Saturday, March 25, 2006
It’s funny how we find wonderful people in the most random places. I know that my family has grown so much during my time in Ethiopia. Maybe I met them at some foggy point in the past, or I’ve always been related to them, however distantly, but we’d never met, or I never even knew they existed, but somehow we have stumbled upon each other, and now here we are. Love means so much more than blood.
One of these people is our contract taxi driver, Abiy. Strikingly handsome, incredibly caring, and only usually punctual, he is a beautiful soul. When he was younger he was a potter, actor, and dancer, but in order to support his wife he bought a taxi. He now has a baby boy that is turning 1 in April. But Abiy still carries around a photo album, tucked in the back of his glove compartment. It’s filled with pictures of him dancing in costume and in the studio with clay smudged on his cheeks. They are souvenirs, wistful memories, dreams stifled and silenced by responsibility. My mind is constantly chattering with fantastic ideas, goals, aspirations… one day will they be barely audible? Simply whispers amidst my wrinkles and gray hairs?
Anyway, last night my grade had an “old skool” movie night at school, with “Mrs. Doubtfire” and “Cool Runnings.” It was quite the success, a lot of people came and we made almost 2,000 birr. I had asked my friend beforehand if she could give me a ride home afterwards and she sweetly and enthusiastically responded, “Yeah, of course Samriye!” But with 15 minutes left in the movie, at about 9:45 p.m., she told me that she couldn’t give me a ride. The movie had gone later than expected, her mom was calling and telling her to come home that instant, she was really sorry. Excuse me, but SHIT. I was screwed. It’s not so easy to get around in Ethiopia. I don’t have a driver, I can’t drive here, my mom doesn’t drive… We have Abiy, but I didn’t want to put him through the hassle of coming all the way back to ICS to pick me up when he had already picked up Sally and my mom. I talked to a couple of people, hinted that I need a ride home, but they don’t live by me. I was even more screwed. There wasn’t really anyone I feel close enough to to have asked for a ride home. Since most people only live about 5 minutes from school, they make a big deal of going to CMC, even though at night it’s only about 20 minutes from ICS. I was only even going to my aunt’s house, maybe 5 minutes closer from CMC depending on your travel route, but that would still be too much to ask.
I called Abiy. His wife picked up, told me that Abiy was asleep, and my voice was quavering as I said goodnight. Maybe I get worked up over small things, maybe this wasn’t something to cry about, but as a 17-year-old girl I don’t want to be stranded on the other side of Addis at 10:30 at night with no way to get home except taking a random taxi. Which I absolutely was not about to do. I hate my lack of ability here, my dependence on others to get things done… driving, shopping, even talking and communicating.
But I guess I’m lucky or I’ve done enough good in the world, because Abiy called me back a few minutes later. His wife had woken him up and told him I’d called. He was at ICS 30 minutes later, and I was one of the last three people there. He groggily smiled and told me that he had rushed out of bed to come get me; he even still had his pajamas on beneath a shirt and a jacket. He said that he is my telick wendim, my big brother, and besides, he promised my dad that he would get me, whenever, wherever, regardless. I apologized and thanked him numerous times, told him what had happened, and he shook his head and sighed, “She is not a good girl, I do not like her.” We arrived home and one last time I said, “Betam amesegenalehu, betam yekerta. Thank you so much, I’m so sorry.” He said, “Of course, it’s no problem. Dehna derri.” “Dehna derr.” Goodnight.
Once in bed my mom told me that when Abiy had picked her up he was very happy. Sally ended up getting a ride home with her dad, so Abiy didn’t have to take her all the way to CMC in the evening traffic. He hadn’t been able to eat lunch and had been working since 6 a.m., so all he had to do was drop off my mom (he lives in the same neighborhood as us), and then he could go home, eat, and go to bed. The way I see it, either Abiy’s just an incredible person and takes his work very seriously to have picked me up at 11, or my dad threatened some pretty scary things if the whole “whenever, wherever, regardless” thing didn’t happen. Just because my dad’s on the other side of the world doesn’t mean he doesn’t have connections in Ethiopia… Haha, but seriously, Abiy is a wonderful person, and it’s not just that he takes his work seriously, it’s that he really cares.
It’s funny how we find wonderful people in the most random places. Even a little blue and white taxi, just one among thousands, on the streets of Addis. My family has grown so much during my time in Ethiopia; someone I never even knew existed is now my telick wendim. Love means so much more than blood.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
Soccer and God
My mom has returned to Ethiopia! Before she arrived I had been playing soccer at CMC a lot. For the longest time I had wanted to play with the boys at CMC but was too scared to ask, too scared of their rejection, too scared of not being good enough. But one day when we had no school we informally started playing and I proved myself to them. I was playing with boys of all ages, from 9 to 14 and then from 18 to 22. From then on I was always welcome to play with them, and after school I would put on my cleats as quickly as possible and rush out to the field.
Skinny brown legs grayed by the dust can always be seen kicking around a soccer ball here in Addis. Young boys will push and shove each other along the rocky, unpaved residential streets, a ball at their feet. Big empty fields of dust and stones are filled with young Ethiopian men or women sprinting back and forth; they gracefully maneuver the ball with experience and ease, their feet moving it so gently and effortlessly. It is impossible to drive five minutes in Addis without seeing a group of people playing soccer. After God, food, and family, soccer is probably the most revered thing among Ethiopians.
But playing with the boys in CMC was a lot of fun, and in the week that I was playing with them I actually improved quite a bit, both at soccer and Amharic. Even though most of them can at least speak a bit of English, it is only ever spoken to translate for me. When beginning a game at least half of us will quickly sit down exasperated, and pick at the grass or see how far we can throw pebbles; it’s always hard to begin playing because the little boys always find something to argue about. At times these explode into real fights, and their small arms will swing through the air, their dirty nails will cut into each others’ skin, they will run and do a karate jump. Their anger so convinces them, and that they are able to throw such hard, straight punches, their arms slice through the air with great precision. Belo, belo, belo! Fight, fight, fight! The other boys will tauntingly yell in attempts to further provoke the fight. Finally someone will pull the boys apart, enechawot, let’s play! And the game will begin. We run up and down, side-to-side, wary of obstacles like rocks, random plants, the swings and slides, and little babies excitedly waddling into our game. Izhiyga, wust! Here, inside! Some days we play until we are too tired. Some days we play until we’ve decided that more time is spent fighting than playing. Some days we play until it is so dark that it is impossible to score, and people are just solid objects moving in the night. Now I miss playing with them. And I miss them. Yeah, sometimes they were annoying, they’re little boys. But that’s what a brother’s like. One Sunday afternoon they actually came to my house and called me out to play with them. Maybe it’s childish, maybe it’s that human need for acceptance, but it meant a lot to me.
Unfortunately for me, one of the days that I was playing with them, I ended up spraining my left ankle pretty badly. My right ankle was already sprained so bad that I had to wear a cast for a month in 7th grade. I can’t help but feel that I’m falling apart. And on top of that, what bad timing! Soccer season at school is just about to start, and I’m soooo excited. Couldn’t I have hurt myself during basketball season… For those of you who don’t know, I don’t play basketball. Anyway, it’s been 2 weeks since I hurt it. I went 1 _ weeks without doing anything aerobic, but I can’t handle that immobility, I’m not ready to walk with a cane yet. So the other day I decided to go up to the track and walk a few laps. After walking 6 laps I decided to be daring, and I began to “jog” 3. After 3 laps of my hobble-limp-jog around the track my ankle hurt too much for “daring” to be appealing any longer. And I felt like an old woman. And completely NOT in the words of any wrinkly, gray, incapable old person: that sucked. Call me immature or superficial, I don’t care, but I went home and cried.
Our maid, Zeritu, was very troubled by my crying. She’s honestly one of the sweetest people alive. Her eyebrows instantly furrowed in worry, and her face instantly morphed into wrinkles of concern. She got cocoa butter and began massaging out my ankle. Wi, wi, wi… ahun igerish dehna newo? Ay yay yay, now how is your foot? She would constantly ask. Then she would say something along the lines of either “your pain is my pain” or “let me have your pain.”
I went to bed, and about an hour later I hear Zeritu, “Samra, tenyash?” Samra, are you asleep? I was asleep. But she came into the room, switched on the light, and again, “Tenyash?” I groaned in response. She walked over to the bed and pulled the covers off of me. In her hand was a large, old tin can filled with water. “Weddeh christiane bet heydooh. I went to church,” she said happily. I’m pretty sure that she goes nearly every night right now because it’s fasting time, but it turns out she had brought back holy water for me. She dipped her hand into it, and splashed it on my ankle while murmuring, “Beh Egziabheir leSamra yemarech… God please heal Samra…” and went on along the lines of that. For all the Ethiopians reading this, sorry for my broken Amharic. After a minute or two of this she put the covers back on, said goodnight, and turned off the light.
I turned over onto my stomach and delicately placed my ankle on the mattress, trying to twist it as little as possible. Even though I’m not religious, I really hoped that I would wake up the next morning and be completely healed. Something about the intensely zealous trust and faith that Ethiopians put in God’s power is infiltrating my own not-quite-cemented beliefs. It’s slight, nearly undetectable, but I am increasingly aware of this enigmatic, mysteriously powerful man, divinity, whatever you want to call Him. It’s not that I’m suddenly religious and want to devote myself to God’s will, but I can’t help but wonder What if…? I woke up the next morning with a stiff ankle, still sore and rolling as I walked around. It hurt a little less, but who will ever know if I just fabricated that in my mind out of my yearning to be better? That afternoon I went to the clinic to get it looked at.
Skinny brown legs grayed by the dust can always be seen kicking around a soccer ball here in Addis. Young boys will push and shove each other along the rocky, unpaved residential streets, a ball at their feet. Big empty fields of dust and stones are filled with young Ethiopian men or women sprinting back and forth; they gracefully maneuver the ball with experience and ease, their feet moving it so gently and effortlessly. It is impossible to drive five minutes in Addis without seeing a group of people playing soccer. After God, food, and family, soccer is probably the most revered thing among Ethiopians.
