Sheared Sheep

As a sheep is sheared, it's long thick curls are peeled back from its skin to reveal a changed being. It is now the orange beneath the rind. Stripped of its protected layer, it now leaks sticky tears of citrus. I gave into the same act of malevolence, except on this occasion I was intoxicated and my usual protective rind was thrown away unabashedly to allow my head to be shaved. What of the gorgeous fresh-out-of-the-salon do of yesteryear? What of the begrudged memories of elementary school? The large dome and scrawny body back then did not mix as well as ... as ... say alcohol and scissors. For this time you see my friends, my body size now matches my head size to a larger degree (though I still have quite a large skull) and therefore I don't look like a mutant. But there is one caveat to the resolution of this story. The razor that I had bought for 200 birr was of the not-working varietal. So scissors be damned, the devil that provoked the cuttage of locks had her last laugh as my hair had many small plateaus and valleys.

If you've hung out with me long enough to have me tell you about travel, you've definitely heard me speak of couchsurfing. I love the idea. I love meeting new people. I love traveling and learning about culture. To quickly describe couchsurfing, it is a website that allows you to network with people from all over the world and either allow them to stay on your “couch” or ask them if they would allow you stay on their “couch”. The whole process is free on either side of the board. No one pays a dime in the interaction. You may clean the hosts dishes or make the host dinner as a “thank you”, but really the experience is about meeting new people and experiencing life for its diversity. Well to sum it up, I was quite excited to have my first couchsurfers in Ethiopia. They were two Spaniards that have been biking from Nepal for the past year. I made them food (black bean burgers, potato soup, chocolate cake) , they made me Spanish food (the tortillas de patata was awesome). We had great conversation. They also taught me Reiki (a meditative exercise dealing with chakras and energy). The whole experience was great and I can't wait to host and learn from more travelers.

I can hear the hyenas on most nights if I wake up after midnight. The sound of their call is like a slide whistle that slides up instead of down. Take the sound you know as a whistle and change into a whoop. Whoooooooooooooop. It is unmistakable. If you haven't seen a hyena, they are usually bigger than dogs here. I have only seen one once. It had an arched back that whispered to me that it was a crooked, evil creature. One night one of the other volunteers that lives in Dessie was greeted by not one but four hyenas. To cross the bridge to get to this person's house, you have to pass by a dumpster that dogs and hyenas usually scavenge from. Hyenas are pack animals. They hunt in packs. Luckily for this person, three of them scattered. Imagine that you are this person and you walk across the same bridge while just one of these beasts stares into your soul. Okay, maybe I'm being a little bit melodramatic. She was safe and nothing happened. But I wanted to be face-to-face with evil incarnate and so did the Spaniards. So one night with defensive staffs and flashlights in hand we walked like Elmer Fudd all around the area with the trash bins. Every sound was clear. My night vision was clear. Occasionally I would twist my flashlight on for a split second to illuminate the shadows around us. Nothing. We walked into the forest behind my house with the trees casting moving shadows all around us. An illusionary army of hyenas clawing their way towards us was just out of sight. Nothing. We walked for two hours. Nothing. Someone come visit me so that we can look for them wabbits together.

I have fancy new gadgets. A fancy new Phoenix bike and a sheesha/hookah pipe. The bike doesn't have tassles on the handlebars, but I'm thinking strongly about putting a deck of cards in the rear tire. Kids that have bikes here hella pimp their rides. They get tassled velvet-looking seat coverings and Jesus/Allah stickers are the new in/hip thing. I'm thinking that spicing up my bike wouldn't be that bad. Phoenix in Amharic is pronounced phonics. I've given up telling locals about the mythological fiery bird of the names origins, let alone that hot hot city in Arizona. The only tough part is the number of yous, antes (you in Amharic), farenjis, laughs, snickers, and Chinas I hear increases like America's outstanding debt when I ride the bike. Oh well, something I'll have to get used to. As for the sheesha, I found it in Dessie and I am quite happy to report that the first night I smoked it I learned how to blow smoke rings. YES! This of course is thanks to sensei (the person that taught me the strategy), a person who deserves the title. Next goal is to learn how to blow smokey-ships like Gandalf.

