My amazing eight days in Ethiopia started in Addis Adaba, a city of many extremes. It’s bustling, noisy, dusty and dirty, but exhilarating. The traffic obeys no rules. There isn’t a single sign on any road saying where you are, nor any signposts to help you find your way. Often a few cows stray across the road, a heard of sheep halt your car or a goat appears in the lane next to you. It’s certainly interesting.
After a couple of days in the city we flew to Mekele and onto the to the Gheralta Lodge, a stylish and simple hotel situated in Tigray, an area of ten thousand foot mountains with 4th century churches at the top and carved out of the rock face. In Tigray the countryside and scenery is just outstanding, making me gasp and simply stare in amazement many times. Early one morning, with the sun rising above the Gheralta mountains, the air crystal clear, clean and chilly, I took a stroll down the garden to the hotel’s potager. All was quiet and peaceful, the sky was blue and cloudless, a couple of sheep wandered by, an ox walked slowly in front of me and spectacular multi-coloured birds flew by and flitted around. This was truly an African morning and very different from anything I’ve ever experienced before.
I will have many lasting memories of this beautiful country. I’ll try to name a few. The spectacular scenery that left me at a loss for words, the constant accompaniment of children wanting to try out their English. ‘What is your name. ‘What do you do?’ they’d ask and a flood of questions about football would follow. Once, I told a gaggle of about six boys my name, that I was a writer and yes, I did like football. That was it - from then on, during a one a half hour walk up a steep mountain when I was trying to concentrate on placing my foot on a firm rock, rather than a loose one which would have sent me cascading down the mountain, I was bombarded with questions about Chelsea, Manchester United, Arsenal, Spurs, Wayne Rooney and Frank Lampard.
I can’t finish without mentioning the Ethiopians. An immensely proud people who are friendly, helpful and happy despite having none of the things that we take for granted in the West. I wish them well and hope the many developments in the country will bring them what they want.
I enjoyed every moment of my time in this country and sadly have to catch the plan home tonight to return to a cold UK. I’ll certainly return, in fact I’m already planning the next visit. I recommend a trip here to anyone who wants a very different and exciting holiday, one full of breathtaking sites, stunning weather, a real African experience and an opportunity to see life from a different perspective.
Thank you Ben and Margot for making me so welcome and my stay so good.
Saturday, 4 December 2010
Wednesday, 10 November 2010
Trekking Photos
A few weeks ago Margot and I went trekking with TESFA, near Lalibela. I'll report more in the coming days (I know, I know!), but you can check out some of my photos on www.gallery.me.com/benwastnage Click onto the TESFA link.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Lake Langano
Margot and I are spending the weekend at Lake Langano, hiring a hidden away bungalow. I feel like we’ve found our own little world.
Lake Langano is one of the rift valley lakes, about three-four hours drive south of Addis. The Lake is amazingly peaceful. There are no cars, no people shouting “frenji, frenji”, and just the gentle squawks of a fantastic selection of rift valley birds. The lake is bordered by impressive mountain ridges, sits at 1,500 meters (a whole km less than Addis) and has a surface area of about 230 km squared (I measured it). While the lake is the only lake safe for swimming in Ethiopia, the water is a vey muddy, brown colour. Apparently this is due to its high mineral content. Yet, while I’ve been promised that there are no crocodiles and hippos only appear during rainy season, you can’t help thinking what lurks at the bottom of the dark lake.
The bungalow is basic, but great fun. It has a small kitchen and a couple of bedrooms. The kitchen is good for cooking, but it’s normal to load up the car with a weekend’s supply of beers, pizza, snacks, and other goodies. The place is powered off a battery, charged during the day by solar power. It means that you need to turn all the lights off during the day, and keep your fingers crossed at night. The shower and toilet are connected directly to the Lake: While the water is clean, it’s slightly odd showering in water that’s the same colour as the muck under your toe-nails. The bungalow is ten meters away from the lake, and walking down to the water this morning, I felt warm sand on my feet for the first time in over a year. It’s a strange feeling when you swim, as in many ways you feel like you’re at the beach, but is not that salty taste in your mouth. Margot and I have been out canoeeing as well, and trying to top up on the tan (Margot, not me - I stay red). Tonight, we’re lighting a fire on the beach, taking out some blankets, and watching the shooting stars while eating roasted marshmallows. Bliss.
What was not bliss however was the drive down. I am really starting to love Ethiopia. But I don’t think any degree of warmth will ever allow me to like Ethiopian drivers. They are the worse in the world (in my mind). You go to overtake, and then you have a small horse-driven cart trying to over-take you are the same time. You drive up hill, and you’ll find two lorry drivers, one in each lane, grinding their loads uphill at a painful pace, talking to each other through their windows. There are donkeys and horses standing in the Ethiopian version of the M1 (in fairness, this isn’t the drivers fault). And best of all, you be happily driving in your land, turn a corner, and find a car coming towards you in the wrong lane (i.e. your lane) at 120 kph, flashing and beeping because it can’t be bothered to move back into it’s own lane. Driving down here, I reckon Margot and I lost three of our nine lives (and we’ve still got to go back).
But driving aside, a great weekend. And a great place to bring friends and family.
Lake Langano is one of the rift valley lakes, about three-four hours drive south of Addis. The Lake is amazingly peaceful. There are no cars, no people shouting “frenji, frenji”, and just the gentle squawks of a fantastic selection of rift valley birds. The lake is bordered by impressive mountain ridges, sits at 1,500 meters (a whole km less than Addis) and has a surface area of about 230 km squared (I measured it). While the lake is the only lake safe for swimming in Ethiopia, the water is a vey muddy, brown colour. Apparently this is due to its high mineral content. Yet, while I’ve been promised that there are no crocodiles and hippos only appear during rainy season, you can’t help thinking what lurks at the bottom of the dark lake.
The bungalow is basic, but great fun. It has a small kitchen and a couple of bedrooms. The kitchen is good for cooking, but it’s normal to load up the car with a weekend’s supply of beers, pizza, snacks, and other goodies. The place is powered off a battery, charged during the day by solar power. It means that you need to turn all the lights off during the day, and keep your fingers crossed at night. The shower and toilet are connected directly to the Lake: While the water is clean, it’s slightly odd showering in water that’s the same colour as the muck under your toe-nails. The bungalow is ten meters away from the lake, and walking down to the water this morning, I felt warm sand on my feet for the first time in over a year. It’s a strange feeling when you swim, as in many ways you feel like you’re at the beach, but is not that salty taste in your mouth. Margot and I have been out canoeeing as well, and trying to top up on the tan (Margot, not me - I stay red). Tonight, we’re lighting a fire on the beach, taking out some blankets, and watching the shooting stars while eating roasted marshmallows. Bliss.
What was not bliss however was the drive down. I am really starting to love Ethiopia. But I don’t think any degree of warmth will ever allow me to like Ethiopian drivers. They are the worse in the world (in my mind). You go to overtake, and then you have a small horse-driven cart trying to over-take you are the same time. You drive up hill, and you’ll find two lorry drivers, one in each lane, grinding their loads uphill at a painful pace, talking to each other through their windows. There are donkeys and horses standing in the Ethiopian version of the M1 (in fairness, this isn’t the drivers fault). And best of all, you be happily driving in your land, turn a corner, and find a car coming towards you in the wrong lane (i.e. your lane) at 120 kph, flashing and beeping because it can’t be bothered to move back into it’s own lane. Driving down here, I reckon Margot and I lost three of our nine lives (and we’ve still got to go back).
But driving aside, a great weekend. And a great place to bring friends and family.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Meta Beer
Firstly, sorry for the lack of blogs recently. A couple will be posted this week. Managed to fall behind again!
This afternoon, Margot and I visited the Meta Beer brewery. It's about 30 kilometres outside of Addis. It is best to describe it as a compound, with a waterfall at its centre. You pay to get in (20 birr (about 80 pence), which pays for entrance, one beer, and the use of a camera). There is a pleasant green area, and two large swimming pools. From what I could make out, both pools seemed to be filled with drunk Ethiopians. But with the temperature at 29 degrees, who can blame them for going to unwind in the pool. The actual factory is well hidden, and the only sign that it exists is the sweet hops smell which hangs over the compound.