But playing with the boys in CMC was a lot of fun, and in the week that I was playing with them I actually improved quite a bit, both at soccer and Amharic. Even though most of them can at least speak a bit of English, it is only ever spoken to translate for me. When beginning a game at least half of us will quickly sit down exasperated, and pick at the grass or see how far we can throw pebbles; it’s always hard to begin playing because the little boys always find something to argue about. At times these explode into real fights, and their small arms will swing through the air, their dirty nails will cut into each others’ skin, they will run and do a karate jump. Their anger so convinces them, and that they are able to throw such hard, straight punches, their arms slice through the air with great precision. Belo, belo, belo! Fight, fight, fight! The other boys will tauntingly yell in attempts to further provoke the fight. Finally someone will pull the boys apart, enechawot, let’s play! And the game will begin. We run up and down, side-to-side, wary of obstacles like rocks, random plants, the swings and slides, and little babies excitedly waddling into our game. Izhiyga, wust! Here, inside! Some days we play until we are too tired. Some days we play until we’ve decided that more time is spent fighting than playing. Some days we play until it is so dark that it is impossible to score, and people are just solid objects moving in the night. Now I miss playing with them. And I miss them. Yeah, sometimes they were annoying, they’re little boys. But that’s what a brother’s like. One Sunday afternoon they actually came to my house and called me out to play with them. Maybe it’s childish, maybe it’s that human need for acceptance, but it meant a lot to me.
Unfortunately for me, one of the days that I was playing with them, I ended up spraining my left ankle pretty badly. My right ankle was already sprained so bad that I had to wear a cast for a month in 7th grade. I can’t help but feel that I’m falling apart. And on top of that, what bad timing! Soccer season at school is just about to start, and I’m soooo excited. Couldn’t I have hurt myself during basketball season… For those of you who don’t know, I don’t play basketball. Anyway, it’s been 2 weeks since I hurt it. I went 1 _ weeks without doing anything aerobic, but I can’t handle that immobility, I’m not ready to walk with a cane yet. So the other day I decided to go up to the track and walk a few laps. After walking 6 laps I decided to be daring, and I began to “jog” 3. After 3 laps of my hobble-limp-jog around the track my ankle hurt too much for “daring” to be appealing any longer. And I felt like an old woman. And completely NOT in the words of any wrinkly, gray, incapable old person: that sucked. Call me immature or superficial, I don’t care, but I went home and cried.
Our maid, Zeritu, was very troubled by my crying. She’s honestly one of the sweetest people alive. Her eyebrows instantly furrowed in worry, and her face instantly morphed into wrinkles of concern. She got cocoa butter and began massaging out my ankle. Wi, wi, wi… ahun igerish dehna newo? Ay yay yay, now how is your foot? She would constantly ask. Then she would say something along the lines of either “your pain is my pain” or “let me have your pain.”
I went to bed, and about an hour later I hear Zeritu, “Samra, tenyash?” Samra, are you asleep? I was asleep. But she came into the room, switched on the light, and again, “Tenyash?” I groaned in response. She walked over to the bed and pulled the covers off of me. In her hand was a large, old tin can filled with water. “Weddeh christiane bet heydooh. I went to church,” she said happily. I’m pretty sure that she goes nearly every night right now because it’s fasting time, but it turns out she had brought back holy water for me. She dipped her hand into it, and splashed it on my ankle while murmuring, “Beh Egziabheir leSamra yemarech… God please heal Samra…” and went on along the lines of that. For all the Ethiopians reading this, sorry for my broken Amharic. After a minute or two of this she put the covers back on, said goodnight, and turned off the light.
I turned over onto my stomach and delicately placed my ankle on the mattress, trying to twist it as little as possible. Even though I’m not religious, I really hoped that I would wake up the next morning and be completely healed. Something about the intensely zealous trust and faith that Ethiopians put in God’s power is infiltrating my own not-quite-cemented beliefs. It’s slight, nearly undetectable, but I am increasingly aware of this enigmatic, mysteriously powerful man, divinity, whatever you want to call Him. It’s not that I’m suddenly religious and want to devote myself to God’s will, but I can’t help but wonder What if…? I woke up the next morning with a stiff ankle, still sore and rolling as I walked around. It hurt a little less, but who will ever know if I just fabricated that in my mind out of my yearning to be better? That afternoon I went to the clinic to get it looked at.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Look Both Ways Before Crossing the Street
Ahhhh, I can’t believe it’s been a month since I posted! Why do I suck at this??? Anyway, this one I thought I had posted on February 13, but apparently I only saved it as a draft… enjoy, and check back Monday or Tuesday for a new one…
We were on our way to school. Slow Ethiopian instrumental ballads serenaded us from the radio, but it was a more silent drive than usual. Sally and I were both staring out of our windows, lost in our thoughts, our minds racing along with the cars around us. Ironically, I was thinking about driving in Ethiopia, wondering if my mom would get a license when she returned, feeling confident that, after having been driven around for months and observing the way things work, I could even hold my own behind the wheel on the streets of Addis.
We came upon a narrow road that was heavily backed up with traffic. My eyes remained fixed outside of my window, but I wasn’t absorbing anything that I was seeing as we slowly glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped our way up the hill.
I don’t know what it was that made me turn my head, Abiy nervously stammering, “shit, shit,” under his breath, or the drawn-out, high-pitched screech that resounded through the air. I turned my head and saw the silver bumper of the old VW bug gleaming menacingly in the early-morning sun, the young woman awkwardly sprawled on the ground beneath it, the wood that she must have been carrying scattered around her, lying like broken bones and broken dreams. And I didn’t know if the screech that I had heard was the squealing of the car tires as the man driving slammed on his brakes, or the scream of the girl as she tried to force her feet to move faster, terror, regret, and anxiety surely burning in both their eyes.
A woman ran up and tried to lift the young lady, but she lay limp and motionless in her arms; her head tilted back on her neck, and slowly rolled back and forth like a door being swung open and shut by a draft of wind; her arms fell slack at her side, and her face was empty, her eyelids gently closed. A trickle of by-standers began to dam up around the girl until the crowd was so thick that she was no longer visible. As we drove on, Abiy told a police officer that was conducting traffic what had happened.
It was a more silent drive than usual. But the dead silence in the little blue taxi was now heavy and inundated with our screaming thoughts. We simply stared out of our windows.
We were on our way to school. Slow Ethiopian instrumental ballads serenaded us from the radio, but it was a more silent drive than usual. Sally and I were both staring out of our windows, lost in our thoughts, our minds racing along with the cars around us. Ironically, I was thinking about driving in Ethiopia, wondering if my mom would get a license when she returned, feeling confident that, after having been driven around for months and observing the way things work, I could even hold my own behind the wheel on the streets of Addis.
We came upon a narrow road that was heavily backed up with traffic. My eyes remained fixed outside of my window, but I wasn’t absorbing anything that I was seeing as we slowly glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped, glided forward and stopped our way up the hill.
I don’t know what it was that made me turn my head, Abiy nervously stammering, “shit, shit,” under his breath, or the drawn-out, high-pitched screech that resounded through the air. I turned my head and saw the silver bumper of the old VW bug gleaming menacingly in the early-morning sun, the young woman awkwardly sprawled on the ground beneath it, the wood that she must have been carrying scattered around her, lying like broken bones and broken dreams. And I didn’t know if the screech that I had heard was the squealing of the car tires as the man driving slammed on his brakes, or the scream of the girl as she tried to force her feet to move faster, terror, regret, and anxiety surely burning in both their eyes.
A woman ran up and tried to lift the young lady, but she lay limp and motionless in her arms; her head tilted back on her neck, and slowly rolled back and forth like a door being swung open and shut by a draft of wind; her arms fell slack at her side, and her face was empty, her eyelids gently closed. A trickle of by-standers began to dam up around the girl until the crowd was so thick that she was no longer visible. As we drove on, Abiy told a police officer that was conducting traffic what had happened.
It was a more silent drive than usual. But the dead silence in the little blue taxi was now heavy and inundated with our screaming thoughts. We simply stared out of our windows.
It's Never Too Late
February 6, 2006
These past few weeks have been really important to me. A lot has happened. For one thing, despite how daunting my overwhelming workload appeared after my return from the States, I didn’t let it weigh me down, I didn’t give up. I diligently worked through it all, sacrificing my weekends and the always-occurring parties. Granted, I do still have both an anthropology presentation and an English presentation (both of which are causing me great grief), but my hard work paid off for everything else: I’ve aced all of my tests and projects so far. It actually feels really nice. And, as scary as it is, I’m really beginning to feel like an adult: accountable, hard-working, striving towards a goal. I still did my fair share of procrastination, but… I did it responsibly I guess J.
As for a fun side of life, this week is spirit week! Today was crazy day, and it’s been really fun so far. My class in incredible, they’re just so spirited, and it’s nice to know that they resemble HRS in that respect. We totally blew the other grades out of the water. Each class does skits every day at lunch, and ours was HILAAARIOUS. And I had a great little part, and thus tied for best girl of the day! It made me so happy, especially because you get money!!! Tomorrow’s student-teacher swap day, Wednesday’s gender swap day, Thursday’s class theme day, and Friday’s class color day. I’m going to dress up as Ms. Aida, the beautiful Ethiopian French teacher, who is also my soccer coach. Basically I just have to look sophisticated and elegant. Gender swap day I’m going alllll out! I’m wearing the white air forces, an XXL white tee, baggy jeans, a NICE RocaWear jacket, and Betty’s going to cornrow my hair. Oh, and I’m gonna have my bling bling: I’m borrowing a chain and some earrings… It basically rocks. Our class theme is “bring the dead back to life” and I’m Angela Davis. Basically all that I’m doing is brushing out my hair into a HUUUGE afro, wearing a lot of my mom’s old jewelry from the 60’s and 70’s, jeans, and my hot hippie halter… The thing about spirit week is that I actually need to have the clothing for my outfit within my wardrobe. It’s times like these that I miss my mom and dad’s closet. And finally, our class color is blue. I think it’s going to be a fun week.
