Reorganized and Ready to Roll

Today, one day after Sweet T’s due date, we still have no signs of his/her imminent desire to enter this world. Nevertheless, after Tuesday’s final prenatal doctor’s appointment, our excitement to meet the little guy (or gal) is growing. You see, on Tuesday, we set Friday June 4^th, as the date of inducing if Sweet T does not make his/her exit before then. With the end in sight (or is it the beginning?), today’s big task was rearranging our room in preparation for welcoming our new member of the family and Gmz Bible translation team!

 

Now I know what you’re thinking…normal American couples would not wait until the day after the baby’s due date before making such preparations as setting up the baby’s room (or in our case, space). However, normal American couples have more space to work with. Our room is 12 feet long by 8 feet wide and we didn’t want to share that space with an empty crib (I mean pack ‘n play). But, with our excitement mounting and the final days winding down, we went ahead and made the switch.

 

The timing was also perfect as this morning our friend Sue arrived with some goodies brought from home. One of which was an Ikea chair that we had requested. It’s not a rocking chair, but it does bounce slightly and will be great for both feeding times and bouncing Sweet T to sleep.  This is the black chair pictured below.

 

As you can see, the pack ‘n play is positioned perfectly to give Sweet T a great view of the vultures circling above, or if he/she desires he/she can look at all of our family pictures up on the window sill.  The cloth diaper supplies are on the bamboo shelf next to the crib for easy access.

 

Oh and inside the crib, a big, white, fluffy bear is awaiting Sweet T’s arrival. This stuffed animal, given to us by our coworkers here, is the only stuffed animal we have received, which is great since they do manage to take up space (Please no carnival sized monsters!). Also in his/her crib is a mirror thingy that softly plays Baby Einstein music. Therefore, we expect Sweet T to graduate summa cum laude from Yale or Harvard or something like that. Just think how much smarter we all could have been if we have been exposed to such brain-enhancing music during our formative years. We’d have been right up there with Vincini from “The Princess Bride” – “Ever heard of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle…all idiots!”

 

So, we’re now reorganized and ready to roll. Until then, we wait, giving merely the appearance of patience. 

 

Pregnant with Respect

Since we’ve been out of Amharic language school for a little while, our blogs haven’t mentioned any interesting aspects or nuances of the language much. However, to understand a culture you have to understand the language, likewise to truly understand a language you need to understand the culture. So, here’s a little insight on the Amharic language in contrast with English. In English we can be polite by inserting special words and by saying things in an indirect way, for example, “Sir, could you please help me?”or “Is it possible for you to help me?”  In Amharic, when you want to communicate with or about someone worthy of respect, then you must use a particular form of verb conjugations or noun endings, etc. These forms are typically used when speaking to or about someone elderly, because the older generations are most worthy of respect.

 

Unfortunately, in our language learning days we didn’t spend much time practicing these forms and so we continue to remain somewhat impolite when we talk to someone elderly. For the most part, such cultural faux pas are excused or silently overlooked given our status as foreigners and obvious limitations in Amharic.

 

Outside of the classroom these last few months, I have experienced first-hand that respect is not just something represented in spoken Amharic. You see, although the older generation deserves a lot of respect, they are rivaled by the obvious respect given to pregnant women. As soon as people began to learn or observe that I am pregnant I began to receive priority treatment and never-ending advice about what I shouldn’t be doing. For example, when someone comes into a room or the area where I am seated I am not supposed to stand up to greet them but they should come to me to greet me. I shouldn’t carry heavy things or maybe even anything at all. Travis has quickly learned that in order to avoid a reprimand, he must not let me carry anything until he is packed like a mule.  One time, I was in a supermarket with one of those metal shopping baskets and an employee told me to set it down while I looked around and then, being on the second floor, she offered to carry it downstairs for me.

 

Back to language briefly, there are two words for pregnancy in Amharic. The generic word can be used of people or animals but the other one, which is specific to people, is the combination of the words ‘soul’ and ‘carrier.’ Along with this concept of being a ‘soul carrier’ comes a strong belief that the soul being carried could be a king, therefore the respect due a king should be given to the pregnant mother as well.