Cultural screw-ups. Those times when you say or do something that is inappropriate in a specific setting. Allah knows I've had them. I've said or done things that aren't culturally appropriate, but not once have I felt heavy guilt from a screw-up in Ethiopia. Until the water line. Currently I have not had water for almost 3 weeks now. It sucks, but you get used to it. Almost the whole neighborhood has the same exact problem. Wuha Yellem. There is no water. I have gotten water before from the local well, but only by myself or with foreigners. This time my neighbor offered to come with me and help me lug back water. The lines at this watering hole, especially in the morning can become very long. So when we arrived, there was a line of say 8 huge water canisters per water spout, which is extremely short. To get through all 8 canisters in any given line would've taken about 30 minutes. In the past, the man in charge of the water has let us bypass the line. He also didn't charge us. I thought nothing of it because we had small buckets that filled up quickly. I usually refuse farenji (foreigner) special treatment in every given situation. I want to be treated the same as everyone else. But this time, when I was offered special treatment, I accepted it blindly without looking at the unfairness of the situation. After we filled up our buckets, my compound-mate looked a little disgusted. That's when it hit me. That's when I realized the injustice in my small action. I didn't come here to have things handed to me on a silver platter. I came to help people. To instill the idea that all foreigners aren't dollar signs or privileged folk. That foreigners are human beings just like everyone else. That one small action of cutting in line furthered the negative stigma. The guilt has faded from my mind, but not the learned lesson. Never take advantage of a situation to the detriment of others.

Finally to end this post with a glimmering shimmering conclusion. My English class to HIV/AIDS orphaned and vulnerable children is the twinkle in my eye, despite having to wake up early on Saturday mornings. As such, what should be a fitting song to indulge them with but Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. It's been a song that I return to in class frequently and they seem to know it well right now. It's the cutest thing when you get to parts of the song that they know best and how the decibel of their singing increases dramatically. But I digress, in the most recent class I taught, I had them name classroom objects and colors. I split them into two competing teams. The team that won got two candies and the team that lost got one candy. Under small boxes, I would put a random object in and they would have to say “This is a/an ...” or “This color is ...” as I said “On your marks, get set, go!”. The first person on either team to say it correctly and completely got points. Anyways, when I asked them to pick team names, the first team's name was Team Snake. Impressive, I thought to myself. I would've and would still pick a name like that for my team.
Something manly and dangerous about snakes. Then, I just about cried. The 2nd team wanted their name to be Team Twinkle. Teaching can be a pain in the ass, but I'm sure that's what makes it for teachers. Those small moments when you feel that you are teaching something and that “your” kids love you for it.

Thanks to Grandpa and Grandma for the goodies and kind words. Thanks to Becky for a book that will help me to continually expand my exploration, wine, and of course the Chinese medicine. If anyone was thinking of sending me a care package, I could really use some new tunes on a cheap USB stick. Amazing folk/acoustic artists will help me to expand on my guitar skillzzz, but anything you like or anything that's different is equally as important. I'd love you forever and of course you would receive a small piece of Ethiopia and my heart in return.

Comments

[libby!]

:) How cute!! Team Twinkle!! awww...

Speaking of teachers, did you see Tammy and Twon got married this past weekend?? :)! crazyness!

Miss you heaps los!! xoxo

[libby!]

ps I demand pictures!!!

[Nayeem]

Great post, I read the whole post, It takes about 15mts , but it was not a time loss for me, it gave me a lot. Thanks.

[Kristen Bean]

Jon, it's been forever. I have checked up on you now and again on here. It seems like an incredible, life altering experience. I am graduating soon with my Masters and am going to ASU to check out their PhD program, which I got in to, to decide if I want to go there. I've been attempting to learn how to cook and still remember when you made me vegetarian tacos.. how did you make the taco shell again? Those were the best! I miss you Jon! Hopefully our paths will cross again someday!

[Kristen Bean]

oh and one more thing.. I bought Maneschewitz and thought of you. I have a Jewish friend here in Chicago so we drink it a lot actually..