The visit was funny in many ways. There was properly a good 200 people sitting around, drinking Meta beer. A few people had a bit too much to drink, but most people seemed pretty relaxed. At one point, a bride and groom arrived, and walked passed everyone to go and have their photo taken by the waterfall. One of the bride's maids carried the bride's dress to ensure it didn't get dirty, while one of the page boys ran ahead clearing the way. Despite this, neither bride nor groom seemed pretty happy at the prospect that they were about to spend their life together. I felt that this was a shame in many ways, especially as they walked right by the "£1 camel ride" camel. Yes, a real camel was there, ready to carry drunks from the bar to the waterfall and back. I certainly think that I wouldn't stop laughing were I to have a camel at my wedding. And if the camel didn't work, the bride and groom could have had a go on the guns that could be hired. You might think that the combination of beer and firearms isn't up there with Torvel and Dean as an ideal partnership. But it seemed to work here. People wold stroll out of the bar, hand over some money, and have a go at hitting a few targets with an air-gun. The gun owner would politely hold your beer while you shoot.
Meta beer is one of the seven excellent beers Ethiopia produces. It has a malty, slightly bitter taste. It hasn't been one of my favourites, but today, sitting amongst the unhappy bride and groom, the camel, and the guns, it developed a certain charm. Other excellent beers include Harar, made in (wait for it) Harar (interesting given that it is a strongly Muslim town); Dashen (the government owned beer - could you imagine Labour doing that?); St George (previously mentioned on this blog in the context of our world cup lose); and my personal favourite, Bedeley Special, which seems to be the stellar beer - slightly more expensive, only sold in the more refined establishments.
This afternoon, Margot and I visited the Meta Beer brewery. It's about 30 kilometres outside of Addis. It is best to describe it as a compound, with a waterfall at its centre. You pay to get in (20 birr (about 80 pence), which pays for entrance, one beer, and the use of a camera). There is a pleasant green area, and two large swimming pools. From what I could make out, both pools seemed to be filled with drunk Ethiopians. But with the temperature at 29 degrees, who can blame them for going to unwind in the pool. The actual factory is well hidden, and the only sign that it exists is the sweet hops smell which hangs over the compound.
The visit was funny in many ways. There was properly a good 200 people sitting around, drinking Meta beer. A few people had a bit too much to drink, but most people seemed pretty relaxed. At one point, a bride and groom arrived, and walked passed everyone to go and have their photo taken by the waterfall. One of the bride's maids carried the bride's dress to ensure it didn't get dirty, while one of the page boys ran ahead clearing the way. Despite this, neither bride nor groom seemed pretty happy at the prospect that they were about to spend their life together. I felt that this was a shame in many ways, especially as they walked right by the "£1 camel ride" camel. Yes, a real camel was there, ready to carry drunks from the bar to the waterfall and back. I certainly think that I wouldn't stop laughing were I to have a camel at my wedding. And if the camel didn't work, the bride and groom could have had a go on the guns that could be hired. You might think that the combination of beer and firearms isn't up there with Torvel and Dean as an ideal partnership. But it seemed to work here. People wold stroll out of the bar, hand over some money, and have a go at hitting a few targets with an air-gun. The gun owner would politely hold your beer while you shoot.
Meta beer is one of the seven excellent beers Ethiopia produces. It has a malty, slightly bitter taste. It hasn't been one of my favourites, but today, sitting amongst the unhappy bride and groom, the camel, and the guns, it developed a certain charm. Other excellent beers include Harar, made in (wait for it) Harar (interesting given that it is a strongly Muslim town); Dashen (the government owned beer - could you imagine Labour doing that?); St George (previously mentioned on this blog in the context of our world cup lose); and my personal favourite, Bedeley Special, which seems to be the stellar beer - slightly more expensive, only sold in the more refined establishments.
Sunday, 12 September 2010
Happy New Year
Saturday 11 September was new year’s day in Ethiopia. Ethiopia works on the Jacobean rather than the Georgian calendar, which we use. As such, Ethiopia is seven years “behind” us, making Saturday’s festival the start of 2003. The start of the new year was marked by artillery guns at midnight, and further shooting at 6am. Each time, the glass rattled in the frames in my house.
Alongside the start of the new year, Friday marked the end of Ramadan (Eid). This is one of the most important religious festivals for Ethiopia’s muslims, roughly 45% of the population (although some say only 25%).
You wouldn’t want to be a sheep in Ethiopia this weekend. To help celebrate these two huge festivals, sheep from across the Country were brought into the capital. One sheep should feed a large family. The going rate is around birr 600 (£30) for a whole sheep. For those feeling a bit flush, a tastier, tender sheep costs birr 1500 (£75). They are tied up, hooves and all, and stuck into car boots, onto shoulders, tied to the roofs of buses or simply dragged through the city. There was certainly a lot of damp, red stains on streets on Saturday. But there was also the odd sheep joyfully skipping through town, releasing that while their brothers and sisters were being boiled up in some stew somewhere, they were still alive.
The fact that Ethiopia’s new year is marked at a different time, kicking off a different year, really highlighted that things are different here, especially from the rest of Africa. The language is different (different script). The history is different (Ethiopia was the only country in Africa not to be colonised). The topography is different (Ethiopia has more mountains than any other African country). The food is different (where else in Africa - except Eritrea - is injera eaten?). The time is different (the clocks start at 6am here, so when it’s 9am it’s actually 3am). And the people are different: I’ve not travelled that much around Africa, but certainly Ethiopians seem to be taller, slighter and fairer than many other Africans.
I think this difference plays into a real sense of pride in Ethiopia: Muslim, Christian or non-believer, Ethiopians are proud of their identity. They feel that unlike some of other African countries, their recent history (and their long term history as a matter of fact) is a success: Corruption is low, conflict is rare, different ethnic groups get on well, the economy is growing - fast. This pride can at times make giving critical advice difficult. But having started to understand the country, and travel a bit (see the next blog), Ethiopia is right to feel proud. Lets just hope the new year 2003 brings continued success for Africa’s Exception.
Alongside the start of the new year, Friday marked the end of Ramadan (Eid). This is one of the most important religious festivals for Ethiopia’s muslims, roughly 45% of the population (although some say only 25%).
You wouldn’t want to be a sheep in Ethiopia this weekend. To help celebrate these two huge festivals, sheep from across the Country were brought into the capital. One sheep should feed a large family. The going rate is around birr 600 (£30) for a whole sheep. For those feeling a bit flush, a tastier, tender sheep costs birr 1500 (£75). They are tied up, hooves and all, and stuck into car boots, onto shoulders, tied to the roofs of buses or simply dragged through the city. There was certainly a lot of damp, red stains on streets on Saturday. But there was also the odd sheep joyfully skipping through town, releasing that while their brothers and sisters were being boiled up in some stew somewhere, they were still alive.
The fact that Ethiopia’s new year is marked at a different time, kicking off a different year, really highlighted that things are different here, especially from the rest of Africa. The language is different (different script). The history is different (Ethiopia was the only country in Africa not to be colonised). The topography is different (Ethiopia has more mountains than any other African country). The food is different (where else in Africa - except Eritrea - is injera eaten?). The time is different (the clocks start at 6am here, so when it’s 9am it’s actually 3am). And the people are different: I’ve not travelled that much around Africa, but certainly Ethiopians seem to be taller, slighter and fairer than many other Africans.
I think this difference plays into a real sense of pride in Ethiopia: Muslim, Christian or non-believer, Ethiopians are proud of their identity. They feel that unlike some of other African countries, their recent history (and their long term history as a matter of fact) is a success: Corruption is low, conflict is rare, different ethnic groups get on well, the economy is growing - fast. This pride can at times make giving critical advice difficult. But having started to understand the country, and travel a bit (see the next blog), Ethiopia is right to feel proud. Lets just hope the new year 2003 brings continued success for Africa’s Exception.
Monday, 30 August 2010
In praise of Mama
Mama's is a diary brand in Ethiopia. I was a little sceptical about diary products in Africa. Yet Mama's makes fantastic yoghurts, cream, butters and cheeses. They also do excellent fruit juices, which they've recently branched out with. I'm not sure who's behind the business, but I think it might be a private business. Someone has clearly found a whopping great big whole in the market, and are doing very well for themselves. Good luck!
