Educate Yourself! : Time

by Lauren Troxtel

All we need is time, time, all we need is time! In America, most of us often complain, “If only I had more time, I could be with my family more, exercise, travel, etc.” As Americans, we are so busy. Many people work at least 40 hours per week, have a family, are pursuing a higher education, on top of doing all the household activities and spending time with their friends. A lot of Americans are stressed out about life; we forget how to enjoy the small things, and make time for ourselves.

In Ethiopia, there seems to be almost too much time, especially for the men. Most women stay at home and do all the household activities; those that work have to do both (this is its own topic). However, it seems like the actual workday has too much time in it. Every day, work should start around 8 AM, but by the time people come into work it is about 9. Then you must have your tea/coffee break around 10:30 for about a half hour to an hour. After tea/coffee, you return to work until 12 PM. Everyone then has a two hour lunch break. That gives you enough time to walk home, eat lunch and take a nap (not such a bad thing J). At 2 PM, you return to work, again have tea/coffee around 3:30 for another half hour to an hour, and then work until 5pm. 

So you might think there is a lot of wasted time here, which I agree with to an extent. There are so many pointless meetings that take days and yet accomplish nothing, along with some idle time in the office. If there is work to be done, most people here will work hard. However, when you have that extra time to bond with your co-workers and friends, you really get to know them and understand what is going on in their daily lives. Most communities in Ethiopia are very close; everyone seems to know everyone. I want you to think about that. Ask yourself, “Do I know who my neighbors are, both at home and at work? Do we have a close relationship, or is it very surface-level? Do I wish I knew those around me better? Why don’t I know my neighbors better?”

Using our time wisely is important. I believe that if we could balance the American mindset of productivity and using our time wisely with the Ethiopian mindset of relaxing and enjoying our relationships, we would all be a lot better off. If Americans took some time out of their day to spend with people they enjoy—friends, family or neighbors—I think we would be a little less stressed. If Ethiopians made their meetings right to the point, more things would be accomplished in their communities. For those of you at home, I challenge you to do something for yourself every day; take 10-15 minutes out of your busy schedule and do something you love.

Fun facts about Ethiopian time

Like Americans, Ethiopians have 24 hours each day. They still go by a 12-hour clock, but their time starts at sunrise. At 6 am American time, it is 12 am Ethiopian time. At 7 am American time, it is 1 am Ethiopian time—and so on.

Basically, you add 6 hours from 1:00-6:00 and subtract 6 hours from 7:00-12:00. If you are still confused…welcome to a Peace Corps Volunteer’s daily life! We always have to clarify with people if we are on Ferengi (Foreigner) time or Ethiopian time. It gets confusing. If you think that is bad, let’s throw in the months!

Ethiopia is known for having “13 months of Sunshine”. Their calendar has thirteen months (all named differently from ours), and they are 7 years behind us. (It’s still 2006 here.) Their first month and New Year celebration is during our September. The Gregorian calendar is 8 days ahead of the Ethiopian calendar, so once again scheduling meetings and programs becomes difficult and you have to clarify which calendar you’re using. While in America we are in the middle of the month of December, Ethiopians are still in their equivalent of November. This makes things extremely complicated and confuses everyone! (Check out the breakdown below.) If you don’t understand, don’t worry…I am still confused to this day! In Ethiopia, you never know what your time will be like.

Ethiopian Calendar                                                      Gregorian Calendar

Meskerem        1- 30                                                    September 11 - October 10

Tikimiti            1- 30                                                    October 11 - November 9

Hidar               1- 30                                                    November 10 - December 9

Tahisas            1- 30                                                    December 10 – January 8

Tiri                   1- 30                                                    January 9 – February 7

Lakatit             1- 30                                                    February 8 – March 9

Megabit            1- 30                                                    March 10 – April 8

Miyaziya          1- 30                                                    April 9 – May 8

Ginbot             1- 30                                                    May 9 – June 7

Sena                 1- 30                                                    June 8 – July 7

Hamlie             1- 30                                                    July 8 – August 6

Nehassa           1- 30                                                    August 7 – September5

Pagumen          1- 5                                                      September 6 – September 10

*One of the major difficulties in trying to reach mutual understanding when discussing dates/appointments is: If an Ethiopian counterpart wants to schedule a training on Hidar 4, he will often tell you November 4, even though they are not fully equivalent. Because he uses the word “November,” you assume he is referring to the Gregorian Calendar. He isn’t. He still means the Ethiopian calendar; and Hidar 4 is actually November 13. And so, trainings are miss-scheduled unless you have the five-minute “Who’s on first?” discussion: “Your November or my November? Whose November?”, etc.

Educate Yourself! : Four Things I’ve Learned from Getnet

by Daniel Luttrull

When I explain Peace Corps’ mission to Ethiopians, they’re often surprised by the third goal: “to help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans” or, as I explain it in conversation, “When we go home, we want to help Americans learn from you and your culture.”

“What do you mean?” Ethiopians often ask. “What can Americans [those efficient arbiters of wealth and power] learn from us?” When I’m asked this question, I normally respond with some mixture of these four lessons I’ve learned from my friend Getnet.

