Paradise to Your Left

Meet Adwa’s biggest fans.

 In a whirlwind of only our first two days of visiting Adwa, we realized already that our Peace Corps service will look much less like “roughing it,” and more like living like Zorro (minus the moonlighting as a vigilante). On our drive from Axum into Adwa, amid several gasps and camera clicks, Daniel and I knew already that this was by far the most beautiful side of Ethiopia we had yet seen. The mountainous horizon looked much like a child’s drawing—mountain shapes that you wouldn’t think existed in real life, but only in pretend, in crayon. And even though we’ve seen Ethiopia’s mountains before this week, they’ve been far off, more of a soundtrack than a main feature. Not in Adwa. Our Ethiopian friends tell us “Adwa” comes from a word that means “circling”: the entire town circles around the most magnificent, towering beauty I’ve seen up close. This beaut of creation, Soloda Mountain, can be seen from nearly every corner of Adwa. But where it seems to stand the highest is from the view of our backyard.

This sounds all very romanticized, but seriously: it is impossible to exaggerate. All of a sudden we were dropped into a tropical paradise full of vibrant, elaborate birds that are new to us; flowers just as vibrant and wild; scents and sounds that I’ve only heard before in Cleveland Zoo’s Rainforest Exhibit—and a home that Daniel and I could never afford in the states. We went from wondering, “Could our parents ever handle visiting us in Africa?” to “This is a mind-boggling vacation spot—if they don’t come, they’re silly.” (Parents, the glory trickles down even to the amenities: guess who has a Western toilet and a hot shower? Please come).

We also have our own compound to ourselves, with a huge wrap-around yard (outlined by a wall made from Adwa’s well-utilized stones), that seems to be overflowing with life. The garden we’ve been meaning to start here has already been started for us, deep purple and orange flower bushes billow over our stone wall into the neighboring road, and above all this stands Soloda Mountain, who hovers over our backyard like a kind and beautiful grandmother.

And so, several times this week you could have found Daniel and me giggling like children, exchanging wide eyes and open mouths behind the backs of our tour guides, miming, “Do we really get to live here?”, “Is this happening?”, “Is this still considered volunteer service?”

Daniel describes our home as Zorro’s home. And really, all of Adwa seems to have fallen out of a Western film, or a Spanish mission. The architecture here is so different from what we’ve seen in the other regions of Ethiopia: and part of it seems to be due to the stones. All their homes are made from rocks, and it seems we’re surrounded by the American southwest. At the same time it is difficult to compare this to anything I’ve known before. I’ve never been this close to a mountain. Each time I look out our hotel window and stare Soloda in the face, I think she’s a volcano. I think “volcano movies” is the best I can compare it to. Daniel will stick with Zorro.

When we first heard of our home from our counterparts, Getnet and Haftay, they said, “And we will show you your villa this week.” We assumed it was a funny mistranslation, so until we saw it, we called it our villa in jest. Now it seems silly to call it anything but. We have three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. Not only does this far exceed our expectations already, but we were also told we would have to meet with carpenters this week to order beds, wardrobes, table, desk, sofa, etc. to furnish our home for when we arrive. But the home is already furnished  by the college with everything we could possibly need—including a kitchen table (our first one, to date), and an electric stove. (Hopefully none of the other volunteers read our blog, This certainly is not the norm, and we already have children throwing rocks at us. We need no more).

Perhaps better than all these comforts is the meaning behind them: this home has been provided for us by Adwa’s Teacher Training College (Daniel’s new home) and Soloda Primary School (mine). The extravagant house they’re giving us only scratches the surface of their kindness, of the warm welcome we’ve been given. Getnet, 30 and hip as ever, is the Language Department head at the college, and Haftay, 27 and sweet-hearted, is the Vice Director of the Primary School. These two generous, fun (and great English-speaking) men have been our escorts around town and in our new academic circles. They have prepared a way for us, and have been introducing us into the community, with descriptions we don’t deserve (like already calling our Tigrigna “gobez” [fantastic]).

And not only did we completely luck out on being assigned two of the coolest Ethiopians we’ve met, but these schools are unbelievable. We’ll need to dig deep to find the best ways we can be assets to their development, as they are both already well on their way. Daniel’s college and my primary school already have a great working relationship, in which the teachers-in-training gain practice at the primary school, and the students gain from the fresh, new ideas and techniques being practiced on them. One of the expectations set for us is that by having the husband at one location and the wife at the other, we can strengthen the bond between the two schools even more, by our teaming up and working closely.

The biggest shock of arriving on my school’s grounds (after the scenic shortcut that cut through the creek from the college on the other side) is that it looked very much like what our trainers have been saying Ethiopian schools need to look like. The schoolyard is splashed in color, in English and Tigrigna text. I haven’t even seen the inside of a classroom yet, but already there is an outdoor stone stage (with two green cement lions bordering each end); several cement statues molded and painted by students; and colorful metal signs scattered everywhere, bearing pictures labeled in either their English or Tigrigna words. The outsides of the buildings, too, wear paintings of animals, the human body, the periodic table of elements, etc. Even from the short glances we’ve been given, and of only the outsides of buildings, it is no wonder this primary school is second in the region of Tigray.