As with the fruit and veg stall, here is a copy of today's bill:
4 mozzarella balls
1 litre of half fat milk
250g unsalted butter
250g salted butter
500ml of plain yoghurt
200g cheese (nameless, but a bit like edam)
500ml of apple juice
Total: 153 Birr (£7.50)
As with the fruit and veg stall, here is a copy of today's bill:
4 mozzarella balls
1 litre of half fat milk
250g unsalted butter
250g salted butter
500ml of plain yoghurt
200g cheese (nameless, but a bit like edam)
500ml of apple juice
Total: 153 Birr (£7.50)
Cheap Fruit and Veg
On the corner of Bole Road (loads of shops and bars; major place for Ex-Pat and well to do Ethiopian nightlife) and Ethio-China Road (three excellent middle eastern restaurants), is a huge fruit and veg shop. Amazing stuff, and amazing value. Here was today's bill:
2kg Potatoes
2kg Onions
2kg Tomatos
10 Leaks
4 Mangos
2 Grapefruit (White)
3 Guavas (never tried them before, but smell great)
2 Pineapples
1 kg Bananas
500g French Beans
Total: 160 Birr (just under £8)
2kg Potatoes
2kg Onions
2kg Tomatos
10 Leaks
4 Mangos
2 Grapefruit (White)
3 Guavas (never tried them before, but smell great)
2 Pineapples
1 kg Bananas
500g French Beans
Total: 160 Birr (just under £8)
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Debre Zeit and Lake Bishoftu (first trip outside of Addis)
I took a trip to Debre Zeit today. It’s a large-ish town, about 50km from Addis. The town itself isn’t much to write home about, but nearby are a number of attractive volcanic lakes. Their greenery (limlamay in Amharic) made a pleasant change to the diesel chuggers of Addis. There was a nice walk around the lakes, and I took a little boat out into the middle of one of the lakes. I also took a horse ride (the first time in my life - photos on Flicker soon). People were swimming about in the lakes, with bits of rubber attached to their backs to ensure they didn’t sink. Set alongside the swimming costumes were people in smart (and fairly shiny) suits, having wedding photos taken.
Near one of the lakes, a local businessman had built a holiday lodge from scratch. The lodge included six very welcoming rooms, with a friendly garden and a traditional coffee house. The coffee house was his big hope of getting in tourist: Apparently you and friends can book out the coffee house, order in a sheep or goat, and chew gently on the BBQed meat while you slosh strong coffee around your mouth and enjoy the view of the lake. He took the time to show me around (very proud to tell me that the showers had both hot and cold water), clearly keen that I would return soon. There were nice little touches: for example, the fact that each room was named by the herb growing in front of it. I was really impressed by the guy’s hard work, commitment and enthusiasm. I showed my gratitude by buying a coffee tree/plant (which one is it?) from the garden centre he also ran. Hopefully Wastnage Coffee will be a recongisable brand in all good UK stores soon.
On the way to Debre Zeit, you become really aware of how much the Chinese are doing here. In Africa, China is challenging the traditional model of development, by pumping in money into infrastructure and industry, and seemingly asking for little in return. From what the Chinese seem to be doing, at least on the surface, is positive. The asphalt dual carriage way I traveled on was Chinese made. The petrol stations I passed were Chinese. The newly established Chinese-Ethiopian Industrial Centre near Debre Zeit provides important local employment, especially for graduates of the nearby Addis Ababa Technical College (paid for, in part, by the Chinese). The chinese influence is so much here, that I counted six chinese restaurants between Addis and Debre Zeit.
Ethiopia has just launched its five year economic plan. Within the plan are ambitious Government targets of doubling the size of the economy (becoming £500 billion in size), and achieving year on year growth of 14% (current growth has been between 7% - 11% depending on whose figures you believe). While I think the plan will be a challenge, I really hope that it can be achieved. One of the benefits of the Government hitting the target would mean that Ethiopia would be able to feed itself. But one thing is for sure: For the plan to succeed, intensive infrastructure and industrial development, of the kind the Chinese (and Indians and Turks) are supporting, coupled with the entrepreneurial spirit of the lodge owner are going to be essential.
Near one of the lakes, a local businessman had built a holiday lodge from scratch. The lodge included six very welcoming rooms, with a friendly garden and a traditional coffee house. The coffee house was his big hope of getting in tourist: Apparently you and friends can book out the coffee house, order in a sheep or goat, and chew gently on the BBQed meat while you slosh strong coffee around your mouth and enjoy the view of the lake. He took the time to show me around (very proud to tell me that the showers had both hot and cold water), clearly keen that I would return soon. There were nice little touches: for example, the fact that each room was named by the herb growing in front of it. I was really impressed by the guy’s hard work, commitment and enthusiasm. I showed my gratitude by buying a coffee tree/plant (which one is it?) from the garden centre he also ran. Hopefully Wastnage Coffee will be a recongisable brand in all good UK stores soon.
On the way to Debre Zeit, you become really aware of how much the Chinese are doing here. In Africa, China is challenging the traditional model of development, by pumping in money into infrastructure and industry, and seemingly asking for little in return. From what the Chinese seem to be doing, at least on the surface, is positive. The asphalt dual carriage way I traveled on was Chinese made. The petrol stations I passed were Chinese. The newly established Chinese-Ethiopian Industrial Centre near Debre Zeit provides important local employment, especially for graduates of the nearby Addis Ababa Technical College (paid for, in part, by the Chinese). The chinese influence is so much here, that I counted six chinese restaurants between Addis and Debre Zeit.
Ethiopia has just launched its five year economic plan. Within the plan are ambitious Government targets of doubling the size of the economy (becoming £500 billion in size), and achieving year on year growth of 14% (current growth has been between 7% - 11% depending on whose figures you believe). While I think the plan will be a challenge, I really hope that it can be achieved. One of the benefits of the Government hitting the target would mean that Ethiopia would be able to feed itself. But one thing is for sure: For the plan to succeed, intensive infrastructure and industrial development, of the kind the Chinese (and Indians and Turks) are supporting, coupled with the entrepreneurial spirit of the lodge owner are going to be essential.
Laziness
Oh gosh. Three weeks since my lasting posting. Very poor. My target was one blog a week, at least. I’m not sure if anyone is actually reading this blog (it does feel a lot like talking to myself) but to my audience, whoever you are, “sorry for not writing more.”
The last few weeks have shot by. I’ve been trying to understand my job, build contacts, make friends, play sport, find my way around Addis, learn what food to buy, start driving the “Ethiopian” way, and unpack. I still have five boxes (of 43) waiting to be unpacked. They sit in my bedroom, nodding at me every time I go to sleep, noting that yet another day has passed without them being tackled. Margot turns up in less than two weeks (I can’t wait), and there is a real risk that the boxes will still be siting in my/our bedroom.
Two problems best explain why I haven’t written more (apart from not being organised). Firstly, I’ve been told that I shouldn’t write much about my work. The worry is that I write something silly after a bad day in the office, a Daily Mail journalist picks up on it, and the next day I find myself waiting at Bole International Airport for my one way trip home. Secondly, I’ve hoped that Saturday would be my blog writing morning. But a combination of unpacking, sport, lazy mornings, Peter Gill’s excellent book - Ethiopia: Famine and Foreigners since Band Aid, Nintendo Wii, the Times online, “rock cooking” (basically, cooking to loud (often 80s) rock music, with a tea-towel as bandana tied across my head), numerous coffees trying to build friends, and shopping (sadly, Addis doesn’t have a Sainsbury’s all purpose store) has meant that blog typing hasn’t been possible. And Sunday seems to be the same excuse. But I promise, it’s not because I’m lazy.
For the record, I’m sitting in my garden, typing to the beat of Vampire Weekend. It’s ace. The temperature is around 20 degrees, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Rainy season is still happening. But at least for the last week, the weather seems to be behaving itself much more. Mornings are heavy rain, but afternoons are sunny, fresh and just plain pleasant. Apparently, rainy season (which they call summer here), finishes altogether in three weeks. Hippeee!!!!
Anyway, once a week, I promise.