 

One final example of the respect I’ve been given over these past few months is the one that has stood out to us the most. Since we don’t have our own vehicle to drive yet, we frequently rely on public transportation - which in most cases, is the mini-bus taxi. Pre-pregnancy, we experienced the taxi culture and observed what seemed rude at first. People take the seats closest to the door and expect you to crawl over them to get to a vacant seat. Well, not anymore. As soon as those who have snatched the most coveted seats see me and my belly coming, they scramble to vacate like cockroaches under the beam of a floodlight. Meanwhile, Travis continues to crawl over 3 people in order to squeeze into the back corner, where there is seriously half the necessary leg room for his tall frame. It is clear that if some young punk doesn’t offer his seat to me, he will be harshly scolded by the other riders.

 

My favorite taxi experience was one Sunday morning when our friend, Travis and I were waiting for a taxi to go to church. The sidewalk was full of people waiting and not many mini-buses were stopping. The combination of many people and few taxis always leads to people running next to the taxi until it stops, and then smashing themselves against the sliding side door until it opens.  It requires experience, discomfort, proper positioning, a whole lot of shoving, and a bit of luck to get on in these circumstances. Anyway, by this particular Sunday morning, I wasn’t feeling notably up to pushing my belly into a scuffle, so I wasn’t being very aggressive. And without at least attempting to be in a good position, the pregnancy card wasn’t helping. After missing one or two opportunities, a shoe shiner who was getting a little business from the many people waiting for taxis, silently nodded at Travis and got up from his low stool. We watched with amazement as the next empty taxi pulled up. He timed it perfectly, ran alongside it, and was the first one pressed up against the door as it opened. The next thing I saw was a mob of people pushing into the taxi and our friend disappeared behind them. A few second later, as the taxi people backed away from the full taxi, there was that shoe-shining boy, having reserved a whole bench for us. He exited as we entered and didn’t even turn around for us to thank him or give him a tip! Then again, in a culture that is pregnant with respect, he knew that he may have just served a king!

 

Surprise!

Travis has notoriously been a difficult person to surprise. I still celebrate when, during our engagement period, a member of his youth group and I managed to pull off a big surprise 25^th birthday party for him, including my travelling to Wisconsin without him knowing. That was a rare, but special occasion. I, on the other hand, am rarely suspicious of what people tell me or secret plans being made right under my nose. For example, our sister-in-law decided to plan a surprise baby shower for…well, for me (Travis had to be in on the details). Even after I knew that she wanted to communicate with Travis without my knowledge, I quickly forgot and soon became oblivious to any plans or information being concealed from me. Together, they pulled off an incredible surprise baby shower with 22 family members, which we attended with live video feed on Skype!

 

Now, here in Ethiopia, surprise parties are practically unheard of. Not only do Ethiopians not celebrate their birthday, many don’t even know the actual date of their birth. This is changing with the influence of other cultures on the upcoming generation, but still most celebrations here are much smaller scale than ours, which definitely limits the practice of elaborate surprise parties.

 

Well, I am proud to announce that after nearly 5 years of marriage, it seems that my husband’s suspicious and analytical mind may be rubbing off on me. Let me give you a little background. We’ve been faithfully attending a particular Amharic-speaking church for nearly 6 months now. We enjoy the service and fellowship even though we are the only regular attending foreigners. Now, these past few weeks, there has been a short-term visitor from the UK and each week after the service she promises to call us so that we can get together. So, I was not really surprised when, on Wednesday, after emerging from a morning shower, Travis told me that she had called about getting together that afternoon. For some reason, though, I was suspicious…the details Travis gave me seemed vague as if he was withholding something from me.

 

So the rest of the morning, I found myself suspecting something - could there possibly be a surprise of some sort in the works? The information I had: we were getting picked up at 1pm, we were going to the church compound and we might be eating together (but Travis didn’t think we were actually eating lunch together…hmm…my husband is not one to let details like lunch be overlooked). No it couldn’t be, I told myself. First, we hardly know this lady, why would she plan a surprise baby shower for us? Second, she didn’t seem to have enough influence in the church to convince a bunch of Ethiopians who don’t have baby showers or surprise parties that they should do both. And third, although the church folks know us a little, we don’t have any deep friendships there and amidst the other pregnant ladies, why would they throw a party for us?

 

So, I asked Travis, point-blank, “Is there anything you know that you’re not telling me?” I later learned that such a question blatantly breaks the “I suspect a pending surprise” rules. In order to be fair to the weasel who has inside information, I am told, I need to raise my suspicions more as observations or statements of doubt rather than putting others in the awkward position of having to either reveal all or flat-out lie. In answer to my breach-of-etiquette question, Travis chose an indirect lie by basically repeating the conversation he had on the phone as if it was exhaustive, but, of course, leaving out anything about a surprise. He then took the side of ignorance and started being suspicious with me. Clever. He even offered more suspicious evidence to play along, “You know, some of the church leaders have spent significant time in the US and so they probably know our custom.”