1.      Relationships Are More Important Than Jobs

Lack of work ethic in Ethiopia often frustrates me. A few times, I’ve been at a colleague’s house on a holiday and heard someone (after drinking a liter-and-a-half of homemade beer) say, “I’ll drink just a little more tela. I need to teach at 2:00.”

“But, Gebrehod,” I say, “it’s already 2:30.”

Silence.

“You should probably go.”

Silence.

“Just a little more tela,” he says, and the host fills his cup to the brim because you can never have just a little more tela.

But in spite of the Gebrehods, Ethiopians can teach Americans something about work. Last year, my friend Getnet’s father died. At the time, Getnet taught Tigrigna and was the language department chair at the college where I work. He left town and other teachers picked up his classes and administrative responsibilities. I’ve seen this happen in America before. The difference, though, is that the Ethiopians did it naturally—not expecting pay or thanks or anything—and Getnet wasn’t expected back anytime soon. His obligation to his family was automatically seen by his coworkers and employer as more important than his obligation to his job. It was unimaginable that he would need to apologize for his grief.

For Getnet, this relationship/work hierarchy doesn’t reflect how little he values work; Getnet takes great pride in his work. Rather, it demonstrates his greater reverence for those sacred people we call friends and family.

2.      The Elderly Don’t Have to Live Alone

If Getnet ever goes to America, a lot of things will surprise him. People don’t bathe in the rivers. People don’t pick their noses in public. Eating meat is normal, but lifting up your shirt to rub your belly after eating meat is not. His biggest surprise, though, might be how our elderly parents and grandparents rarely live with their families. Here we are living in huge houses with food spilling out of our refrigerators, but when someone in our family grows old they live alone or in a hospital.

I realize that many elderly individualists much prefer to live on their own and that illnesses often make assisted living the only option. Still, when I walk into a house here and see a family of ten living in four rooms, and the father of the house ushers me over to an old, hunched woman surrounded by grandchildren and contributing to the household by chopping onions or crocheting decorations or grunting angrily at foreign guests, I can’t help but think that this woman is able to keep more of her dignity and see more of life than the old women I’ve seen living in large, clean, comfortable, empty rooms in America.

3.      Grief Takes Time

Like I wrote above, Getnet’s father died last year, and he took a while off work to comfort his mother and grieve with the rest of his family at the funeral. So far this is pretty similar to the way we grieve in America.

A few weeks after the funeral, though, Getnet went back home for a second funeral. And a few months after that, he went home for a third funeral. At these later funerals, he told me that he was supposed to act the same way he did at the first one, mourning his father just as much the third time as he did the first time.

In America, we’re expected to gradually get over death. Depending on how close you were to the person who died, you might be expected to grieve for quite a while, but there’s a cultural understanding that you shouldn’t miss someone months after their death just as much as you did at their funeral.

In Ethiopia, it’s the opposite. You’re supposed to not get over death. You’re supposed to mourn someone at their third funeral just as much as you did at their first funeral.

The irony is that America’s way forces you to realize how little you’ve moved on, while Ethiopia’s forces you to realize how much you have. At least, I would imagine that months after the death, while you are at the third funeral, you would realize that you do feel differently than you did at the first funeral, that you’re beginning to heal. And if you don’t feel that way, then your culture is telling you that you’re normal.

4.      You Don’t Need Much Stuff to Have a Fulfilling Life

For our first meal in Adwa, Getnet took me and my wife Danielle to Almeda Hotel. We ate our fill of shiro and kay watt. While Getnet lifted up his shirt and rubbed his belly, I said something about how great the prices were. The meal, exponentially better than anything our host mom made for us, cost under one dollar a person. Getnet replied, “Yes, Almeda Hotel is nice for us middle-income people.”

He often says that: “us middle-income people.” He’s proud of his work and his income and his home. He often invites us over to his house to share a meal.

By American standards, though, Getnet is impoverished. He doesn’t have a car. For a house, he rents a room less than half the size of my parents’ living room. He owns a mattress that sits on the ground without a bed frame, a small suitcase full of clothing, a television, and an electric stove. His room does not have a sink or a refrigerator. He bathes using buckets and shares a pit latrine with the other tenants in his compound.

Thankfully, though, no one has told Getnet to be discontent with his income, and so he persists in believing that he has a nice job and a nice house, and he keeps inviting over guests, and he keeps happily riding the bus four hours south to visit his family, and he keeps smiling, and he keeps rubbing his belly after eating meat and reflecting on how nice it is to be rich.

Educate Yourself! : Commitment, Not Voluntourism

by Christine Homan

When you apply to join the Peace Corps, one of the first things you learn is that it is a 27-month commitment.  Not a job or cultural exchange program that lasts 27 months, but a commitment.  After 21 months in Ethiopia, I now understand why that term is used. To do the kind of work we do, the kind that has the potential to improve lives on a long-term scale, we can’t just come for two or three weeks, build a house or play with orphans, and leave. Improving lives requires investing not just money into a community but large amounts of time and energy.