The last few weeks have shot by. I’ve been trying to understand my job, build contacts, make friends, play sport, find my way around Addis, learn what food to buy, start driving the “Ethiopian” way, and unpack. I still have five boxes (of 43) waiting to be unpacked. They sit in my bedroom, nodding at me every time I go to sleep, noting that yet another day has passed without them being tackled. Margot turns up in less than two weeks (I can’t wait), and there is a real risk that the boxes will still be siting in my/our bedroom.
Two problems best explain why I haven’t written more (apart from not being organised). Firstly, I’ve been told that I shouldn’t write much about my work. The worry is that I write something silly after a bad day in the office, a Daily Mail journalist picks up on it, and the next day I find myself waiting at Bole International Airport for my one way trip home. Secondly, I’ve hoped that Saturday would be my blog writing morning. But a combination of unpacking, sport, lazy mornings, Peter Gill’s excellent book - Ethiopia: Famine and Foreigners since Band Aid, Nintendo Wii, the Times online, “rock cooking” (basically, cooking to loud (often 80s) rock music, with a tea-towel as bandana tied across my head), numerous coffees trying to build friends, and shopping (sadly, Addis doesn’t have a Sainsbury’s all purpose store) has meant that blog typing hasn’t been possible. And Sunday seems to be the same excuse. But I promise, it’s not because I’m lazy.
For the record, I’m sitting in my garden, typing to the beat of Vampire Weekend. It’s ace. The temperature is around 20 degrees, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Rainy season is still happening. But at least for the last week, the weather seems to be behaving itself much more. Mornings are heavy rain, but afternoons are sunny, fresh and just plain pleasant. Apparently, rainy season (which they call summer here), finishes altogether in three weeks. Hippeee!!!!
Anyway, once a week, I promise.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Running with Professionals
Oh my god. I should have said no when I saw the sparkling clean Ethiopian national running kit. And I should have twigged they were something special when I realised they had a professional cameraman and coach with them.
After messing around at home this morning, I decided to put on my new running shoes and go running in the mountain and forest behind the compound. The journey there was a story in itself. I had to drive through a huge sheep market, with people constantly shouting at me (in fairness, I properly shouldn’t have been on the “road” in the the first place). Kids regularly surrounded the car, laughing, pointing, shouting “hello”, “franji” and “give me money”. And I went so far off road that even putting the car into Toyota's 4-wheel drive plus, the wheels couldn’t find any grip. It was only after an agonizing minute of begging God that finally the car moved forward.
I finally found a place which looked like good running country. Ahead of me was a group of about 8 people. They all had beaming smiles, and even more beaming Ethiopian tracksuits. I got chatting to them, and explained that I wanted to go running (pointing at my smart running shoes to help highlight my point). After a bit of negotiation between them, two runners (Katama and Wako) decided to run with me while the coach (Shumey) watched my car.
I generally do not believe that I am unfit. But I didn’t make myself proud this morning. I’m not sure if it was the cold I’ve had since I’ve arrived, the numerous Friday night beers, or the fact that we were running above 3,000 meters. Or, quite simply, being professional runners, they were just a bloody lot better than me. But it was hard, hard work. The first 25 minutes was all up hill. I remember after two minutes saying that there was no way we could keep up this pace. But we did: Fu*king hell! I had to stop twice (Katama and Wako, smiling, sprinted - knees up - up and down the hill while they waited for me), I had a stitch stabbing my right ribs, and my lungs felt like a vice was squeezing them shut with every step. By the time I reached the top of the hill I sounded like a fatter, slower version of the Flying Scotsman steam train (puff, puff, pant, pant, pant). At the top, a quick look at the view (awesome) and then we sprinted down. Much easier.
When we got back to the car, I was told that my endurance needed work and that I am carrying too many kilos. Nothing quite like honest feedback. But then I was told that I should join them regularly - they run every morning (at 6am) and every evening (at 6pm) - when I asked Wako what his job was, he said he was an athlete. How awesome is that? It might mean tight lungs every Sunday morning, but at least I can improve and train with people who really know what they are doing - apparently in their club there are many Olympic runners. And plus, despite being torturers in tracksuits, they were decent lads. Good way to make some friends.
After messing around at home this morning, I decided to put on my new running shoes and go running in the mountain and forest behind the compound. The journey there was a story in itself. I had to drive through a huge sheep market, with people constantly shouting at me (in fairness, I properly shouldn’t have been on the “road” in the the first place). Kids regularly surrounded the car, laughing, pointing, shouting “hello”, “franji” and “give me money”. And I went so far off road that even putting the car into Toyota's 4-wheel drive plus, the wheels couldn’t find any grip. It was only after an agonizing minute of begging God that finally the car moved forward.
I finally found a place which looked like good running country. Ahead of me was a group of about 8 people. They all had beaming smiles, and even more beaming Ethiopian tracksuits. I got chatting to them, and explained that I wanted to go running (pointing at my smart running shoes to help highlight my point). After a bit of negotiation between them, two runners (Katama and Wako) decided to run with me while the coach (Shumey) watched my car.
I generally do not believe that I am unfit. But I didn’t make myself proud this morning. I’m not sure if it was the cold I’ve had since I’ve arrived, the numerous Friday night beers, or the fact that we were running above 3,000 meters. Or, quite simply, being professional runners, they were just a bloody lot better than me. But it was hard, hard work. The first 25 minutes was all up hill. I remember after two minutes saying that there was no way we could keep up this pace. But we did: Fu*king hell! I had to stop twice (Katama and Wako, smiling, sprinted - knees up - up and down the hill while they waited for me), I had a stitch stabbing my right ribs, and my lungs felt like a vice was squeezing them shut with every step. By the time I reached the top of the hill I sounded like a fatter, slower version of the Flying Scotsman steam train (puff, puff, pant, pant, pant). At the top, a quick look at the view (awesome) and then we sprinted down. Much easier.
When we got back to the car, I was told that my endurance needed work and that I am carrying too many kilos. Nothing quite like honest feedback. But then I was told that I should join them regularly - they run every morning (at 6am) and every evening (at 6pm) - when I asked Wako what his job was, he said he was an athlete. How awesome is that? It might mean tight lungs every Sunday morning, but at least I can improve and train with people who really know what they are doing - apparently in their club there are many Olympic runners. And plus, despite being torturers in tracksuits, they were decent lads. Good way to make some friends.
Friday, 23 July 2010
Nature Notes
The compound here in Addis contains a massively amount of wildlife. Yesterday I saw a monkey, and a flock (?) of vultures (a good eight, at least), eating terminates on the ground. They were no more than three meters away from me. But best of all in terms of my “getting close to nature” experience yesterday was when I managed to trip over one of the massive tortoises which live here. I reckon this specific tortoise was about 70cm x 40cm x 40cm. E.G, Big. Yet, despite its size, I managed to trip over it and fall flat on my face.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
Photos
If anyone is interested, you can see some of my photos of Addis on the following link:http://www.flickr.com/photos/52134119@N04/
I hope you can access this easily. I can't seem to add photos onto my blog.
I hope you can access this easily. I can't seem to add photos onto my blog.
One Month In
I arrived a month a go. In fairness, I’m talking about the lunar variety of month, rather than the calendar one. But it still gives me a peg to hang some reflections on my start-up time here in Ethiopia.
For starters, a bit more on the family I live with: The family consists of the mother (her name seems to be just “Mama”), her four daughters, her son, her son in law (Darwit - the Amharic teacher who set up my immersion training - married to Mata, one of the daughters), Darwit and Mata’s two children, and one other granddaughter (the daughter of another sister who doesn’t live here). These ten people live under one roof, in a large house (especially by Ethiopian standards). Despite there being only one shower and one TV, everyone seems to get on. I’m yet to experience a row.
I generally hate to say it, but the women do all the work. A few examples:
The son, every morning showers in my/the family’s shower. Somehow, he manages to get water everywhere. Now if this was me, I’d be frantically mopping up before my Mum/Margot found out. But for him, he just doesn’t notice/care. He strolls out of the bathroom, gives me a cheeky wink, and then one of the daughters comes running in, mop in hand.
Every morning, I make my bed. Every evening, I come home and the bed has been re-made. But better than I did. And by one of the daughters.
When the men want food, they simply sit on the sofa. Food is brought in within five minutes, by the women (I’m not lying, I timed it). The process works equally well for me.
