Spelling a-n-e-c-d-o-t-e

Spelling bees are my students’ favorite English Club activity. Most probably because chocolate is involved. When I say, “widideer” (competition), you should see their faces. You really should.

We have bees about 4-5 times each school year. I come to class with the spelling list, and they have one to two weeks to study the words. On the day of the bee, they come back as experts, dictionaries. My students are transformed to geniuses as they’re spelling “precious” or “transportation” in their third language.

And I’m always impressed. I get a kick out of Adahanum’s antics—the nervous crossing of himself before he receives his word. Tekle Gebrealife’s determined concentration as he feverishly summons his word.

They memorize their 50 words beautifully. Most often, especially at Maria Luisa School for the Blind (home to my most excellent, aspiring spellers), I have to go through the list at least twice, eventually resorting to words off the top of my head—because nothing can shake them. They know the list by heart. We’ve had several two-man standoffs at Maria Luisa, often between my girls Merhawit and Medhin. Medhin is a rock.

Distributing the word list to my Maria Luisa students usually takes a full class period. They each have their Braille tablet, and I dictate each word, spelling them aloud several times. Yesterday our class was interrupted by a howling thunderstorm. (Rainy season arrived in all her glory last week, and we are loving every minute.) In an American classroom, the students can hear the teacher over the rain. But our classrooms are single rooms in outdoor compounds; to get to your next class, you have to go out in the yard. Tin roofs, mud walls, and you can’t hear a thing over Mama Nature’s drumming. So, dictating the new words in the way a mother would shout over her teenage son’s music, I hovered over my students, yelling the spellings over them, over the rain.

This year, to end my service right—in a way that my fourth-grade finalist self would be proud—I’m organizing a town-wide spelling bee.

Round One. I gave my three English Clubs at my schools in town the list of 50 words. They had only one week to learn them: we’re in a time-crunch, thanks to the month of Miyaziya (April)’s 800 holidays that kept canceling at least one of my clubs per week. Time-crunch be damned, they memorized those words.

Tekle is a third-grade boy, living far from his family and village so that he can attend a boarding school designed for students like him, students with visual impairments. Tekle is one of my most enthusiastic students. After a three-week break when they went home to their villages for Easter, I returned for English Club. When I said, “Grab your Braille, we’re going to have a widideer,” Tekle Woooooooooooo!ed and ran all the way to his dorm room. He always escorts me to the gate after class, to talk about the weather, ask about my family, and tell me how much he loved the lesson, how much he loves the song Father Abraham and will we sing it again next week?

Tuesday was Adwa Town Spelling Bee Round One: Adwa School.

Wednesday was ATSBee Round One: Soloda School.

Thursday (yesterday) was ATSBee Round One: Maria Luisa School.

The three winning students from each school moved on to Round Two, where they received 50 new words—making a total of 100 words to study for the main bee two weeks from now. Nine students will gather on Soloda School’s outdoor stage on the last Saturday in May (God-and-Principals-willing) to compete in front of parents and friends. I’m already working on the special certificates.

We pause for a definition of God-and-Principals-willing: An in-depth program will be supported from day one. Nods, yeses, of courses, Why not?s. But two days before the program you’ve worked so hard to organize, the person you’ve been planning with will say, Oh no, we can’t do it that day. Not possible. There’s another program, or a holiday we didn’t mention, or a need for 500 birr to provide coffee and fried bread to all the guests. This is the story of so many Peace Corps Ethiopia volunteers’ service—and it makes quality work an incredible challenge. It is often culturally inappropriate to deny someone’s request, so that no feelings are hurt, no dreams are crushed. Instead, you say yes, yes, yes, but you don’t show up, or you don’t do what you agreed to do. It’s just a slower, more complicated and delayed (and for the American, crueler and more aggravating) way of saying no. I didn’t want this issue to keep me from planning the spelling bee extraordinaire, though. So each time I advertise the competition, or tell my participants the date and time, I say, Maybe. Maybe it won’t work, but maybe it will.

But the maybes shouldn’t matter to Medhin, Merhawit, or Tekle. They’re learning several words for the competition, and they’re killing it.

Which brings us to our a-n-e-c-d-o-t-e.

Yesterday, during Round One of our bee, I gave Tekle the word “thirty.” Below is what followed:

TEKLE:  Thirty? Number thirty?

DANAYT (me): Yes, thirty. Thir-ty.

TEKLE:  Okay, teacher. Number thirty. O-x-y-g...

STUDENTS: (giggle)

DANAYT: (in shock, lots of hesitating) Wait. Tekle. Oxygen? Why...Um. Was oxygen number thirty on the list?

STUDENTS: (giggle, nod)

TEKLE: Yes, my teacher.

DANAYT: Number thirty? You mean...you mean you memorized where the words were on the list? The words and their numbers?

