Of Mice and Men

Lately, we have been having problems with unwelcome mice in our house (yes more than one). I, Travis, not bothered so much by the mouse itself, enjoy the game of trying to trap the little guy in unique ways. Each night, I set up various traps in attempts to outsmart the hungry beast. Let me introduce you to my ideas (mostly stolen from others). In the end, only one was proven to work. Which one do you think it was? (The answer will be posted after I get a good number of guesses):

 

1) The Diving Board – This trap involves a flattened box precariously balanced on the countertop. Food is then placed on the very end of the diving board so that when the mouse walks out to get the food, his weight tips the box over so that it slides off the counter. Down below this diving board is a bucket of water, or a “swimming pool” if you will. The plastic hose is on top of the bucket so that the box cannot enter the swimming pool, for if it did, it would provide an escape ramp. Then, since he can’t touch the bottom, he has two choices – sink or swim. 

 

2) The Sinking Titanic - This design is quite simple and I came up with it when I was told by a housemate, that the mouse is QUITE LARGE! It’s simply a tub of water with a plate floating on top. On top of the plate is a piece of tomato, which we know our mice prefer over anything else our kitchen offers. When the mouse steps or jumps onto the plate, his weight causes the plate to sink leaving our little friend once again to either swim or join the plate at the bottom.

 

3) The Phone Booth – As you see here, the phone booth is a clothes-pin propped-up plastic tub with a phone cord running into a hole in the top. It tricks the mouse into thinking that he can make a call to all his mouse friends to tell them about food!…just kiddling. The phone cord is duct taped to a little plate inside the tub. On the plate is slice of red tomato…mmmm. The plate is then precariously balanced on a small vanilla extract jar. When the mouse enters the phone booth, he smells the delicious tomato over his head, but if he even touches the plate it will fall and because it is attached to the tub by the phone cord, it will shake the tub, which very quickly falls off the clothes pin. Then, the little rodent can eat his last supper as he waits for morning to come.

 

4) The Guillotine – No, it’s not what you think, but the mechanics of this device looks and works a lot like a guillotine (although adding a razor blade could chop off some tail!). Anyway, this trap is made out of an old water bottle, a cardboard box and a CD case. The mouse walks into the water bottle and sees the food through the crack under the swinging hatch. When he tries to squeeze under this hatch to get the food, the cardboard above shifts, causing the CD case to drop, blocking off the entrance. Once again, Mr. Mouse gets to finish his meal in peace, sadly his last.

 

So which one worked? You tell me.

 

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: THE END

Wow, after several minor headaches and setbacks in the actual car buying process, the actual re-registration process could not have been easier. DRJ was not volunteering to go to with me to Kaliti and knowing that he is a busy man (who is supposed to be on vacation after the birth of his son a week before Micah), I ventured into the large warehouse-like building by myself. I talked with the information desk lady who actually smiled at me when I had communicated what I wanted. She was very helpful to tell me what windows I needed “buy a form at window 20 and then go to 14” she said in Amharic. When I got to window 20, I explained what I wanted again and the two young ladies gave me the standard form (for two birr of course). I had seen the form before, and even filled it out for other processes (like getting a driver’s license), however, it is all in Amharic and it would take me painstakenly long to try to figure out which box I wanted to check. So I just asked the lady, which one do I want? She smiled, took the form and the old vehicle registration and filled out the whole form for me “just take it to window 13.” No problem. Window 13 had a few people crowded around it, but nothing like earlier days. One guy saw me looking at everybody else’s paperwork as I fumbled through my own and to my surprise he came over to me and started telling me exactly what the lady behind the window was looking for “the original sales document and original receipt for sales tax, a copy of your ID card, etc.” Once I assembled everything, with his help, we placed it on the counter in front of the lady and so it was in process. The guy then told me to go and buy a stamp (like a postage stamp), which meant a trip to window #9 where I found what I was looking for. I was asked to fill out one more paper with my name and address and that was about it. Soon I was handed a new title deed for the vehicle. Of course, one person’s stamp is not enough so I was sent to window 16 where that guy stamped it as well. Finished. The truck is now officially registered in our name, well, if I read the name on the title literally it says “Trahveestoad Willeeyamsen” Instead of Travis Todd Williamson. But that’s ok, it’s closer than usual. I just thank God for an easy ending to the process. Well, I suppose I now have to change the insurance…maybe tomorrow.

