On Wednesday we left the hotel around 8:30 and headed to the Lewi Cafe for breakfast. Dereje had injera with a tomato sauce, since Wednesday is a fasting day (so no meat allowed), T had a ham and cheese sandwich and I ordered a Spanish omelet; I had to wait a little longer for my dish, but it proved to be worth it in the end.
After breakfast, we checked out a relatively new and somewhat well-known orthodox cathedral in town, and then stopped by Lake Awasa where a few people were fishing offshore, out past the reeds. Before leaving Awasa, we stopped at a street stall selling leather goods where Dereje bought a new belt and T bought a new wallet and a coin pouch.
The drive back to Addis from Awasa is about 4 hours, so we stopped a few places on the way. The first stop was a resort that was sadly closed down earlier this year. The original owner grew up poor but became a successful hotel owner, running numerous places in the Rift Valley. Apparently he left the hotels to his children who ran them into the ground, and the hotel we stopped at was being auctioned off later that week for $9 million. Outside the hotel grounds, which takes up lakeside space with various cottages and a beach, complete with volleyball net, there were families that had make a living from the guests who would spend the day at the lake and then stay at cheaper accommodation nearby. Now that the hotel is closed and no customers will be coming, the place looked slightly deserted. One restaurant we passed was especially heart-breaking, with a sign out front that said Pizzaria, and a massive wood-burning pizza oven outdoors near some tables.
Dereje suggested we check out Sabana next, another resort hotel, but a new one that was looking prosperous already. During a walk through the grounds, we discovered an enclosed area with two giant tortoises and a baby, one which was kind enough to walk around very slowly for us. As we continued our walk, I noticed that even though it was the off-season, there were a dozen people staying there, some enjoying the lakeside beachfront. There was a park near the beach with a ping-pong table, which Dereje and I played on, and then we climbed the trees and posed for some pictures which T kindly took. After that, we headed up to the posh restaurant on the grounds that served excellent dishes, like the ricotta cheese & spinach stuffed pasta shells I had.
We left Sabana and drove another two hours before stopping in Debra Zeit at the Dreamland hotel for a drink in their outdoor cafe overlooking a huge caldera lake, formed long ago by volcanic activity. It was a fun way to end the day before getting back to Addis...just in time for dinner.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Beshu Hotel
You know in the movies where a white man, like Michael Caine, confronts some ancient tribe and is put on a throne and made king? We took the students out to dinner again last night and they sat us at the head of the table and went on and on about how wonderful it was of us to treat them to dinner -- even though it amounted to only about $1 per person. We did all eat like kings though, with platters of kitfo, tibbs and a variety of other wat stews, plus a few cases of beer and soft drinks. After dinner, we had a coffee ceremony performed by a young lady from Tigray, Her hair was pulled back, but she had a gold ring hanging at her hairline from a center braid.
It was the end to a great day. The second water supply facility we visited was completely gravity-operated so that the intake was directly from a rushing river, from which the pressure pushed the water through the treatment facility and then out to customers. That means the location of the facility was upriver near the mountains, located beyond lush coffee groves. On the way, we drove past people drying coffee berries, so Dereje stopped the car and a woman gave us a handful of them. T peeled on open and, indeed, there was a pale, raw coffee bean inside. This area of Ethiopia is known for the best coffee available (think Starbucks Sidamo), so I couldn't help but to imagine those berries being dried, processed, roasted and eventually shipped to cafes around the world.
It was the end to a great day. The second water supply facility we visited was completely gravity-operated so that the intake was directly from a rushing river, from which the pressure pushed the water through the treatment facility and then out to customers. That means the location of the facility was upriver near the mountains, located beyond lush coffee groves. On the way, we drove past people drying coffee berries, so Dereje stopped the car and a woman gave us a handful of them. T peeled on open and, indeed, there was a pale, raw coffee bean inside. This area of Ethiopia is known for the best coffee available (think Starbucks Sidamo), so I couldn't help but to imagine those berries being dried, processed, roasted and eventually shipped to cafes around the world.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Field Trip: Day Two - Shashemene
We left Meseret Hotel at 7:30 to get breakfast at Azeb Restaurant (or, in Oromian, spelled Reestooranti). After some scrambled eggs and a macchiato, we headed down to Shashemene to see the treatment facility there. I'd been interested to visit Shashemene since reading about it in my guidebook, which says that in 1948 Ethiopian Emperor, Haile Selassie, granted land here to settlers from Jamaica, notably to members of the Rastafari movement, who eventually came in the 1960s. (A quick background breakdown: before becoming Emperor, Haile Selassie's given name was Tafari, or Prince Tafari. In Amharic, Ras means Prince. Hence, Ras Tafari. See the connection?) Apparently, the community has only about 200 settlers now, so unfortunately we didn't notice anything even remotely related to this when we passed through town on the way to our field visits. When I asked Dereje, a devout Orthodox Christian, about the Rasta belief that Haile Selassie was "the second coming", he simply said, "He was a man and a politician."
However, we were amazed by the scenery driving up to the river and intake facility. Driving down a path lined with towering trees on both sides, it seemed like an approach to a Buddhist temple in Japan. The serenity of the area was overwhelming. When we stopped and got out of the car, a group of children approached us. However, unlike in the city, where kids will often beg for money, these kids wanted to say hello and have us to take their picture. I snapped a few shots and they excitedly looked at the results and laughed and cheered, posing for more pictures as we headed to the riverside.
After the instructors gave a brief lecture, we left that site and headed to the treatment facility 1.5 km away, to where the water is taken by gravitational force alone. There is it pumped through the sediment tanks and aerator, and through chemical treatment before supplied to the town.
I took a bit extra time exploring the chemical treatment facility, videotaping the upper floor of the facility, so I was the last one back downstairs. When I went to exit, however, I found that the door had been locked from the outside! Feeling like a kid stuffed in a locker at school, I called T on his cellphone and a guard rushed over to open the door, apologizing for the mistake. Maybe now I can say that I got locked up in the Shashemene monkey house if I ever need to prove my street cred!
However, we were amazed by the scenery driving up to the river and intake facility. Driving down a path lined with towering trees on both sides, it seemed like an approach to a Buddhist temple in Japan. The serenity of the area was overwhelming. When we stopped and got out of the car, a group of children approached us. However, unlike in the city, where kids will often beg for money, these kids wanted to say hello and have us to take their picture. I snapped a few shots and they excitedly looked at the results and laughed and cheered, posing for more pictures as we headed to the riverside.
After the instructors gave a brief lecture, we left that site and headed to the treatment facility 1.5 km away, to where the water is taken by gravitational force alone. There is it pumped through the sediment tanks and aerator, and through chemical treatment before supplied to the town.
I took a bit extra time exploring the chemical treatment facility, videotaping the upper floor of the facility, so I was the last one back downstairs. When I went to exit, however, I found that the door had been locked from the outside! Feeling like a kid stuffed in a locker at school, I called T on his cellphone and a guard rushed over to open the door, apologizing for the mistake. Maybe now I can say that I got locked up in the Shashemene monkey house if I ever need to prove my street cred!
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Under the Hood
Our hotel in Awasa, Gebrekristos Hotel, is a bit more expensive than
the hotel in Ziway, but that still means it's only $10. When we walked
in, T commented that it was a good sign that there were a couple
cleaning people at work. The people at the front desk were friendly and
professional, and we liked the rooms too. We decided to rest for a
couple hours before dinner, so I got my things from the car and took a
short nap.
When I awoke, I "used the facilities", but when I went to flush the
toilet (nope, no frog this time), I noticed there was no handle. The top
was already removed from the water tank, and I saw there was a sort of
pole sticking up, and also the floating device that measures the water
level. I tried pulling up the floating device, but instead of triggering
the flush, the thing came off in my hand and water started spraying out.
I quickly twisted it back on, but there was a steady leak. (Then I tried
the pole, and that worked).
