UPDATE: officially going to Kinshasa on 7 July!!

Let the great experiment begin!!!

on doing hard things

Many of you know that in addition to doing my PhD, I'm working as a "Senior Research Associate" for Anthrologica, a small consultancy firm started by a fellow Oxford-er that evaluates global health projects using the principles of applied anthropology towards improved efficacy. Since January, I've done stints for them in Zambia and Nigeria, and I may possibly squeeze in another job in Kinshasa, DR Congo in July before Toni and I leave Ethiopia. Ah! On one hand, the prospect is thrilling - the job is with Handicap International, and I'd be evaluating their work on maternal health, so seeing how handicapped mothers have been better served since the organization started working there 5 years back. Interviewing these women and hearing about their experiences, and hopefully coming away with honest ways to improve their care is incredibly exciting.

But. It's also daunting - I'd have to work in French again, first of all, a language I last worked in 3 languages/6 years ago. It also would mean I'd spend a large chunk of my last month in Ethiopia in the Congo, which really just makes me a bit tired.

I'm tired. We've been in Ethiopia since last year, it's been a fantastic but exhausting time. With just a month left in the country, I'd love to just smoothly and easily wrap up the loose ends, pack, buy last minute gifts, and fly off in peace. Uprooting again for a brief stint and getting entirely acquainted with a whole new set of cultural parameters, in a rusty language... ah! It all sounds very hard.

But I remember Stephanie (right?) saying at one point (on her blog?) "I can do hard things." And that's how I have to approach this. I HAVE done hard things, right? I went to Mozambique at 19. I moved to Brazil all alone. I've been living in Ethiopia for almost a year - I mean c'mon! And not as if Zambia and Nigeria were picnics - Nigeria especially. I've always been a peripatetic person, love being engaged with new ways of thinking on living to turn my pre-concieved notions of daily living on their head, but I feel this longing for a settled "peace" tugging at another side of me. A side that wasn't there 8 years ago when I shipped off to Damascus or Paris...

Still. I can't predict exactly what life Toni and I will have in the next 10, 20 years, but I can't imagine trips to Kinshasa won't be a regularly featured part of it. I have to regain that confident (foolhardy?) side of me again.

It's not even certain I'm going! I'll know next week. But in the meantime it's all food for thought. Going outside of ourselves and whatever comfortable routine we've created - even if for me that comfortable routine is now in a "foreign" place like Addis Ababa... it's never easy. But I can't back down now! Right?

kocho!

As y'all know, Toni and I spent some weeks in Southern Ethiopia this last month - I was there for some research, and Toni kindly came along to see more of this country we call home. The cultural make-up in Southern Ethiopia is completely different from the highland areas we live in in Addis Ababa, and with new cultures comes new cuisine - the mainstream Amhara settled down south when Emperor Menelik expanded the Ethiopian empire in the late 1800s, so you can find injera, berbere, the staples of mainstream highland cuisine down there. But the collection of pastoralist groups in the South Omo valley (where we were in Jinka) subsist almost entirely on sorghum and milk, with the occasional animal killed and eaten. (Variety in what you eat = chalk that up to be another HUGE luxury aligned with running water and electricity)

Two other groups, the Dorze and Guraghe, eat the "false banana" plant for every meal. (It looks just like a banana tree, but doesn't produce bananas.) It's the most versatile plant! You can make anything out of it's leaves, roots, and fibers. But the most typical way to prepare it is like this - as "Kocho," a slightly fermented tasting flat "bread" eaten with spices or honey or meat. Since I showed you the steps of preparation for injera, it wouldn't be a full Ethiopian experience if I didn't show you the other staple food!

We visited this kind woman's home and she prepared the Kocho for us…

Peeling off a strip of that black bark you see on all the trees..

Bingo then ties the strip to the plank and starts stripping the inner flesh out of the bark.

After she's stripped it clean, leaving just the fibers (as you see on the left), she starts to dig out her stash of the stuff buried underground, where it ferments.

It's all wrapped in banana leaves, hidden underground - when you strip the stuff off the bark, it smells like fresh cucumber. After a few months fermenting underground, the smell is very very potent, needless to say :)

She takes out a bunch that had been underground, and pats it down into a patty.

The neighbourhood gang. :)

Bingo then takes another big leaf to wrap up the ball/patty of the "dough."