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: Day 5

After a successful Friday, in which we finished the Kaliti appraisal of the vehicle, DRJ and I were ready to keep things moving in the right direction. So, today, Monday, we returned to the first office near Mexico square (don’t ask me why it’s called that, but Mexico is the main traffic hub in the city). Bypassing the chaos controller, we returned to the lady who we had seen last and she said that she was in fact not the right person to see. However, when we went to the chaos controller, she said that we needed to redo our sales agreement form because we had prematurely signed it. Apparently, we aren’t allowed to sign until some official guy down the line asks us “did you receive full payment for this?” and “did you make full payment for this?” So, we bought another form, filled it out (only in Amharic this time) and worked our way through the various offices we had visited before. Actually, this afternoon was nice because in one office, there was actually a line formed! A real line of people! In another office, paperwork was placed on the official’s desk in a stack with newcomers being put at the bottom – another form of a line. It is so much less stressful to do it that way than the mob scene jockeying for position.

 

In short, we got the stamp that said that the vehicle has no outstanding fees (Praise God!). Then we got about 4 other stamps from various people who looked at each document we presented. Then, we were told to pay the 2% sales tax, which needed to be paid at any bank within the city. Having anticipated the expense, I had my wad of cash in my pocket and we were able to make that money transfer from the bank across the street. Then, returning to the Mexico government office just 15 minutes before quitting time, our receipt of transfer was approved, we got a few more stamps and marks on our papers as we revisited all the same offices for checks and rechecks. I couldn’t help but notice how many people were involved with our paperwork. Why do three people need to look at the same paperwork and check it off? Well, it could be a remnant of the c0mmunlst government that existed here until the early nineties. C0mmunlsm is all about job creation, having three people doing the job that one could. Or, it could be a new product of democracy with its policy of checks and balances so that nobody has the power to completely sign off on something. Either way, that’s what we face here and today, right around 5:30pm, we were like a pinball bouncing between offices getting the final stamps.

 

Finally, we were told to enter a totally new office where an obviously tired lady sat behind her small desk. She briefly looked at things, inked up her two stamps and pounded them down on our papers.  Holding them out for us to take and motioning toward the door, she said the most beautiful words I could imagine at that moment – cheresachu (translation: you’ve finished)! The sale was complete! I am the official owner of the truck.

 

That was step 3 of 5. Next is the inspection (step 4) and re-registration (step 5). So, the fun continues.

 

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: Day 4

Today was an answer to prayer! As we walked into the warehouse office building, DRJ was confident that we would finish the Kaliti part today. I, preferring to be pleasantly surprised rather than disappointed, couldn’t muster his optimism as I handed him our paperwork (including the recently translated power-of-attorney from the day before). But, thankfully, he was right and I was wrong. Kaliti seemed a bit less chaotic today as DRJ quickly pushed his way to the front of the ever-popular window 16. I surprised when a minute later he returned empty-handed, “now we just wait.” Yes! That means that they have accepted our paperwork after a quick glance and are drawing up the appraisal document that we had tried to obtain the previous two days.

 

Fifteen minutes of waiting was easy, knowing that the gears were actually turning in the forward direction. Our names were called and we were handed a charge to pay 100 birr ($8) at window #22, which become window #2 when nobody was at #22. Turning in our payment receipt, we soon received what we were looking for – the appraisal of the vehicle’s worth for the purpose of charging me 2% sales tax back at the first office. Victorious having finished the Kaliti portion of the vehicle sale (I’ll have to return there for the registration process), we headed home with the plans of continuing the process again Monday afternoon. It seems that in the country, you run through a process like this until you hit a wall. Then you have to take a few steps backward (like going to Kaliti, getting witnesses, getting translation of the power-of-attorney) in order to get over or around that wall. Then you continue from wall to wall, until you are finally surprised with a final product.