Slightly embarrassed, I called Dereje, who had no better luck, so he
called down to the front desk. A few minutes later an attendant wearing
a tie and a technician in overalls came up. The technician had a
hacksaw, a file and a screwdriver, but he set these things down and
never had to use them. In about 90 seconds, he reattached the floating
head to the metal rod, put the plastic fastener back together with a
washer, pulled some twine out of his pocket, and tightened everything
back on. Good as...well, not new, but good enough. "Great!" I exclaimed,
glad they didn't ask who pulled the thing off to begin with.
the hotel in Ziway, but that still means it's only $10. When we walked
in, T commented that it was a good sign that there were a couple
cleaning people at work. The people at the front desk were friendly and
professional, and we liked the rooms too. We decided to rest for a
couple hours before dinner, so I got my things from the car and took a
short nap.
When I awoke, I "used the facilities", but when I went to flush the
toilet (nope, no frog this time), I noticed there was no handle. The top
was already removed from the water tank, and I saw there was a sort of
pole sticking up, and also the floating device that measures the water
level. I tried pulling up the floating device, but instead of triggering
the flush, the thing came off in my hand and water started spraying out.
I quickly twisted it back on, but there was a steady leak. (Then I tried
the pole, and that worked).
Slightly embarrassed, I called Dereje, who had no better luck, so he
called down to the front desk. A few minutes later an attendant wearing
a tie and a technician in overalls came up. The technician had a
hacksaw, a file and a screwdriver, but he set these things down and
never had to use them. In about 90 seconds, he reattached the floating
head to the metal rod, put the plastic fastener back together with a
washer, pulled some twine out of his pocket, and tightened everything
back on. Good as...well, not new, but good enough. "Great!" I exclaimed,
glad they didn't ask who pulled the thing off to begin with.
Life Story
When people name their kids in America, they often chose a name because they like the sound of it, or use the name of a relative. In Japan, they do the same, but they also take the kanji character(s) that will be used into serious consideration, wanting to convey a positive message, and sometimes a certain number of brush strokes.
In Ethiopia, some people name their children after people in the Bible, such as Dewit (David) and Yared (a 6th century musician and, later, saint), but many of the names have meanings related to what the parents are experiencing/feeling at the time. This differs to the American and Japanese examples, because there seems to be more emphasis on the parents. For example, Dereje said his name means prosperity, so maybe his parents felt things were going well for them at that point. His oldest brother's name is light (a form of the verb to shine), since they must've felt he was a gift from Heaven. Then the next child was a girl, and maybe feeling the same way, they just went ahead and named her Heaven, followed by Dereje/Prosperity. In the 70s, they had a girl they named "to replace" the old with the new. This was in reference to the Socialist government that had just come into power and replaced all the old officials (and, apparently, their hope of prosperity). The next child, a son, was named Sintayehu, meaning I have seen so much. The youngest two brothers are named Dewit and Yared, but he said his parents didn't chose these names. After the children were born, the neighbors began calling them by these names, and his parents simply agreed!
For Dereje's own daughters, his first one's name means in thanks to God, because he said he had gone through some troublesome times before that, and felt deep gratitude to God to deliver him to that happy point in his life. His second daughter's name, Eden, which is in reference to the biblical place and which Dereje considers to mean heaven, was actually suggested to him by his brother (possibly an ode to his sister Heaven, who died tragically young). Considering that Ethiopian families are quite large, it's interesting to imagine the reason they choose certain names; it's as if children are literally their life story.
In Ethiopia, some people name their children after people in the Bible, such as Dewit (David) and Yared (a 6th century musician and, later, saint), but many of the names have meanings related to what the parents are experiencing/feeling at the time. This differs to the American and Japanese examples, because there seems to be more emphasis on the parents. For example, Dereje said his name means prosperity, so maybe his parents felt things were going well for them at that point. His oldest brother's name is light (a form of the verb to shine), since they must've felt he was a gift from Heaven. Then the next child was a girl, and maybe feeling the same way, they just went ahead and named her Heaven, followed by Dereje/Prosperity. In the 70s, they had a girl they named "to replace" the old with the new. This was in reference to the Socialist government that had just come into power and replaced all the old officials (and, apparently, their hope of prosperity). The next child, a son, was named Sintayehu, meaning I have seen so much. The youngest two brothers are named Dewit and Yared, but he said his parents didn't chose these names. After the children were born, the neighbors began calling them by these names, and his parents simply agreed!
For Dereje's own daughters, his first one's name means in thanks to God, because he said he had gone through some troublesome times before that, and felt deep gratitude to God to deliver him to that happy point in his life. His second daughter's name, Eden, which is in reference to the biblical place and which Dereje considers to mean heaven, was actually suggested to him by his brother (possibly an ode to his sister Heaven, who died tragically young). Considering that Ethiopian families are quite large, it's interesting to imagine the reason they choose certain names; it's as if children are literally their life story.
Critters
Before we left Addis, T said he wanted to buy some insect repellent to spray in the hotel rooms in the countryside. That's partially my fault because I told him that when J and I went to Awasa last time, she was bitten up on her arms. We managed to find some spray, threw it in the back of the car and headed off.
When we arrived at the hotel, before going out for dinner, we took turns spraying our rooms. I sprayed in the bathroom, in the corners and under the bed, since I still remembered the "roach motel" in Gondar last year. Then I gave the spray to T and he did the same.
Later, when we got back from dinner, I walked into my room to find it reeked of insect repellent. I opened the window and used the curtains to get some air circulating. After a while, the room seemed a bit better, and with the mosquito net, I think I was fine.
The next morning, T said he had sprayed too much as well, and he ended up sleeping with a wet cloth over his mouth! He said he didn't want to open the window since mosquitoes and flies would come in. Then, remembering I had told him about my surprise visitor, he added, "not to mention the frog that jumped in through your window."
Luckily, the hotel we found in Awasa seems to be very clean and critter-free.
When we arrived at the hotel, before going out for dinner, we took turns spraying our rooms. I sprayed in the bathroom, in the corners and under the bed, since I still remembered the "roach motel" in Gondar last year. Then I gave the spray to T and he did the same.
Later, when we got back from dinner, I walked into my room to find it reeked of insect repellent. I opened the window and used the curtains to get some air circulating. After a while, the room seemed a bit better, and with the mosquito net, I think I was fine.
The next morning, T said he had sprayed too much as well, and he ended up sleeping with a wet cloth over his mouth! He said he didn't want to open the window since mosquitoes and flies would come in. Then, remembering I had told him about my surprise visitor, he added, "not to mention the frog that jumped in through your window."
Luckily, the hotel we found in Awasa seems to be very clean and critter-free.
Stocking Feet
At 6am, I crawl out from under the mosquito net and wander to the
bathroom in my stocking feet. I flip on the light, and heed the call of
nature. A moment later, I lean in to pull the silver handle, when I
notice, in the corner, near the shower, there is some sort of rock on
the floor. I lean in further and squint my eyes, when the "rock"
suddenly moves. It's legs struggle to push it forward, but it doesn't
get very far. Resisting a near heart attack, I let out a yelp and reel
back slightly. It sloppily jumps again and I scoot out quickly and put
on my shoes. Then, with a little more courage, I go back in and confirm,
yes, there's a small, spotted amphibian in my bathroom, commonly known
as a frog. I stomp my foot and he jumps again. Later, he poses for a few
photos, stars in a home video, and then returns to his "dressing room"
behind the waste basket.
bathroom in my stocking feet. I flip on the light, and heed the call of
nature. A moment later, I lean in to pull the silver handle, when I
notice, in the corner, near the shower, there is some sort of rock on
the floor. I lean in further and squint my eyes, when the "rock"
suddenly moves. It's legs struggle to push it forward, but it doesn't
get very far. Resisting a near heart attack, I let out a yelp and reel
back slightly. It sloppily jumps again and I scoot out quickly and put
on my shoes. Then, with a little more courage, I go back in and confirm,
yes, there's a small, spotted amphibian in my bathroom, commonly known
as a frog. I stomp my foot and he jumps again. Later, he poses for a few
photos, stars in a home video, and then returns to his "dressing room"
behind the waste basket.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Field Trip: Day One
This morning, my colleague T and I left Addis Ababa to join a group of students on their field trip to Southern Ethiopia. Dereje picked us up at the hotel and we had breakfast together at Mac Addis (french toast!) before leaving for Nazaret, about 120km east of the capital. Our first stop was the Nazaret Water Treatment Facility (previously here), where we received a thorough tour, starting at the pump station at the Awash River, looking at the sediment tanks where they mix in aluminum-sulfate, and then the aerator tank before seeing the control room and testing lab.
