanity is David, my stepfather.

David and my Mom would both wake up like me before sunrise, before the call to prayer. My mother would wake, greet anyone else awake, then muster out for one or two hours of hiking the cities. She would go everywhere and greet anyone - up the hills, around the ports and seashores. David would sit here in this bench seat - observing, smiling, watching and listening.

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Napkin Granting

A new friend of ours in Ethiopia shared an interesting and informative tale that centered upon on her past work in Sudan. 

Working for “X” Embassy in Sudan, “Suzie” arrived April 1, 2006 on an 18 month tour. One of her first tasks was to disperse aid. She requested submissions for projects that would fit with government goals: providing aid to sustainable projects that would improve social and economic development. 

During this period, Sudan was in time of war and crisis. Because of this notoriety, it was a poster child for aid in Africa. Suzie was there intending to make a difference. She wanted to uphold the values of her home country in Europe. 

Suzie received many proposals. In May, 2006, representatives of some of the highest profile aid agencies in Sudan came calling. They were polite. They asked her to business lunches. At lunch, they wanted to discuss the progress of review for their proposals. “Your predecessor Tom always approved our projects.” they told her. “We are counting on the Euros this month if our programs are to continue.” they insisted. 

“How can you tell me you have always received this aid,” Suzie replied, “our aid program has only existed since 1992.” 

“Well,” they would reply, “Tom always got us our money by May. He knew how critical this support was.” 

“I am not Tom,” said Suzie “and my program says responses should be finalized and aid given out by October. I plan to review each proposal and make decisions based on their quality of sustainability.” 

The representatives of the NGOs went away very upset. They wrote letters to Tom, the Embassy ambassador, and staff asking for insight as to who this person was and whether she was qualified. 

Suzie went back to work. She carefully reviewed each of the two dozen proposals she had received. In October, her decisions were final. None of the four big NGOs would receive any aid (Tom consistently gave 500,000 euros to in each of the previous four cycles). 

Instead of making easy, expected decisions about funding, Suzie gave aid to mostly new and innovative small grassroots organizations that proposed very small windows of need for assistance. He favorite example was a farm cooperative that was moving into butter production, their plan was to become sustainable and she awarded them 10,000 euros. Their proposal was written on napkins, but she gave them aid because they qualified and because their plan had the goal of becoming independent of the giving. 

Suzie also funded small water purification enterprises. These were quasi non-profit micro-lending enterprises where the aid would go to a credit union… they in turn provided micro-loans to small entrepreneurs who would buy water purification systems and sell clean water at half the asking price in in cities, towns, and small rural villages. She also funded a gun buy-back program in which the guns were decommissioned and melted down to create pubic art. Her biggest grantee was the Swiss Red Cross which had an 85% aid distribution program which impacted over 50 sustainable projects. They got the maximum allotment of 500,000 euros. All of this meant a great deal of extra work for Suzie. She spent many days traveling to hard to reach, forbidden, or even ‘godforsaken’ places. But, she always found the visits empowering and motivational to her work. 

Word got back to her superiors back home of her unorthodox granting. Suddenly, everyone who she worked with was upset. She stopped being invited to the polite business lunches. Suzie got calls from her state department back home. “How can you fund these proposals,” they asked? “These are written in tribal languages and Sanskrit! We even have one here that was submitted on a napkin!” Suzie had her answer: “there was never a request for penmanship or materials needed for submission. Their submissions were simply the best qualified and met all of our requirements. That is why I rewrote summaries, mission statements, measures and outcomes in our language. When we ask for proposals for a program in other countries at home, we don’t ask that those proposals be written in another language, do we?” 

Suzie left a lot of people stumped. She had not dispersed even one third of her allotments of aid. “Of the qualified projects, I only gave them what they were asking for or the maximum award qualified. The other projects did not even qualify, so why would we award them?” She was right. 

As the year progressed, Suzie was requested to meet with the Ambassador, the Embassy CFO/COO, and to conduct extensive accounting interviews. Suzie went to her meetings prepared. She had done her research. Of the major NGOs who had applied for aid, only one had overhead costs of less than 80%. Most had overhead in the mid 90th percentile. Tom, her predecessor, it turned out, had not liked to travel to follow up a required by the Embassy. He had conveniently worked only with those agencies that produced regular and detailed reports with photographs and all accoutrement required to submit his reports. Therefore, he could not have possibly worked with the type of organizations that Suzie chose to grant. 

Suzie got a big promotion. She is now chair of the committee for aid distribution to sub-Saharan-East Africa. This year, she will give a keynote address to the Conference on African and Asia Economic Development at the Hague, Netherlands. We hope she makes a big impression!! 

Tom, Suzie’s predecessor, also got a promotion, he is in charge of international audits at the home office. Too bad.