I’ve also learned a lot about being mature and acting sensibly. Nearly since my return to Addis I have not been on speaking terms with a friend of mine. I won’t go into detail as to why that is, but he had not honored his word to me, he conveniently forgot to tell me things that I would consider important regarding our relationship (they weren’t good things), and he ultimately just hurt me a lot. So, I decided if he wasn’t willing to really talk to me, then I wouldn’t bother talking to him. Or acknowledge him. At all. When he was ready to grow up and fess up to his wrongs I would be entirely open to discussion, but until then I would ignore him. All this while I was harboring anger, resentment, and hurt towards him and it just sat in me like stagnant water. It grew murkier, flies began to gather, and an odd stench emanated from it. It was the reek of pain, my own pain. By letting those bad feelings fester inside of me, my happiness and wholeness just rot away. Sure I was hurting him, but I was hurting myself more. And ignoring him and cutting him out of my life while maintaining a solid façade didn’t show my strength. I fooled myself into believing that I would “be strong” and simply forget about him. But I hadn’t forgotten about him, I was still hurting inside. I was really being weak. The strong thing to do was to forgive him, to talk to him, to rebuild some semblance of a relationship. I knew that all along, but the dominant part of my brain just seems to be stubborn and self-absorbed; this tends to displace most of my sanity and sensibility. After the voice of wisdom really got this point into my head, I forgave him. Not to his face, not out loud, but within myself I forgave him by releasing myself of all of my anger towards him. Even though we didn’t talk at school today, my energy towards him was markedly different: it was softer, calmer, lighter. It felt really nice. And then after school he approached me and apologized. The ability to forgive is great. It’s something we all need to truly embrace in our lives.
As my boy Michael Franti says: “It’s never too late to start the day over / it’s never too late to pick up the phone / it’s never too late to lay your head down on my shoulders / it’s never too late to come on home. Come on home.”
These past few weeks have been really important to me. A lot has happened. For one thing, despite how daunting my overwhelming workload appeared after my return from the States, I didn’t let it weigh me down, I didn’t give up. I diligently worked through it all, sacrificing my weekends and the always-occurring parties. Granted, I do still have both an anthropology presentation and an English presentation (both of which are causing me great grief), but my hard work paid off for everything else: I’ve aced all of my tests and projects so far. It actually feels really nice. And, as scary as it is, I’m really beginning to feel like an adult: accountable, hard-working, striving towards a goal. I still did my fair share of procrastination, but… I did it responsibly I guess J.
As for a fun side of life, this week is spirit week! Today was crazy day, and it’s been really fun so far. My class in incredible, they’re just so spirited, and it’s nice to know that they resemble HRS in that respect. We totally blew the other grades out of the water. Each class does skits every day at lunch, and ours was HILAAARIOUS. And I had a great little part, and thus tied for best girl of the day! It made me so happy, especially because you get money!!! Tomorrow’s student-teacher swap day, Wednesday’s gender swap day, Thursday’s class theme day, and Friday’s class color day. I’m going to dress up as Ms. Aida, the beautiful Ethiopian French teacher, who is also my soccer coach. Basically I just have to look sophisticated and elegant. Gender swap day I’m going alllll out! I’m wearing the white air forces, an XXL white tee, baggy jeans, a NICE RocaWear jacket, and Betty’s going to cornrow my hair. Oh, and I’m gonna have my bling bling: I’m borrowing a chain and some earrings… It basically rocks. Our class theme is “bring the dead back to life” and I’m Angela Davis. Basically all that I’m doing is brushing out my hair into a HUUUGE afro, wearing a lot of my mom’s old jewelry from the 60’s and 70’s, jeans, and my hot hippie halter… The thing about spirit week is that I actually need to have the clothing for my outfit within my wardrobe. It’s times like these that I miss my mom and dad’s closet. And finally, our class color is blue. I think it’s going to be a fun week.
I’ve also learned a lot about being mature and acting sensibly. Nearly since my return to Addis I have not been on speaking terms with a friend of mine. I won’t go into detail as to why that is, but he had not honored his word to me, he conveniently forgot to tell me things that I would consider important regarding our relationship (they weren’t good things), and he ultimately just hurt me a lot. So, I decided if he wasn’t willing to really talk to me, then I wouldn’t bother talking to him. Or acknowledge him. At all. When he was ready to grow up and fess up to his wrongs I would be entirely open to discussion, but until then I would ignore him. All this while I was harboring anger, resentment, and hurt towards him and it just sat in me like stagnant water. It grew murkier, flies began to gather, and an odd stench emanated from it. It was the reek of pain, my own pain. By letting those bad feelings fester inside of me, my happiness and wholeness just rot away. Sure I was hurting him, but I was hurting myself more. And ignoring him and cutting him out of my life while maintaining a solid façade didn’t show my strength. I fooled myself into believing that I would “be strong” and simply forget about him. But I hadn’t forgotten about him, I was still hurting inside. I was really being weak. The strong thing to do was to forgive him, to talk to him, to rebuild some semblance of a relationship. I knew that all along, but the dominant part of my brain just seems to be stubborn and self-absorbed; this tends to displace most of my sanity and sensibility. After the voice of wisdom really got this point into my head, I forgave him. Not to his face, not out loud, but within myself I forgave him by releasing myself of all of my anger towards him. Even though we didn’t talk at school today, my energy towards him was markedly different: it was softer, calmer, lighter. It felt really nice. And then after school he approached me and apologized. The ability to forgive is great. It’s something we all need to truly embrace in our lives.
As my boy Michael Franti says: “It’s never too late to start the day over / it’s never too late to pick up the phone / it’s never too late to lay your head down on my shoulders / it’s never too late to come on home. Come on home.”
Friday, February 03, 2006
Stuck in Limbo
First of all, please excuse my last blog… I mainly used it to vent out all of my frustration and anxiety about schoolwork. And moving on…
I have gotten three letters from friends in the States in response to my “Winter Holiday” blog. Each of them was unique, but the beautiful thing was that they all were so completely honest and open. I felt that these three people really bared themselves to me, commiserated and sympathized with me in regards to my feelings, told me how that blog made them think and question things as well. It was incredibly touching and meant a lot to me, not only to see the power of my words, but also that these people felt comfortable enough to share those thoughts with me. You know who you are. Thank you.
Nonetheless, I do feel that I have some explaining to do. Granted, I received three very positive letters, but there are some people who I just have not heard from. People who mean a lot me. And I’m not sure if it’s because of what I wrote, or simply because between school and life, finding spare time to relax or write an email is a very rare luxury. I was very hesitant to post my “Winter Holiday” blog; I was worried about its repercussions, that it might hurt or offend people. So, to anyone that I may have upset, I’m very sorry. It was not targeted at anyone in particular. I just felt that I needed to somehow give an explanation to some people in regards to my “odd” behavior at times, but I don’t know, maybe it only made things worse. As my dad reminded me, this is a “public journal, not a private diary.”
But the thing is, it was something that I wanted to share. It was the truth. I want people to be able to understand and see how I’m changing, how Ethiopia is beginning to alter me. The East Bay/Oakland is still my favorite place in the world, I wouldn’t consider raising my children anywhere else. I still feel completely “at home” in the hallways of Head-Royce, I even think I can be more myself around my friends at home. Only more myself, not completely myself, because Ethiopia has changed me. I haven’t figured everything out yet, but I know that the time I’ve spent in Addis has given me a confidence that I didn’t have before. Sorry to get controversial again, but last year was a crucial time for me grow: between my American history class and my English class, from watching movies like “Bamboozled” and “Hotel Rwanda,” and reading books like Beloved and Reservation Blues, I finally realized race. I began to more fully understand the horrible things that have happened because of the color of one’s skin, and how that still thrives today. I have still yet to be directly confronted with racism, but there are certainly times where the world seems impossible. This only becomes more confusing because I’m half white, because why should things be any different based on the way we look, because race is actually socially constructed and has no biological basis. In Ethiopia I know that I can walk down the street with my head held high: I am just the same as everyone else, slightly qay, light-skinned, (in fact, people call me “white,” which is the weirdest thing for me) but abesha, Ethiopian. I can truly be beautiful and feel beautiful. Now, I think that the East Bay and Head-Royce should be applauded in their diversity and appreciation for it, but racism is too deeply ingrained in American society for it to be completely nonexistent within my community, however unconscious it may be. I believe that my friends and my parents’ friends are wonderful people, and they are our friends because race is not an issue. But simply being in the States changes everything. As much as I love Montclair, I can’t help but feel a little out of place as I’m crossing the street, a little on edge. The problem is that I don’t feel any more comfortable on E 14th.
I don't know... maybe this comes off as more extreme than I mean for it to be... but the fact of the matter is that in Ethiopia I completely fit on, I'm a part of everyone and everyone is a part of me. We are Ethiopian Many people take for granted the feeling of truly belonging. It's very powerful.
…I’m tired now, perhaps more on this subject in the near future.
I have gotten three letters from friends in the States in response to my “Winter Holiday” blog. Each of them was unique, but the beautiful thing was that they all were so completely honest and open. I felt that these three people really bared themselves to me, commiserated and sympathized with me in regards to my feelings, told me how that blog made them think and question things as well. It was incredibly touching and meant a lot to me, not only to see the power of my words, but also that these people felt comfortable enough to share those thoughts with me. You know who you are. Thank you.
Nonetheless, I do feel that I have some explaining to do. Granted, I received three very positive letters, but there are some people who I just have not heard from. People who mean a lot me. And I’m not sure if it’s because of what I wrote, or simply because between school and life, finding spare time to relax or write an email is a very rare luxury. I was very hesitant to post my “Winter Holiday” blog; I was worried about its repercussions, that it might hurt or offend people. So, to anyone that I may have upset, I’m very sorry. It was not targeted at anyone in particular. I just felt that I needed to somehow give an explanation to some people in regards to my “odd” behavior at times, but I don’t know, maybe it only made things worse. As my dad reminded me, this is a “public journal, not a private diary.”