Before continuing on to the next location, Dereje took us to a restaurant for lunch. There must have been some dignitary visiting town, because there were military police stationed everywhere; there were even some MPs in the restaurant we went to having lunch and some beers. We grabbed a table and ordered kitfo, which is minced beef with butter, berbere spice and thyme, with injera and bread. After lunch and a macchiato, we piled back in the car and headed south toward Ziway. Despite the after-lunch caffeine, I quickly dozed off in the car for about an hour. When I awoke, we were already near our destination.
We drove through the town, along Lake Ziway, past a large, new hospital, a school, and a few acres of greenhouses which looked like they were growing flowers for export. We arrived at the water treatment facility for the tour. Ziway is at a much lower elevation than Addis Ababa, so they use surface pumps to pump water directly from the lake. It is pumped over to a huge, elevated aerator pool where the water springs up at the highest point, and then flows down a series of "steps", almost looking like a fountain.
After that, we looked for a hotel, finally settling on the third place we visited. The rooms are simple with a bed, desk and private bathroom with hot water showers, but a real steal at only 45 birr per night--less than $3! After checking in, we met the students again at a nearby restaurant and ordered kitfo, and tibbs (marinated cubes of beef) for the group. We pushed all the tables together so all 27 of us could sit together. When the drinks arrived, I stood up and made a toast, teaching them the word kampai ("cheers" in Japanese). At the end of the meal, a student representative stood up and gave a speech to thank us. The bill only came to about $1 per plate, including drinks, and everyone said they were stuffed, myself included.
At that, we called it a night. Tomorrow we have an early start to Shashemene and Awasa, another 150km south of here.
Before continuing on to the next location, Dereje took us to a restaurant for lunch. There must have been some dignitary visiting town, because there were military police stationed everywhere; there were even some MPs in the restaurant we went to having lunch and some beers. We grabbed a table and ordered kitfo, which is minced beef with butter, berbere spice and thyme, with injera and bread. After lunch and a macchiato, we piled back in the car and headed south toward Ziway. Despite the after-lunch caffeine, I quickly dozed off in the car for about an hour. When I awoke, we were already near our destination.
We drove through the town, along Lake Ziway, past a large, new hospital, a school, and a few acres of greenhouses which looked like they were growing flowers for export. We arrived at the water treatment facility for the tour. Ziway is at a much lower elevation than Addis Ababa, so they use surface pumps to pump water directly from the lake. It is pumped over to a huge, elevated aerator pool where the water springs up at the highest point, and then flows down a series of "steps", almost looking like a fountain.
After that, we looked for a hotel, finally settling on the third place we visited. The rooms are simple with a bed, desk and private bathroom with hot water showers, but a real steal at only 45 birr per night--less than $3! After checking in, we met the students again at a nearby restaurant and ordered kitfo, and tibbs (marinated cubes of beef) for the group. We pushed all the tables together so all 27 of us could sit together. When the drinks arrived, I stood up and made a toast, teaching them the word kampai ("cheers" in Japanese). At the end of the meal, a student representative stood up and gave a speech to thank us. The bill only came to about $1 per plate, including drinks, and everyone said they were stuffed, myself included.
At that, we called it a night. Tomorrow we have an early start to Shashemene and Awasa, another 150km south of here.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Mac Addis
A restaurant recently opened on the first floor of my guest house.
They serve a few pasta dishes, burgers, a steak sandwich, and a variety
of pizzas, so from the name I thought it was trying to brand itself as
an Ethiopian fast-food joint. The food is simple, but once I went inside
I realized the atmosphere is surprisingly classy, added to by the
newness of its interior. Someone obviously put a lot of thought into the
design and color scheme. There are comfortable booths along the front
wall with table cloths and small vases of flowers. There is also a low
"second level" after climbing a small set of stairs. Up there they put a
corner sofa area and some small, round tables for two. Against the far
wall is a big, classic looking coffee/espresso maker. Saturday, my
colleague T and I were killing time over a few cups of coffee, and they
even brought out some complimentary popcorn for us. I'm lovin' it.
They serve a few pasta dishes, burgers, a steak sandwich, and a variety
of pizzas, so from the name I thought it was trying to brand itself as
an Ethiopian fast-food joint. The food is simple, but once I went inside
I realized the atmosphere is surprisingly classy, added to by the
newness of its interior. Someone obviously put a lot of thought into the
design and color scheme. There are comfortable booths along the front
wall with table cloths and small vases of flowers. There is also a low
"second level" after climbing a small set of stairs. Up there they put a
corner sofa area and some small, round tables for two. Against the far
wall is a big, classic looking coffee/espresso maker. Saturday, my
colleague T and I were killing time over a few cups of coffee, and they
even brought out some complimentary popcorn for us. I'm lovin' it.
New Year's Coffee Ceremony
A coffee ceremony was held for the guests at the hotel where I'm staying. Ethiopian coffee is always served with popcorn, and they also served some toffee candies. In addition, there was a round bread that originated in Tigray called ambasha; one of the front desk attendants is a young Tigrinyan woman, and her aunt made it. The head of the household is usually in charge of cutting the ambasha, I was told, but the hotel owners are currently in the US. The hotel owner's brother is planning to move back to Ethiopia after living in the States for the past 30 years, so they went to help him move. Apparently, the uncle had bought a car in Washington D.C. that he plans to take back to Ethiopia, but first they drove it from D.C. to Minnesota, then on to California, and finally to Georgia--sounds like quite a trip! Anyway, Yared is taking care of the hotel while they're away. He cut and served the ambasha bread, handed around the popcorn and toffee, which we snacked on as we waited for the first cup of coffee to be served. Yared told me he had also been to America in 2008; he lived there for 18 months on the CIP Chicago program studying computer science. While we drank our coffees, I talked to him about the program and how he did a homestay near the United Center with a CIP alumnus from Brazil. It was a lot of fun.
New Year's Jazz
After New Year's dinner, I joined my coworker M to Bole Rock, a local jazz club on the east side of town. The saxophone player from last Wednesday's show is the headman for this group. We sat in the front near the stage, where I got an excellent view. It was great to watch these guys jam and improvise, and on a few songs include the Ethiopian five-note scales as well. Strange that I grew up in a city so well renown for jazz, but have finally gained an appreciation for the vitality of live jazz here in Addis Ababa.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
East Dragon
For New Year's Eve, I joined nine of my colleagues for dinner at the East Dragon Chinese restaurant near Bole Medhane Alem Cathedral. It's the seventh Chinese restaurant I've been to in Addis. Taste-wise, it probably ranks number three on my list. We sat in a private room located down a narrow hallway. After taking our seats and perusing the menu, we ordered spicy mapodofu, peppered pork, boiled dumplings, fried rice, and a few other dishes. Gradually, the Ethiopian waitresses placed the dishes on the large, glass lazy susan in the center of our table. After about 30 minutes, we realized the dumplings hadn't arrived, so I walked further down the narrow hallway, took a left and found myself at the kitchen. Four Chinese guys were busy cooking, but no dumplings in sight. I flagged down a waitress and reminded her of our order. Ten minutes later, a plate of about 40 dumplings arrived with one small bowl of dipping sauce. We slowly turned the food-merry-go-round (four times?) so each person could grab a dumpling, dip it and eat it--like some sort of dis-assembly line.
What'll It Be?