Then we go inside her home where she cooks the Kocho. (It's wrapped in that leaf on her stove.

They use eucalyptus leaves/branches for kindling, so the fire is super yummy smelling. (Eucalyptus were planted en masse in the mid-20th century all over Ethiopia to replace the depleted natural forests)

And there it is! Super bad picture, sorry. But you can see it turns almost into a thick pita bread - all from that one ingredient! That's it! - she cut it into squares and we dip it in a spicy oil/berbere mixture. Yum!

dorze, ethiopia

As you will have all seen from instagram, Toni and I were down south for a couple weeks in May. It was glorious - my favourite part of Ethiopia so far. The people were wonderful, everything was a bit more relaxed - less tourists than the historic northern route! And the scenery was to die for. I had to share some more pictures. Do indulge me! 

This was the view from where we stayed at Dorze, that mountain-top collection of villages we went to. We looked down onto two massive crocodile-and-hippo-filled lakes. The air was so clean and clear - ah! Heaven.

Morning sunrise.

Our home!!

As I said on Instagram, this is the region where all the weavers are from - so when you're walking all around the mountain, people are working in various stages of creating the thread, stretching the thread, weaving... all against this gorgeous natural backdrop.

Potato field! And Toni and Getu - Getu was from Dorze, showed us everything - taught us a bit of Dorzinha (local tongue), introduced us to residents and farmers. He made the experience so much better. If any of you come to Ethiopia - go local as much as possible. So much better! (Let us know and we'll set you up ;)

Because Dorze is at almost 3000 meters, the whole place is literally in the clouds. Walking around up there is just surreal and utterly serene.

I had to include this to illustrate what NOT to do when you want to help "develop" a country. This is an evangelical church built by World Vision in Chencha, a town 10km from Dorze. The "Christian" NGO came in and told locals they would help them with income generating opportunities - mostly giving out apple trees for people to sell the fruit (we're buying some apples right now from this lady). The catch was, to receive the aid, you had to convert to evangelical Christianity. The result? A select group of people have made tons of money by selling apples across the Ethiopian market, while those who stuck to their own Orthodox Christianity are left with nothing - no benefit whatsoever. People in Dorze for example are extremely fond of their Orthodox faith, and refused to convert. So they've received no development aid. You're punishing people for their belief, and creating artificial haves and have-nots. It was so so so frustrating to see it in person. Gah! I get so angry again just writing this. Poverty IS extreme in Ethiopia - but this is not not not the right way to "help."

Last shot - happier note! Here's one of the shops set up on the side of the road to sell the locally woven goods. Gorgeous, no? (I bought out nearly the whole place :)

we are here:

Where that red marker is - the small town of Jinka, in the Southern Nations, Nationalities, and People's Region (SNNPR) of Ethiopia. Seventeen different ethnic groups live here, "together in love" as a local friend told me :) The region is so different from mainstream "habesha" Ethiopia, from the geography to the cultures. It's breathtakingly beautiful - you can only arrive overland, and our bus ride was stunning. Gorgeous mountains and valleys covered with positively fluorescent green trees. It's hard to describe accurately, and I'm afraid the bus we were on was crowded to the hilt, and thus pictures were difficult to get :) Will try better on the way back.

I'm here for my research, and Toni kindly came along as my protector. (ha!) I'm trying to see how healthcare systems developed in these more "remote" areas of the country. The whole region was virtually handed over to foreign missionaries by Haile Selassie, so I had been in touch with some older doctors and midwives from the Norwegian Lutheran Mission. They very kindly offered Toni and I to stay at their compound in Jinka adjacent the mission hospital (now government-run). How insane to stay at a mission hospital in the backwoods of Ethiopia, am I right? I admit our lives really are crazy.

That being said, this compound is amazing. The flat we're in is gorgeous, with a screened in porch, surrounded by mango, banana, and papaya trees - with our own kitchen, running (hot!) water - the works! It's such a lush spot, we're incredibly contented.... I pinch myself how well Toni and I have been treated all over the world by friends and friends of friends. We've met the most interesting people, I feel I've done a rubbish job at returning the hospitality. Maybe when we have a real house (or at least more than 1 room apartment) someday..?