TEKLE: Yes, teacher. Excuse me. Thirty. T-H-I-R-T-Y.

DANAYT:  Tekle, I think you are a genius.

And we moved on to give Abrehat the word “opposite.”

After the storm, I sloshed home in tan puddles to get Round One’s list. Part of me didn’t want to check, in case he was wrong. But there it was.

30. oxygen

Corresponding with Indiana Classrooms

Highlight: Ethiopian Names

Does it hurt to talk in your language?

Do you ever get to ride a camel in Ethiopia? We were debating on if we would ask that question.

Does your time run diffrent then ours? How?

I have some ideas of how you can celebrate Thanksgiving. If you take straw or grass you can make manicans of your family. You could also take that type of bread you eat with every meal (injera) and use it as a pie crust and use berrys instead of pumpkin to make a pie.

Wanna come over to my house and watch my dog, Diamond?

In response to our Peace Corps challenge:

Dear luttrulls,

I do not et wif my fegers. I can not stop wochin teve. I wil not woch clos wif my hans. I haf fod in my fijerader.

Dear luttrulls,

I will eat with my hands. Will I dance like a etheopean?...Yes! I play baseball! do you? we have Spring now! In etheopea what tempetsher is it?

We sent an Ethiopian birr note, and pointed out the unknown shepherd boy on its front. We asked, “Who would you put on the dollar?”:

I no who can be on The Doller. you can. you are a good prsen. you can be on The doller. you are good at doinG good. But Juseu spos to be on. you are nice. your niceer Then a pig. you are nice. I Love your wlord. can we go To your wlord.

Writing letters to classes in America has been one of our greatest delights these past two years. Our sister Lindsay and our friends Amy and Kyle have graciously participated in Peace Corps’ World Wise Schools program. Their Kindergarten, first grade, and fourth grade classes have been exchanging letters (or drawings) with us.

Our aim, and the aim of this program, is to help open young Americans’ minds to different cultures and lifestyles around the world. We began our correspondence with the fourth graders this year by explaining:

Every country has its own unique culture. By the end of this year, you will be experts on Ethiopian culture—and hopefully will have learned about your own culture in Midwest America at the same time. For example, it is American culture to shake someone’s right hand when you meet him for the first time. But when you meet a new person in Ethiopia, you support your right elbow with your left hand while shaking with the right. If he is a friend, you will also bump your right shoulders together when shaking hands. And the longer it has been since you’ve seen him, or the closer friends that you are, you bump your shoulders lots of times. (Can you try this?)

In the meantime, we’re learning from them too.

More than once we’ve been bogged down with the difficulties and frustrations that come from living abroad; yet when we sit down that same day to write answers to their curious questions, we get our refueling. When we explain coffee ceremonies, or the strange calendar, or how the clock works here, or the holiday Meskel—we’re reminded of all the enjoyable, unique aspects of our Ethiopian lives that we’ll have trouble parting with.

These students help keep the culture fresh for us.

There are other perks—like the paper Christmas tree we have hanging in our living room this month. The fourth graders each made us an ornament with one large Christmas tree, because they didn’t want us to go without one. The package took six months to get to us, so we’re having Christmas in May.

Letter 6: January 1, 2014

Dear Mrs. Luttrull’s class,

            Happy New Year! We hope you had a fun and restful holiday. As you already know, Ethiopians do not share our New Year, but celebrate on the first of their own calendar, in September. Their calendar isn’t their only form of time-keeping that’s different from ours and the rest of the world. Their clock is different too!

            Because the sun rises at 6 AM, that’s when Ethiopians start their clock; and they call 6:00, 12:00. So 7 AM is 1:00, 8 AM is 2:00, and so on. It’s very strange to look at a public clock at noon here and the clock reads 6:00. This took Danielle awhile to get used to, but then Daniel explained to her that it’s only a math problem. All we have to do is add or subtract 6 hours to whatever time it is on our watch to know what time it is in Ethiopian time, or Habesha time. As Americans, we call ourselves Americans. Ethiopians call themselves Habesha; so the Ethiopian calendar is called the Habesha calendar, and Ethiopian time is called Habesha time. Now you’ve learned a new and interesting word!

            Telling time here is doubly difficult for the two of us because when someone asks us what time it is in Tigrigna, we have to do two things after looking at our watch. First, we have to think what time it is in Habesha time, then we have to translate the number to Tigrigna. For example, if our neighbor Gebre Michael asks me, “Kinday saat iyu?”—What time is it?, and my watch says it’s 2PM, this is what I do. I add 6 and know it’s 8:00 Habesha time. Then I think of how to say eight in Tigrigna: shomenta. Isn’t that interesting?