It was pouring rain and everyone had retreated indoors. From my balcony I could see the entire street was empty except for a herd of sheep. Most of them stood still, seeming to ignore the rain pelting their coats. A few of them wandered off a couple yards before cars drove by and they flocked back to safety.
When the rain stopped, I decided to run to a nearby bakery to get a doughnut (yes, I found a place that sells chocolate covered doughnuts!). To get there I walked through a nearby street market. There were dozens and dozens of chickens, some in cages, squawking around momentarily before being bought up to make batches of doro wat, said to be the "national dish" of Ethiopia (see recipe here). A few chickens were looking at the world upside-down as people carried them home by their feet.
I turned a corner and passed a man selling skinning knives that looked hand-made. A car was rolling down the street in my direction, and as it passed me I saw on the luggage rack was a huge sheep tied down on its side raising its head up to look around. I reached the road where the bakery is located. A few people were selling sheep skins on the side of the road nearby. I entered the bakery thinking doughnuts never looked so good!
When the rain stopped, I decided to run to a nearby bakery to get a doughnut (yes, I found a place that sells chocolate covered doughnuts!). To get there I walked through a nearby street market. There were dozens and dozens of chickens, some in cages, squawking around momentarily before being bought up to make batches of doro wat, said to be the "national dish" of Ethiopia (see recipe here). A few chickens were looking at the world upside-down as people carried them home by their feet.
I turned a corner and passed a man selling skinning knives that looked hand-made. A car was rolling down the street in my direction, and as it passed me I saw on the luggage rack was a huge sheep tied down on its side raising its head up to look around. I reached the road where the bakery is located. A few people were selling sheep skins on the side of the road nearby. I entered the bakery thinking doughnuts never looked so good!
Friday, September 10, 2010
Antica for four
Last night I went to the Italian restaurant Antica with 3 of my coworkers. We had a green salad and grilled aubergine as appetizers, followed by carbonara spaghetti, spinach and tomato lasagna and a pizza from their brick oven. As usual, the food there was superb, not to mention the red Pinotage from South Africa. I like Antica for its ambiance as well as the food since each dining room is decorated with colorful Ethiopian paintings. After dinner we decided that since the following day was a holiday, we'd get dessert and espresso. Two of us ordered the tiramisu, and the other two decided to split the chocolate mousse. It turned out that they only had one tiramisu left, so we all ended up sharing both desserts. The tiramisu turned out to be somewhat of a let-down, tasting too acidic to anyone's liking. The mousse was a rich chocolate with a slightly frosting-like texture and a hint of pistachio added. Probably too rich for one person to finish, but it was reasonable between four spoons and balanced well with the espresso.
Ethiopian Sparklers
The stove here is hooked up to a propane tank, so without a pilot
light, the hotel provides matches to light the burners. Luckily one of
my coworkers lent me a lighter because the Ethiopian matches seem much
more effective as sparklers than matches. You have to keep your eye
trained on the match head as you strike it. The flame fizzles out so
quickly, sometimes it's not possible to get it to the burner in time.
light, the hotel provides matches to light the burners. Luckily one of
my coworkers lent me a lighter because the Ethiopian matches seem much
more effective as sparklers than matches. You have to keep your eye
trained on the match head as you strike it. The flame fizzles out so
quickly, sometimes it's not possible to get it to the burner in time.
Eid Mubarak and Melkam Addis Amet
The Islamic holy month of Ramadan comes to a close today. It is the most important holiday of the year for Muslims, called Eid ul Fitr. Around 7 am, I heard chanting outside my window. Looking out, I saw a group of about 50 people. The men were wearing matching tee-shirts and the women wearing chador. They were doing a morning Eid prayer, chanting "God is Great" seven times. Also, this year, due the Islamic and Ethiopian calendars, Friday is both Eid ul Fitr (for Muslims) and the Ethiopian New Year's Eve (for Christians).
The calendar year in Ethiopia is behind the Gregorian calendar due to an eight-year difference in calculations for the birth of Christ. Europeans adopted calculations made by Dionysius in 525 AD, whereas Ethiopians stuck with the date given by Annianus of Alexandria over a hundred years earlier.
The other day I was speaking to one of the attendants at the hotel and he said excitedly, "I can't believe it is almost New Year's," and then, with a huge grin on his face, "It's going to be 2003!!" When he said the year, he dragged out the words, savoring each syllable, "Two, thou, sand and"...then rolling the "R", "thr-r-r-ree!!! Wow!"
The calendar year in Ethiopia is behind the Gregorian calendar due to an eight-year difference in calculations for the birth of Christ. Europeans adopted calculations made by Dionysius in 525 AD, whereas Ethiopians stuck with the date given by Annianus of Alexandria over a hundred years earlier.
The other day I was speaking to one of the attendants at the hotel and he said excitedly, "I can't believe it is almost New Year's," and then, with a huge grin on his face, "It's going to be 2003!!" When he said the year, he dragged out the words, savoring each syllable, "Two, thou, sand and"...then rolling the "R", "thr-r-r-ree!!! Wow!"
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Homecoming
Dereje's brother left Ethiopia for America when he was 19. Now, at 29
years old, he is a physician in Oakland, California. Although he's sent
money to his family back in Ethiopia, he'd never been back to visit.
Until last week. He arrived on Monday and is staying with Dereje for 2
months. Dereje said that his brother has been in America so long that he
completely forgot Ethiopian culture, and "when he gets emotional" he
tends to speak in a mix of Amharic and English. I asked Dereje if it was
cramped having his brother stay at his place for 2 months. "No, it's
okay. He sleeps with my other brother."
years old, he is a physician in Oakland, California. Although he's sent
money to his family back in Ethiopia, he'd never been back to visit.
Until last week. He arrived on Monday and is staying with Dereje for 2
months. Dereje said that his brother has been in America so long that he
completely forgot Ethiopian culture, and "when he gets emotional" he
tends to speak in a mix of Amharic and English. I asked Dereje if it was
cramped having his brother stay at his place for 2 months. "No, it's
okay. He sleeps with my other brother."
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Mix and Match
Sometimes a mix of things you wouldn't think go together turns out to hit the right note. The evening started at a Korean restaurant, Rainbow, where I tried the spicy fried white-fish, juk rice porridge, along with pan-cooked bulgogi. After we finished off the dishes and a few beers, my colleague M and I headed to a concert at Alliance éthio-française d'Addis Abeba of freestyle jazz and traditional Ethiopian rhythms.
The place probably held about 100 people, and it was packed when we arrived, but we found a place to stand until a couple of seats opened up. The band leader was a keyboard player who roared on his Roland, flanked by a bass player throwing down thick beats, a drummer, a percussionist, and then the horn section featuring a baritone sax, trumpet and trombone. They were joined by traditional musicians playing a masenqo (single-stringed instrument played with a curved bow) and a washint flute, as well as two Amharic vocalists who took turns wowing the crowd. M was busy taking pictures of the group, as he's friends with a few of them, and I soaked up the music along with the francophile crowd. At the end of their hour-long set, we rallied for an encore, which the band was kind enough to oblige.
After the band called it a wrap, the house lights came on. I took a few minutes to look around the hall, which I realized at that point doubled as an art gallery, showing an exhibit by an Ethiopian artist, Alemayeh Regrassa, titled l'enfant. It was getting late though, so soon enough M and I grabbed a taxi outside and headed back to Bole talking about jazz-fests and fusion.
The place probably held about 100 people, and it was packed when we arrived, but we found a place to stand until a couple of seats opened up. The band leader was a keyboard player who roared on his Roland, flanked by a bass player throwing down thick beats, a drummer, a percussionist, and then the horn section featuring a baritone sax, trumpet and trombone. They were joined by traditional musicians playing a masenqo (single-stringed instrument played with a curved bow) and a washint flute, as well as two Amharic vocalists who took turns wowing the crowd. M was busy taking pictures of the group, as he's friends with a few of them, and I soaked up the music along with the francophile crowd. At the end of their hour-long set, we rallied for an encore, which the band was kind enough to oblige.
