Speaking with our driver on the way home the other day I asked him what
he thought of Aljazeera news. He said that every news source has its
bias and we have to keep that in mind when getting our news, but he
personally listens to a radio show for Ethiopian listeners that
broadcasts out of Germany, which apparently allows them a bit more
freedom. He also said that he respects Aljazeera as a news source to the
extent that they were the only ones to report in detail the violence
that occurred against private citizens after the 2005 elections in
Ethiopia, which many people consider a turning point for the country--a
turn for the worse, unfortunately. I asked him what he thought was wrong
with the government since 2005 since, essentially, it has been the same
government since 1991. He said that for the past 18 years the regime
hasn't changed, and although they were doing a good job before, they
fell into corruption in recent years. According to him, the problem most
African countries face is that their leaders are uneducated and so they
cling to any positions they rise to, doing absolutely anything to avoid
being ousted from their seat of power. In an educated society, the loss
of position does not necessarily mean loss of power, and one can usually
bounce back with a bit of effort. So his idea is that more education is
the solution to eradicating corruption. Change is something that should
be inherent in a healthy political system, and education allows for that
change to take place. Wise words, I say, for a driver who himself has
claimed to be in need of higher education.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Full moon, full stomach
The electricity was out all day today, maybe because we had electricity on Tuesday (a holiday) and they had to make up for it. Nevertheless, the generator at the water center was working fine so at least we had power at the office. After work I made use of the remaining daylight to read another chapter of "Three Cups of Tea" (great book) and then met my colleagues for dinner at 7pm, as usual.
We decided to go to Antica, a little Italian restaurant and expat favorite, for their stone oven-baked pizza. On the way there, since the streetlights weren't on, we had to walk as close to the side of the road as possible to avoid the people, cars and minibuses sharing the pavement. Antica isn't far from the guesthouse, but it is located at the end of a branch road that runs through a wealthy neighborhood. Walking along past the massive homes, most of which were lit up by personal generators, I looked up and saw a full moon assisting our sight somewhat. A few steps ahead of us a man led two of his donkeys loaded with supplies through the moonlit street, and ahead of him a woman with a scarf covering her hair (a style here usually unrelated to religion) walking home. I looked up at the moon again and felt a twinge of excitement as I realized I was walking on the African continent.
We soon arrived at Antica and the three of us decided to share a few dishes. We started with a few Castel beers, some garlic pizza bread and a mixed green salad, until the steak pizza we ordered arrived. It was baked to perfection, topped with tomato, onion, cheese and green peppers along with strips of steak. If that wasn't good enough, next came our spinach lasagna, a rich creation checkered with tomato and spinach sauces that seemed to melt in your mouth. Antica has a reputation for slightly rude service, and I have to say the first waiter that greeted us at the door lived up to that reputation, but luckily a polite older gentleman stepped in and made sure that our empty plates were cleared and everything was to our liking. Even so, the food was amazing; enough to pull back even picky Japanese patrons.
We walked back with full stomachs arguing which place in Addis, Don Vito or Antica, had the better baked pasta. The electricity wasn't back on yet, but at that point I figured I'd just plop into bed as soon as I got home. However, as luck would have it, the power came back on moments after getting back to Chez Glo... and hence, a blog post.
We decided to go to Antica, a little Italian restaurant and expat favorite, for their stone oven-baked pizza. On the way there, since the streetlights weren't on, we had to walk as close to the side of the road as possible to avoid the people, cars and minibuses sharing the pavement. Antica isn't far from the guesthouse, but it is located at the end of a branch road that runs through a wealthy neighborhood. Walking along past the massive homes, most of which were lit up by personal generators, I looked up and saw a full moon assisting our sight somewhat. A few steps ahead of us a man led two of his donkeys loaded with supplies through the moonlit street, and ahead of him a woman with a scarf covering her hair (a style here usually unrelated to religion) walking home. I looked up at the moon again and felt a twinge of excitement as I realized I was walking on the African continent.