As a PCV, one of the projects I am most proud of is the weekly girls club I run. Because of this club, I have seen girls become more confident and challenge the ideas of what an Ethiopian girl/woman should be. This would not have been possible without the commitment I made to live in Axum for two years, and the help of the teachers who assist me every week. The positive changes I’ve seen in the girls is only possible because of the commitment made by the people involved with the club; the teachers, the girls and myself. Being committed has allowed me to give the girls important opportunities that they might not have had if I was only here for a short period of time. That’s not to say every project I’ve done has succeeded, but I don’t believe the few that have been successful would have been without the commitment made by the Ethiopians I’ve worked with and myself.

Because of this, I've come to believe that voluntourism, where people come to a developing country for a few weeks to do a service project, tends to do more harm than good. For instance, when people come to a developing country to build a house or other infrastructure, it seems like they are doing something worthwhile. Everybody needs a house to live in, every child deserves a school. However, when a team of foreigners comes to a developing country to build something, they are potentially taking jobs away from locals. Unemployment in Ethiopia is 17.5%, which means every job lost to a foreigner counts. Many times, the people coming from other countries to do this kind of work may be grossly under-qualified. It doesn’t make sense for someone who has never pounded a nail in his life to come and “build” in a developing country.

In the other common example, someone travels to a developing country to work in an orphanage for a few weeks. This may seem like an innocent activity; children who have no parents are getting additional care and attention. However, in some cases foreigners coming to an orphanage for only a short period of time can make things worse for the children. Stability is incredibly important for children, and having people come and go from their lives on a frequent basis can negatively impact their emotional well-being. In some places, children are even “borrowed” from their families so voluntourists can have “orphans” to play with.

Oftentimes the problems created by voluntourism/voluntourists are more subtle. For example, when I was in training in Bekoji, there was a group of teenagers who had come to do a service project in the town. While there, they went to the market, bought all the sugar cane they could and proceeded to give it to the children in town, thinking they were doing a kind and generous deed. But many of the adults in town were upset that the volunteer tourists had done this. While this didn't cause a major international incident, it shows how short-term voluntourists may not consider the long-term consequences of their actions. It shows how their short time spent in a community is not adequate to give them an honest idea of the community’s wants and needs, and may lead them to forego even consulting, say, parents about their own children. This split-second moment of “generosity” caused a problem that might have been avoided had the visitors been in the community long enough to better understand their “beneficiaries” and the sorts of help they would actually welcome and need.

These are just a few examples of how voluntourism can negatively impact the people it’s intended to help. Not all voluntourism is bad, however. Organizations that focus on providing skills/knowledge and that are run by local people can make a positive impact. In certain cases locals might not have the skills or knowledge to do critical jobs, such as highly specialized surgery, in which case it is necessary for foreigners to come and provide assistance. But these jobs are the exception, NOT the rule. Most voluntourists are providing services that are locally available.

Here are some things to consider before you become a voluntourist:

   1. Who runs the organization I will be volunteering with? – If the answer is mostly people from outside the local community, consider another organization.

   2. Could someone from the local community be doing this job instead of me? - If the answer is yes, find another group.

   3. What skills do I actually have to offer the group I’ll be working with? – If the answer is none, don’t participate in the volunteer activity, or find one that fits with your skill set.

   4. Will my contribution continue to benefit the community after I leave?  - If the answer is no, find another volunteer opportunity.

   5. Will I be there long enough to actually transfer skills/knowledge to the community? -  If the answer is no, find another volunteer opportunity.

   6. What do I know about the people I’ll be working with? How will my skills and abilities fit their needs?

The desire to do good in the world is admirable, but it’s important to remember to contribute your time and money wisely. Do your homework before you go, ensure that people will actually benefit from your involvement, and don’t assume that because you are from a “developed” country your benevolence is needed. Sometimes the best thing you can do is simply go to a developing country, see it, and be impacted by it. Tourism creates jobs and stimulates the economy, which helps people too.

Most people volunteer because they want to make a positive contribution to society, which is wonderful. But take a moment to think about the people who have helped you to grow professionally or personally. Were these people in your life for a day or week? I’m willing to bet most have been or were there for months or years. People and countries in the developing world need the same level of commitment if they are to grow, which is why voluntourism tends to produce such meager results. So, if you really want to make a difference, show people in developing countries the same respect you would show people in your own community and make a thoughtful commitment.

Educate Yourself! : Disabilities in Ethiopia

In a Place where Disabled and Unable are Often Seen as Equivalents

 by Danielle Luttrull

A mentally-ill man, every time he sees our friend, runs up to her and slams his first down on her shoulder. In the same town, another man masturbates in public, on the street. Another friend reports having had her plate of food snatched from her at a restaurant from an old naked woman who ran in. One volunteer was chased daily by the town’s “crazy person,” who would cross the street to get to her, throwing large rocks at her as she ran from him. In our town, there’s a man—always adorned with a bright scarf bearing the colors of the Ethiopian flag—in a makeshift wheelchair; every time he sees us, he angrily screams unintelligible English at us in his loudest, most threatening voice. Every week it’s the same: we greet him calmly back (though loudly, so he can hear us over his own screams) in Tigrigna, and his anger disappears, his voice lowers, he greets us back, warmly. There’s another young man with great English, who often stops us to give the same heated speech about our responsibility to buy him and others passports. He always picks up exactly where he left off in his eternal argument—as if the conversation we ended almost a month earlier was only two minutes ago—once even running to stop our bajaj taxi and give us the pitch through the window.