 

So, shortly after 1pm we arrived at the church compound and were awkwardly led to a closed door. Upon opening it, the room inside burst into noise “Surprise!” and peering in we saw all of our Ethiopian church friends gathered to share in our excitement. Much to my surprise, the UK lady was not even there! I was quickly directed to the seat of honor at the end of the room behind which streamers and balloons had been set up.

All-in-all, it was a great afternoon, although what transpired was not like your typical baby shower in the US. There were more men than women present. We were served stir-fried meat with bread followed by cake and cookies. We weren’t showered with hundreds of gifts, just three very thoughtful ones: a traditional Ethiopian child’s outfit and a framed piece of art with a silver Orthodox cross surrounded by angels painted on the matting, and their greatest gift was their prayer as we held hands around the room.

It was more than a valiant Ethiopian attempt at replicating an American tradition for those who were far from home, I can honestly say, its uniqueness made it one of the nicest baby showers I’ve been a part of.

Make that a Double Brat with the works!

For the most part, our first year here in Ethiopia hasn’t been plagued by “missing” the foods of home too much. Sure, it would be nice to drive-through at Wendy’s and get a large frosty to share, but we don’t allow our minds to focus on such things. Well, at least we try. Sometime early last week, I was lying in bed as Andrea slept beside me and I carelessly let my mind wander. I was thinking about friends in Texas and particularly how fun it would be to have a backyard barbeque at one particular home. The smell of the charcoal/wood, the sound of sizzling meat, the aroma of B.O. after having played some pick-up b-ball and the taste of grilled delicacies…better yet, my mind flew back home to Wisconsin where this time of year is also characterized by outdoor cookouts. However, whereas Texas barbeques will have some savory steaks, smoked ribs or tender brisket; a Wisconsin, and especially a Sheboygan cookout must feature some hometown Johnsonville bratwurst. It was here that I should have shut my mind off and gone to sleep, but no, my mouth began to water at the thought of a double brat with the works, served on a Sheboygan hard roll…there is no substitute for that!

 

Not wanting to admit my mental carelessness to Andrea, I didn’t say anything for a few days. But, like most things, it found its way out of my mouth on Thursday afternoon when I simply said “I was thinking the other day, ‘it would be nice to have a good ole bratwurst.’” To my surprise, Andrea immediately replied “me too!” (which is particularly strange because bratwurst aren’t known to top the “healthy diet” list that Andrea prefers). Nevertheless, it was decided. We would find the closest thing to a brat here in Addis in an attempt to satisfy these mutual cravings. So, the very next day, we stopped at “Prime Meats,” a butcher shop that sells pork products (which is tough in a culture where pig meat is deemed unclean by both the Orthodox Church and Islamic faith).  We picked out two sausages that kinda looked like brats and three “hot dogs” and promptly prepared them for lunch the next day (Saturday).

 

Did they suffice? Well, kinda. The sausages were nice, although they only had about half of the flavor that I would expect in a real brat. The hot dogs had more taste than we expected as there was some sort of a hot spice mixed in. Neither were bad, just different. The buns were just the local sub-bun like white bread, which was fine, but once again, falling short of Sheboygan’s, or more specifically Fuzzy the Baker’s masterpiece hard rolls! So yes, in some ways, our cravings were satiated, however, as with most things, nothing replaces the original. Which is fine, it leaves us yet one more thing to look forward to on furlough. And after several years here, the real Johnsonville bratwurst on a real Sheboygan hard roll will taste just that much better!

 

It's Your Moral Obligation

There are some things about living in Africa that are definitely different than back home in the States – one of them being water. Right now, we have it pretty good here in Addis Ababa. City water comes in pretty frequently, but it is not reliable in pushing water through every time a faucet is opened. So, we have a 1000 liter tank on the roof of our house, which then gravity feeds all the toilets, showers and sinks in the house. Then we have a second tank on the ground, holding an extra 1000 liters of reserve water. It’s not uncommon for the upper tank to run dry, notifying us that water hasn’t come into the house for a day or two. So at that time, two things happen. First, if there is electricity, we pump a portion of our 1000 reserve liters to the roof tank.  Then, we go into water conversation mode – only sponge showers, minimal dish washing, and sharing toilet flushes. The classic toilet rule during water conservation mode is “If it’s yellow let it mellow, if it’s brown, flush it down.” Pretty self explanatory.