But the thing is, it was something that I wanted to share. It was the truth. I want people to be able to understand and see how I’m changing, how Ethiopia is beginning to alter me. The East Bay/Oakland is still my favorite place in the world, I wouldn’t consider raising my children anywhere else. I still feel completely “at home” in the hallways of Head-Royce, I even think I can be more myself around my friends at home. Only more myself, not completely myself, because Ethiopia has changed me. I haven’t figured everything out yet, but I know that the time I’ve spent in Addis has given me a confidence that I didn’t have before. Sorry to get controversial again, but last year was a crucial time for me grow: between my American history class and my English class, from watching movies like “Bamboozled” and “Hotel Rwanda,” and reading books like Beloved and Reservation Blues, I finally realized race. I began to more fully understand the horrible things that have happened because of the color of one’s skin, and how that still thrives today. I have still yet to be directly confronted with racism, but there are certainly times where the world seems impossible. This only becomes more confusing because I’m half white, because why should things be any different based on the way we look, because race is actually socially constructed and has no biological basis. In Ethiopia I know that I can walk down the street with my head held high: I am just the same as everyone else, slightly qay, light-skinned, (in fact, people call me “white,” which is the weirdest thing for me) but abesha, Ethiopian. I can truly be beautiful and feel beautiful. Now, I think that the East Bay and Head-Royce should be applauded in their diversity and appreciation for it, but racism is too deeply ingrained in American society for it to be completely nonexistent within my community, however unconscious it may be. I believe that my friends and my parents’ friends are wonderful people, and they are our friends because race is not an issue. But simply being in the States changes everything. As much as I love Montclair, I can’t help but feel a little out of place as I’m crossing the street, a little on edge. The problem is that I don’t feel any more comfortable on E 14th.
I don't know... maybe this comes off as more extreme than I mean for it to be... but the fact of the matter is that in Ethiopia I completely fit on, I'm a part of everyone and everyone is a part of me. We are Ethiopian Many people take for granted the feeling of truly belonging. It's very powerful.
…I’m tired now, perhaps more on this subject in the near future.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Yeney Addis Ababa
1/24/06
Well, I successfully survived my first week. More or less anyhow. Actually, in all honesty, last week wasn’t so bad. But then I realized just HOW much work I’m suddenly being completely inundated with. Let’s see, I had this ridiculous IB Math Project due on Monday, but she let us turn it in today, Tuesday. Tomorrow, Wednesday, I have a math quiz… lucky me, on a section in our book that I haven’t done yet! Friday I have an in-class essay on the book that we read. Next Monday I have a math test (maybe you can see the common trend of how RIDICULOUSLY RIDICULOUS my math class is… but I actually really do enjoy it, although my grade dropped from a nearly A+ to an A- over the course of the semester). Next Tuesday I have a biology test… on things that I haven’t learned, because my teacher just doesn’t teach… but he’s actually getting a lot better, it’s nice to see, and definitely heartening for me. Next Wednesday I have a history oral presentation, and for some reason I chose the most boring topic. The following Tuesday I have an anthropology oral presentation, and THIS I’m excited for! We get to be “creative,” and the topic is race and ethnicity, so I’m going to interview (hopefully I’ll get to videotape it) a few of my friends at school on what’s it’s like to be multiracial. Then that same day I also have an English oral presentation on a book that I’ve only just started… Yeah, life’s a bitch… so, as the saying goes, just fuck it… sorry to any of my PG readers. But actually, that’s just so not true, I can’t just say fuck it, I can’t blow this off, which kind of sucks, but you know, no, it really doesn’t. Sorry, my thoughts are rather scattered, I’m fairly tired. Oh yeah, that’s one funny thing: I adjusted to the time pretty much right away, and I don’t think it’s because the No-Jet-Lag pills worked wonders. I guess at this point my body is just so used to going back and forth (even though it was only my 3rd transition) that I didn’t have any problems. Also I just jumped right into life; I arrived in Addis at 3 a.m. Saturday morning and was up at 6 a.m. on Monday to go to school. Sooo, the whole point of this has been to say that I’m not going to school tomorrow. It feels rather nice to think about it, actually J. The jet-lag is kind of catching up with me… kind of… no, honestly, I am rather tired, everything’s been really busy recently. Moreover, I can have time to catch up a bit on my projects, which I desperately need. You can think “oh, she has the weekend for thaaat,” but come on now, since when has the weekend ever been sufficient time to take care of everything that you need to do? Never. Once you fall behind you just can’t catch up without taking time off. Which then makes you fall behind a bit more. But the idea is that when you take time off you’re able to make a bigger gain than what you’ll lose. Exactly. Yes, exactly.
So, besides all of that boring stuff, anything interesting going on in my life? Ahh, I’m getting MUCH better at Amharic! It’s actually fairly awesome, I can talk! Haha, it’s a great feeling. It does get really frustrating sometimes because people see me and expect me to be able to understand what they’re saying and respond, but more often than not, I just have absolutely no idea what they’re saying to me. But now, I’m getting sooo much better, and it’s just very fulfilling. What else? My brain just isn’t functioning properly right now. Betty and her mom are in Dubai for a week, so it’s been fairly quiet around here. Ahhh, next year is going to be SO much fun! So, there are these potters at school giving lessons, but they also make stuff while they’re there, and they have some absolutely GORGEOUS things! There are really nice plates, pots, etc., all for only around 30 birr… which is about 3 dollars… it’s ridiculous, they could be sold in the states for $30! It’s sooo sad, their work is beautiful, but in Ethiopia art isn’t really appreciated as something worthwhile. Honestly, there’s a huge niche in Ethiopian art. So many different things can be made fashionable: beautiful church paintings could be incredible wrapping paper, the things that the potters make could be used to decorate homes, and they could make Christmas tree decorations, the silver and gold jewelry could be HUGE, and they could turn it into picture frames with the crosses and specific decorations etched into them…. Ahhh, all of these are just very simple things, but it could be a very, very big market. Ethiopian clothing also: at least the fabrics can be used in modernized designs, not for traditional clothing, but for regular clothing that you’d just wear, or at least special occasion dresses, etc. SOMEONE can monopolize this, make a fortune for themselves, and then give it back to Ethiopia somehow. I swear, all I want is just to see a stronger, happier Ethiopia. There are so many problems ravaging it, and at least issues like poverty, starvation, and AIDS can be eased by a project like this, especially if it proved to be really lucrative. Ethiopia itself needs to just grow economically, suddenly find something it has that’s outrageously profitable in the world market, and just blossom. Addis Ababa means “New Flower,” but I don’t think it’s getting enough sun or water or something, because it just seems wilted to me. It’s pulsing with so much cultural diversity, it has so much to offer, but no one truly sees it and it’s just not getting anywhere. I want to help Ethiopia, I just feel like there’s so much room for it to grow and evolve and be strong. It’s frustrating, this feeling of helplessness. Well, I guess we’ll just wait to see what’s waiting in the future.
Well, I successfully survived my first week. More or less anyhow. Actually, in all honesty, last week wasn’t so bad. But then I realized just HOW much work I’m suddenly being completely inundated with. Let’s see, I had this ridiculous IB Math Project due on Monday, but she let us turn it in today, Tuesday. Tomorrow, Wednesday, I have a math quiz… lucky me, on a section in our book that I haven’t done yet! Friday I have an in-class essay on the book that we read. Next Monday I have a math test (maybe you can see the common trend of how RIDICULOUSLY RIDICULOUS my math class is… but I actually really do enjoy it, although my grade dropped from a nearly A+ to an A- over the course of the semester). Next Tuesday I have a biology test… on things that I haven’t learned, because my teacher just doesn’t teach… but he’s actually getting a lot better, it’s nice to see, and definitely heartening for me. Next Wednesday I have a history oral presentation, and for some reason I chose the most boring topic. The following Tuesday I have an anthropology oral presentation, and THIS I’m excited for! We get to be “creative,” and the topic is race and ethnicity, so I’m going to interview (hopefully I’ll get to videotape it) a few of my friends at school on what’s it’s like to be multiracial. Then that same day I also have an English oral presentation on a book that I’ve only just started… Yeah, life’s a bitch… so, as the saying goes, just fuck it… sorry to any of my PG readers. But actually, that’s just so not true, I can’t just say fuck it, I can’t blow this off, which kind of sucks, but you know, no, it really doesn’t. Sorry, my thoughts are rather scattered, I’m fairly tired. Oh yeah, that’s one funny thing: I adjusted to the time pretty much right away, and I don’t think it’s because the No-Jet-Lag pills worked wonders. I guess at this point my body is just so used to going back and forth (even though it was only my 3rd transition) that I didn’t have any problems. Also I just jumped right into life; I arrived in Addis at 3 a.m. Saturday morning and was up at 6 a.m. on Monday to go to school. Sooo, the whole point of this has been to say that I’m not going to school tomorrow. It feels rather nice to think about it, actually J. The jet-lag is kind of catching up with me… kind of… no, honestly, I am rather tired, everything’s been really busy recently. Moreover, I can have time to catch up a bit on my projects, which I desperately need. You can think “oh, she has the weekend for thaaat,” but come on now, since when has the weekend ever been sufficient time to take care of everything that you need to do? Never. Once you fall behind you just can’t catch up without taking time off. Which then makes you fall behind a bit more. But the idea is that when you take time off you’re able to make a bigger gain than what you’ll lose. Exactly. Yes, exactly.