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: Day 3

(continued from the last two days’ story)

 

I must say that DRJ is taking a morning course at the theological graduate school, which meets every morning; therefore, all of our work in the sale of the car is limited to the afternoons. If we were dealing with a whole day of office visits the number of days could be decreased, yet the process would no doubt be the same.

 

Day 3 was productive in that we accomplished something positive, yet only after another step backwards, so in the end we are right where we were after Day 2. You see, one of the most difficult things about getting anything done here is that the process and requirements change all the time (seemingly dependant on who is in the office that day). Because of this, you must learn the process by doing the wrong thing first and making corrections as you go. So, we arrived at Kaliti in the early afternoon and took our completed document straight to window 9. Pleased with the witness signatures, he asked “where is your stamp?” Now, you must know that Ethiopians love stamps of all kinds. Usually it is ink stamps that make a document official or not (for example, our power of attorney document has 5 different stamps on it). But they also love “lick it and stick it” type stamps which is what he wanted here. I can’t understand the purpose of sticking these stamps onto documents other than that they are something else that they can charge for along the way. So, we went to the information lady who said that stamps can be bought at window 2. We bought our stamp and stuck it on and headed back to window 16 again (which today was much less crowded). The man behind the counter looked at our papers for about 4 seconds and quickly gave them back saying “the power of attorney document must be in Amharic, not English, because all of our filing is done in Amharic.” Now, this is kinda funny because the official language of government is supposed to be English, but I guess this hasn’t trickled down to Kaliti yet. “However, because the power of attorney is such an important document, the translation must be done by an official, certified translator.” That meant that we needed to drive across town (because in Addis Ababa, if you have a trade, you normally set up shop right next to everybody else with that same trade…that way people know where to find you). It should have been a quick drive there and back to continue the process that day. But of course that didn’t include the road construction and resulting traffic jam between here and there. Eventually, we arrived, chose a translation office to use, waited about 30 minutes as they produced a translation and then again as DRJ demanded it to be redone with corrections in spelling. By the time we had paid our bill, the road transport office was closed, so we drank a macchiato together and headed home for the day. The end of Day 3 found us with a freshly translated power of attorney document and ready to return the next day to find out the next mistake that needs correction. Have you noticed that we only learn of one mistake at a time? That’s part of the fun…I guess.

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: Day 2

(A continuation of yesterday’s story)

 

So DRJ and I met again and took off to a dreaded road transport place called “Kaliti.” Kaliti is a bit different than the offices from yesterday. Its main offices are in a big, long warehouse where you can see from one end to the other. Instead of individual desks, the workers sit behind a LONG counter, shielded by glass like you would see in an old fashion bank or a ticket booth. The small holes in the glass are not sufficient in allowing sound to pass through above the overall noise of this massive warehouse. Nevertheless, that was where we needed to be. We talked with the information lady (or “chaos controller”) and she said “window 16.” Now, I looked down the LONG counter and saw all the windows behind which workers sat waiting to help us, but with just a glance, I immediately knew which window was #16. How did I know, it was the one that had a large semicircle of people literally pressed against the glass stretching from window 15-17. Of course, all these other guys can’t help us, the worker behind window 16 is just that popular. DRJ, a professional at this since he is our organization’s government relations guy, looked at the stacks of papers in other people’s hands and determined what must be required. He made some photocopies, bought some forms, assembled our documents and then valiantly, starting at window 17, pushed his way along the glass to window 16. It looked really rude to me, but then I remembered, if this culture doesn’t know the value of forming lines, then they don’t know what “cutters,” “budgers” or “line jumpers” are – so there was no harm done. I couldn’t see what happened when DRJ got to the window, but I was nudged by someone who pointed down the row of windows. And there was DRJ waving at me from window 9! Really, these other guys can do stuff? Well, kinda. Window 9 had no “line” but we first had to wait until the window 9 guy was done talking with the window 8 guy. When he finally took our paperwork he looked at it for half a second and said “No witnesses.”

 

On the sales agreement, there needed to be the names and signatures of three witnesses. Any old Joe Blow’s signature would do but when one young man offered his services at a price, DRJ said “no we will go to our office and come back tomorrow.” As an American who thrives on efficiency, I thought, what’s a buck to save the need to come back to this place the following day? But to DRJ, paying some rascal to sign his name was out of the question and so we left - which ended our progress for Day 2.