 

Lately, our water has been pretty reliable, but I had another concern growing within me (other than the amoeba colony mentioned previously). You see, tanks of stagnant reserve water are great places for unwanted algae to thrive. After learning that there are no “self cleaning” buttons on these contraptions and getting an algae eating fish has other downsides, I accepted it as my responsibility to make sure that our water is clean. Last January (or so), I and our housemate, Grant, valiantly cleaned it out for the first time and thinking that we was good for another year, I was soon disappointed. The first time we had to pump up our reserve water everything was fine. But, apparently, when the city water returned, it came with a free starter kit for growing your own water tank scum! Within a week of this refill, the water was already turning green (don’t worry all of our drinking water is filtered separately).

 

So, again, yesterday came the time for reserve tank cleaning. This time I decided to include you in the process as Andrea took excellent pictures along the way. So sit back and watch an expert at work!

 

1) Get dressed up in old clothes, rubber boots, gloves, and a breathing mask doesn’t hurt either.

2) Turn off the water coming in from the city.

3) Using a sawed-shorted broom, scrub the inside walls to knock off as much junk as possible.

4) Then, while stirring up the water, empty the tank water most of the way - using the drain spout and buckets.

5) With a few awkward contortions of your body, get yourself into the tank where you will remain in the squatted position for the next 30-45 minutes.

6) Armed with multiple types of brushes and steel wool, begin scrubbing the walls all around you. Be sure not to sit down in the nastiness that lies below you. Yes, you can fit two people inside the tank - working back to back (Our housemate Lumi took Grant’s place in the fun!).

7) Have someone hand you a hose to wash down the scrubbed walls.

8) With buckets and cups, bail out the rinsing water (and scrubbed junk).

9) Remove thyself from the tank (easier said than done for some).

10) Buy a big yellow bottle of bleach and spray it all over on the inside of the tank. Then spread it around with the saw-shortened broom (here the breathing mask is especially nice).

11) Let the bleach sit for about 20-30 minutes.

12) Again wash the walls with the garden hose and bail out the bleach water with buckets.

13) Finally, turn the city water on and watch your tank fill up with lovely blue water! It’s a satisfying sight – and it smells like a swimming pool!

 

That should do it, but I warn you, knowledge is a powerful thing. If you ever find yourself as a short term missionary to Addis Ababa, armed with knowledge of such an essential and honorable task, you are under moral obligation to offer your services. Oh and for your planning, we’ll probably be doing it again in late summer so you may want to book your airplane tickets now! I know Sweet T is looking forward to when he is big enough to join in the fun!

Praying For Power

Today is Monday, which means that there are about 6 of us in our circle of friends who urgently turn our prayer time toward the local “Power and Light” authorities. You see, every Monday night, there is a group of us who gather at the international school to engage in the serving, bumping, setting, spiking, blocking, and digging of some pretty competitive volleyball. However, we have one problem – we cannot play if there is no electricity in the gym. Because Ethiopia relies on hydro-electric power, limited rain means the rivers are low and power must be rationed. Lately we have had rain, but one of the major power-producing sites was shut down while crews are working to repair a collapsed tunnel (you can google “Ethiopia collapsed tunnel” to read more if you want). So, nevertheless, power is not a guarantee. In fact, the last four Monday nights, the power rationing has blacked out on our Monday night volleyball plans. Maybe today…we’ll see.

 

Andrea played with us until about a month ago and although now she is feeling great, having the equivalent of a heavy ball belted to her mid-section limits her ability to dig out those tough ones. No doubt she will return to action after Sweet T makes his/her debut in the world. The play is at times fierce, as there is no mercy shown when one of the several young lads get a perfect set. In a way, it’s part of our training for future ministry. The Gmz people love volleyball and in some areas of the country they are REALLY good at it. Sure the rules aren’t always the same, and there is no shame in the best player hogging the whole court, but these guys are a force to be reckoned with! This weekend, we were told that in the particular area where we are hoping to move to, the Gmz men come in from the fields Monday-Friday evenings and play volleyball as the sun goes down. And, hey, we can count it as work time since we will be learning some essential Gmz “trash talk” vocabulary. “Eat that, Demelash!” We look forward to joining the Gmz on a regular basis. After all, our Almighty Creator God has yet to have to ration His light.

 

Unwelcome Guests

ATTENTION: This blog entry contains some graphic content detailing physical sickness, read at your own discretion (it could be worse).