After the band called it a wrap, the house lights came on. I took a few minutes to look around the hall, which I realized at that point doubled as an art gallery, showing an exhibit by an Ethiopian artist, Alemayeh Regrassa, titled l'enfant. It was getting late though, so soon enough M and I grabbed a taxi outside and headed back to Bole talking about jazz-fests and fusion.
Sir, Name?
The secretary of the head office came into my office with a pen and notepad and said, "Please tell me your father's name." At first I thought she must be doing some sort of sociological study, and figured it wouldn't do any harm, per se, to tell her my father's name, but asked, "Uh, why?" She explained that she was making some sort of list. The gears and cogs in my head were turning when it suddenly became clear; what we would call their "family name" in Ethiopia is their father's given name. In other words, it's as if Pretty Woman starred "Julia Robert". Sometimes a little cultural background goes a long way. So I made the mental leap and wrote down my surname, which, I suppose, is my father's name anyway.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Crash Dummies
From the Road Transport Authority in Ethiopia, they have an interesting choice of words to describe one of their training courses:
"This course is designed as introductory crash course..."
Woot! Sign me up for parking lot donuts 101!
"This course is designed as introductory crash course..."
Woot! Sign me up for parking lot donuts 101!
Monday, September 6, 2010
(longish) Hair
My hair had been getting a bit long so I decided to get a haircut on Saturday. Naturally, I was slightly worried what kind of haircut I would get in Africa. My hair could hardly be different than that of your average Ethiopian. Apples and oranges if there ever were. To find a place in Addis, I asked two people who both recommended the Boston Day Spa, so I decided I'd give it a try.
Saturday afternoon I went over to the salon and made an appointment for one hour later, then headed to the cafe upstairs, Limetree, to have lunch. I had a chicken, avocado sandwich on brown bread, paid the bill, went to the restroom to wash my hands and take a last look at my hair, then headed down to the salon.
My stylist introduced himself, "Hello, how are you? My name is Addis." (Wow, a haircut in Addis, by Addis!) He wore a shirt and tie, spoke fluent English and was very personable and friendly. I told him I wanted the sides and back short, and the top trimmed so I could spike it up a little--the so-called soft mohican popularized by footballers like David Beckham, (back in the day before he was "old"). I sipped some hot tea brought by an attendant, then Addis put the salon apron on me and got to work.
We got to talking about various Ethiopian holidays and some historical places in the country. I told him the salon seemed very nice and he replied, "Yes, and honestly, I must say, the people here are very professional and talented," then he said, "Except for me," and gave me a laugh. I laughed along nervously and said, "Oh, I'm...sure that's...um, not true." Then we got to talking about family and Addis said he had two boys, one 3 and the other 6 months. He was having such a good time talking about his family though, that I was sort of wishing he'd concentrate on my hair a bit more. I noticed he'd cut the top pretty short, but not to the point of disaster. I told him that length was enough, and he continued to even and blend everything out. He had sprayed my hair with water before and it was still wet so I couldn't really tell how the final cut was, but it seemed alright. I finished my tea and he said cheerily that he would take me to get a shampoo, as well as a scalp massage, "It's all included, okay?"
In Japan, they also give scalp massages. The Japanese scalp massage involves a lot of head tapping, skull squeezing, nape thumping and shoulder lifting; it's pretty vigorous, but does succeed in relieving stress. At Boston Spa, after the shampoo girl sort of apologized that the water was cold ("only cold, okay?"), she gave me a shampoo and rinse, and then put on (what I assume was) conditioner and began a very slow and non-deliberate massage, mainly of my hairline...and forehead. I was wondering if she was purposefully conditioning my forehead, or if it looked like I held my stress in my eyebrows. She wasn't poking me in the eye or anything though, and had to move to the temples, so I decided to just try and relax and hope for the best. After what seemed like a very long and awkward 3 or 4 minutes, the cold water came splashing against my head again, her finger in my ear, her thumb washing off my eyebrows. A quick towel dry and I wasn't any worse for the wear; my shirt seemed dry, my hair and forehead clean. Then Addis came back (I was pretty happy to see him at that point) and said he'd have to style me there since his chair was taken by another stylist. Afterward, he gave me a mirror and took me to some sort of dressing room with a wall mirror so I could see the back. Relieved, everything looked okay. Not David Beckham, mind you, but not Paul Reubens either.
Saturday afternoon I went over to the salon and made an appointment for one hour later, then headed to the cafe upstairs, Limetree, to have lunch. I had a chicken, avocado sandwich on brown bread, paid the bill, went to the restroom to wash my hands and take a last look at my hair, then headed down to the salon.
My stylist introduced himself, "Hello, how are you? My name is Addis." (Wow, a haircut in Addis, by Addis!) He wore a shirt and tie, spoke fluent English and was very personable and friendly. I told him I wanted the sides and back short, and the top trimmed so I could spike it up a little--the so-called soft mohican popularized by footballers like David Beckham, (back in the day before he was "old"). I sipped some hot tea brought by an attendant, then Addis put the salon apron on me and got to work.
We got to talking about various Ethiopian holidays and some historical places in the country. I told him the salon seemed very nice and he replied, "Yes, and honestly, I must say, the people here are very professional and talented," then he said, "Except for me," and gave me a laugh. I laughed along nervously and said, "Oh, I'm...sure that's...um, not true." Then we got to talking about family and Addis said he had two boys, one 3 and the other 6 months. He was having such a good time talking about his family though, that I was sort of wishing he'd concentrate on my hair a bit more. I noticed he'd cut the top pretty short, but not to the point of disaster. I told him that length was enough, and he continued to even and blend everything out. He had sprayed my hair with water before and it was still wet so I couldn't really tell how the final cut was, but it seemed alright. I finished my tea and he said cheerily that he would take me to get a shampoo, as well as a scalp massage, "It's all included, okay?"
In Japan, they also give scalp massages. The Japanese scalp massage involves a lot of head tapping, skull squeezing, nape thumping and shoulder lifting; it's pretty vigorous, but does succeed in relieving stress. At Boston Spa, after the shampoo girl sort of apologized that the water was cold ("only cold, okay?"), she gave me a shampoo and rinse, and then put on (what I assume was) conditioner and began a very slow and non-deliberate massage, mainly of my hairline...and forehead. I was wondering if she was purposefully conditioning my forehead, or if it looked like I held my stress in my eyebrows. She wasn't poking me in the eye or anything though, and had to move to the temples, so I decided to just try and relax and hope for the best. After what seemed like a very long and awkward 3 or 4 minutes, the cold water came splashing against my head again, her finger in my ear, her thumb washing off my eyebrows. A quick towel dry and I wasn't any worse for the wear; my shirt seemed dry, my hair and forehead clean. Then Addis came back (I was pretty happy to see him at that point) and said he'd have to style me there since his chair was taken by another stylist. Afterward, he gave me a mirror and took me to some sort of dressing room with a wall mirror so I could see the back. Relieved, everything looked okay. Not David Beckham, mind you, but not Paul Reubens either.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
React or Ignore (long)
For the most part on this blog I have avoided directly writing on the topic of poverty and charity (maybe one exception was here). One reason is that I feel that for 25 years, the perception of Ethiopia as completely destitute has hardly changed, and yet there has been prosperity that deserves recognition. I hesitate to reinforce a negative view of this struggling nation that has come a long way. Maybe that's why I've included a massive amount of pseudo-restaurant reviews, trying to highlight the comfort and development one experiences here. Ethiopians are all-too-aware of the perception of their country, and yet they accept that there is little they can say against it. I often hear the same person lament that conditions here are so dire, and yet they want people to know that they are modern people, living in a beautiful country with cities that are slowly-but-surely rising up to be rather cosmopolitan. As an example of this conflicted feeling, one of the hotel staff at the rather upscale Dreamliner hotel humbly joked that, "In the dictionary, under skinny, it says 'Ethiopian', right?"