And already our Tigray pride is rising. Our Oromia-region family, after crying and apologizing when they found out we were placed in Tigray, told us there is no injera in Tigray, no trees in Tigray: it is very dry and dusty, and aznalo (sorry), izosh (be strong). Lots of disappointed head-shaking. Instead we’ve found the best Ethiopian food we’ve yet tasted, my favorite weather to date (some warmth finally!), and lots of gorgeous, varied trees (lots of eucalyptus so Andrew and Kate will feel at home when they visit). Not to mention the mountain we get to live under! Getnet wants to give us two injeras to take back to Sagure, so we can educate our family. Instead, we are taking lots of photos.

It has been nice being able to practice (and hear!) Tigrigna. Two days before we left Sagure, we switched from learning Amharic, to what we are told is the most difficult of the three languages offered to the volunteers. It’s really not too difficult, but is similar to Amharic, with some Cookie Monster guttural sounds mixed in. It’s those sounds that are difficult to imitate. In Sagure, the families can speak Amharic and Oromiffa, so we Tigrigna-learners are the odd men out, who have to practice on our own. At the same time, it’s beneficial that we are learning and speaking Amharic from/with our families—most people in Tigray we’ve talked with, understand and speak Amharic as well. This has come in handy: those conversations in which we’ve used English, Tigrigna, and Amharic, lead our conversationalists to believe that we are fluent in all three. We assure them it’s not the case—but rather we just need to use bits of all three to communicate—but they won’t hear of it. They assure us if we’re this far already, in two years we’ll know their own language better than they do.

Three stray facts:

1. I finally have a new name, thanks to Getnet, who sidestepped all the confusion and christened me in Tigrigna. If it was difficult to be called Danielle last time I lived in Africa, it’s doubly difficult now, having a husband named Daniel. “Daniel” here is pronounced “Danielle,” so they have no easy way to pronounce my name—and snicker each time I introduce myself with a boy’s name. I figure a new name altogether is good, so that after a year, people are not still asking Daniel my name, like in the case of our host mother. So it’s Danait (Dan-ite) which means “judgment.” Our English names mean “God is my judge,” so I figure Getnet chose well.

2. Does anyone remember Lisa Frank folders from Elementary School? I think Lisa Frank spent a lot of time in Adwa before jump-starting her folder line. Our first view of the creek/river happened like this: we peered over a bridge to see valleys of reddish mud winding through bright green life. Standing beside the creek was a beautiful brown and unattended horse chomping on the grass. Watching him, I laughed out loud. I was either inside The Secret Garden for the first time, or had Blue-ska-dooed (Blues Clues, anyone?) myself into my 4^th grade Spelling folder.

3. We’ve been kissed a few times in the past two days (which Gebre defines as lucky). We are enjoying the Ethiopian ways of greeting: a). grabbing onto your own elbow as you shake hands, b). pulling towards the person you’re greeting and touching your opposite shoulders together, c). asking and answering, “how are you?,” five times in a row, in the same way, with some “thanks be to God” thrown in, d).  touching your cheeks together, alternately, several times (there is no set number), sometimes with kisses. But our forms of being kissed this week were abnormal. Yesterday a child with only one hand ran up to us to shake our hands; when we gave him our hands, he purposefully kissed them. It was lovely. Also yesterday we met an old man while walking back to our hotel. The ten minutes of English/Amharic/Tigrigna exchange ended in a phone number exchange. What a lovely, kind old man named Kinfe. We said we would see each other again, and sure enough, we ran into him at the college today. “Daniel, Danait.” We were happy to see him. When we grabbed hands and went in for the shoulder touch (three times), each time he kissed our opposite shoulders.

I am listening to my first hyena call right now. I had to wake Daniel up for it. Haftay has been telling us he would call our cell phones when he heard the hyena call, so we could hear it too. It’s a beautiful but menacing sound. The Lion King lied. It doesn’t sound like laughter. Apparently the hyenas live on and hide in the mountain during the day, and come out into Adwa at night to play. Getnet tells us they come down even as far as our compounds near the college. I am thankful for the stone wall already.

At this point, we are in every way thankful. And we open the invitation to family, friends, countrymen, to come and see Africa in one of her best and prettiest forms: a beautiful, historical mountain town that happens to house two likeable Americans who can now use their settling-in/furniture allowance to buy cots for their guest rooms. Afternoon hike, anyone?

Bits added by Daniel:

1.         Danielle is right on with her description of Adwa. It’s rockin.

2.         We saw a bunch of kids swimming naked in the creek that separates the college from the primary school today. They shouted “Good morning, Tee-cha [teacher]!” to us.

3.         We’ve noticed that Tigrinian speakers of English use the word play a lot—as in “When will we meet again so that we can play?” I think Chesterton would approve.

4.         Adwa is separated into three sections along one main road that circles around the mountain. Towards Axum/Eritrea is what I’ll call the first section, which is more recent than old Adwa, which is downhill and forms the third section. We live in the second section, which, along the main road, looks like it is entirely under construction. Off the main road, though, there are beautiful houses and hills and valleys in which we can play. Also, Getnet told us that not too far from our hotel is the palace of the Ethiopian Emperor Yohannes IV. This place is dripping with history like shiro dripping on the shirt of a ferenji trying to eat with injera.

5.         The staff at my college is very generous and welcoming. Right now they’re moving into the busiest time on their calendar (in the summer they train current teachers looking to upgrade their diploma and their attendance triples), but they have taken time to show us the city. On the first night we were here we had dinner with Getnet (the language dept. head), the college dean, vice-dean, and financial officer (the four people Peace Corps suggested I meet with), and last night we walked around town with the dean again before he once again had dinner with us. They seem like great folks.

6.         They sell wine in beer bottles here.