 

When crossing our one-year in Ethiopia mark (April 28^th), we specifically thanked God for the good health that we had experienced. Then, on Sunday afternoon while Skypeing with our friend, I mentioned that we hadn’t had any of the big sicknesses yet (malaria, amoeba, etc). Little did I know that the amoebas that had already taken up residence in me were about to throw a party later that night.

 

Sunday night rest was interrupted by two emergency trips to the bathroom, which I promptly blamed on the liver I had tasted at supper. But then, as the sun rose, my health fell…fast. Fever, headache, body aches, chills, stomach pain, cramps, exhaustion, some digestive issues and vomiting - all the signs of malaria. Thankfully, Andrea faithfully stayed by my side. Knowing that I had been in a malarial area a few times within the incubation period, we called Becky (our friend who is a nurse) and promptly went to a hospital for a blood test. After climbing one flight of stairs, I was completely wiped out. Seeing that I couldn’t sit still or hold my head up, a nurse finally offered me a bed in an adjacent room, where thankfully I was allowed to stay for the next hour or so (most people have to go downstairs for lab work). Andrea faithfully stayed by my side. The malaria test came back negative, however, even the nurses said, malaria tests are notoriously unreliable. So we decided to do the malaria treatment anyway (it’s better to take it and be wrong, than to not take it and be sorry). I stumbled out to the car (stopping for some dry-heaves into some bushes along the way). Andrea faithfully stayed by my side.

 

The rest of that Monday afternoon was miserable, but I was extremely thankful when the fever broke around 7pm. However, with the fever under control, the sickness became much more localized in the digestive track and my body’s urgent desire to eliminate everything inside of it. That is, whether through the front door or shooting out the back. Eating only a small bowl of rice that day, I crawled into bed around 9pm. Once again, Andrea faithfully stayed by my side. Then, as if the excitement was only beginning, I proceeded to make no less than 15 trips to visit “john” that night, and surprisingly, each time, Andrea got up with me (though not literally by my side!). Her concern grew as my deposits become more and more tainted with the color red. Malaria doesn’t act like that.

 

The next morning, Andrea promptly called Becky who took us to another clinic for a blood and stool test. When Becky turned in the stool sample, the lab technician said “Wow, this guy is really sick!” And sure enough, the stool sample resulted in “many red blood cells, white blood cells and amoebas.” The doctor gave me some medicines, a big fat bill and sent me on my way. Now, halfway through the antibiotics, things are much improved. The amoeba party has been busted and after three days on my back, I should be back in business soon. I do plan to mount a large sign for the future - “Amoeba’s Not Welcome.”  Yet still, Andrea faithfully stays by my side. I am humbled by Andrea’s faithful care for me, despite being nearly eight-and-a-half-months pregnant. I’m not worried though, with baby Sweet T soon to appear, I have plenty of opportunities to return the favor. I just hope I can serve her as well as she serves me.

 

The Universal Language of Football

As the World Cup will soon dawn on the African horizon, there is a lot of football excitement here in Addis Ababa (even though Ethiopia’s team did not make the World Cup competition). Now, of course, when I talk about football, I am talking about the sport that actually uses its feet, not as the American’s trying to confuse the rest of the world with their misnamed rendition. If American football has a legitimate claim to this title because the punter and place kicker occasionally kick the ball, then soccer can rightfully be called handball on the basis of the goalie’s job alone. Anyway, football fever is in the air over here.

In late March and most of April, we were meeting with a young Gmz man at the American run NGO – Cure Hospital. Cure specializes in surgeries for cleft palates and lips, which they perform without charge. So when some of our church planting friends came across little Andalo, a 4-5 year old Gmz boy with a large hole in his palate, they made arrangements for him to fly by helicopter into Addis for this surgery. Because of Andalo’s age, he had to have an “older brother” come along (the sibling relationship is not important, rather it needed to be someone who could speak both Gmz and Amharic and could act as his guardian during his time in Addis). So that is where Geshao came in. He is the bright teenager that we met with for about a month before he returned back to the Gmz area.

One particular day, Andrea and I made the trek (one hour by public transport) up to the hospital only to discover that Geshao was nowhere to be found. Knowing he was a growing follower of lslam, we should have known not to look for him on a Friday – which is a day with many, many prayers. Nevertheless, we spent our time at the hospital well – that is, speaking the international language of football. Andalo and I spent a good hour kicking a rubber ball back and forth. Although neither of us are ready to enter the World Cup competition, I can assure you that Andalo will be an excellent addition to any Kindergarten soccer team that I’ve ever seen. We have attached the video in case there are any soccer scouts following our blog.