            Gebre Michael’s name literally means, “Servant of Michael.” Every Habesha name has a literal meaning. Our friend Tirsit told us that because of this, some parents give their children names that are full sentences. For example, if a girl’s name is Abeba Mekele Haddush, this translates to, “Flower grows anew.” Can you imagine if your first name was Flower, your middle name Grows, and your last name New? They don’t give middle names here, though. You have a first name, and your last name is your father’s name. Many times people ask us, “What is your father’s name?” and what they mean is, “What is your last name?” So Daniel could say either, “Daniel James,” or “Daniel Luttrull.” So Gebre Michael’s daughter’s name is Luwam Gebre Michael. When she receives a diploma or certificate, though, she will need a third name, even though she has no middle name. So then she adds her paternal grandfather’s name at the end, making her full name Luwam Gebre Michael Mebratom.

            What would your name be if you lived in Ethiopia? Danielle’s would be Danielle Charles Charles and Daniel’s would be Daniel James James. As you can imagine, then, juniors aren’t common here. Fathers don’t name their sons after themselves because then their sons would have the same name twice, like Dawit Dawit. Another interesting part of this system is that husbands and wives and their children have different last names, since a husband and wife don’t share a father. Here is a list of some common Habesha names and their meanings. You can combine a name from the first column with one from the second to make a complete and proper name phrase.

            Haile: Power of                                     Selassie: the Trinity

            Mulu: Full of                                         Igzyaber: God

            Gebre: Servant of                                  Berhane: Light

            Wala: Son of                                         Gabriel/Michael

                                                                          Mariam: Mary

                                                                          Meskel: the Cross

                                                                          Heywot: Life

                                                                          Kidan: Saints

            We’re wishing you the best in 2014,

            Daniel and Danielle

Shortly after receiving this letter, Mrs. Luttrull’s class sent us letters with great questions like What is your favorite animal there, and why? (Danielle, hyena; Daniel, Gelada baboon). One group of her students signed with their Ethiopian names (first name, father’s name, grandfather’s name). Reading the Ethiopian versions of their names gave us the same sort of satisfaction as when we read this closing paragraph from one of her students two Thanksgivings ago:

I think that you can celebrate in these few ways. Number one you can have coffee and a fire. Number two you can make a cornucopia with injera stuffed with different foods. Number three you can eat doro watt around a table like a feast. If you like the ideas, you’ll really want a Thanksgiving!

A fourth grade Indiana girl using the word doro watt! Injera, too, is a part of her vocabulary now. She may even remember the Ethiopian coffee ceremony when watching her parents drink coffee on Saturday mornings.

To the two of us, who can’t imagine leaving coffee ceremonies or doro watt behind us forever—(so just wait and see how many kilos of berbere we can pack into one suitcase)—knowing that some Americans know about this culture alongside us, is important. Ethiopia is a part of us now. And we’re happy to be spreading the word, the curiosity.

A special thanks to Mrs. Luttrull’s class of 2012-2013: A generous, creative group of five students donated and shipped to us a box full of school supplies (story books, notebooks, fun pencils/pens/erasers, Post-it notes, colored paper, glue sticks), bouncy balls and small toys, new socks, toothbrushes, toothpaste and more! They came up with the idea on their own, and accomplished it. Without knowing it, they helped kick off my Reading Raffle rewards program at three school libraries in town, by providing me with the prizes. Just two weeks ago I held my monthly raffle at Adwa school; we had 67 books read in April! To date, 133 readers have participated in this program, and 229 books have been read.

Furthering the subject of our January letter, here are several more names you’d hear in our town. In bold are our favorites, in case we’re ever in the market for Ethiopian middle names:

Freweyni   Guesh   Makda   Tekaste   Adhanom   Mikias   Fikadu  Muuz   Kissanet   Mulugeta   Senayit   Kalkidan   Eyob   Binyam   Betelehem   Merhawit   Fisseha   Bereket   Kifle   Yordanos   Tesfay   Emebet   Nahom   Lisan   Dagnew   Haben   Fierdos   Birzaf   Tekle   Melat   Gidey   Mamit   Yebralem   Girma   Girmawit   Egzaharia   Winta   Luel   Leteberhan   Rahel   Gidena   Eden   Frezgi   Natnael   Tirhas   Maarg   Zayt   Milion   Roza   Seble   Lidya   Abel   Eyerusalem   Filimon   Bisirat   Tsega   Kibrom   Yisak   Efrem   Amanuel   Yarid   Saba   Tedros   Shewit   Kidey   Bilal   Seifu   Zenawi   Shishay   Negasi   Semrawit   Kasahun   Medhin   Lemlem  Robel   Weyni

And some more, whose meanings we know:

Netsanet (Independence)

Nigusay (My King)

Nigisti (Queen)  

Fyori (Flower)

Almaz (Silver)

Zinab (Rain)

Selamawit (Peaceful)

Alemsahay (Light of the World)

Mebrit (Light)

Tena (Health)

Haftom (Rich man)

Hagos (Happiness)

Ba’ab (From God)

Haddush (New)

Lela (Another)