We have a friend, Zyenah, a young student at one of my schools, who has intellectual disabilities. In the states he would be enrolled in a Special Education class. Here, he sits in the same classroom as all 40 plus of his peers, the teacher unable or unwilling to give him any extra attention. I was speaking with him on the school grounds between classes one day last year, when a teacher hurried over to us, to quickly “apologize” to me. The teacher put his index finger to his temple and spun his hand around—the cruel way we used to signify “crazy” among grade-school friends in the 90s. “He is not right,” the teacher assured me. He makes an ugly face and shrugs. “This one is not normal.”

God forbid the foreign visitor think for an instant that all his students are “this way.”

I observed one teacher who gave sign language translations to her four deaf students, juxtaposed with her teaching in English to the rest of the class. She came to me mid-lecture to explain, “These are deaf,” pointing with her finger at the girls beside me. “But she—she is crazy,” pointing to a girl a few feet from us, and snatching her notebook from her, to show me the indecipherable markings on each page, as if I were on tour, and this girl the subject. I quickly wondered how different her life would be in America, surrounded by teachers who love her in the caring environment of a Special Education classroom, instead of this place where no one understands her, and little help is available.

Those with intellectual disabilities are considered a nuisance, a blemish. The mentally-ill are forgotten, left to their fate.

It’s not that mental illness necessarily abounds—maybe it’s even less common than in our own towns in America—but here, they have no respite. No medical help. No medication or rehabilitation opportunities. No centers or hospitals to treat their treatable illness. They’re left to fend for themselves, often on the streets, alone. Their neighbors and communities often ignore their rock-throwing and public-masturbating and nakedness, with a fatalistic approach that there is no way they can be helped. They are doomed—they are “not right”—and always will be. Most everyone just sits back and watches.

Blindness definitely abounds. I grew up with a blind aunt, and she was the only blind person I knew until college. Here, we have three close friends who are blind, and daily, I may pass three to five visually-impaired people, guiding themselves down our uneven road with their walking sticks.

Our visually-impaired guard Gebre Michael tells us his blindness began as a pain that eventually became Glaucoma. Seemingly insignificant pains or infections are ignored until they’re irreparable, because of the cost of medical assistance and medicine. Impoverished people just avoid getting “minor inconveniences” checked out; it’s too expensive for them. (Our neighbor recently borrowed money from us to buy expensive eye drops; it cost 50 birr, or $2.50.)

Instead of taking their child to a doctor when she has an infected eye, the parents will make a cut with a razor, just beside the eye, to let out the bad, infected blood. This doesn’t work.

I work at a private boarding school for the visually-impaired, teaching English every Thursday—often through music—and it breaks my heart to see the scars on their temples, to imagine their parents’ concern years ago when letting the bad blood out of their five-year-old’s eyes wasn’t helping.

To make matters worse, there’s a traditional myth that the blind are cursed by God. They are sinners whom God has decided to punish with blindness. Though we haven’t seen this in Adwa, in some towns, the blind are not aided or helped, but instead targets for ridicule and rock-throwing.

There’s a stigma and belief that people with disabilities are disabled, and hence, unable. That there are some things they just aren’t capable of. I once saw Teacher Haymanot (whose name means Religion) escort a blind student from her classroom, seating him on the stoop outside the class.

“Why is he leaving class to sit here?” I asked her.

“It is Mathematics now,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“And?...So why did he leave class?”

“It is not possible. I write Mathematics on the board, and he cannot see the board. He does not participate in Mathematics.”

My jaw fell. “But he can listen! He can’t see the board in the other subjects either.”

“But he cannot see. In Mathematics, you must see the numbers.”

Because of the laziness and narrow-mindedness of others, Dawit isn’t even given the chance to participate, but is instead physically removed from the presence of the other learners. He is quickly ushered out of his teacher’s sight—and responsibility.

There’s a theme with ailments, disabilities and medicine here: the minor goes unnoticed or ignored or poorly treated, and becomes major.

Sister Agnes, a sister from South Korea at our church in town, has a bone in her wrist protruding her skin outwards. This is because she broke it here in Ethiopia, and it was set incorrectly. One self-motivated volunteer from Arizona, who comes to Adwa every year to offer free and well-needed construction services, recently fell off a building he was working on, breaking his leg. He wisely refused to get the bone set here, and so suffered the 16-plus-hour flight back to America in pain, on a commercial flight with little leg room, so he could get the bone set properly.

We see countless people with leg limps whose cause could’ve just been an easy bone break in childhood that wasn’t properly treated.

Daily we see victims of what was probably Polio, balancing on their sticks, swinging their good legs forward, to walk down the street. Several amputees with their canes and crutches. Many women have goiters jutting out from their necks, the size of softballs, because of lack of iodine.

It’s incomprehensible to us. The lack of medicine to prevent the preventable, the lack of expertise to treat the treatable, the lack of awareness to see people with disabilities as just as capable and worthy and good as the average person of full health.

This may be the most devastating part of living in a developing nation.