So, besides all of that boring stuff, anything interesting going on in my life? Ahh, I’m getting MUCH better at Amharic! It’s actually fairly awesome, I can talk! Haha, it’s a great feeling. It does get really frustrating sometimes because people see me and expect me to be able to understand what they’re saying and respond, but more often than not, I just have absolutely no idea what they’re saying to me. But now, I’m getting sooo much better, and it’s just very fulfilling. What else? My brain just isn’t functioning properly right now. Betty and her mom are in Dubai for a week, so it’s been fairly quiet around here. Ahhh, next year is going to be SO much fun! So, there are these potters at school giving lessons, but they also make stuff while they’re there, and they have some absolutely GORGEOUS things! There are really nice plates, pots, etc., all for only around 30 birr… which is about 3 dollars… it’s ridiculous, they could be sold in the states for $30! It’s sooo sad, their work is beautiful, but in Ethiopia art isn’t really appreciated as something worthwhile. Honestly, there’s a huge niche in Ethiopian art. So many different things can be made fashionable: beautiful church paintings could be incredible wrapping paper, the things that the potters make could be used to decorate homes, and they could make Christmas tree decorations, the silver and gold jewelry could be HUGE, and they could turn it into picture frames with the crosses and specific decorations etched into them…. Ahhh, all of these are just very simple things, but it could be a very, very big market. Ethiopian clothing also: at least the fabrics can be used in modernized designs, not for traditional clothing, but for regular clothing that you’d just wear, or at least special occasion dresses, etc. SOMEONE can monopolize this, make a fortune for themselves, and then give it back to Ethiopia somehow. I swear, all I want is just to see a stronger, happier Ethiopia. There are so many problems ravaging it, and at least issues like poverty, starvation, and AIDS can be eased by a project like this, especially if it proved to be really lucrative. Ethiopia itself needs to just grow economically, suddenly find something it has that’s outrageously profitable in the world market, and just blossom. Addis Ababa means “New Flower,” but I don’t think it’s getting enough sun or water or something, because it just seems wilted to me. It’s pulsing with so much cultural diversity, it has so much to offer, but no one truly sees it and it’s just not getting anywhere. I want to help Ethiopia, I just feel like there’s so much room for it to grow and evolve and be strong. It’s frustrating, this feeling of helplessness. Well, I guess we’ll just wait to see what’s waiting in the future.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Winter Holiday
Well, it’s been such a long time that not only do I not know where to begin, I’m not sure that I even remember how to… so I guess I’ll just delve in… My first day back in Addis has been really nice. It was easy, relaxing, comfortable. It felt right. Unfortunately tomorrow will be completely spent doing math homework, blahhh. And so it goes. It’s funny, after being so excited to come back to Ethiopia and see everyone again and (surprisingly!) go to school, and just generally be occupied and busy and stimulated, now I don’t want to go to school. I’m sure that once I get there on Monday I’ll be happy…
Anyhow, I suppose I have a bit of backtracking to do. December 16, the day that school let out for the winter holiday, mom and I headed off to Bole Airport to return to California. All day I was blissfully counting down the hours, in the morning I even felt slightly defeated because the 18-hour wait until our 1 a.m. flight seemed impossibly long. Many can attest to my ecstatic and beaming face, way more intense and creepy than any Stepford wife, while incessantly chirping at random times throughout the day: “I’M GOING HOME TONIGHT!” At one point I said this to a couple of my guy friends who happen to be Ethiopian. One of them looked at me hard, yet I couldn’t tell whether or not he was actually trying to be serious because of his sleazy grin. However, he’s a fairly happy-go-lucky guy and enjoys hitting on girls, so that smile does seem to be permanently plastered on his face. Carrying on, he looked at me hard and said, “Home? This is your home,” he fervently jabbed a finger at the ground, “Ethiopia is your home.” He said this with passion. And people are only ever half-joking. I responded by telling him that I’m only half Ethiopian, I’ve attended the same school for the past five years, I’ve lived my entire life in Oakland, California. I’ve only been in Addis for the past five months. He didn’t say anything.
But something funny happened. I got back to California and I was excited and happy to be home, more than happy for a break. Driving down the freeway felt so right: I knew everything I saw, I knew exactly where we would turn, I was home. As soon as we got back to the house I took a shower in my parents’ bathroom, only to be greeted to the warm laughter of 15 of my friends at the front door as I was walking back to my room with only a towel wrapped around me. Needless to say, I tore across the hallway into my bedroom. I returned clothed to my “welcoming committee,” and felt nothing short of an extremely loved princess, receiving phone calls and cupcakes. Definitely an ego-boosting moment. Not to mention an incredibly nice memory. So the next week commenced beautifully, with some of my really good friends returning from vacationing, going shopping, eating food that I dearly missed, and just enjoying the comfort of my native soil. Then the paradise of the honeymoon wore off: I got bored and sad. I’m still sifting through this. I wasn’t exercising, which makes me feel sluggish; I missed schoolwork and mental stimulation; I kept thinking of Ethiopia; I felt out of place among my friends. I was already expecting to feel… not necessarily left out, but rather apart, yet that didn’t mean that I actually knew how that would feel. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it wasn’t nice. Someone asked me one day if I felt that people had changed. I hastily said “yes,” but after thinking about it for a moment, I said that most people hadn’t really changed, but I had, and that made all the difference. I no longer see things the same way, and thus there are some people that I can’t see the same way. I still dearly love them, but I don’t think that I can necessarily relate to them the way I used to. Oftentimes I found myself closing in, not talking much, desperately wanting to not be there. Everything, everything, was too much the same. What’s odd though, is that I don’t even really think that I’ve changed all that much… at first people said that I had bit of an accent, and many commented on my increased maturity and sophistication. I don’t feel much more mature or sophisticated, and despite feeling that I somehow have changed, I absolutely cannot declare that this is how I’ve changed and this is why. I’m still me, Samra G! Which is why I’m still sifting through all of this. All I know is that I just wanted to come back to Ethiopia, because after awhile I wasn’t really happy in Oakland anymore. Home is…
It’s funny, when I returned to California I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Everyone kept asking for stories, and I sadly failed on fulfilling that common request. The problem was, being here in Ethiopia is just life. I wake up, I go to school, I do something after school, I come home and do homework, I go to bed. What’s different is that there are other random things thrown in: a new environment, new people, various parties, tournaments in South Africa, political turmoil. But still, it’s my life, and only over a lifetime do you truly gather myriad attention-grabbing stories. If even. And besides, Ethiopia seemed so far away. Ethiopia and California are two completely different worlds, separated not only by mountains and oceans and other peoples lives, but by a distance that lives in your heart and your mind, a knowledge that consumes that your body… I don’t know, but when I was in Oakland, Ethiopia just didn’t seem real, simply another one of my silly dreams. It’s funny how this happens, how the past rusts and fades in my memories. Or rather, it becomes faint whispers of something that has happened, maybe only something that could have happened… when I reach out to grab them… well, whispers are fairly hard to catch. So ultimately, I almost want someone to tell me what the point is.
I’m sifting and I’m drifting, surrounded by the sea, and the answers don’t lie here. Luckily I have no bricks to drown me. Hopefully I’m heading somewhere, but I don’t think that I’ll ever get all of the answers that I want. For now I need to get adjusted to the time… and it’s almost 2 a.m.
Anyhow, I suppose I have a bit of backtracking to do. December 16, the day that school let out for the winter holiday, mom and I headed off to Bole Airport to return to California. All day I was blissfully counting down the hours, in the morning I even felt slightly defeated because the 18-hour wait until our 1 a.m. flight seemed impossibly long. Many can attest to my ecstatic and beaming face, way more intense and creepy than any Stepford wife, while incessantly chirping at random times throughout the day: “I’M GOING HOME TONIGHT!” At one point I said this to a couple of my guy friends who happen to be Ethiopian. One of them looked at me hard, yet I couldn’t tell whether or not he was actually trying to be serious because of his sleazy grin. However, he’s a fairly happy-go-lucky guy and enjoys hitting on girls, so that smile does seem to be permanently plastered on his face. Carrying on, he looked at me hard and said, “Home? This is your home,” he fervently jabbed a finger at the ground, “Ethiopia is your home.” He said this with passion. And people are only ever half-joking. I responded by telling him that I’m only half Ethiopian, I’ve attended the same school for the past five years, I’ve lived my entire life in Oakland, California. I’ve only been in Addis for the past five months. He didn’t say anything.
But something funny happened. I got back to California and I was excited and happy to be home, more than happy for a break. Driving down the freeway felt so right: I knew everything I saw, I knew exactly where we would turn, I was home. As soon as we got back to the house I took a shower in my parents’ bathroom, only to be greeted to the warm laughter of 15 of my friends at the front door as I was walking back to my room with only a towel wrapped around me. Needless to say, I tore across the hallway into my bedroom. I returned clothed to my “welcoming committee,” and felt nothing short of an extremely loved princess, receiving phone calls and cupcakes. Definitely an ego-boosting moment. Not to mention an incredibly nice memory. So the next week commenced beautifully, with some of my really good friends returning from vacationing, going shopping, eating food that I dearly missed, and just enjoying the comfort of my native soil. Then the paradise of the honeymoon wore off: I got bored and sad. I’m still sifting through this. I wasn’t exercising, which makes me feel sluggish; I missed schoolwork and mental stimulation; I kept thinking of Ethiopia; I felt out of place among my friends. I was already expecting to feel… not necessarily left out, but rather apart, yet that didn’t mean that I actually knew how that would feel. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it wasn’t nice. Someone asked me one day if I felt that people had changed. I hastily said “yes,” but after thinking about it for a moment, I said that most people hadn’t really changed, but I had, and that made all the difference. I no longer see things the same way, and thus there are some people that I can’t see the same way. I still dearly love them, but I don’t think that I can necessarily relate to them the way I used to. Oftentimes I found myself closing in, not talking much, desperately wanting to not be there. Everything, everything, was too much the same. What’s odd though, is that I don’t even really think that I’ve changed all that much… at first people said that I had bit of an accent, and many commented on my increased maturity and sophistication. I don’t feel much more mature or sophisticated, and despite feeling that I somehow have changed, I absolutely cannot declare that this is how I’ve changed and this is why. I’m still me, Samra G! Which is why I’m still sifting through all of this. All I know is that I just wanted to come back to Ethiopia, because after awhile I wasn’t really happy in Oakland anymore. Home is…
It’s funny, when I returned to California I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Everyone kept asking for stories, and I sadly failed on fulfilling that common request. The problem was, being here in Ethiopia is just life. I wake up, I go to school, I do something after school, I come home and do homework, I go to bed. What’s different is that there are other random things thrown in: a new environment, new people, various parties, tournaments in South Africa, political turmoil. But still, it’s my life, and only over a lifetime do you truly gather myriad attention-grabbing stories. If even. And besides, Ethiopia seemed so far away. Ethiopia and California are two completely different worlds, separated not only by mountains and oceans and other peoples lives, but by a distance that lives in your heart and your mind, a knowledge that consumes that your body… I don’t know, but when I was in Oakland, Ethiopia just didn’t seem real, simply another one of my silly dreams. It’s funny how this happens, how the past rusts and fades in my memories. Or rather, it becomes faint whispers of something that has happened, maybe only something that could have happened… when I reach out to grab them… well, whispers are fairly hard to catch. So ultimately, I almost want someone to tell me what the point is.
I’m sifting and I’m drifting, surrounded by the sea, and the answers don’t lie here. Luckily I have no bricks to drown me. Hopefully I’m heading somewhere, but I don’t think that I’ll ever get all of the answers that I want. For now I need to get adjusted to the time… and it’s almost 2 a.m.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Friday, December 02, 2005
What is the Truth?
What is identity?