In a Five Step Process, We Have Seven More To Go: Day 1

I’m not frustrated, honestly, I’m not. I am just sitting back and learning more and more how things work in this country. You see, since receiving my work permit and residence ID card, we have started the process of officially buying the truck. The owner of the truck left the country on May 30^th, and so he gave our Ethiopian friend “DRJ” power of attorney to sell the truck on his behalf. That was the first step in the process, and thankfully it was accomplished all in one morning (though not without hassle of its own). Step two was me receiving a residents ID so that I could legally own a vehicle. That was accomplished about two weeks ago.

 

Step three is to perform the actual selling of the vehicle. Step four is the government inspection and Step five is the registration of the vehicle in my name. Sounds pretty straight-forward. So, Tuesday morning, with ID card in hand, we went to the government office where the sale was to take place. We bought the proper form (it is nice that they have a form to fill out, many other processes do not). My friend “DRJ” filled it out and we went to the guy I call “the chaos controller.” His job is to look at the form, see what your business is and tell you what number room to go to. Ok, 210 was assigned to us and so we quickly located it and entered the chaos of a typical Ethiopian office. Let me set the scene and from here on out you can just assume that every office we enter looks like this. It’s a small room with big windows, which are partially blocked by the large desks which, end-against-end, line the walls.  Behind each desk is a nicely dressed, yet obviously tired man or woman, whose smile wore off shortly after their first customer of the day arrived. Now, usually, if it’s the desk that we need, we cannot actually see this important man or woman because of the large wall between us and them. By “wall,” I’m not speaking of a concrete structure, which could easily be passed. I’m speaking instead of a wall of people who are pressing against the desk and shoving their papers into this poor man’s face. Usually, it seems, there is only one popular guy in a room and everybody jockeys for him to take their papers next (while the other workers behind the desk just sit there and watch the chaos with a certain expressionlessness that makes me wonder whether they are glad to not be that busy guy or whether they are bored out of their minds.

 

So, anyway, after waiting for a good 30 minutes or so, DRJ had managed to push his way to the front of the crowd, only to be told that he is missing a certain form. Sometime later, as DRJ was once again arriving toward the front, a woman came in and interrupted the fun. She spoke to the man behind the desk who then announced that he was done and had to go to a meeting. Suddenly the room cleared as all the people rushed back to “the chaos controller” for room reassignment, who was now surrounded 360 degrees by people demanding his attention. Somehow, we managed to get assigned a different room where we found the same scene. The one popular lady sat behind a large desk at the end of the room while those behind the desks along the side walls sat idle. After a good hour in there, DRJ said, “maybe we should come back tomorrow.” As he was pushing through the crowd to try to retrieve our paperwork, which he had thrown onto the desk, his name was called. “This needs to be in Amharic, not English, do it again.” Yes, another step forward in a piece of advice, though of course it was probably a step backward. As he was translating the document, a woman in another office said “where is your ‘appraisal form?’” Through further questions, we learned that we needed to go to the road transport authority where the vehicle was first registered and have them appraise the value of the vehicle for taxation purposes. You see, I must pay 2% sales tax on the purchase of the vehicle, but they will of course choose the higher purchase price between the actual amount of money paid and the appraised value. So, with the sun beginning to set, we decided to pursue this appraisal the next day. One day gone, and what did we accomplish? Well, we learned a little bit more what we need to do. I suppose that’s something. I’ll keep you updated as the days add up, just to give you a flavor of how well-oiled this bureaucratic machine can be.