If I ever try to take food back to the kitchen, there is a lot of flapping and shouts of “Ben, eye” (“Ben, No!”). Only the women can clean up. Apparently.
Now, please don’t think that I, or the men here, are chauvinistic. I don’t think it’s the case. There is a lot of respect in the family, especially of the mother. And there’s no bullying/shouting/bossing people about. My impression is that simply, at least in this family, the woman are responsible for house work, while the men work.
Everyday, I head to Addis Ababa University for my Amharic lessons. It takes a couple of mini-bus rides to get there - about an hour in total. The mini-buses are called blue donkeys (they are partly blue), and run set routes across Addis. They are the same size as VW camper vans. They have seats for 12 people, including the driver, but they regularly fill up to 18/19/20 (breath in). The cost is 2birr (10 pence), and nicely, I’m always charged the same as the locals. Some are quite decadent, with plush camouflage seats (with the plastic still on). Others less so, with shards of seat steel stabbing into your sides. Regardless of age, all seem to work - though the hills are a struggle. Every mini bus has pictures of the Virgin Mary hanging from the rear-view mirror, and when a church is passed, all the passengers cross themselves. The music is loud - either 1970s Ethiopian funk (think mono, one keyboard on continuos loop, a slow jazz sax) or Kayne West.
Addis Ababa University is very pleasant. It’s very green, and quite. Nice birds fly about the place. It has a large library which was opened by Robert Kennedy in the 1960s, but does need a lick of paint. The University also houses the Centre for Ethiopian Studies, which is well worth a visit if/when you come to Addis. However, a little more worrying is that police body search everyone entering - this is sadly, a consistent (but necessary) precaution all over Addis. My lessons are with a teacher who seems to be the Fonz (Fonzie) of Addis Ababa: He spends a lot of the lessons shaking people’s hands; when women see him they stop and sigh; he’s constantly complimenting himself on how smart he is.
Food wise, everything revolves around Injera. Injera is the local bread, made from teff, a cereal only grown in Ethiopia and Eritrea (a lot of Ethiopians, understandably, complain about the price of teff quadrupling in five years). When cooked, it’s roughly the size of a large bike wheel, and looks very much like how I imagine the lining of a cows stomach to look. Injera is eaten with a large range of different stews (wat), all very spicy and mostly very tasty. Happily, I’ve not yet come across any offal (although I went to a restaurant last week with lamb’s brain on the menu). Injera is so popular that a common breakfast dish is Firfir: injera soaked over night in wat, minced up, and eaten with (guess what) injera.
Today I ate spiced minced meat - kitfo. I’ve come home deliberately, so that I’m not too far from a toilet. But it was extremely tasty, and I’ve still got a great spicy/meaty aroma left in my mouth. You eat it with injera (no surprises there), and diced spinach and local cheese. I drank tejj, a local drink made form honey (a bit like meed), which I reckon (given my current hangover) was around 30% in volume. I went to a very traditional restaurant in Addis, which was incredibly relaxing. The best part was seeing a wedding ceremony dancing into the restaurant. The worse was almost getting into a fight with some local aggressive drunk outside who wanted money from be. On reflection, it might have been a good thing that he didn’t understand me when I said I was going to break his neck.
A few other observations:
I never leave the house without a loo roll in my bag. I have marked on my map cafes/restaurants with correct facilities.
Ethiopian TV’s weather forecast is readout over a backing true of Simple Red’s “Holding Back the Years” (instrumental version).
The altitude is noticeable. I’ve been a lot more tired than normal, I’ve had quite a few sleepless nights, and walking up hill while talking is mostly impossible.
I get looked at a lot, especially if I wear shorts. People regularly shout out “Frenji” (foreigner/white guy), and also, slightly more strangely, “China”.
At present, it rains everyday. Mostly, always in the afternoons. Very heavily, and the noise of golf ball size lumps of hail hitting the corrugated iron roofs of Addis is not that different from the marching sound heard at Oxford Street tube station during rush hour. For me, given England’s current heatwave, the rains are a bit depressing. But for Ethiopians, after two years of failed rains, the heavens opening which such consistent force is a god send, meaning a bumper food crop this year.
Overall, the first month has been harder than I thought. I don’t yet feel that I’ve found my feet. I’m very nervous about starting my job on Monday. And despite the fact that I stand out so much, I do feel slightly lonely. But there are many positives. The family have generally treated me like a king, and I’ll be sad to leave them. There are many parts of Addis that have a real charm, and the numerous restaurants and bars, coupled with the fantastic coffee and fruit juices makes things comfortable. And with the exception of the dick-head I met today, every Ethiopian I’ve met has been charming (the word really works) - keen to speak to me, always willing to help out, interested in England, friendly.
The first month was never going to be easy, and missing (wonderful) Margot, and my (great) friends and family makes things especially difficult. But if I had wanted things to be easy, I would have stayed in London and got fat on M & S croissants and afterwork boozing. I really like the fact there is a challenge in front of me, that every thing is new, and that I’m starting with a clean slate.
For starters, a bit more on the family I live with: The family consists of the mother (her name seems to be just “Mama”), her four daughters, her son, her son in law (Darwit - the Amharic teacher who set up my immersion training - married to Mata, one of the daughters), Darwit and Mata’s two children, and one other granddaughter (the daughter of another sister who doesn’t live here). These ten people live under one roof, in a large house (especially by Ethiopian standards). Despite there being only one shower and one TV, everyone seems to get on. I’m yet to experience a row.
I generally hate to say it, but the women do all the work. A few examples:
The son, every morning showers in my/the family’s shower. Somehow, he manages to get water everywhere. Now if this was me, I’d be frantically mopping up before my Mum/Margot found out. But for him, he just doesn’t notice/care. He strolls out of the bathroom, gives me a cheeky wink, and then one of the daughters comes running in, mop in hand.
Every morning, I make my bed. Every evening, I come home and the bed has been re-made. But better than I did. And by one of the daughters.
When the men want food, they simply sit on the sofa. Food is brought in within five minutes, by the women (I’m not lying, I timed it). The process works equally well for me.
If I ever try to take food back to the kitchen, there is a lot of flapping and shouts of “Ben, eye” (“Ben, No!”). Only the women can clean up. Apparently.
Now, please don’t think that I, or the men here, are chauvinistic. I don’t think it’s the case. There is a lot of respect in the family, especially of the mother. And there’s no bullying/shouting/bossing people about. My impression is that simply, at least in this family, the woman are responsible for house work, while the men work.
Everyday, I head to Addis Ababa University for my Amharic lessons. It takes a couple of mini-bus rides to get there - about an hour in total. The mini-buses are called blue donkeys (they are partly blue), and run set routes across Addis. They are the same size as VW camper vans. They have seats for 12 people, including the driver, but they regularly fill up to 18/19/20 (breath in). The cost is 2birr (10 pence), and nicely, I’m always charged the same as the locals. Some are quite decadent, with plush camouflage seats (with the plastic still on). Others less so, with shards of seat steel stabbing into your sides. Regardless of age, all seem to work - though the hills are a struggle. Every mini bus has pictures of the Virgin Mary hanging from the rear-view mirror, and when a church is passed, all the passengers cross themselves. The music is loud - either 1970s Ethiopian funk (think mono, one keyboard on continuos loop, a slow jazz sax) or Kayne West.
Addis Ababa University is very pleasant. It’s very green, and quite. Nice birds fly about the place. It has a large library which was opened by Robert Kennedy in the 1960s, but does need a lick of paint. The University also houses the Centre for Ethiopian Studies, which is well worth a visit if/when you come to Addis. However, a little more worrying is that police body search everyone entering - this is sadly, a consistent (but necessary) precaution all over Addis. My lessons are with a teacher who seems to be the Fonz (Fonzie) of Addis Ababa: He spends a lot of the lessons shaking people’s hands; when women see him they stop and sigh; he’s constantly complimenting himself on how smart he is.
Food wise, everything revolves around Injera. Injera is the local bread, made from teff, a cereal only grown in Ethiopia and Eritrea (a lot of Ethiopians, understandably, complain about the price of teff quadrupling in five years). When cooked, it’s roughly the size of a large bike wheel, and looks very much like how I imagine the lining of a cows stomach to look. Injera is eaten with a large range of different stews (wat), all very spicy and mostly very tasty. Happily, I’ve not yet come across any offal (although I went to a restaurant last week with lamb’s brain on the menu). Injera is so popular that a common breakfast dish is Firfir: injera soaked over night in wat, minced up, and eaten with (guess what) injera.