We soon arrived at Antica and the three of us decided to share a few dishes. We started with a few Castel beers, some garlic pizza bread and a mixed green salad, until the steak pizza we ordered arrived. It was baked to perfection, topped with tomato, onion, cheese and green peppers along with strips of steak. If that wasn't good enough, next came our spinach lasagna, a rich creation checkered with tomato and spinach sauces that seemed to melt in your mouth. Antica has a reputation for slightly rude service, and I have to say the first waiter that greeted us at the door lived up to that reputation, but luckily a polite older gentleman stepped in and made sure that our empty plates were cleared and everything was to our liking. Even so, the food was amazing; enough to pull back even picky Japanese patrons.
We walked back with full stomachs arguing which place in Addis, Don Vito or Antica, had the better baked pasta. The electricity wasn't back on yet, but at that point I figured I'd just plop into bed as soon as I got home. However, as luck would have it, the power came back on moments after getting back to Chez Glo... and hence, a blog post.
No elaboration needed
(Warning, this post has a significant gross-out factor. Nothing
repulsive, but slightly gut-churning.)
repulsive, but slightly gut-churning.)
I don't think I can ever look at ice cubes in the same way again.
The other night I went out with my colleagues for a drink and I ordered
an Absolute Citroen and tonic. When the drinks came, both mine and my
colleague's order, a glass of Chivas, came "on the rocks". Since he
didn't ask for ice, S requested that they bring him another Chivas with
no ice. I figured it was no real harm and, if anything, the alcohol
would kill any bacteria. Boy was I wrong!
I didn't sleep comfortably that night and the next morning my stomach
felt like it was full of wholesalers lined up for a liquidation sale, so
I had to--let's say--run to man the cash register. Afterward, I took
some medicine that I had brought with me and decided to stay in bed. By
mid-afternoon I was feeling better but decided to stick to water and tea
crackers for the rest of the day. The following day I was feeling back
to normal and told S that I should have had the ice cubes removed from
my drink like he did. He wholeheartedly agreed. "The problem is not
necessarily the tap water they are making them with. You never know
where they are storing those ice cubes. Plus, they put them in your
glass with their bare hands, which are not always clean, especially in
the evening after a full day." I stopped him there before he elaborated
any further.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Extreme Trickle Down
For the average Ethiopian, a sordid political history has left them in a
difficult situation. When the authoritarian, socialist government known
as the Derg of the 70s and 80s (which was closely aligned with the
Soviets) was taken over by the current government in the mid-90s (now
closely aligned with western heavyweights), people were happy for the
regime change.
In terms of development, the country had been monumentally stunted
throughout the socialist era, and people were under extreme political
duress. Nevertheless, the proletariat--if you will--maintained a certain
quality of life which comes with a flattened system like socialism. We
know that in America the Regan-era trickle down economy left the average
person no better off while the rich got richer. Here, under the current
political system, the government is driving growth, but leaving the
commoners behind to fend for themselves in a capitalistic system where
there is little to no foreign currency available. These days even to
those with great political might have been put in a stranglehold thanks
to the worldwide economic implosion.
Currently, there is barely a foothold for the average Ethiopian to
prevent him or herself from slipping out of poverty and into extreme
poverty. That's the difference between having barely enough to eat and
care for your family in unsanitary conditions, vulnerable to water-borne
and other disease, to scrounging for scraps in positively squalid
conditions with disease quickly closing in around you. For the nation's
poor--a huge percentage of the population--even though they are told the
country is prospering more than ever since the Derg was toppled, with no
safety net in sight, they are terrified looking at the abyss that awaits
them should things take a turn for the worse.
difficult situation. When the authoritarian, socialist government known
as the Derg of the 70s and 80s (which was closely aligned with the
Soviets) was taken over by the current government in the mid-90s (now
closely aligned with western heavyweights), people were happy for the
regime change.