 

Genfo - It Tastes as Good as it Sounds

Giving birth to Micah here in Ethiopia had its definite advantages. It allowed Andrea to stay put in our home without having to travel during the final weeks of the pregnancy.  It allowed us to continue to work on Gumuz stuff, work permit stuff, vehicle buying stuff, and just generally stay plugged into all that’s happening as we prepare to launch this project. It made our health insurance provider happy as doctor appointments cost just $5 and the whole delivery fee was right around $500 (and that’s after it was doubled for the c-section). And, staying here for Micah’s delivery endeared us to the people we are working with here in Ethiopia. As most foreigners travel out of the country for delivery, it was fun for many of our co-workers to be “with us” right up to the end of the pregnancy and the beginning of Micah’s life. One 8-9 year old American boy was really excited about it, “I’ve never seen a really small baby before.” Wait a minute, is this little guy just totally unobservant or extremely forgetful? No, his comment makes total sense when he has grown up in an environment where most foreigners go away for birth and most Ethiopian families follow a strict cultural mandate which isolates babies from the outside world for quite some time.

 

You see, when an Ethiopian woman gives birth, she is expected to take rest, not just for a few days, or even a couple weeks. If the child is a boy, she is expected to stay in bed for 40 days, getting up only twice a day to use the bathroom (morning and night). If that sounds bad, then try to imagine having a baby girl, where the mandatory, post-delivery, bed rest is extended to 80 days! (Girls must be that much tougher to raise!) Oh and did I mention that the bedroom must stay dark? Windows are blocked with thick blankets because it is believed that any direct sunlight would harm a child’s eyes during these first few months. As foreigners, we are not expected to follow this tradition of an extreme maternity leave, but still Ethiopian women are blown away to learn that just a week and a half after Micah’s birth, Andrea was reportedly seen in the kitchen frying up some eggs for breakfast.

 

A second interesting element of newborn babies in the Ethiopian culture is the big celebration of visiting the new parents. Sure, our home culture expects family and close friends to be at the hospital where they briefly visit the mother and child, but once the new family gets home, its seems to me that the only visitors welcomed those first few weeks are those who come to help the new family get adjusted, not those requiring the extra burden of hospitality. Here, life is different. For the first three weeks after Micah’s birth, we have had many, many visitors knocking at our door. Thankfully, SOME called before coming, but still the revolving door of well-wishing guests was wearing us out almost as much as the challenge of being new parents: the teachers from the language school, the people from our Amharic church, our neighbors, our landlords, the guard at our former guesthouse, our co-workers, the guy who sells meat, the fruit and veggie stand workers, and the shoe-shine boy from down the street. You name ‘em, they have either come to visit, or they have said that they would at some point.

 

Now, these visits are not just popping in to say hi and ducking out without being a burden. Culturally, we must at least serve tea/coffee with cookies or other munchies. But, if a large group is coming and a appointment is scheduled in advance, then the unspoken expectation is that we prepare the traditional new baby celebration food - genfo. The new mother is exempt from all the preparations (of course, because she is in bed 24/7!) but the new father and closest neighbors/friends are on duty to prepare this genfo and all the trimmings that go along. What is genfo?

 

Well, its best described as a warm play-dough like substance served in a small bowl and eaten with a spoon. The play-dough has a hole made in the top, into which is poured a whole lot of butter and crushed spicy red pepper. That’s genfo. Thankfully, our housemate recruited some Ethiopian ladies to help us with making this traditional dish each time it was expected of us.

 

 And as the obligation to down this concoction was handed to me time and time again, I have learned not just to palate a few bites, but to actually finish my whole bowl! Believe me, that’s an accomplishment worth bragging about.

 

All in all, its been interesting and fun to experience the Ethiopian culture express its celebration and joy with us for Micah’s entrance into our family, but at the same time, we are happy that the celebration is finally dying down. Real life with a newborn baby is enough challenge to keep our hands full.

 

Who is Tesfaye?

Anywhere in the world, government offices are scary places.  Like a haunted house where around each corner a new fiendish problem is undoubtedly lurking! Here in Ethiopia, the problem is often related to all kinds of confusion. I, Travis, had the privilege of entering this maze of confusion as I pursued Micah’s birth certificate. Sure, we have the one from the hospital, hand-written on card stock, but in order to get Micah’s passport at the American embassy, we need an official civil birth certificate. So, some of our friends (whose little girl was born here 5 years ago) told us to go to the city hall - “the process is really easy, everybody there is just excited that you chose to give birth in Ethiopia.” However, our balloon of optimism began to deflate when the door guard / information guy told us that the birth certificates are no longer done here but instead we needed to go to Addis Gebeya (a place we’d never heard of). When we clearly showed that we didn’t know that area of town, the guard recruited a guy standing nearby to ride with us and to show us the building (that was REALLY NICE!).