Today I ate spiced minced meat - kitfo. I’ve come home deliberately, so that I’m not too far from a toilet. But it was extremely tasty, and I’ve still got a great spicy/meaty aroma left in my mouth. You eat it with injera (no surprises there), and diced spinach and local cheese. I drank tejj, a local drink made form honey (a bit like meed), which I reckon (given my current hangover) was around 30% in volume. I went to a very traditional restaurant in Addis, which was incredibly relaxing. The best part was seeing a wedding ceremony dancing into the restaurant. The worse was almost getting into a fight with some local aggressive drunk outside who wanted money from be. On reflection, it might have been a good thing that he didn’t understand me when I said I was going to break his neck.
A few other observations:
I never leave the house without a loo roll in my bag. I have marked on my map cafes/restaurants with correct facilities.
Ethiopian TV’s weather forecast is readout over a backing true of Simple Red’s “Holding Back the Years” (instrumental version).
The altitude is noticeable. I’ve been a lot more tired than normal, I’ve had quite a few sleepless nights, and walking up hill while talking is mostly impossible.
I get looked at a lot, especially if I wear shorts. People regularly shout out “Frenji” (foreigner/white guy), and also, slightly more strangely, “China”.
At present, it rains everyday. Mostly, always in the afternoons. Very heavily, and the noise of golf ball size lumps of hail hitting the corrugated iron roofs of Addis is not that different from the marching sound heard at Oxford Street tube station during rush hour. For me, given England’s current heatwave, the rains are a bit depressing. But for Ethiopians, after two years of failed rains, the heavens opening which such consistent force is a god send, meaning a bumper food crop this year.
Overall, the first month has been harder than I thought. I don’t yet feel that I’ve found my feet. I’m very nervous about starting my job on Monday. And despite the fact that I stand out so much, I do feel slightly lonely. But there are many positives. The family have generally treated me like a king, and I’ll be sad to leave them. There are many parts of Addis that have a real charm, and the numerous restaurants and bars, coupled with the fantastic coffee and fruit juices makes things comfortable. And with the exception of the dick-head I met today, every Ethiopian I’ve met has been charming (the word really works) - keen to speak to me, always willing to help out, interested in England, friendly.
The first month was never going to be easy, and missing (wonderful) Margot, and my (great) friends and family makes things especially difficult. But if I had wanted things to be easy, I would have stayed in London and got fat on M & S croissants and afterwork boozing. I really like the fact there is a challenge in front of me, that every thing is new, and that I’m starting with a clean slate.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
And the Winner is Africa
I’ve fallen a little behind in my blog this week. I was going to write something this afternoon. My first idea (which I might still do, and bore you with at a later date) was to talk about how I’m spending my afternoons: Attempting to practice my Amharic as much as possible, every afternoon, I head to what will be my house in the British Embassy compound and work with a local (all Ethiopian) decorating firm and help paint my house. My second idea was to moan about the food I’m missing: Week four here, and I am craving some fresh fruit and veg, along with chocolate and cheese.
I complained about the lamentable English performance earlier. No need to return to that. But I would like to talk about the World Cup more generally - more specifically, my experience of watching the (first African) World Cup in Ethiopia.
The first thing to say is that the World Cup has been great for my Amharic. Ethiopians are mad football fans, and complete experts. With subjects like the Germany-Argentina game, Brazil’s early exit and Torres’s off performance, its been easy to get talking to students, waiters and taxi drivers. And many have a crazy amount of knowledge about football, the Premiership especially. It’s been explained to me in great detail, why Liverpool should never have sold Alonso, why Roy Hodgson is the best manager in Premiership, and why the Portsmouth debt crisis could have happened only in England.
And going hand-in-hand with expertise has been massive passion. There is a passion for football - the screaming, shouting and cheering has been loud, everywhere. Bars and pubs have been packed, with everyone straining and stretching to watch some old, rusty, bad reception TV showing the match. Those annoying South African vuvuzelas are often heard in the city. And I even managed to talk football with an opposition leader.
The night Ghana played Uruguay, I was in a bar on the Bole Road (the trendy area of town). The bar was meant to the cool place to be (why was I there?), filled with Ethiopian’s up-and-coming elite. Yet everyone was stuffed around a TV watching the match. When Ghana was awarded the penalty in the dying minutes of extra-time, the shout was so loud that the cars below seemed to stop. And when they missed the penalty, and lost the following shout-out, the bar emptied. People said nothing. They just left, and went home. Talk to any Ethiopian now (Ethiopian is around a five hour flight from Ghana), and there is visible disgust at the way they saw Uruguay cheat themselves to victory.
There is a popular advert on TV here, for a South African bank, which talks about Africa United: Pan-Africanism is something completely new to me. I certainly can’t remember, for example, shedding any tears when Italy failed to get past the knock out stages. Ethiopians, however, even with their distinct history, language, food, culture and geography, have wanted Africa to win. For many here, Africa is no longer the forgotten continent. And looking at the pride in the way people here have talked about the Tournament, regardless of whether Spain or Holland win tonight (the cheers will be equally loud either way), Africa is the real winner tonight.
Thursday, 8 July 2010
The Muddy Bridge
As explained previously, the road I live down is less a road, and more a collection of pot holes. With all the (heavy) rain there is here at the moment, the pot holes fill up very quickly. One is so large that some (read, many!) logs have been put around the edge to allow people to get past the puddle. But with so much rain, the logs have turned into a mud slide. At least for me. The Ethiopians seem to gently camper over the logs no problem. This includes the drunks, loonies, flip flop wearers, blind people, lovers holding hands, and about everyone else with an Ethiopian passport. Things for me aren't so easy.
I step up, looking a little queesy. I stumble to the left, and fall to the right. I always seem to find the logs that have the most and least dry mud. On my right is a large mud bank. And on my left is the brown puddle of death. I've not yet fallen in, but I've come very close. And I am far from graceful. This seems to be the big amusement for all the Ethiopians in the street. Come 8am or 7pm, they all seem to be standing around, waiting (maybe hoping?) that I take the wrong log. Girls giggle, and boys laugh. It turned into such a spectacle that yesterday, someone even clapped me when I (safely) got across.
I let you know if I fall in....
I step up, looking a little queesy. I stumble to the left, and fall to the right. I always seem to find the logs that have the most and least dry mud. On my right is a large mud bank. And on my left is the brown puddle of death. I've not yet fallen in, but I've come very close. And I am far from graceful. This seems to be the big amusement for all the Ethiopians in the street. Come 8am or 7pm, they all seem to be standing around, waiting (maybe hoping?) that I take the wrong log. Girls giggle, and boys laugh. It turned into such a spectacle that yesterday, someone even clapped me when I (safely) got across.
I let you know if I fall in....
Monday, 5 July 2010
Addis
On Addis: I wanted to add some photos, but I can't seem to up load them. Painful! But a brief description of Addis: I live in a fairly rural suburb of Addis, about 10km from the center of town. Every morning, I walk down my badly pot holed street, dodging the knee deep puddles and the horse and carts sprinting down the road. At the end of the road, I take a minibus ("Blue Donkey") along the main road towards a massive roundabout where I switch minibus and head towards Addis Ababa University. Once squeezed onto the bus, I get stared at non-stop. But people seem more than happy to give up their seat for me (like I need it!), even despite my protests.
Addis itself is quite a crazy place. Everyday, I pass a melange of beggers, loonies, lepers, and street kids. People are standing in the street, with megaphones shouting something about God. I also pass numerous Toyota Landcruisers, colorfully dressed orthodox priests (who hand out crosses for people to kiss), and many, many, many coffee shops. The coffee here is a) cheap and b) excellent. Coffee seems to be a real social and cool (areft in Amharic) thing. Many of the streets are very well tarmaced, and given all the rain, greeney lines every road. There is a central street which connects the Prime Minister's house to Sidist Kilo (where the university is). Everything to the east of this central road is quite plus and rich. Nice pavements, wide streets, that type of stuff. Everything to the west of the street is more "edgy". Streets are smaller, the density of people to space increases, and I tend to keep an eye on my wallet a little more. I'm still to visit Mercato, the biggest market in Africa, which takes place everyday in West Addis.