Identity = Haile + Marsha. It is Samra G! It's still JambaJuice, La Salsa, Grinders, and Italian Colors. It's chorus, soccer, and volleyball. Identity is loving harmony in all aspecs of my life: singing, but also physically, mentally, and emotionally. It is three special bracelets that I wear everyday on my left wrist, all presents from three special women. It is having soft, smooth, arms that I love that other people love. It's my digital camera... that I lost. Identity is making great pb&j's, and eating way too many. It is not being able to wait to be an amazing mom, wanting three kids, and looking forward to dressing them all in the cutiest, funkiest clothes. It's big, crazy curly hair, a funny ear, stretch marks on my hips, and a weird lisp thing. Identity is loving music and appreciating the arts. It's being a fine food afficionado. It is a terrible shopping addiction, unfortunately for my parents, particularly to expensive clothing. Identity is ADHD, ODD, John Muir Medical Center, bipolar, Colorado. It is loving too hard and, more often than not, suffering from the backlash. It is loving bright colors, but often feeling dark. It's the East Bay and HRS, Addis and ICS. It's everyone that I meet, everything I see, each thing I experience. My identity is reduced for many of you to an assortment of empty words t hat I strew together in an attempt to sew some sort of meaning.
Family. Home. Identity.
And what is the truth? Somehow all of these concepts have changed for me. I now realize how fickle they are, that they're constantly changing. I have known someone for only three months, and already she's my sister. As much as I love my home and am excited to go back IN ONLY 2 WEEKS, I honestly wouldn't mind staying in Addis for the holiday. And my identity? Who I am is always transforming as I learn and grow. I used to fancy myself as a woman of the world, but that was largely because I wanted to avoid defining myself as black, mixed, white, Ethiopian American; I didn't want to confine myself to some check-mark on a standardized exam. Now I realize how naive and ignorant I was in my perception. While I valued diversity and had traveled some, what did I truly know about the world? Attending an incredibly international school in Ethiopia opens my eyes to so much more, yet I still don't believe that I can fairly call myself "a woman of the world." Sure, it may be the easy way out, but when do we ever really know who we are? We have our body, our experiences, our morals. Yet each day brings us something new. We are always blooming, always adapting, never the same. I am Samra G! I am half Ethiopian and half white-American. I have lived my whole life until this year in Oakland, California. I have DNA and certain experiences that differentiate me from the rest of the population of this planet, but from there I'm just a sheet of paper. There are some things scribbled on me, some things that have been erased, still a lot of blank room for change. And you know, that's ok. That's ok.
Identity = Haile + Marsha. It is Samra G! It's still JambaJuice, La Salsa, Grinders, and Italian Colors. It's chorus, soccer, and volleyball. Identity is loving harmony in all aspecs of my life: singing, but also physically, mentally, and emotionally. It is three special bracelets that I wear everyday on my left wrist, all presents from three special women. It is having soft, smooth, arms that I love that other people love. It's my digital camera... that I lost. Identity is making great pb&j's, and eating way too many. It is not being able to wait to be an amazing mom, wanting three kids, and looking forward to dressing them all in the cutiest, funkiest clothes. It's big, crazy curly hair, a funny ear, stretch marks on my hips, and a weird lisp thing. Identity is loving music and appreciating the arts. It's being a fine food afficionado. It is a terrible shopping addiction, unfortunately for my parents, particularly to expensive clothing. Identity is ADHD, ODD, John Muir Medical Center, bipolar, Colorado. It is loving too hard and, more often than not, suffering from the backlash. It is loving bright colors, but often feeling dark. It's the East Bay and HRS, Addis and ICS. It's everyone that I meet, everything I see, each thing I experience. My identity is reduced for many of you to an assortment of empty words t hat I strew together in an attempt to sew some sort of meaning.
Family. Home. Identity.
And what is the truth? Somehow all of these concepts have changed for me. I now realize how fickle they are, that they're constantly changing. I have known someone for only three months, and already she's my sister. As much as I love my home and am excited to go back IN ONLY 2 WEEKS, I honestly wouldn't mind staying in Addis for the holiday. And my identity? Who I am is always transforming as I learn and grow. I used to fancy myself as a woman of the world, but that was largely because I wanted to avoid defining myself as black, mixed, white, Ethiopian American; I didn't want to confine myself to some check-mark on a standardized exam. Now I realize how naive and ignorant I was in my perception. While I valued diversity and had traveled some, what did I truly know about the world? Attending an incredibly international school in Ethiopia opens my eyes to so much more, yet I still don't believe that I can fairly call myself "a woman of the world." Sure, it may be the easy way out, but when do we ever really know who we are? We have our body, our experiences, our morals. Yet each day brings us something new. We are always blooming, always adapting, never the same. I am Samra G! I am half Ethiopian and half white-American. I have lived my whole life until this year in Oakland, California. I have DNA and certain experiences that differentiate me from the rest of the population of this planet, but from there I'm just a sheet of paper. There are some things scribbled on me, some things that have been erased, still a lot of blank room for change. And you know, that's ok. That's ok.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Found
Well, my mommy is here. And it’s nice. I feel centered and strong. As silly-hippiesh as it sounds. But I was straying, despite all the fun that I was having. I’m still only 16. Well, nearly 17. As much as I would like to believe I am oh-so grown-up, sophisticated, and mature. Independence is not quite as easy as it seems. It becomes too easy to get lost when you are alone. You no longer have those tall shadows gently prodding at your heels, guiding you. But now everything will be all right. I can draw strength from her touch, faith from her presence, bliss from her love. Yeah. I am found.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Tournaments and Turbulence
Written on Tuesday, November 8, 2005
Wow, with so much to say, where do I even begin? Hmm, I suppose first we’ll do South Africa. So, I arrived back at Addis yesterday morning. The flight was hellish. We had woken up at 7 on Sunday morning, been out shopping and watching a movie all day, and then had a midnight flight from Joburg to Nairobi. We arrived at Nairobi about 5:45 in the morning, and yes it was fairly impossible to sleep decently on the plane. Then we had about a one-and-a-half-hour layover in the airport there, and then left for Addis. We got in around 10 a.m.
Anyway, South Africa was so much fun. The tournament was great, and the girls actually placed really well. We got second place in volleyball (and we could have won it all), and fourth place in soccer. This is out of 6 teams. But 4th sounds a lot worse than it actually is. We were the 5th seed, we played the 4th seed, and the winner of that match would play the number 1 seed, and the winner of that would go on to play the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd place. The 3rd seed played the 6th seed, the winner would play the 2nd seed, the winner would go on to the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd. So, as I said we were the 5th seed and played the 4th seed, LISU, the International School of Uganda. Don’t ask me what the “l” stands for. I scored two goals, one of them was a beautiful left footer that went right into the right corner of the goal, and we won the game 2-0. We went on to play the number one seed, who we had lost to 1-0 the day before, but we really made them work hard. At the end of the game we were still tied 0-0, so we went into 10 minutes of sudden death overtime. We switched sides at 5 minutes, and at the end of the full ten, the game was still 0-0. So, we took penalty shots, since it was 6-a-side-soccer, five players from each team would shoot on the other team’s goalie. The other team, ISK, International School of Kenya, made their very first goal, and no others. We made none. Thus the game was over. We played for 3rd place and lost 1-0. ISK went on to win the soccer championship versus AISJ, the American International School of Johannesburg, the host school, and they also later beat us in 3 sets of volleyball.
As disappointing as it was to not win when we were so close and could have done so well, I am really proud of my team. We played really well and put so much spirit into what we were doing. Also, we won the sportsmanship award for being so spirited. We were always cheering each other on with our dorky but really fun cheers, and whenever we were down we were always trying to pick each other back up. After every game, win or lose, we had a tradition of doing our Seleme cheer. It’s an Ethiopian cheer that you hear a lot at track races and whatnot, and it’s really simple. One person calls “Seleme, seleme” and the rest of the team responds “oye seleme, aha.” It has a certain tune/incantation to it, and is really nice. We added our own twist at the end of it by going “aha” “aha aha” back and forth, back and forth. So, after every game we would get into a circle with our arms linked around each others’ backs and sing seleme, walking around, and at the end jumping and clapping our hands. It became a really nice tradition, and all of the teams loved it. Near the end of the tournament, teams even joined us in it. So, we were really liked by everyone for our good spirit, and we got to meet some pretty cool people from other schools. I also made the all-star team for volleyball.
So, yeah, South Africa rocked. It was really nice to be back in a fairly 1st world country. People actually drove within their lane, even if they were driving in the wrong direction (it’s British style where the driver’s seat is on the right side, and so you drive up on the left side, instead of down… if that makes sense). One scary thing that happened was that I fainted. AISJ used to be a boarding school, and the first night we got in to Joburg too late to go to our host family’s homes, so we instead stayed at the school in the dorms, the boys in the gym. The next morning I woke up earlier than we had to, so I decided to seize the opportunity and take a shower since I had the time and the showers were open. As I was showering I slammed my elbow on the hot water handle, and it just hit a nerve. My entire arm went limp and felt really heavy; I tried to move it, but I couldn’t, it was too hard and hurt too much. I began to feel really dizzy and felt like I needed to barf, and thought to myself that I should probably get out of the shower. But there was this other reasoning voice in my head that told me “no, you have to stay, you haven’t finished your shower yet.” So I kept on showering, and suddenly found myself slumped on the floor with my back against the shower door. I got up and started showering again, but next thing I know I was back on the floor and two girls Sarah and Thea had opened the door and were helping me to get up, to get out. They told me to go sit on top of the toilet seat and take a breath, and someone went to get a teacher. Next thing I knew I was again sprawled on the floor next to the toilet and Ms. Ashby was hovering over me. After that I was fine, I made it to my room, drank some water, had some raisins and little snacks, but it was really scary. I wouldn’t have fainted in the shower had I not slammed my elbow, that seemed to be the catalyst; but I also probably wouldn’t have fainted if I wasn’t under the conditions that I was: exhaustion from traveling, I was probably dehydrated, and a lot of stress from a number of things. It was my first time fainting, but hey, I’m still here. Anyway, we got to go shopping, we saw a movie, and we went to the apartheid museum (which sounds like it would be really cool, but it kind of sucked). Speaking of apartheid, sure it’s over, but it’s only been a little over 10 years. I could still see a rift between black and white. It all seemed very segregated; even at AISJ, not many South Africans attend the school. I just didn’t feel comfortable with myself. Maybe a lot of it was in my head, or because I was coming from Ethiopia where I don’t think I could feel more comfortable and beautiful, but it just felt like a lot of the white people didn’t look at me as openly and acceptingly.