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Land Travel in Ethiopia

Ethiopia isn't all that big, about twice the size of Texas. But most tourists take private landrovers or use Ethiopian Air. But if you know anything of us, you probably expect that we choose a different mode.

However, we understood the benefits of private and air travel on our very first bus ride. After missing the 5AM bus to our original destination of Bahir Dar, we hopped the next bus north: destination, Debre Marcos, about 250 kilometers away. Our bus was the local one, big and lurching and stifling unless you score a seat crammed against a window. As we have recently learned, Ethiopians have a superstition against bird: the draft that attacks the back of your neck. So, the window is a mute point, aside from the view.

So, the bus was fine. For the first three hours. Then we descended into the Nile Gorge: airless both inside and out. By this time, windows were being cracked. A smidgen. Barren, dry, not a speck of water, with occasional cacti breaking the stark terrain.

This first bus trip, covering 250 kilometers, took a total of eight hours. That's an average of about 30 kilometers an hour. Metal roof of the bus sending radioactive currents into my sweaty head. Children crying with discomfort. But we made it, and Debre Marcos was wonderfully real and far from the tourist path. And there is a sense of comradery among people that share uncomfortable situations. There wasn't the communal clapping that sometimes follows a disconcerting plane landing, but the sighs of relief upon arriving in Debre Marcos were in unison.

Road conditions are difficult in Ethiopia, and the quality of your bus seems to be luck of the draw. The double-price minibuses don't seem to be worth the price. From Gonder we did join a group of six foreign teachers on vacation from their school in Kenya, all hell-bent on making the two day (local bus itinerary) trip to Lalibela in one day. A flight, though incredibly overpriced, takes 45 minutes. An initial estimate of seven hours on the bus turned to nine, then ten, then twelve as the scalding pressure of the interior bus radiator continued to seep steam, occasionally blowing off the cap and nearly scalding passengers. 

We met many villagers that day. Our bus was a traveling circus troupe, the locals just didn't know what to make of us. During one of the many pauses, our traveling comrades all climbed atop the minibus for a A-Team photo-op; the locals were hysterical with laughter. We are grateful for the kindness of the Ethiopian villages, and the opportunities to provide unfathomable entertainment.

Winding roads, section of loose gravel, ancient buses (until yesterday, I hadn't heard the sound of a tape deck eating the tape in a looong time), poor pedestrian etiquette, and a menagerie of large and small, horned and hoofed, furry and fast, humped and ornery beasts wandering back and forth and along the road. A long break occurred on our bus yesterday when a troupe of CAMELS casually blocked the entire width, chewing meditatively and paying no heed to the blaring horns.

With only one month here, sometimes we feel that we are destined to see most of Ethiopia through the windows of a bus. But that's better than seeing it from thousands of miles up in the air. But I say that because today we are only six (or nine or twelve) hours from Addis.

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A land of handholding and coffee!!

written by Nathan

Ethiopia is a delightful culture. Beautiful smiles are everywhere here. Public hugging and holding hands is commonplace. A certain happiness, contentment, and familiarity rings from all corners.

In some ways, culture forms building blocks bringing us together, giving a sense of 'belonging," making us feel comfortable. Culture is pervasively public in Asia and Africa.

For many years I have probed the subject of what makes a great culture. There is no shortage of answers easy or complex. So, for brevity's sake - this is my exposition of simple traits of great cultures….

Many years ago I came to a personal discovery of what makes great culture: coffee and bread. Part of this comes from my pride of being a New Orleanian. If we have given the world Jazz, Creole culture, American food, Franco-American opera and the like, what you cannot get in any imitated form outside of New Orleans is its coffee or 'French' bread.

After a bit of travel, I concluded that the places which felt most cultured to me in the best sense of the word had these two defining characteristics embedded deep in the cultural soul: good coffee and delicious bread. Paris has the bread and coffee culture. Buenos Aires has it too. Ethiopia ranks happily on this quality culture list.

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We Do Not Know Ethiopia: Bahir Dar

We do not know Ethiopia. We have been here but a few days, and we only have some small impression. This is a kind place, friendly smiles are everywhere. As our journey progresses, we will have a fuller impression. Thus far, we have left Addis Ababa and traveled north, staying one night in Debre Markos (Church of St Mark) and spent thee days in Bahir Dar on Lake Tana.

Impressions are useful and hard to get over. There useful side can provide comfort (people in Ethiopia are honest and friendly). The hard to get over aspect of impressions are mostly negative. Ethiopia in my lifetime came into focus as a mass starvation of the 1980’s. Apparently, this is when it came to the world’s attention also. The millions who died in then Ethiopian famine left a legacy which is hard for us to face. Yet, this legacy is pervasive in the identity of what we see in Ethiopia today.

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