Another reason I have avoided the topic is that I myself feel conflicted when discussing the topic. Foreign aid has been in the news quite a bit lately--the earthquake in Haiti or the floods in Pakistan will instantly come to most people's minds. The topic has also been covered on radio shows I listen to, such as This American Life (TAL) "Island Life" and To the Best of Our Knowledge (TTBOOK) "Ethics of Western Aid". My involvement in the water sector here is also part of foreign aid, although it is a technical cooperation project intended to benefit Ethiopians through training and support rather than cash. I am faced with the difficulties of this every day when someone invariably says, "We'd like to do that but we lack the budget." The word budget in developing countries has become synonymous with money from donor organizations. As the episode of This American Life (link above) points out, even when people donate billions, there are a magnitude of problems that prevent dollars from being the solution. Although the TAL episode seems pessimistic in many ways, it tries to get at the reality of the situation, quoting the head of the ARC, Nan Buzard, that "relief agencies have to walk a thin line between helping too little and helping too much". This statement resonates with me because I've witnessed the dependence on charity which aid has fostered (e.g. a request for new equipment since the stuff donated ten years ago is no longer suitable). This dependence can sometimes come off as an expectation that, in my weaker moments, makes me want to drag someone down to the river and teach a man to fish! But I never feel the answer is to turn our backs on people's needs, and hence I can see that "fine line" which Nan Buzard talks about quite clearly: we are destined to help too little or help too much as we try to keep driving forward. It is something I bumble through just walking in town here, as I reckon many "affluent" people here do.
To gain some perspective on the "right thing to do", the other radio program I linked to above, from the show TTBOOK, provides various approaches to foreign aid. It interviews Dambisa Moyo, a Harvard and Oxford graduate born in Zambia, who says in her book "Dead Aid" that free market solutions are the answer and, somewhat shockingly, we should end aid altogether. It also interviews philosopher Peter Singer who has written about our moral obligation to help when it does not cause us to sacrifice anything of "comparable moral importance", stressing that geographical distance does not excuse us from our ability to save a child. Finally, the show brings on Jacqueline Novogratz, author of "The Blue Sweater: Bridging the Gap Between Rich and Poor in an Interconnected World", who says charity must be combined with capitalism to really benefit people.
I tend to agree with Novograz's so-called third way of "patient capitalism". I also get the sense that the hundreds of Chinese doing business in Africa are a positive step toward development where a prospering but developing nation is helping other nations to develop. However, reading all the arguments and trying to intellectualize doesn't seem to matter when you are walking down a busy street in Sub-Saharan Africa. People of affluence, local or foreign, are forced to make a decision: react or ignore. That includes affluent Ethiopians, some of whom I see give money to beggars, others who don't. Americans also deal with beggars at home, of course, but this is not comparable to extreme poverty. My first encounter with extreme poverty was when I was young, about 19 years old, when I went to India to study abroad. For the first time I saw people who had been afflicted with leprosy or had been terribly disfigured doing hard labor. I saw the starving children hold out their hands as I raised my camera to take a picture of a tourist spot. For the first time I saw myself as a person of privilege in this world. At that time, initially I was scared, shocked and horrified. Sometimes I even felt angry, such as when I had to tell dozens of "salesmen" I didn't want to buy any souvenirs. I felt like a target or a mark for dishonest people.
In India, we were advised to do our best to negotiate prices, but expect to pay inflated prices. We were told to avoid giving handouts in the big cities because a) we would attract a crowd of beggars, and possibly pick-pockets, and b) we would not be able to be everyone's saviors. In some way, it excused us from having to make the choice, saying, "My professor said it was okay not to give." Later, when we moved to a smaller town, the director said he often gave a few coins to the women who sat every day outside the gates of our compound, and encouraged us to do our shopping at various shops to "spread the wealth" and not favor any single tailor, restaurant, etc., so one could say he saw value in being part of that community where he could help (not too little, not too much). He had been bringing students to that town in India for over 20 years, and so he was part of that community. And thanks to him, the students every year were also treated as part of the community, where people allowed us to be there to learn from them, not to save them (but, yes, to contribute, as consumers around town and by doing various chores in the compound). Even now, working here as a member of a development aid project, I have to accept that I can contribute in some ways, but not all ways.
The argument of what one can and should do will run you in circles; simply walking to the shops presents the decision to react or ignore again and again: not only the men, women and children that call you "mister" and beg for help, but also the calls from the young shoe-shiners carrying buckets of dirty water, the eager looking guys pedaling telephone cards and maps, or the women selling vegetables on the side of the road. The approaches to charity and poverty are various, but what is a typical day really present you with? Well...
Yesterday I went to the grocery store to buy a newspaper and some milk. Near the entrance is a guy who sells used magazines that he gets somehow from Ethiopian Airlines. They are slightly old issues, maybe ones that are thrown away or given to him by some kind travelers. He is a nice guy, and I decided during one of my first visits that I would buy magazines from him instead of a new one from the bookstore. I always buy his Newsweek magazine (which I feel justified in doing since I put my subscription back home on hold when overseas). He greets me with a friendly manner, I think by now having accepted me as part of the community (at least part of the year). We talk about the weather.
After that, I had my haircut (more on that in another post), and gave my stylist a 30% tip, which I suppose was charitably large, but probably appreciated for someone who makes about $2 a day.
On the way back to my hotel, a couple of kids came up and said hello to me. It turned out that they spoke English fairly well, and from their fairly clean clothes and the fact that one of them wore eyeglasses, I decided to believe them that they were practicing their English. They talked about the World Cup and their favorite players. They were nice kids, even though I didn't know enough about FIFA to really converse on the topic. At one point we were interrupted when I saw someone from the training center I recognized, one of the girls who works in the restaurant. Her face lit up and she greeted me politely by name and then went on her way. One of the kids said, "Wow, do you know everyone around here?" We continued to talk about how they playsoccer football every Saturday, and how they live on the north side of town near Mt. Entoto. Eventually, and unsurprisingly, they asked me for a "donation". They told me they were starting school again in a few weeks and needed to buy workbooks. React or ignore.
I gave them each 1 birr, and then--what the heck, why not--gave an old man in rags who immediately held out his hand some change I had in my pocket. The kid with glasses said, "But, sir, this isn't enough for the workbooks," to which I could only reply, "Well, keep practicing your English then." I still thought they were intelligent and pleasant kids; not the most in need, but they got rewarded for talking to me like a human being. I suppose we all have needs.
Then I turned down another street where people were going about their business and didn't seem to pay me much attention. I walked the thin line back to my hotel.
Another reason I have avoided the topic is that I myself feel conflicted when discussing the topic. Foreign aid has been in the news quite a bit lately--the earthquake in Haiti or the floods in Pakistan will instantly come to most people's minds. The topic has also been covered on radio shows I listen to, such as This American Life (TAL) "Island Life" and To the Best of Our Knowledge (TTBOOK) "Ethics of Western Aid". My involvement in the water sector here is also part of foreign aid, although it is a technical cooperation project intended to benefit Ethiopians through training and support rather than cash. I am faced with the difficulties of this every day when someone invariably says, "We'd like to do that but we lack the budget." The word budget in developing countries has become synonymous with money from donor organizations. As the episode of This American Life (link above) points out, even when people donate billions, there are a magnitude of problems that prevent dollars from being the solution. Although the TAL episode seems pessimistic in many ways, it tries to get at the reality of the situation, quoting the head of the ARC, Nan Buzard, that "relief agencies have to walk a thin line between helping too little and helping too much". This statement resonates with me because I've witnessed the dependence on charity which aid has fostered (e.g. a request for new equipment since the stuff donated ten years ago is no longer suitable). This dependence can sometimes come off as an expectation that, in my weaker moments, makes me want to drag someone down to the river and teach a man to fish! But I never feel the answer is to turn our backs on people's needs, and hence I can see that "fine line" which Nan Buzard talks about quite clearly: we are destined to help too little or help too much as we try to keep driving forward. It is something I bumble through just walking in town here, as I reckon many "affluent" people here do.