And what can be done? What is being done?

Here are some organizations and doctors who are treating the treatable, and in the process, immensely improving their patients’ quality of life:

Operation Smile is one organization that is making a difference in Ethiopia, as they repair the facial deformities of children.

Here you can watch an incredible documentary online, called "A Walk to Beautiful" about Obstetric Fistula, and the brave journeys of five women who travel by foot to the capital, home of the hospital able to treat their condition. Their condition is the source of their ostracism from their communities and families—failed childbirth, sometimes as a result of being married off and conceiving at too premature an age, has left them unable to control their own urination. To their husbands, to their family and neighbors, they’ve become something “other,” locked in separate rooms so the smell surrounding them doesn’t inconvenience others. Desperate and hopeful, they begin their long separate journeys to healing.

 

Educate Yourself! : Used Clothing in the Developing World.

by Todd Paynich MA, PCV

I know. You are going to ask, How did you get sidetracked on what appears to be a small issue? And really, how does it affect us in America, and the rest of the developed world?

In order to shed some light on this issue, first I need to explain what happened to precipitate the construction of my soapbox.

It started during the first few weeks of my being here in Ethiopia. We were in Pre Service Training (PST) and I was walking to my morning language class when I saw a man walking towards me, in a stretched out and threadbare Curves t-shirt.  At that point, I became more aware of the proliferation of used t-shirts, hoodies, etc. as I began to see these items featuring various American musical acts that Ethiopians would have never heard of, assorted American college and university names and logos, and later, after training, a bright orange Gillette Fusion razor t-shirt with the Meijer name and logo on it. What made this my crusade, though, was seeing a Catholic Central/West Catholic All A’s Classic shirt here in Axum. (Catholic Central is in Grand Rapids Michigan, and the high school I graduated from.)

Since then, I have seen t-shirts from Calvin Christian and Forest Hills Eastern High Schools; race t-shirts from the Allegan Bridge Run, various Gus Macker events, and even Aquinas College and Michigan State University intramurals. So West Michigan has an overabundance of t-shirts and hoodies that find their way to Goodwill, Salvation Army, etc. only to end up here.

I am sure many of you are asking yourselves, ‘I still don’t see why this is a big deal? We donate our used clothes to local charities and they make the best use of those items.’ What you aren’t seeing is Ethiopian textile and manufacturing facilities who are forced to compete against these cheap items. You don’t know that the Almeda Textile Plant in Adwa (the next town over) is unable to hire and train an additional 200 people because of the sheer volume of used clothing that is available in the Axum and Adwa markets. You don’t see the farmers who could earn 3 to 5 times more for their harvest by planting cotton instead of sewing the limited number of vegetables that grow here in the Tigray region.

If local numbers don’t impress upon you the need for growing local industry in the developing world, maybe these numbers will:

Ethiopia’s unemployment rate as of the end of the 2013 fiscal year was 17.5% and Ethiopia reported a trade deficit of 1.2 billion dollars for the same period.

Additionally, nearly 70% of the population in Ethiopia is under the age of 30, with joblessness in that group accounting for over 30% of unemployment totals. These numbers underscore the need for businesses that can offer large-scale employment in Ethiopia, with textile and leather goods manufacturing offering the most benefit in the shortest amount of time.

We are in essence, blinded by an act of charity.  We are willfully unaware that these charities take our donated items, turn them into bales and sell them to wholesalers who in turn ship thousands of containers of used clothes to developing countries.

What makes this situation worse is when we (we meaning people in developed countries) provide the capital in the form of targeted microloans to individuals in developing countries to start used clothing stores.  We as Americans are so inspired by the stories of these determined entrepreneurs, that we overlook the negative impact to the regional and global economies caused by our facilitating these ventures.

You are probably asking, what are some solutions?

These are my suggestions, and I’m sure you will be able to add to the list.

First, before you donate these items, ask if there isn’t a use for them in your home beyond the original function. Growing up, my family turned old t-shirts into rags for cleaning.  Since when do we need to buy rags to mop the floors in our homes or wash our cars?

Another way to “dispose” of these items is to never create them in the first place. As an example, is it really necessary for Gillette to send out thousands of shirts to retailers to promote their products? What about those nights you are out and any number of beverage manufacturers are giving away t-shirts that the recipient will never wear?  Or when you are at a sporting event where the team mascot shoots promotional t-shirts out of a cannon? And what about all of those brightly colored t-shirts that distinguish who the volunteers are at events in your community? Will you ever wear a fluorescent green shirt with the words volunteer screened across the back again? Ask yourself, where will this item eventually end up? Push these organizations to find better ways to market their products, or designate who can answer questions.

Another solution, (and this runs contrary to our gotta-have-it culture) is to ask yourself, do I or someone in my family REALLY need that t-shirt? As someone who has always been a conspicuous consumer, I have a better idea of how my purchasing decisions affect the world around me, and there will be considerable thought as to how I spend money and make donations in the future.

Lastly, lobby those groups who sell your donated products to these wholesalers to find other ways of generating revenue from excess donations.  There has to be another use. But airing your concern is not enough; you should help them find it.

As I step off my soapbox, I hope I have given you a reason to give more thought to your purchasing and donation decisions.