In terms of development, the country had been monumentally stunted
throughout the socialist era, and people were under extreme political
duress. Nevertheless, the proletariat--if you will--maintained a certain
quality of life which comes with a flattened system like socialism. We
know that in America the Regan-era trickle down economy left the average
person no better off while the rich got richer. Here, under the current
political system, the government is driving growth, but leaving the
commoners behind to fend for themselves in a capitalistic system where
there is little to no foreign currency available. These days even to
those with great political might have been put in a stranglehold thanks
to the worldwide economic implosion.
Currently, there is barely a foothold for the average Ethiopian to
prevent him or herself from slipping out of poverty and into extreme
poverty. That's the difference between having barely enough to eat and
care for your family in unsanitary conditions, vulnerable to water-borne
and other disease, to scrounging for scraps in positively squalid
conditions with disease quickly closing in around you. For the nation's
poor--a huge percentage of the population--even though they are told the
country is prospering more than ever since the Derg was toppled, with no
safety net in sight, they are terrified looking at the abyss that awaits
them should things take a turn for the worse.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
A modest proposal
The rainy season in much of Ethiopia starts in July and lasts through
September, getting between 16 to 40 inches of rain in those months
alone. Given that Addis Ababa effectively has no sewer system to handle
the rates of precipitation, that means the streets turn into rivers. The
minibus taxis become essential to traverse even a small stretch of road,
and even the little blue Lada taxi cabs cart people around as their
floor mats float adrift. Given Ethiopia's connection with Italian
culture, one wonders if the city planners shouldn't take advantage of
the situation and organize some inflatable gondolas to carry lovebirds
throughout the city on their summer honeymoons. Addis Ababa could be the
Venice of East Africa.
September, getting between 16 to 40 inches of rain in those months
alone. Given that Addis Ababa effectively has no sewer system to handle
the rates of precipitation, that means the streets turn into rivers. The
minibus taxis become essential to traverse even a small stretch of road,
and even the little blue Lada taxi cabs cart people around as their
floor mats float adrift. Given Ethiopia's connection with Italian
culture, one wonders if the city planners shouldn't take advantage of
the situation and organize some inflatable gondolas to carry lovebirds
throughout the city on their summer honeymoons. Addis Ababa could be the
Venice of East Africa.
How to tell a fake
Now and again you meet a certain type of businessman in Addis Ababa;
someone who wants to start something but doesn't have anyone behind him.
I suppose it's a common challenge most entrepreneurs will face. "Come
meet my friends. They're all from California," said the guy with
dreadlocks, trying to urge us from the sidewalk to a little open-air bar
on the side of the road. He had first approached my colleagues and I
trying to speak the few words of Chinese he must have picked up along
the way in his quest to befriend people. My colleague "M" just smirked
and it almost made me want to end the suspense and just tell the guy
'they are not Chinese!' However, then he asked me if I was American. I
asked him where he was from and he said Portland. I said I was from
Chicago, to which he replied, "Ah, Illinois, right?" I have never met an
American in my life that feels the need to confirm that Chicago is in
Illinois. It reminded me of when people ask, "Oh, I have a friend who
lives in America. Do you know John Mekkonen?" As we walked away, he
called out behind us, "Don't front, it's all good in the hood."
someone who wants to start something but doesn't have anyone behind him.
I suppose it's a common challenge most entrepreneurs will face. "Come
meet my friends. They're all from California," said the guy with
dreadlocks, trying to urge us from the sidewalk to a little open-air bar
on the side of the road. He had first approached my colleagues and I
trying to speak the few words of Chinese he must have picked up along
the way in his quest to befriend people. My colleague "M" just smirked
and it almost made me want to end the suspense and just tell the guy
'they are not Chinese!' However, then he asked me if I was American. I
asked him where he was from and he said Portland. I said I was from
Chicago, to which he replied, "Ah, Illinois, right?" I have never met an
American in my life that feels the need to confirm that Chicago is in
Illinois. It reminded me of when people ask, "Oh, I have a friend who
lives in America. Do you know John Mekkonen?" As we walked away, he
called out behind us, "Don't front, it's all good in the hood."