To gain some perspective on the "right thing to do", the other radio program I linked to above, from the show TTBOOK, provides various approaches to foreign aid. It interviews Dambisa Moyo, a Harvard and Oxford graduate born in Zambia, who says in her book "Dead Aid" that free market solutions are the answer and, somewhat shockingly, we should end aid altogether. It also interviews philosopher Peter Singer who has written about our moral obligation to help when it does not cause us to sacrifice anything of "comparable moral importance", stressing that geographical distance does not excuse us from our ability to save a child. Finally, the show brings on Jacqueline Novogratz, author of "The Blue Sweater: Bridging the Gap Between Rich and Poor in an Interconnected World", who says charity must be combined with capitalism to really benefit people.
I tend to agree with Novograz's so-called third way of "patient capitalism". I also get the sense that the hundreds of Chinese doing business in Africa are a positive step toward development where a prospering but developing nation is helping other nations to develop. However, reading all the arguments and trying to intellectualize doesn't seem to matter when you are walking down a busy street in Sub-Saharan Africa. People of affluence, local or foreign, are forced to make a decision: react or ignore. That includes affluent Ethiopians, some of whom I see give money to beggars, others who don't. Americans also deal with beggars at home, of course, but this is not comparable to extreme poverty. My first encounter with extreme poverty was when I was young, about 19 years old, when I went to India to study abroad. For the first time I saw people who had been afflicted with leprosy or had been terribly disfigured doing hard labor. I saw the starving children hold out their hands as I raised my camera to take a picture of a tourist spot. For the first time I saw myself as a person of privilege in this world. At that time, initially I was scared, shocked and horrified. Sometimes I even felt angry, such as when I had to tell dozens of "salesmen" I didn't want to buy any souvenirs. I felt like a target or a mark for dishonest people.
In India, we were advised to do our best to negotiate prices, but expect to pay inflated prices. We were told to avoid giving handouts in the big cities because a) we would attract a crowd of beggars, and possibly pick-pockets, and b) we would not be able to be everyone's saviors. In some way, it excused us from having to make the choice, saying, "My professor said it was okay not to give." Later, when we moved to a smaller town, the director said he often gave a few coins to the women who sat every day outside the gates of our compound, and encouraged us to do our shopping at various shops to "spread the wealth" and not favor any single tailor, restaurant, etc., so one could say he saw value in being part of that community where he could help (not too little, not too much). He had been bringing students to that town in India for over 20 years, and so he was part of that community. And thanks to him, the students every year were also treated as part of the community, where people allowed us to be there to learn from them, not to save them (but, yes, to contribute, as consumers around town and by doing various chores in the compound). Even now, working here as a member of a development aid project, I have to accept that I can contribute in some ways, but not all ways.
The argument of what one can and should do will run you in circles; simply walking to the shops presents the decision to react or ignore again and again: not only the men, women and children that call you "mister" and beg for help, but also the calls from the young shoe-shiners carrying buckets of dirty water, the eager looking guys pedaling telephone cards and maps, or the women selling vegetables on the side of the road. The approaches to charity and poverty are various, but what is a typical day really present you with? Well...
Yesterday I went to the grocery store to buy a newspaper and some milk. Near the entrance is a guy who sells used magazines that he gets somehow from Ethiopian Airlines. They are slightly old issues, maybe ones that are thrown away or given to him by some kind travelers. He is a nice guy, and I decided during one of my first visits that I would buy magazines from him instead of a new one from the bookstore. I always buy his Newsweek magazine (which I feel justified in doing since I put my subscription back home on hold when overseas). He greets me with a friendly manner, I think by now having accepted me as part of the community (at least part of the year). We talk about the weather.
After that, I had my haircut (more on that in another post), and gave my stylist a 30% tip, which I suppose was charitably large, but probably appreciated for someone who makes about $2 a day.
On the way back to my hotel, a couple of kids came up and said hello to me. It turned out that they spoke English fairly well, and from their fairly clean clothes and the fact that one of them wore eyeglasses, I decided to believe them that they were practicing their English. They talked about the World Cup and their favorite players. They were nice kids, even though I didn't know enough about FIFA to really converse on the topic. At one point we were interrupted when I saw someone from the training center I recognized, one of the girls who works in the restaurant. Her face lit up and she greeted me politely by name and then went on her way. One of the kids said, "Wow, do you know everyone around here?" We continued to talk about how they play
I gave them each 1 birr, and then--what the heck, why not--gave an old man in rags who immediately held out his hand some change I had in my pocket. The kid with glasses said, "But, sir, this isn't enough for the workbooks," to which I could only reply, "Well, keep practicing your English then." I still thought they were intelligent and pleasant kids; not the most in need, but they got rewarded for talking to me like a human being. I suppose we all have needs.
Then I turned down another street where people were going about their business and didn't seem to pay me much attention. I walked the thin line back to my hotel.
The Coffee Berry Boarer
...is unfortunately prospering in warmer temperatures where coffee berries are grown. An article originally appearing on Yale Environment 360 was recently reprinted in the Ethiopian English newspaper, the Daily Monitor. This is bad news to coffee farmers and coffee lovers alike. Apparently more shade-grown coffee could be one solution, but there's been too little investment in it thus far.
Read the full article here:
http://e360.yale.edu/feature/spurred_by_warming_climate_beetles_threaten_coffee_crops/2312/
Read the full article here:
http://e360.yale.edu/feature/spurred_by_warming_climate_beetles_threaten_coffee_crops/2312/
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Yod Abyssinia Cultural Restaurant
Last night we took the participants on the international course out for a cultural restaurant for dinner and to see the traditional Ethiopian dance performances they showcase. Yod Abyssinia is the current, hot cultural restaurant in town, usurping the Crown Hotel restaurant and dance in popularity thanks to its central location. Interestingly, the owner of Yod used to own Crown Hotel, where we've taken people in previous years. And if you like scandals...apparently ownership of the Crown changed hands as the result of a divorce, so the owner of Yod is now competing with his ex-wife.
Although we enjoyed Yod for it's location, stunning decor (such as a 10 foot Ethiopian jebena coffee pot decorating one wall) and friendly service, Crown probably has the better dance show. The dancers at either place have amazing skills, but Crown has more dancers--and thus the "bigger" show--and the performances take place on the restaurant floor under a huge domed ceiling in the middle of the dining area (previously mentioned here) where customers are welcomed to join in. In contrast, Yod is set up more like a theater with a stage at the front where performers shoulder pop, jump and gyrate, although some of the int'l participants were welcomed up on stage at one point in the night, and later the dancers went around to the various tables and danced one-on-one with customers (luckily I was spared).
Some people said they preferred the food at Crown, while others said Yod wins hands-down, but the saying that the success of a restaurant hinges on 3 things, "location, location, location", seems undoubtedly true. We arrived a bit early, around 7pm. The restaurant is huge and our large group of 30 filled only one corner of the dining area. But by half-past-eight, the place was packed--120 people easy--and when we left around 9:30, there were still people driving up.
Although we enjoyed Yod for it's location, stunning decor (such as a 10 foot Ethiopian jebena coffee pot decorating one wall) and friendly service, Crown probably has the better dance show. The dancers at either place have amazing skills, but Crown has more dancers--and thus the "bigger" show--and the performances take place on the restaurant floor under a huge domed ceiling in the middle of the dining area (previously mentioned here) where customers are welcomed to join in. In contrast, Yod is set up more like a theater with a stage at the front where performers shoulder pop, jump and gyrate, although some of the int'l participants were welcomed up on stage at one point in the night, and later the dancers went around to the various tables and danced one-on-one with customers (luckily I was spared).
Some people said they preferred the food at Crown, while others said Yod wins hands-down, but the saying that the success of a restaurant hinges on 3 things, "location, location, location", seems undoubtedly true. We arrived a bit early, around 7pm. The restaurant is huge and our large group of 30 filled only one corner of the dining area. But by half-past-eight, the place was packed--120 people easy--and when we left around 9:30, there were still people driving up.