Happy 53rd Birthday, Peace Corps! The Peace Corps Challenge is Back Again!

 Last year we challenged you (with the enticement of prizes) to put yourself in the dusty shoes of a Peace Corps volunteer for a week. In your efforts to live ascetically, to live without some of the non-necessities that most of us naively believe to be necessities, we hoped you might experience both the joys and difficulties of what so many of your fellow Americans experience for two years of their lives. Solidarity and education at their finest.

Peace Corps was founded on March 1, 1961 by President Kennedy. Since then, 215,000 American volunteers (of all ages) have served in 139 countries, in order to offer skilled labor at no cost to developing nations, to give the rest of the world a better, more honest view of Americans, and to give Americans a better, more honest view of the people and countries we serve.

Last year, two of our favorite people on the planet, Mr. and Mrs. Cameron and Wendy Moore, blew everyone away with their Peace Corps Challenge skills. Even with a newborn, they managed to accumulate 75 points of sacrifices. So unless you have a newborn (and apparently, even if you do), you have no excuse for not competing. And you have more than a month to rack up your points!

For their prize, they chose unroasted coffee beans, which we mailed to their home. Here’s Cameron roasting the beans:

(See this year’s prize information at the bottom of the post.)

What’s new and different about this year’s competition? Glad you asked. We’ve teamed up with three other Peace Corps volunteers in our area: Todd Paynich, Christine Homan, and Lauren Troxtel—to include the opportunity to “Educate Yourself!” Every day this week we will upload an educational post pertaining to Ethiopia. Whether it’s a lesson on people with disabilities living in Ethiopia, or how to donate in an informed, wise manner so as to do more good than harm, we want you to learn about it! Look out for these daily posts; each one you read will give you 15 extra points.

And so. Below is our second-annual challenge of stuff you can do to make you feel like you are in Ethiopia. As mentioned, there’s a point system so you can compare yourself to your friends and even, just maybe, win a prize.

Maybe you’re feeling ascetic. Maybe you want to feel some solidarity with us. Or maybe you just want the prize. Whatever your reason, we hope you take part in our

Peace Corps Challenge!

For your ease, the challenges are listed in order of point value, least to highest (though some lower-point challenges include “For Advanced Players” opportunities):

Learn the greetings of a language that’s new to you for one week. And then greet people in that language. 5 points

For every day that you forego use of your personal vehicle, 5 points. Available options: hitching rides from others (spouses don’t count), bicycle, public transportation, “be igru” (by foot). Maximum 35 points (7 days) allowed.

Take a cold bath or shower. It’s March, you say. Okay, try it once the temps reach 50F. That was the approximate temperature of Sagure when we had to bathe cold. 10 points; for every 10 degree temperature drop below 50F, 1 point added. (Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Luttrull are not responsible for any illness incurred.)

Specialty vegetables are out! Spend one week with your only veggie options being carrots, tomatoes, onions, and potatoes—unless they come from your own garden. Think of it as an opportunity to get creative. 10 points

As seen on TV: Get your own today! Try an Ethiopian Orthodox fast! For 2 weeks, be a vegan every Wednesday and Friday. No animal products whatsoever. (4 fast days total.) 10 points

Go at least three days without bathing. This must be the minimum, as it’s pretty normal and easy-peasy for us. If you want to beat our record of 11 days, we’ll be deeply impressed. And President Obama may even send you a Christmas card. (Washing of face and feet are allowed.) 10 points for 3 days; an additional 5 points for each day added. If you go the 11 days, 100 points. 

Spend two full hours in which you only drink coffee and talk with someone. 10 points

Read our daily Educate Yourself! posts, and hopefully, ponder them. Honor system, folks! We will post 5 entries from different volunteers, Monday-Friday. 15 points for each post you read.

Spend an entire evening after dark (minimum 5 hours) without electricity. Flashlights are allowed, but it and you are both cooler if you use candles. (Please monitor candles responsibly.) 15 points

For one week, you are allowed only 3 outfits. Creative rotation, my friends. We’re thinking of our Ethiopian friends and neighbors in this one. Pretend you don’t have closets full of options. 15 points

For every day that you live on a maximum of $3.50 USD per day, we’ll give you 15 points. Note that food already purchased beforehand that you consume on said day does not count against you. To make it easy, we’re just talking what you tangibly spend in one day. Maximum 3 days allowed. This particular challenge is only applicable to persons not living with their parents.