No matter what, I'm consistently in awe of how vast the world is, how diverse the people are and the lives they live. I feel like we'll come back from Ethiopia still reeling from what we've seen. Absurd really to think we could write PhDs on this place and be some kind of "expert." ha. The truth is we really have no idea. Maybe that's what I should write? Over and over again for 100,000 words: I have no idea. :)

loves from the deep south
jooj.

Igzhabier ymesgin!!**

By heaven, just when you think you know a place! The most remarkable thing happened this last week:

Toni was mugged by a band of street kids last Wednesday. A group of them surrounded him and very deftly pickpocketed his backpack, where he had a wallet with 300 Ethiopian birr (about $15), plus his passport and Ethiopian residence card. (He doesn't usually carry his passport - he had an appointment at the German Embassy that day). We cursed our luck, went to the police, made a report, and started the process of replacing them.

Then! Then! Yesterday evening, our friend Mekdes called to say the police had called her asking if she knew a "Toni Johannes," and that they had his passport. Wha?! Toni arrived at the designated police station this morning, and there it was - his complete wallet, everything intact (aside from the 300 birr of course). A policeman found it lying on the sidewalk way across town from where Toni was mugged. Miraculously, he searched through it, found an old SIM card of Toni's that he put in his own phone, found Mekdes' number, and called her.

Did you ever hear the story of my car being stolen in Washington DC? I filed a police report, of course, but 3 weeks later - no car. We got the insurance pay-out, and then! The next day, a woman called - the car had been abandoned outside her house for 3 weeks. About a mile from where it had been stolen. She had called the police multiple times to report it. It had a dozen parking tickets on it. She finally just opened the thing (of course it was unlocked), found my name and number, and called me up. I called the police to tell them they're complete idiots and the car had been there for a month, reported again and again back to them, and then! Then the best part - the day after I called the police, they call me and say "good news! We found your car!" C'mon.

The point is, that was a full car. This was just a wallet with some random foreigners' IDs in it. They didn't have to go to all that trouble to trace it back to us - and how bout those street kids? They could have done something else with it all besides leaving it clearly for someone to find and potentially return it back to it's owner. They just wanted the money to buy food or khat. (While seemingly a pittance, 300 birr would be about a good month's salary for a street worker/labourer.) And the police did all this without asking for anything, no bribes or gifts or anything. I'm honestly amazed.

You see Ethiopia can sometimes be a really really hard place to live. "Ferenji" (foreigners) stand out like crazy, and sometimes you can really feel unwelcome and as one friend remarked, the "subject of aggressive curiosity." Ha. I won't go into more specifics, but needless to say it can feel depressing, and it's easy to ask what on earth we're doing here? Wouldn't everyone be better off on their own?

But that's not the full story, of course. We have also been welcomed so warmly by so many others. So much of my work is going home to home to talk to old women, and they are kinder than anything. I love that. And then when you think that this whole country is inordinately opaque, that we'll never understand it or feel 'a part,' then the police - notoriously corrupt or inept elsewhere! (hello, DC!) - go and surprise us with their excellent work and honesty. Sheesh.

**Praise be to God!

celebrating 2 (fast! joyous!) years highland Amhara style

After two days in Lalibela town, Toni and I hiked up to the flat top of that mountain you see there. Toni hefted my bag too, but the mule man above hefted most of it. Seriously tough dude. We should have paid him more...!

Views on the way up were spectacular - this is the sister mountain. There's a monastery on top of it, but only 15-18 year old boys (monks-in-training) live there. Hard to imagine it being super serenely monastic with those kinds of residents, no? :)

We used the main foot highway passing through loads of hamlets and farms used by all villagers up to 50 km this direction from Lalibela - notice the women laden down with goods + donkeys loaded up. What we call 'hiking' or 'exercise' is what they call 'everyday life.' Honestly. If you could see how they all live! Our lives are so cushy I can't even say.

Letting some cows go past. It's a very busy road!

And this is what you see when you get to the top of the mountain - the first traditional homes (called 'tukul') of this little lodge called Hudad, where we stayed for 3 nights!

There's our tukul, with our only water source in the foreground. The place blends in to the local surrounds, so no power, no running water... the way the vast majority of Ethiopians live.

Hello! Toni taking in the morning air, viewed from the luxe inside of our tukul. Because it's 3,300 m high and on an open plateau, the nights were frigid and windy. So they supplied us with sweaters and hats made by local monks. Super warm and cozy! I lived in mine.