Writing this in haste, so not the best description. Sorry. But the best way to get to know Addis is to come and see me.
Addis itself is quite a crazy place. Everyday, I pass a melange of beggers, loonies, lepers, and street kids. People are standing in the street, with megaphones shouting something about God. I also pass numerous Toyota Landcruisers, colorfully dressed orthodox priests (who hand out crosses for people to kiss), and many, many, many coffee shops. The coffee here is a) cheap and b) excellent. Coffee seems to be a real social and cool (areft in Amharic) thing. Many of the streets are very well tarmaced, and given all the rain, greeney lines every road. There is a central street which connects the Prime Minister's house to Sidist Kilo (where the university is). Everything to the east of this central road is quite plus and rich. Nice pavements, wide streets, that type of stuff. Everything to the west of the street is more "edgy". Streets are smaller, the density of people to space increases, and I tend to keep an eye on my wallet a little more. I'm still to visit Mercato, the biggest market in Africa, which takes place everyday in West Addis.
Writing this in haste, so not the best description. Sorry. But the best way to get to know Addis is to come and see me.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Germany vs England
Oh In-GEER-lund, why do you do it to us? Why do you build our hopes up with stories of “Fabio can” only to brutally destroy them, our dreams left convulsing on the ground like the cockroach in the family bathroom this morning which I sprayed with insect killer, as it tired to flee down the plug hole.
Along with Darwit, the head of the family I’m living with in suburban-Addis Ababa, I went to my local bira bet (a pub of sorts) to watch England beat Germany. I had spent the day at the Institute for Ethiopian Studies, which if you ever get the chance, is well worth the visit. A large part of the Institute is dedicated to pictures of the martyrdom of St George (K’dus Georgais), who is the patron-saint of Ethiopia, as well as England. To further heighten any symbolism, I ensured I drank the (excellent) local beer, K’dus Georgais.
I confidently strolled into the bar. I had my Birr 100 note in my pocket (£5), enough to buy 25 pints. My plan was that on the final whistle and England’s inevitable victory over its arch-rival, I would walk up to the bar, slap my Birr 100 note onto the counter and order everyone in the pub a pint. What a jolly good Englishman I was planning on being, winning hearts and minds left, right and centre (where Gerrard should have played).
As the anthems ended, I explained to Darwit, in my broken Amharic, that we deserved to win. Bringing home the World Cup, or at the very least beating Germany, would have been a decent tribute for our brave lads in Helmand. And what a better way of softening the cuts and tax rises about to hit us all, than a bit of World Cup gold to balance the books. I talked to a few of the local “lads” about England, saying how this was going to be Rooney’s match (he’s called “Ronny” out here). They agreed, and showed me photos of their kids as further proof of their convergence.
And suddenly the rain came. Not any old rain, but true Ethiopia rainy season rain. Lightening, thunder, floods and hail - big football sized hailstones (well sort of). I sat there, in the middle of Africa, shivering, wearing my thick Hoxton hoodie, in AFRICA, shivering! At one point, it go so bad that I thought the pub’s mud/thatch roof was going to full in. Oddly enough, the lights went out by the TV stayed on.
I had literally only just finished explaining to Darwit that Shakespeare often used rain as a symbol of trouble ahead, when Upson failed to communicate with James and Germany scored a ridiculous first goal. And you don’t need me to tell you that things only got worse. I remember thinking that even with only 10 minutes left, England will fight back in true St. George style. And I remembered St. George later on in the evening when I put my (untouched) Birr 100 note, neatly back into my money envelope in my bedroom.
In fairness to the Ethiopians, they were a good crowd. Even despite the odd stares, they seemed to like the fact that I, a franji (foreigner/westerner/white guy), had come to their bar and was trying to speak a bit of Amharic. When England scored, they shouted and screamed (generally, screamed) as loud as they did the four times Germany scored. And they were as appalled as me at the Lampard refereeing decision, that had I asked them to break (the already broken) plastic chairs in hooligan rage, I’m sure they would have done.
Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m out here, with the opportunity of a life time, and no piss-poor England team (please, can we ask some fundamental questions about the nature of English football, rather than just sack the manager) is going to take that away from me. It doesn’t matter for the mosques and orthodox churches, which I grumpily passed on my way home, peacefully taking in people of a non-football faith. It doesn’t matter for my neighborhood's underfed horses, dragging heavy carts and bouncing and thudding along the pot-holed road. And it certainly doesn’t matter for the three sheets of ripped, muddy tarpaulin, sprawled out next to a puddle, covering two agonizingly boney legs which I almost walked on. Yes, of course the Match doesn’t matter. But it does not stop the hurt.
Along with Darwit, the head of the family I’m living with in suburban-Addis Ababa, I went to my local bira bet (a pub of sorts) to watch England beat Germany. I had spent the day at the Institute for Ethiopian Studies, which if you ever get the chance, is well worth the visit. A large part of the Institute is dedicated to pictures of the martyrdom of St George (K’dus Georgais), who is the patron-saint of Ethiopia, as well as England. To further heighten any symbolism, I ensured I drank the (excellent) local beer, K’dus Georgais.
I confidently strolled into the bar. I had my Birr 100 note in my pocket (£5), enough to buy 25 pints. My plan was that on the final whistle and England’s inevitable victory over its arch-rival, I would walk up to the bar, slap my Birr 100 note onto the counter and order everyone in the pub a pint. What a jolly good Englishman I was planning on being, winning hearts and minds left, right and centre (where Gerrard should have played).
As the anthems ended, I explained to Darwit, in my broken Amharic, that we deserved to win. Bringing home the World Cup, or at the very least beating Germany, would have been a decent tribute for our brave lads in Helmand. And what a better way of softening the cuts and tax rises about to hit us all, than a bit of World Cup gold to balance the books. I talked to a few of the local “lads” about England, saying how this was going to be Rooney’s match (he’s called “Ronny” out here). They agreed, and showed me photos of their kids as further proof of their convergence.
And suddenly the rain came. Not any old rain, but true Ethiopia rainy season rain. Lightening, thunder, floods and hail - big football sized hailstones (well sort of). I sat there, in the middle of Africa, shivering, wearing my thick Hoxton hoodie, in AFRICA, shivering! At one point, it go so bad that I thought the pub’s mud/thatch roof was going to full in. Oddly enough, the lights went out by the TV stayed on.
I had literally only just finished explaining to Darwit that Shakespeare often used rain as a symbol of trouble ahead, when Upson failed to communicate with James and Germany scored a ridiculous first goal. And you don’t need me to tell you that things only got worse. I remember thinking that even with only 10 minutes left, England will fight back in true St. George style. And I remembered St. George later on in the evening when I put my (untouched) Birr 100 note, neatly back into my money envelope in my bedroom.
In fairness to the Ethiopians, they were a good crowd. Even despite the odd stares, they seemed to like the fact that I, a franji (foreigner/westerner/white guy), had come to their bar and was trying to speak a bit of Amharic. When England scored, they shouted and screamed (generally, screamed) as loud as they did the four times Germany scored. And they were as appalled as me at the Lampard refereeing decision, that had I asked them to break (the already broken) plastic chairs in hooligan rage, I’m sure they would have done.
Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m out here, with the opportunity of a life time, and no piss-poor England team (please, can we ask some fundamental questions about the nature of English football, rather than just sack the manager) is going to take that away from me. It doesn’t matter for the mosques and orthodox churches, which I grumpily passed on my way home, peacefully taking in people of a non-football faith. It doesn’t matter for my neighborhood's underfed horses, dragging heavy carts and bouncing and thudding along the pot-holed road. And it certainly doesn’t matter for the three sheets of ripped, muddy tarpaulin, sprawled out next to a puddle, covering two agonizingly boney legs which I almost walked on. Yes, of course the Match doesn’t matter. But it does not stop the hurt.
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Moving in with the Family
After my week’s induction, today I moved in with the family who I’ll be staying with for my immersion training. The plan is that I live and breath Amharic solidly for three weeks: Four hours of Amharic lessons a day at Addis Ababa university, afternoons spent talking to Ethiopians in the street and market, and then evenings with my family. A hell of an experience and a great opportunity to learn about the country and language.