Wash an entire load of laundry by hand. (For extra points, dry them on a line in your yard). 20 points for wash; additional 5 points for dry

No internet for one week. Don't let this stop you from reading our daily posts this week! You have one month to participate in this competition; so do the no-internet challenge a different week this month. 20 points

No television, other than the Spanish channel, for one week. 20 points

No canned foods, no meat, and no cheese for one week. 20 points

Use neither your oven (stove top is okay) nor your dishwasher for one week. 20 points

For one week, you can’t reap the benefits of your refrigerator (or freezer). You may indeed still fill it with groceries, if need be. But under no condition can you eat or drink anything from its contents. (Again, we’re not asking you to turn it off. Just count it as useless furniture for 7 days.) Some tips: store foods/leftovers in a pot on a cold floor. If you want carrots or celery, keep them soaked in water to stay firm. 30 points

How would your daily life change if your water were shut off for 3 days? We’ve personally only gone 2 days (thank God for Adwa’s water reservoir). But our friend Rashad lived in a town called Wukro a few hours south of us in Tigray, and having no water was a pretty common occurrence. Erin, one of our volunteers, goes 4-5 weeks at a time without water. So how about this: For every day that you don’t use your indoor tap (no sinks, no washing machines, no shower/bath faucets) 40 points. This means collecting water in buckets/cans from your outdoor faucet, or other means. Fine, we’ll give you toilets, though know it’s a stretch. (Maximum 3 days allowed).

The Prize!

The choice is yours: roasted ground Ethiopian coffee (it’s divine—Tomoca, the best brand in country, in our opinion); shiro powder (a mixture of ground chickpeas and red pepper; just add water, and it's a tasty bean paste meal); or berbere (the single thing we may miss most about Ethiopia: a delicious, spicy spice blend. If you choose berbere, we’ll include some of our favorite recipes.)

Some of you may already be participating in Lenten fasts, and hence, you may start with a given 20 points if you’ve given up TV. You’re welcome. You should probably know that the above challenges don’t tend to be the “make or break it” points for the volunteers who go home early. We’ve lost around 15 volunteers from our group so far, and giving up amenities doesn’t seem to be what drives them to the airport for their return flight home; they knew they could handle these things coming in. The application process takes between 1-2 years (3 in an extreme case we know of). We sell our cars, pack up all our belongings, say our goodbyes, and pay our debts. (Let’s dispel the belief right now that Peace Corps pays off your college loans. It’s a myth.) After all these preparations, hard work, and gruesome waiting, it would have to be something major to make them give it all up.

The two main heartaches seem to be missing family and friends, and being harassed daily because we’re different. But we realize that 1). We can’t separate you from all your loved ones and place you on an island alone for this challenge, and 2). We can’t hire people to follow you around, calling you by your skin color, calling you Money, grabbing your derrieres or breasts, catcalling, “flashing” you, cussing at you in English for the sake of practice, or speaking mock-Mandarin and mock-English at you for jokes. And there won’t be any adults feeding children offensive sexual lines in English to proposition you with. Neither would we wish that on you. But, take what you can get, and imagine all these things alongside the tangible physical sacrifices. Only then will it become easier to understand why some Peace Corps volunteers ET(early terminate)-go-home.

As you might guess, the points were decided upon our own educated judgment of difficulty, keeping other Peace Corps volunteers’ opinions in mind as well. For instance, our friend Tyler from Mizan may say, “What? You’re letting them get tomatoes? Only vegetables that grow underground!” Many of our friends in remote towns may say, “Internet once a week would be beautiful.” Joel in Hagerey Selam would call us crazy for giving you three whole outfits. And again, bathing every 3 days just makes sense—even in the dirtiest, dustiest town we’ll ever live in. What can we say? Peace Corps changes you. Are you up for the challenge?

Tally your points via the well-loved Honor System and get them into us by 11:59 PM your time Sunday, April 6^th.

We not only want to know your tallied score by email (danielle.luttrull@gmail.com), but we want to know your story. Was it horrible? Do you hate us now? Or was it the easiest thing you’ve ever done and even came naturally (or were you already doing these things)? If it’s the latter two, we’ll send your Peace Corps application in the mail.

Also, we need not know the participants/winner, and you need not know us. Tell your friends!

Here’s a Peace Corps-volunteer-original video for your enjoyment, disgust, and inspiration: you're gonna poop in a hole.

The Simien Mountains

A few weeks ago we took a long walk through Ethiopia’s Simien Mountains National Park with four of our closest Peace Corps friends—Joe, Laura, Mike, and Zach. We also went with a team of Ethiopians: a guide, a guard, three cooks (it seemed excessive to me too), and four mule handlers, who led three mules and made sure our stuff got from campsite to campsite. In five days we walked sixty miles at high elevations and over difficult terrain. In the early mornings, we’d come from our tents and see ice in the mountains. At noon we’d be in tee shirts, smearing on our third layer of sunscreen, and downing our second liter of water.

Mentally, the trip was a lot like Peace Corps—highs and lows in rapid succession. One minute we’re climbing a hill at a snail’s pace while an elderly Frenchman cruises by the group singing a robust rendition of “Frère Jacques.” I think: There’s no air here. We’re going to need to stop and call in whatever the Ethiopian equivalent of the National Guard is, and by the time they get here we’ll just be little blue-lipped shrunken heads with baboons gnawing on our femurs, and our parents will have to have funerals with closed caskets, and Peace Corps will have to pull out of Ethiopia, and I’ll never get to eat cheese again. The next minute we come to a peak, and the Frenchmen is out of sight, and I look down on the vultures flying hundreds of feet below us, and think: Stupid birds, we are the true kings of the mountain! We the true sky gods!