But moving on. Now I’m back home in Addis, and it seems that I’ll be absent from school for even longer. A lot of people aren’t attending schools because it’s still kind of dangerous to be out. ICS is one of the only schools actually open this week, but it’s not at all mandatory to attend. For a lot of the kids who live right next to school it’s easy to get there without any trouble, but for those living in CMC, we have to cross a lot of terrain, and who knows what you’ll come across. Nearly all of the opposition party has been imprisoned, and a lot of innocent boys have just been picked up off of the street as well. Betty’s cousin, and thus my cousin, Fafi, lives in a kind of rough neighborhood, and a lot of his friends have just been taken to jail for not having done anything. Supposedly they go to concentration camp type of things to pick cotton, they don’t just sit in jail in Addis. Betty also said that these boys were going to be used to fight a war against Eritrea, but that seems… I don’t know, ludicrous. But not many people are out, and CMC has become a sort of refugee camp. It’s a closed compound where a lot of diplomats and foreigners live, so if any attack were to happen here or too close, big international stuff would go down. A lot of kids who live nearby come and hang out here, and it seems like there are always people out walking around the compound, so as not to go stir crazy in their homes. It was actually so weird, this week is a sit-in strike as well, so that’s another reason why a lot of people aren’t going out, but as I came home from the airport, it just wasn’t Addis. The streets were so quiet and empty. I saw six little taxis the entire way, and the streets are usually jampacked everywhere. I think everything will have to blow over soon enough, it won’t blow up. I do know several people who have left the country, though. We’ll see how it all goes. Oh, my mom is coming in a week. I said she shouldn’t come now because it’s dangerous, but she had a superb counter-argument: if it’s too dangerous for her to come, it’s too dangerous for me to be here. So it’ll be really nice to see her.
So, all for now. For those of you who want to know more about the political situation here, and the social stability, it’s apparently all over bbc. Also, anyone interested in learning more about the tournament in Joburg, a website was made for it. I don’t remember the address, but if you google search AISJ, I’m sure there’s a link somewhere on their site to it. I’ll write back when I can. Until then…
Wow, with so much to say, where do I even begin? Hmm, I suppose first we’ll do South Africa. So, I arrived back at Addis yesterday morning. The flight was hellish. We had woken up at 7 on Sunday morning, been out shopping and watching a movie all day, and then had a midnight flight from Joburg to Nairobi. We arrived at Nairobi about 5:45 in the morning, and yes it was fairly impossible to sleep decently on the plane. Then we had about a one-and-a-half-hour layover in the airport there, and then left for Addis. We got in around 10 a.m.
Anyway, South Africa was so much fun. The tournament was great, and the girls actually placed really well. We got second place in volleyball (and we could have won it all), and fourth place in soccer. This is out of 6 teams. But 4th sounds a lot worse than it actually is. We were the 5th seed, we played the 4th seed, and the winner of that match would play the number 1 seed, and the winner of that would go on to play the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd place. The 3rd seed played the 6th seed, the winner would play the 2nd seed, the winner would go on to the championship round, the loser would play for 3rd. So, as I said we were the 5th seed and played the 4th seed, LISU, the International School of Uganda. Don’t ask me what the “l” stands for. I scored two goals, one of them was a beautiful left footer that went right into the right corner of the goal, and we won the game 2-0. We went on to play the number one seed, who we had lost to 1-0 the day before, but we really made them work hard. At the end of the game we were still tied 0-0, so we went into 10 minutes of sudden death overtime. We switched sides at 5 minutes, and at the end of the full ten, the game was still 0-0. So, we took penalty shots, since it was 6-a-side-soccer, five players from each team would shoot on the other team’s goalie. The other team, ISK, International School of Kenya, made their very first goal, and no others. We made none. Thus the game was over. We played for 3rd place and lost 1-0. ISK went on to win the soccer championship versus AISJ, the American International School of Johannesburg, the host school, and they also later beat us in 3 sets of volleyball.
As disappointing as it was to not win when we were so close and could have done so well, I am really proud of my team. We played really well and put so much spirit into what we were doing. Also, we won the sportsmanship award for being so spirited. We were always cheering each other on with our dorky but really fun cheers, and whenever we were down we were always trying to pick each other back up. After every game, win or lose, we had a tradition of doing our Seleme cheer. It’s an Ethiopian cheer that you hear a lot at track races and whatnot, and it’s really simple. One person calls “Seleme, seleme” and the rest of the team responds “oye seleme, aha.” It has a certain tune/incantation to it, and is really nice. We added our own twist at the end of it by going “aha” “aha aha” back and forth, back and forth. So, after every game we would get into a circle with our arms linked around each others’ backs and sing seleme, walking around, and at the end jumping and clapping our hands. It became a really nice tradition, and all of the teams loved it. Near the end of the tournament, teams even joined us in it. So, we were really liked by everyone for our good spirit, and we got to meet some pretty cool people from other schools. I also made the all-star team for volleyball.
So, yeah, South Africa rocked. It was really nice to be back in a fairly 1st world country. People actually drove within their lane, even if they were driving in the wrong direction (it’s British style where the driver’s seat is on the right side, and so you drive up on the left side, instead of down… if that makes sense). One scary thing that happened was that I fainted. AISJ used to be a boarding school, and the first night we got in to Joburg too late to go to our host family’s homes, so we instead stayed at the school in the dorms, the boys in the gym. The next morning I woke up earlier than we had to, so I decided to seize the opportunity and take a shower since I had the time and the showers were open. As I was showering I slammed my elbow on the hot water handle, and it just hit a nerve. My entire arm went limp and felt really heavy; I tried to move it, but I couldn’t, it was too hard and hurt too much. I began to feel really dizzy and felt like I needed to barf, and thought to myself that I should probably get out of the shower. But there was this other reasoning voice in my head that told me “no, you have to stay, you haven’t finished your shower yet.” So I kept on showering, and suddenly found myself slumped on the floor with my back against the shower door. I got up and started showering again, but next thing I know I was back on the floor and two girls Sarah and Thea had opened the door and were helping me to get up, to get out. They told me to go sit on top of the toilet seat and take a breath, and someone went to get a teacher. Next thing I knew I was again sprawled on the floor next to the toilet and Ms. Ashby was hovering over me. After that I was fine, I made it to my room, drank some water, had some raisins and little snacks, but it was really scary. I wouldn’t have fainted in the shower had I not slammed my elbow, that seemed to be the catalyst; but I also probably wouldn’t have fainted if I wasn’t under the conditions that I was: exhaustion from traveling, I was probably dehydrated, and a lot of stress from a number of things. It was my first time fainting, but hey, I’m still here. Anyway, we got to go shopping, we saw a movie, and we went to the apartheid museum (which sounds like it would be really cool, but it kind of sucked). Speaking of apartheid, sure it’s over, but it’s only been a little over 10 years. I could still see a rift between black and white. It all seemed very segregated; even at AISJ, not many South Africans attend the school. I just didn’t feel comfortable with myself. Maybe a lot of it was in my head, or because I was coming from Ethiopia where I don’t think I could feel more comfortable and beautiful, but it just felt like a lot of the white people didn’t look at me as openly and acceptingly.
But moving on. Now I’m back home in Addis, and it seems that I’ll be absent from school for even longer. A lot of people aren’t attending schools because it’s still kind of dangerous to be out. ICS is one of the only schools actually open this week, but it’s not at all mandatory to attend. For a lot of the kids who live right next to school it’s easy to get there without any trouble, but for those living in CMC, we have to cross a lot of terrain, and who knows what you’ll come across. Nearly all of the opposition party has been imprisoned, and a lot of innocent boys have just been picked up off of the street as well. Betty’s cousin, and thus my cousin, Fafi, lives in a kind of rough neighborhood, and a lot of his friends have just been taken to jail for not having done anything. Supposedly they go to concentration camp type of things to pick cotton, they don’t just sit in jail in Addis. Betty also said that these boys were going to be used to fight a war against Eritrea, but that seems… I don’t know, ludicrous. But not many people are out, and CMC has become a sort of refugee camp. It’s a closed compound where a lot of diplomats and foreigners live, so if any attack were to happen here or too close, big international stuff would go down. A lot of kids who live nearby come and hang out here, and it seems like there are always people out walking around the compound, so as not to go stir crazy in their homes. It was actually so weird, this week is a sit-in strike as well, so that’s another reason why a lot of people aren’t going out, but as I came home from the airport, it just wasn’t Addis. The streets were so quiet and empty. I saw six little taxis the entire way, and the streets are usually jampacked everywhere. I think everything will have to blow over soon enough, it won’t blow up. I do know several people who have left the country, though. We’ll see how it all goes. Oh, my mom is coming in a week. I said she shouldn’t come now because it’s dangerous, but she had a superb counter-argument: if it’s too dangerous for her to come, it’s too dangerous for me to be here. So it’ll be really nice to see her.
So, all for now. For those of you who want to know more about the political situation here, and the social stability, it’s apparently all over bbc. Also, anyone interested in learning more about the tournament in Joburg, a website was made for it. I don’t remember the address, but if you google search AISJ, I’m sure there’s a link somewhere on their site to it. I’ll write back when I can. Until then…
Friday, November 04, 2005
DISORDER!!!
A lot is going on. I don't have the time to tell about it all, but just know, a lot is going on. I never had the chance to write about the political situation in Addis. As soon as I was going to, everything settled. The current government has been ruling for 14 years, taking over after the derg, a bad time in Addis. While I don't know the details, I know that the derg regime was oppressive and corrupt, and then Melas took over 14 years ago with a democratic government, a blessing for Ethiopia. However, he made a lot of promises that he didn't act on. Recently there was an election, and the opposition against Melas' government was probably going to win. Melas swayed the ballots in many areas so that he could win. He is becoming corrupt and oppresive, just as the derg was. Now the opposition is fighting back. While the two parties claimed to be making peace and agreements with each other, they made no headway. Starting on Tuesday there were riots in the city. Now 40 people have died, and there have been attacks on expat homes. There was even a man shooting outside of Samet, a restaurant behind ICS that we hang out at a lot. I really really hope the situation calms down and doesn't explode. I really really hope that everyone in Addis is fine. I'm currently in South Africa at our ISSEA tournament. If the situation in Addis worsens, then we'll stay here an extra week. No matter what, I'm safe, but what about everyone at home? As for a tournament update, our boys aren't doing too well b/c of their lack of spirit, and they just don't really get along. We, however, have won all of our volleyball games thus far, even beating the champions from last year. Soccer, we've lost 2 games 1-0, tied 1-1, and we just won 1-0. This is all I can write for now, because I'm already late to go warm up for our next soccer game. Please, send good thoughts to those still in Addis.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
There's No Place Like Home
It feels like it’s been a long vacation. Temporary. It feels like it’s been as unimportant and unreal as a dream. Artificial. It feels like it’s been a piling of good stories to return home with. Thrilling. At the end of the day, despite everything that I’m learning and experiencing here, my concept of home is only further reinforced. My home is Oakland, the Bay Area, California, the United States of America. Sound familiar?