Monday, May 4, 2009
Pump out the Volume
Today for lunch my colleague S and I went to a restaurant on the second
floor of a nearby office building. We grabbed a wide table in the corner
by a large window and ordered a few dishes to share: green salad, fried
fish and steak fillet. As we ate, we talked about the massive street
construction project going on slowly-but-surely down below. From the
second floor I could see that they'd made significant progress
transforming an old tire dump into a park with a fountain in the center
of a lush green lawn.
As we were finishing our meal, someone turned up the volume on the
television hung on one wall. There was a soccer game on and the voice of
the commentator became excruciatingly loud. We soon gave up speaking at
all and just motioned for the check. On the way back to the office, S
said that long ago he noticed this habit of blaring the volume on the
television in public spaces. I asked him if he had any idea why, since
the people in the back of the restaurant were certainly within earshot
at even a quarter of the volume, but at these proportions, even the guy
operating the bulldozer on the street below could probably follow the
game. S guesses that they probably enjoy the excitement of having the
volume turned up so loud that they feel as if they are actually at the
stadium.
As a music lover, I can appreciate the excitement of loud,
speakers-stacked-to-the-ceiling concerts. I can revel in an explosive
action scene while sitting in a surround-sound equipped theater. I
recognize that the roar of a crowded stadium cheering for the home team
can be exhilarating. However, I have witnessed Ethiopians watch
political deliberations on the news with the volume at a masochistic
decibel level that conjures up the feeling of having the hair on the
back of your neck stand on end and then jump to its death, your head try
to submerge itself into the quiet of your own chest cavity, and your ear
drums attempt to escape the madness only to get lopped in half with a
guillotine upon exiting your head. Personally, the blast of a
politician's turbulent proclamations or sports commentators cacophonous
clatter at a volume not heard since Gladiators battled in the Colosseum
provides no feeling of euphoria whatsoever.
floor of a nearby office building. We grabbed a wide table in the corner
by a large window and ordered a few dishes to share: green salad, fried
fish and steak fillet. As we ate, we talked about the massive street
construction project going on slowly-but-surely down below. From the
second floor I could see that they'd made significant progress
transforming an old tire dump into a park with a fountain in the center
of a lush green lawn.
As we were finishing our meal, someone turned up the volume on the
television hung on one wall. There was a soccer game on and the voice of
the commentator became excruciatingly loud. We soon gave up speaking at
all and just motioned for the check. On the way back to the office, S
said that long ago he noticed this habit of blaring the volume on the
television in public spaces. I asked him if he had any idea why, since
the people in the back of the restaurant were certainly within earshot
at even a quarter of the volume, but at these proportions, even the guy
operating the bulldozer on the street below could probably follow the
game. S guesses that they probably enjoy the excitement of having the
volume turned up so loud that they feel as if they are actually at the
stadium.
As a music lover, I can appreciate the excitement of loud,
speakers-stacked-to-the-ceiling concerts. I can revel in an explosive
action scene while sitting in a surround-sound equipped theater. I
recognize that the roar of a crowded stadium cheering for the home team
can be exhilarating. However, I have witnessed Ethiopians watch
political deliberations on the news with the volume at a masochistic
decibel level that conjures up the feeling of having the hair on the
back of your neck stand on end and then jump to its death, your head try
to submerge itself into the quiet of your own chest cavity, and your ear
drums attempt to escape the madness only to get lopped in half with a
guillotine upon exiting your head. Personally, the blast of a
politician's turbulent proclamations or sports commentators cacophonous
clatter at a volume not heard since Gladiators battled in the Colosseum
provides no feeling of euphoria whatsoever.
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