The family live some way out of town, in what seems to be a fairly nice neighborhood - at least by Addis standards. There are loads of street stalls and shops, and on the main road, a good selection of bars. I even walked passed a dry cleaners. The family live off a main room, down a street that has so many potholes in that I thought our tax was going to sink when we got stuck in one. Apparently taxis don’t go down this road, horse and cart is the better option (no joke - I went in one).
The family are wonderful. The head of the family is the dad, Dawit. He teaches Amharic in many Embassies across Addis. He’s a real gent and seems really keen for me to learn. He and his wife have twins, who are awesomely cute. They run around the living room all the time, falling over and never crying. And the little boy keeps farting, to my (and his family’s) amusement. There is also a grandmother, sister, aunt, brother and three cousins here. It’s a big house, but I feel uncomfortable: While they are sharing rooms, and even beds, me, the big western demander, has a double bed in my own private en-suite bedroom. There isn’t any hot water so I guess it’s not quite the Ritz, but still, they are really looking after me. My first impression is that the family, like in many cultures, seem to take great pride in looking after quests.
I sneaked out this afternoon to find a pub to watch the South Korea-Urangry match. I ended up befriending a group of Ethiopians lads, who seemed to be pretty impressed with my Amharic. I felt pretty chuffed - we had a proper conversation about English football and why Liverpool are a spent force. Heading back there tomorrow for the all important England-Germany game. I’ve promised that I’ll buy beers for everyone in the bar if England win tomorrow. It won’t be expensive, a pint (“jumbo”) is 20 pence. Roll on the good times.
After the match, had bolognese with the family. Damm nice. And then the hour long coffee ceremony where coffee is roasted in front of you (I never knew coffee beans were actually green). Ethiopian coffee tastes so good, real bitter-sweet stuff. Just I know that, lying here on my big double bed, listening to the dogs, mosques and mosquitos of semi-rural Addis Ababa, I’m not going to be sleeping for a few hours.
26 June 2010
The family live some way out of town, in what seems to be a fairly nice neighborhood - at least by Addis standards. There are loads of street stalls and shops, and on the main road, a good selection of bars. I even walked passed a dry cleaners. The family live off a main room, down a street that has so many potholes in that I thought our tax was going to sink when we got stuck in one. Apparently taxis don’t go down this road, horse and cart is the better option (no joke - I went in one).
The family are wonderful. The head of the family is the dad, Dawit. He teaches Amharic in many Embassies across Addis. He’s a real gent and seems really keen for me to learn. He and his wife have twins, who are awesomely cute. They run around the living room all the time, falling over and never crying. And the little boy keeps farting, to my (and his family’s) amusement. There is also a grandmother, sister, aunt, brother and three cousins here. It’s a big house, but I feel uncomfortable: While they are sharing rooms, and even beds, me, the big western demander, has a double bed in my own private en-suite bedroom. There isn’t any hot water so I guess it’s not quite the Ritz, but still, they are really looking after me. My first impression is that the family, like in many cultures, seem to take great pride in looking after quests.
I sneaked out this afternoon to find a pub to watch the South Korea-Urangry match. I ended up befriending a group of Ethiopians lads, who seemed to be pretty impressed with my Amharic. I felt pretty chuffed - we had a proper conversation about English football and why Liverpool are a spent force. Heading back there tomorrow for the all important England-Germany game. I’ve promised that I’ll buy beers for everyone in the bar if England win tomorrow. It won’t be expensive, a pint (“jumbo”) is 20 pence. Roll on the good times.
After the match, had bolognese with the family. Damm nice. And then the hour long coffee ceremony where coffee is roasted in front of you (I never knew coffee beans were actually green). Ethiopian coffee tastes so good, real bitter-sweet stuff. Just I know that, lying here on my big double bed, listening to the dogs, mosques and mosquitos of semi-rural Addis Ababa, I’m not going to be sleeping for a few hours.
26 June 2010
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Arrival
16 hours of travel, and not a drop of sleep. What an idiot I am. The result is that I’ve been on the roller coaster of emotions today - flying high and diving low. I’ve been excited, confused, relieved, happy, and now I’m scared. I’m sitting in the restaurant of my hotel, the only person here, feeling very lonely and just hoping that I made the right decision. There isn’t butterflies in my stomach, rather a flock of birds. I’ve been here for not only 24 hours, and I’m already missing home. There is a big part of me that would love to be back in Brixton right now.
Anyway, initial impressions of Addis: Wet (lots of heavy rain today); green; great coffee shops; relaxed; good tarmac; friendly; hugh amount of construction work. Whenever I have spoken Amharic, Ethiopians have giggled (politely) at me. But the few that I have spoken to - the waiters in the restaurant - have been charming and friendly.
It‘s going to be a long but great three years.
Anyway, initial impressions of Addis: Wet (lots of heavy rain today); green; great coffee shops; relaxed; good tarmac; friendly; hugh amount of construction work. Whenever I have spoken Amharic, Ethiopians have giggled (politely) at me. But the few that I have spoken to - the waiters in the restaurant - have been charming and friendly.
It‘s going to be a long but great three years.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
Leaving the UK
Saying Goodbye
I knew that it has been a fantastic leaving “period” when I squeezed into my jeans this morning. “Period” because my leaving parties, drinks, dinners and meetings have stretched on for three weeks. It started with a wonderfully happy family leaving party at my parents’ house. Everyone was there, even my brother Justin, his wife Alex and his handsome nephew Xavier, who had come all the way from Australia. A week later, Margot and I had our leaving party with our friends (although my parents cheated and were at both). Equally fun, but a lot more drunken, the evening involved me walking into a lamp-post and being put into an industrial bin. In between these two great parties, there has been many excellent restaurants, drinks and meals. Even a 30km walk. It’s just been great.
I’m now sat here, an hour before I leave for the airport and say goodbye to the UK. I’m excited. I know that if I work hard, I’ve got a real chance to learn, build new skills and maybe help make a bit of a difference to the UK and Ethiopia. It’s going to be a great experience for Margot and me, no question. We both can’t wait to get to know the Country, make some friends and travel everywhere. I just hope that I can really seize the opportunity in front of me.
I’d add that I’m so glad that Margot is coming with me. Sounds cheesy, but she is really the best. I don’t want to think what it would be like without her.
But I’m also sad. If I’ve learnt anything in the last three weeks (between the food and beer), is that I am damm lucky to have such great family and friends. There has been moments over the last three weeks when I stopped in my tracks, and said to myself, ‘Ben, you’ve lucked out with your excellent friends and family.‘ The next three years is going to be great and tough. But I know that whatever happens, thanks to my friends and family, the UK will always be my home.
I knew that it has been a fantastic leaving “period” when I squeezed into my jeans this morning. “Period” because my leaving parties, drinks, dinners and meetings have stretched on for three weeks. It started with a wonderfully happy family leaving party at my parents’ house. Everyone was there, even my brother Justin, his wife Alex and his handsome nephew Xavier, who had come all the way from Australia. A week later, Margot and I had our leaving party with our friends (although my parents cheated and were at both). Equally fun, but a lot more drunken, the evening involved me walking into a lamp-post and being put into an industrial bin. In between these two great parties, there has been many excellent restaurants, drinks and meals. Even a 30km walk. It’s just been great.
I’m now sat here, an hour before I leave for the airport and say goodbye to the UK. I’m excited. I know that if I work hard, I’ve got a real chance to learn, build new skills and maybe help make a bit of a difference to the UK and Ethiopia. It’s going to be a great experience for Margot and me, no question. We both can’t wait to get to know the Country, make some friends and travel everywhere. I just hope that I can really seize the opportunity in front of me.
I’d add that I’m so glad that Margot is coming with me. Sounds cheesy, but she is really the best. I don’t want to think what it would be like without her.
But I’m also sad. If I’ve learnt anything in the last three weeks (between the food and beer), is that I am damm lucky to have such great family and friends. There has been moments over the last three weeks when I stopped in my tracks, and said to myself, ‘Ben, you’ve lucked out with your excellent friends and family.‘ The next three years is going to be great and tough. But I know that whatever happens, thanks to my friends and family, the UK will always be my home.
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