Chinese Mt. Fuji in Ethiopia
I went out to dinner at the Golden Dragon Chinese Restaurant again for hu ō guō, i.e. meats and vegetables cooked in a simmering hot pot. This kind of hot pot cooking is said to have originated in China, although it's popular in Japan (shabu-shabu) and other East Asian countries as well. The pot used these days in China and Japan is a flat, earthenware or metallic bowl, but the one used here in Ethiopia is shaped like a volcano (think Mt. Fuji) with a center cone surrounded by a wide, moat-like lip. The the water or broth goes in the "moat" and the center cone contains charcoal to keep it simmering--the volcano image strengthened by the bit of smoke that rises out of the center. This older type of pot is probably used in Ethiopia since charcoal is much easier/cheaper to use than, say, gas or an electric burner. The waitresses brought out plates of beef and mutton, cabbage, tofu, noodles and tree ear mushrooms (see Judas's Ear for an unexpected etymology). For the dipping sauce, one of my colleagues had brought a liter of soy sauce with him from Japan, which we passed around, and then added garlic, as well as the sesame sauce provided by the restaurant. The plates of ingredients seemed to keep coming for the entire 90 minutes we were there, so I think we all walked out of there with full hot pot bellies.
International Course
On Monday, the international course on groundwater modeling got underway. It takes place every year, inviting water supply engineers from over a dozen countries in Africa. The course is now held at a new, rather luxurious hotel in town, the Dreamliner, which is named after the long anticipated Boeing jumbo jet (the hotel owner works for Ethiopian Airlines, and is rumored to pilot for P.M. Meles Zenawi). I attended the first day to hear the country reports by each participant, which turned out to be very interesting.
The subject matter was water supply, of course, but each participant showed a map of their country, gave a brief introduction and talked about specific geography, challenges and the sort. Since I've done little study on Africa itself, the 10 minute presentations on places like Tanzania, the Kingdom of Lesotho (actually located within South Africa, similar to Swaziland), Namibia, Kenya, Malawi and others, was a fascinating introduction. The course is being held in English, so you could hear the different accents, not to mention a few of the participants who wore cultural attire, such as one engineer from Nigeria who wore a colorful turquoise boubou robe and kufi/fila hat (I don't count the Mosotho who wore Fila sportswear).
There was also a brief nod between the Sudanese participants, the first one introducing himself as coming from "Sudan-North", while the other one is from Southern Sudan, which is expected to become independent in an upcoming referendum. There was the shocking reminder that the median age in Uganda is 15 y.o. due to war and violence in the 70s and early 80s. I found it interesting to hear about the commercial interest by foreign bottlers in spring water located in the mountains of Lesotho; the participant said his country's mountain springs have been left untapped since the country can't afford to explore the resource on it's own, but commercial water is increasingly becoming part of his job now since it brings in valuable foreign capital. I later spoke with the participant from Ghana, who has an advanced degree in water supply and civil engineering, and he expressed his hope to get his PhD in a few years researching potential water conflicts, such as the one surrounding usage of the Nile, which originates in Ethiopia, passes through Sudan and then on to Egypt.
The subject matter was water supply, of course, but each participant showed a map of their country, gave a brief introduction and talked about specific geography, challenges and the sort. Since I've done little study on Africa itself, the 10 minute presentations on places like Tanzania, the Kingdom of Lesotho (actually located within South Africa, similar to Swaziland), Namibia, Kenya, Malawi and others, was a fascinating introduction. The course is being held in English, so you could hear the different accents, not to mention a few of the participants who wore cultural attire, such as one engineer from Nigeria who wore a colorful turquoise boubou robe and kufi/fila hat (I don't count the Mosotho who wore Fila sportswear).
There was also a brief nod between the Sudanese participants, the first one introducing himself as coming from "Sudan-North", while the other one is from Southern Sudan, which is expected to become independent in an upcoming referendum. There was the shocking reminder that the median age in Uganda is 15 y.o. due to war and violence in the 70s and early 80s. I found it interesting to hear about the commercial interest by foreign bottlers in spring water located in the mountains of Lesotho; the participant said his country's mountain springs have been left untapped since the country can't afford to explore the resource on it's own, but commercial water is increasingly becoming part of his job now since it brings in valuable foreign capital. I later spoke with the participant from Ghana, who has an advanced degree in water supply and civil engineering, and he expressed his hope to get his PhD in a few years researching potential water conflicts, such as the one surrounding usage of the Nile, which originates in Ethiopia, passes through Sudan and then on to Egypt.
Percolator
My current hotel room is set up like a small apartment with a small kitchen in the back. The cabinets are full of pots, pans, dishes and what not. I was also lucky to find a small coffee percolator (see previously here). Yes, this is yet another post about coffee. But, please, this is Ethiopia after-all.
One of my colleagues highly recommended I try Eliana Coffee, made and produced in Ethiopia by TAR Trading. That evening we went to the market and he bought me a 250g pack, insisting it was better even than the legendary coffee producer and cafe Tomoca (see here and here). The next morning, I packed the percolator with the dark, aromatic coffee grounds, filled the base with water and set it on the stove top. In a few minutes, I could hear the coffee bubbling up to the top chamber, lowered the heat, and then poured myself a cup. The first sip was overpowering; the percolator method makes a strong, non-paper-filtered cup of coffee, and should probably be served with copious amounts of milk and sugar. But preferring my coffee "as is", the next time I made it I lessened the amount of beans and it turned out much better. There's no doubt that Eliana Coffee makes a great product, although until I further refine my brewing skills, Tomoca still wins my top prize for getting an authentic cup of Ethiopian Arabica.
One of my colleagues highly recommended I try Eliana Coffee, made and produced in Ethiopia by TAR Trading. That evening we went to the market and he bought me a 250g pack, insisting it was better even than the legendary coffee producer and cafe Tomoca (see here and here). The next morning, I packed the percolator with the dark, aromatic coffee grounds, filled the base with water and set it on the stove top. In a few minutes, I could hear the coffee bubbling up to the top chamber, lowered the heat, and then poured myself a cup. The first sip was overpowering; the percolator method makes a strong, non-paper-filtered cup of coffee, and should probably be served with copious amounts of milk and sugar. But preferring my coffee "as is", the next time I made it I lessened the amount of beans and it turned out much better. There's no doubt that Eliana Coffee makes a great product, although until I further refine my brewing skills, Tomoca still wins my top prize for getting an authentic cup of Ethiopian Arabica.
What's Out!
From the publisher that brought you last year's "newsworthy" article on how to wear skinny pants, "What's Out!", a free zine in Addis Ababa (formerly "What's Up"), gives tips in choosing the right kind of sunglasses depending on your "facial profile". An excerpt follows:
Today, sunglasses have become everyone's best friend. But with all the variety of trends coming on the scene, how do we pick the right shades? How do we know they fit our facial profile?
Square Face: You need slightly curved frames with the top high enough on the face to downplay the jaw line. Try aviator or wrap styles that suit your moods.
Triangular Face: Defined by a broad forehead and a narrow mouth and chin, your face can be complemented with thin rims and vertical lines. Sleek oval frames with colored lenses also looks becoming on you.
There are also tips for those of you with Oblong Face, Oval Face and Round Face. Check out www.whatsoutaddis.com if you need.
Today, sunglasses have become everyone's best friend. But with all the variety of trends coming on the scene, how do we pick the right shades? How do we know they fit our facial profile?
Square Face: You need slightly curved frames with the top high enough on the face to downplay the jaw line. Try aviator or wrap styles that suit your moods.
Triangular Face: Defined by a broad forehead and a narrow mouth and chin, your face can be complemented with thin rims and vertical lines. Sleek oval frames with colored lenses also looks becoming on you.
There are also tips for those of you with Oblong Face, Oval Face and Round Face. Check out www.whatsoutaddis.com if you need.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)