View from our tukul. Gah!

This is right at the entrance to the plateau, looking into the mountain - it was Saturday and the main market day in Lalibela town. All these people are going home from the market carting their goods - they can walk 2-3 days each way to get there, as Lalibela is the closest town and market option available. And there are hardly any roads through this rugged terrain. We wonder why 90% of women in Ethiopia give birth at home, unattended? Think of how spread out everyone is, clamouring for whatever land they can get to grow their crops and secure some sort of living. 85% of the economy is agriculture, and land is scarce with 80+ million people. So every inch of these mountains is claimed and tilled, even up to 3500m.

View from the top.

The lodge we stayed at has just 4 tukuls, and a little cooking area where local women cook DELISH food over an open fire. Here we're making injera, the typical bread (see the domed, roundish pan shape?)

There was a copy of John Steinbeck's complete short novels at the lodge - some previous traveller left it. Score! I read through three of them. 'The Pearl' felt particularly apropos. I kept thinking of you, Leslie - knowing you love Steinbeck!

Squinty but happy. Yay for being married! Can't believe how the time has flown. This is our 3rd country and 3rd continent to call home since getting hitched. Mad, no? So happy I found someone who will do this all with me. It's heaps better together.

lalibela!

We got a last-minute 5am ride to Lalibela from Bahir Dar in this guy's truck. The landscape between was stunning, loads of craggy mountains and farms, farms, and more farms. The road was quite decent except for the last 70 km on dirt/gravel, and you're having to slow down all the time because of wayward cows, donkeys, sheep, etc. It is farmland, after all!

Our car needed a tire change - lots of gravel roads! Meet our fellow traveller: this super nice American dude (from Ventura!) who has been backpacking straight for 7 years. !!!

Lalibela! We made it in the evening, then were at the churches 7:30 am the next morning. This is how you enter the first complex (there are 3 main complexes, all connected by underground tunnels and passageways). The church pictured is by far the largest of all 12 in Lalibela, and the largest monolithic church anywhere in the world. Look at it! All carved direct down into the stone sometime between the 11th-13th centuries by King Lalibela (thus the town's name). You can see that honking lip of stone to the right, between the two main courtyards. Locals say it took 25 years to carve them all with the help of angels. Archeologists say 125 years, with up to 40,000 people. Ai ai ai.

The stone is a very pretty pinkish red, contrasted best by all of the priests and locals walking around draped in the typical Ethiopian white gabi.

One of the many carved passageways - madness!

There we are looking so cute in front of another of the churches, Bet Maryam (dedicated to Mary): the most popular with worshipers. These massive metal pillars are used to support new roofs built by UNESCO to protect the churches from erosion. Ethiopia gets 3 straight months of heavy rains, and the ceilings are starting to show it!

The inside of Medhane Alem church (again - all carved into the mountain! c'mon!). Priests in the middle chanting - gorgeously surreal. The whole thing is more transportive than most anything I've ever done.

Mary's church again - priests are ALSO chanting outside as well. To become an Orthodox priest, you have to memorise loads of holy books of the Bible, and the way they do it is through sing-chanting en masse.

Me in one of the caverns between 2 churches. Gorge - in both senses of the word.

Bet Giorgis is the only church that hasn't been covered by UNESCO roofs because it's drainage system is quite good - you can see the gutters on the roof! So it makes for perhaps the most impressive of all the clusters. It's incredibly precise, and seriously too beautiful to creep up on as you walk through the town.

There we are again on the lip of Giorgis - the guide we had was super rad, and also a stellar photographer! :)

Man reading the Bible in the door to some of the monk's homes.

The yellow gabi is for a monk or hermit in training. He's also carrying what looks like a thermos of tej, the local honey beer.

This church they think was originally carved as King Lalibela's palace. Check out how deep it is!

I loved this one - only partially monolithic as the mountain was still attached to the roof, but it was carved all around, and of course inside. But it was so pink! Like a Sadie or Stella church :)

This last picture is from a cliff 3 hours' hike from Lalibela where we visited the very first carved church, Ashete Maryam (I instagrammed it!). These priests live in these homes carved direct into the rock behind them to the left - you can see steps entering in. Mind you it's about 3000m+ too! It's just such an amazing place. None of these pictures can capture it fully!