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
There's No Place Like Home
It feels like it’s been a long vacation. Temporary. It feels like it’s been as unimportant and unreal as a dream. Artificial. It feels like it’s been a piling of good stories to return home with. Thrilling. At the end of the day, despite everything that I’m learning and experiencing here, my concept of home is only further reinforced. My home is Oakland, the Bay Area, California, the United States of America. Sound familiar?
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Friday was a good day: It was a half day; after school we went out to lunch at Family Restaurant; I went back to school and had a great Amharic lesson; Abiy took me to a little movie souk by his house and helped me rent movies; I embarked on a week off of school before we leave for South Africa. As Abiy and I drove home I was in a good mood, one of the best since I’ve been here. Everything had just worked out really well. I truly felt at home among the chaotic streets, the pedestrians walking alongside cars, the herds of sheep randomly at corners waiting to be sold into their death. And then I started thinking about what home is to me.
Home is people and places. It is knowing that we’re almost there because of the trees on Highway 13. It is the view of the San Francisco Bay at night. Home is meeting mom at the Peet’s in Montclair, getting a Caffe Freddo, and running errands. It’s going from running down the hill to the 605 bus stop in front of the empty lot, to driving to school and walking down from the lot with friends. Home is sitting on the patio harmonizing, going to blend with Charlie’s Angels, and having lunchtime talks with my teddy bear of joy. It’s getting in driving hours with mom along Grizzly Peak and meeting dad for dinner. It’s talking about going on runs around Lake Merritt, and at least beginning to go to the Farmer’s Market there. It’s knowing that the order is College, Telegraph, Shattuck, and San Pablo, and that the best gas prices are at Shattuck and 52nd. Home is deciding between Fenton’s and Yogurt Park. It is shopping by Campus, in San Francisco, throughout Emeryville, and desperately trying to avoid suburban Stoneridge and Sun Valley. It’s waving at neighbors you barely know and chatting with others you’ve known your whole life. It is 106.1 KMEL and Chewy Gomez, and 102.9 KBLX and Cousin Kevin Brown. Home is colorful, busy, summer is between July and October. It is every type of food you could want, but it gets expensive. It is boys that I love; some say, “DOON,” some are incredible actors, some are talented musicians and hippie-dancers, some look good in baseball pants, and some have been by my side through it all… I find something to argue about with most of them. Home is far away from where I am, and despite as unreal as my life here seems sometimes, home is even more illusory. I look back on it as a poignant memory, a happy reminiscence. Was it all just a dream?
As much as some people try to tell me this, Ethiopia, is my home, it’s not. And I’m OK with that. Because the home that I have is wonderful, beautiful, interesting, filled with people and places that make me happy. I love it.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Disgraceful
The longer I’ve been here, the more I realize what a bubble life is. Similar to home and Head-Royce, ICS and the world I’m experiencing in Addis is so confined and protected. It’s the life of the elite, the well off, a life where you really don’t have to worry about anything. Sure there are those with problems like asthma or family issues, and I’m not trying to play those down. Everyone has their difficulties in life. But only a very small percentage of the kids I meet ever actually have something serious to worry about, a fatal illness or the death of a mother. Life at ICS is so sheltered. None of these kids have ever had to worry about surviving until tomorrow, escaping bullets or scavenging for food. Mom and dad are diplomats, UN officials, own the biggest enterprises in Ethiopia. These kids go to school during the week and go out clubbing during the weekends, with their drivers always there to drop them off and pick them up. I’m not trying to make it sound as if rich people don’t have their own problems to battle, or that I’m above it all, because I am just as spoiled and take a lot for granted. But I think it’s sad how enclosed they are, even just from Ethiopian culture. For example, there are those who have lived here for nearly their whole life, or even just five years, and don’t even speak a word of Amharic. It’s disgraceful. I don’t know, that’s basically all I have to say for now. I’m not feeling very wordy, I’m pretty exhausted. I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted a proper blog, but I’ve been super busy and stressed between school and sports, but I’ll get back on it soon. I get out of school at 11:35 both Thursday and Friday, and I don’t have school next week. Then the following Tuesday we leave for our tournament in South Africa! I can’t believe it’s come up so quickly. This Sunday is going to be one month with my boyfriend, and again, I can’t believe how time has rushed by. Ah, and so it goes. Until we meet again… g!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Upcoming Events!
So, I’ve been bad about keeping this updated recently. That last blog about the accident, I wrote 2 weeks ago… yeah. So, sorry about that. Anyway, life is good. It’s Monday night, and we didn’t have school today, and we don’t have school tomorrow, because tomorrow’s Meskel, this big holiday. I love long weekends. And I have so much more to look forward to! This Friday there’s a Sandford party. Basically, the schools host parties and it’s open to kids from other schools; the money goes to pay for their prom usually I think. Basically it’s like school dances, except the way they used to be in middle school when we were joined with Redwood Day and St. Paul’s, etc. So, even though Sandford parties are supposed to be outrageously weak, we’re going. Betty and I are going to make the party happen haha. Or make it rock as Betty would say. She goes through phases of phrases that she really, really overuses. Her thing right now is making that rocker symbol with her hands and screaming in this annoying voice, “DUDE YOU ROCK!” Soooo, yeah. Also, a lot of people that we’ve seen recently have been like, “No, you guys have to come,” menamen, menamen, so hopefully it’ll be fun.
Then, not Saturday as in the day after the Sandford party, but the following Saturday, Sally and Veerle are having a joint 18th birthday party. They’re renting out Trend, this club in Dembel, this shopping mall, and it has a beach theme. I think that it’ll be OUTRAGEOUSLY nice, because Trend itself is pretty nice and hip, they’re getting a good deal for it, the club will be closed to the public until midnight, and it’s just going to ROCK! Haha. We’re going to cut the cake at 12. Yay, I’m excited! And I get to help and have this important position kind of, because I’ve offered my help, I’m friends with them and they trust me, and it’s their 18th birthdays and deserve to not worry and basically just have a blast. Ahh, it’s going to be incredible. And I’m borrowing this super cute shirt from Betty, but it’s black and doesn’t really go with their beach theme, but I don’t really care, so oh well.
Hmm, so their party is on October 8th. Then I have two weeks of school, and then I have a week off! YESSSSS! I don’t know why, it’s just a fall break. That’ll be really nice, except for the fact that Betty and Danny and Menna have school. Oh well, I’m pretty good at taking the public taxis now, and I basically know about how much it costs from place to place, so maybe I’ll just ride around by myself and meet up with people. Or maybe not. We’ll see. Anyway, I have a week off, and then the next week we have our tournament in South Africa! I’m so excited for that, but I can’t believe how soon it is! And then when we get back from South Africa I’ll be coming home in… about a month and a week… and a half. It’s kind of crazy, time is going to fly by. Betty and I were talking about having a party. I leave on December 16 to come home, so we thought maybe we’d have a party on the 9th or 10th for Betty’s birthday/goodbye-to-me-for-3-weeks. Haha, I kind of doubt that it’ll happen, but it would be fun if it did. And over spring break I’m either meeting my parents in Cairo and staying with friends of ours that live there (which would be incredible), or going to Seychelles (which would also be incredible). And then at the end of the school year I’m meeting my parents in Europe. OH MY GOD I LOVE MY LIFE. And I officially have a boyfriend. As of Friday, and I’m doing well in school, and I’m deputy captain (which is like vice captain) of soccer! Yay for me! So yeah, things are falling into place. Love always… g!
Then, not Saturday as in the day after the Sandford party, but the following Saturday, Sally and Veerle are having a joint 18th birthday party. They’re renting out Trend, this club in Dembel, this shopping mall, and it has a beach theme. I think that it’ll be OUTRAGEOUSLY nice, because Trend itself is pretty nice and hip, they’re getting a good deal for it, the club will be closed to the public until midnight, and it’s just going to ROCK! Haha. We’re going to cut the cake at 12. Yay, I’m excited! And I get to help and have this important position kind of, because I’ve offered my help, I’m friends with them and they trust me, and it’s their 18th birthdays and deserve to not worry and basically just have a blast. Ahh, it’s going to be incredible. And I’m borrowing this super cute shirt from Betty, but it’s black and doesn’t really go with their beach theme, but I don’t really care, so oh well.
Hmm, so their party is on October 8th. Then I have two weeks of school, and then I have a week off! YESSSSS! I don’t know why, it’s just a fall break. That’ll be really nice, except for the fact that Betty and Danny and Menna have school. Oh well, I’m pretty good at taking the public taxis now, and I basically know about how much it costs from place to place, so maybe I’ll just ride around by myself and meet up with people. Or maybe not. We’ll see. Anyway, I have a week off, and then the next week we have our tournament in South Africa! I’m so excited for that, but I can’t believe how soon it is! And then when we get back from South Africa I’ll be coming home in… about a month and a week… and a half. It’s kind of crazy, time is going to fly by. Betty and I were talking about having a party. I leave on December 16 to come home, so we thought maybe we’d have a party on the 9th or 10th for Betty’s birthday/goodbye-to-me-for-3-weeks. Haha, I kind of doubt that it’ll happen, but it would be fun if it did. And over spring break I’m either meeting my parents in Cairo and staying with friends of ours that live there (which would be incredible), or going to Seychelles (which would also be incredible). And then at the end of the school year I’m meeting my parents in Europe. OH MY GOD I LOVE MY LIFE. And I officially have a boyfriend. As of Friday, and I’m doing well in school, and I’m deputy captain (which is like vice captain) of soccer! Yay for me! So yeah, things are falling into place. Love always… g!
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