Our trek was through the park’s highlands, meaning we started at around two miles above sea level and climbed four peaks over two-and-a-half miles high. One of the peaks we had to climb twice and another one of them was Ras Dashen—the highest mountain in Ethiopia—which sits at fourteen thousand nine hundred and five feet. [Note: The peak looks nothing like the mountain on the Dashen Beer label. Also, it’s pronounced Dejen by locals.]

The park is incredibly beautiful. It’s difficult to describe, especially to someone like me who grew up with Riverview Elementary’s sledding hill as my frame of reference for words like high, steep, and climb. The Simien highlands are unlike anywhere I’ve ever been because they are literally mountains on top of mountains. You stand at two miles above sea level at the edge of a cliff that drops over a thousand feet, but it doesn’t drop into the sea or the desert. It drops into more mountains and the mountains continue all the way to the horizon. It’s a little bit like looking at a mountain range from an airplane or as if someone took the Cliffs of Moher and put them on top of the Rockies.

Our first two days of walking were my favorite. These days stretched mainly along cliff edges. On the left we’d have these spectacular views, and on the right we’d see antelope hoping around and baboons foraging for bugs. Over parts of the walk we’d smell wild rose bushes or oregano or St. John’s wort.

The last three days were less about beauty and more about getting to the top of Ras Dashen. Just about every step of the forty miles we walked in those three days was straight up or straight downhill. The views were still spectacular, but perhaps the most interesting part of this section of the hike was seeing what happens to your body at altitude. It wasn’t just fatigue. I’d experienced that before hiking in Colorado. It was a strange pressure over my lungs, and my mind working on a basic, brain-stem level. Step with right foot. Step with left foot. Also, I got nosebleeds.

When we made it to the top of Ras Dashen, it looked like it had two peaks. Nothing too dramatic just a big pile of rocks on our left and, to the right, a seemingly-bigger pile of rocks. Our guide insisted that the pile on the left was the highest peak in Ethiopia. Our guard Yeyu, who held a considerable sway with the group, said that he had always thought it was the pile of rocks on the right. We stumbled up to the peak on the left and then made the long hike back to the base camp, Danielle’s feet covered in blisters, my knees aching from the climb down.

That night, after our guide turned in, our friends sat around the campfire and talked to Yeyu, who couldn’t speak full sentences in English. He told them in Amharic that we definitely did not climb Ras Dashen. Ras Dashen is somewhere else, inaccessible from our current camp.

Again, it was a lot like Peace Corps. You set out with a definite goal like—teach the British Council’s phonics course to your students at the CTE. You complete the goal. But then when you sit back and think, you start to wonder to yourself: Did I actually do anything? I taught the course, right? It sure feels like I did something. Yeah, I did. But, did anyone learn anything? Did I actually teach anything? And the students who did learn something will they be able to use it in their classrooms? Will they even become teachers or will they quit and start driving taxis and opening shops? To live in Ethiopia is to live in confusion and doubt. Luckily for us on the hike, Joe has a watch with a GPS on it and he was able to tell us when he got the readings back that we climbed to fourteen thousand nine hundred and five feet—the often-quoted height for Ras Dashen. Yeyu was wrong, or we misunderstood his Amharic, or maybe he knows about an even higher peak somewhere else in the park—which I’m not ruling out as a possibility.

On the top of Ras Dashen, Joe had us perform a dance he made up to this song. He filmed our dance to send to his brother. The song chops up a truly absurd interview William Shatner gave about Star Trek and mountains, putting auto-tuned clips of it to a beat you can dance to. At the song’s climax, Shatner says, “Why do I climb the mountain? Because I’m in love.”

Our dance was just about as absurd as Shatner’s interview, but our guide Dejen (who shares Ras Dashen’s local name) was transfixed. For him the song was like a spiritual experience. The final day of our trek, I walked next to Dejen while we climbed one mountain to get to another mountain to get to our car going out of the park. The girls were both renting mules for the day (Danielle says she felt like Mary being led to Bethlehem), and we were moving a pretty fast pace trying to keep up with them.

“Why do I climb the mountain?” Dejen said under his breath.

We’re going to have to call a helicopter to get us to the car, I was thinking.

“Why do I climb the mountain?”

It might be able to land just outside of that town.

“Daniel, why do you climb the mountain?”

[Gasp] “Uh?” [Gasp]

“Why do you climb the mountain?”

“Brugh.” [Gasp]

“Is it because you’re in love, Daniel?”

I often find Ethiopian taste annoying. They love the kitsch and corny. Celine Dion and Michael Bolton and Valentines Day cards with puppies in baskets. And they don’t love these things in an ironic, hipster way where they’re kind of winking at it. They love these things at face value. Coming from a culture that excels in satire and parody, this innocent taste is almost unbelievable.

Sometimes, though, I envy Ethiopians their capacity for taking things seriously. I hear the Shatner song and hear something valuable only because it is so ridiculous. Dejen, whose named after a mountain and spends most of his time climbing them, hears a mantra. He may be the only person in the world, who has listened to that song and had the kind of experience Shatner was ambitiously trying to inspire in the original interview.

The trip gave us adventure and beauty and time with some of the best people in Ethiopia. What else could we ask for in a vacation?

Check out our photos of the trip.

For some more beautiful pictures and a great day-by-day description of the trek, check out Joe’s blog.