 

When we arrived, our guide jumped out of the car and talked with a man outside the compound (having his shoes shined by a local boy). Quickly, our new friend returned to the car and said in Amharic “That guy works in there and he said that they don’t do it here anymore either, you need to go to your kebele office.” A kebele is the lowest level of government and our kebele office happens to be right in our neighborhood. When we arrived, we were waited on quickly, given forms to fill out, followed by clear instructions on what to do (all in Amharic, of course). “Make a copy of your passports.” “Ok, where?” “Outside.” Now, outside meant a whole lot of other unmarked doors in this government compound. So I just kept walking in the direction I was pointed, asking confirmation from every person I encountered. Finally, in the back, outside the compound gate, there was a little window in a concrete house, inside which I could see a few office supplies. Sure enough, tucked away in this tiny dark room was a copy machine with a young guy who apparently opened his own “Kinkos” next to the government compound, from which he receives consistent business. So, moments later, I proudly reentered the office where Andrea and Micah had waited. The lady at the counter looked at me inquisitively “Klaser yet new?” (Do you have a “Klaser”?) Now, I had noticed that everybody except me had this large sheet of purple construction paper which was folded in half and used as a file folder, so I pointed at one and said “Klaser?” and I saw a nod of affirmation. “Do I have to buy one?” Another nod, “Where?” “The photocopy place.” “Ok, it’s called a klaser? klaser, klaser klaser…” and I walked out of the room repeating the new word to myself (much to the amusement of all the people in the room). I returned to the man in the little dark room and simply said “klaser?” hoping that he knew what I was talking about and sure enough he grabbed a beautiful piece of purple construction paper for which I forfeited 1 birr (that about 8 cents). Klaser in hand, and even more puffed up at my success, I marched back into the office where Micah’s file was soon born!

 

Now, the process from this point on should have been very easy. The nice lady takes our form, enters the information into the computer program which nicely lays out the birth certificate, prints it, attaches pictures and stamps it a bunch of times – done! However, nothing should ever happen that simply! In this case, there was one problem, but it lay in two places: the inflexibility of the computer program, and the confusion of the Ethiopian workers (who had never processed a foreign baby’s birth certificate before this day). You see, in Ethiopia, a baby is called by their given name, their father’s name and the name of their grandfather. So, Micah was supposed to be Micah Travis Gary and I would be Travis Gary Jack. Ethiopians have a hard time understanding the concept of a family name (like Williamson) even though most of the world does it that way. So when I say that my name is Travis Todd Williamson, they assume my father’s name is Todd and my grandpa is Williamson.

 

So the conversation went around and around like this: “You are the father, what is your name?” “Travis” “Ok, so who is Tesfaye?” “That’s the baby’s name, Micah Tesfaye” “Ok, so, Tesfaye Travis Williamson” “No, Micah Tesfaye Williamson.” “Who is Tesfaye?” “Micah Tesfaye is the baby’s name. In our culture we give two names.” “A baby cannot have two names, only one! The baby’s second name is the father’s name. You are the father, so what is your name?” Now, these things can be explained to people, who eventually will understand at some level, but computer programs can’t be convinced so easily (except by programmers, of which they had none). So, when the nice lady correctly entered Micah’s name on the birth certificate Micah Tesfaye Williamson, the wonderful program automatically put the Father’s name as Tesfaye Williamson. When she went down and changed the father’s name to Travis, then Micah’s middle name also changed to Travis. The inability to override this convenient feature led to hours of fun. When quitting time came that evening, they printed off a birth certificate for Micah Travis Williamson and sent us on our way.

 

I laid awake in bed for several hours, sad about Micah’s name change, the loss of his beautiful middle name and knowing that everything (passport, social security, resident ID) would be based on this birth certificate alone. We didn’t want it that way. So, the next morning, I swallowed my fears and marched back into the kebele office for a correction. To make an already long story a bit shorter, I spent 5 more hours, being sent to two other offices in different parts of the city and then back to the original kebele office I started in. The computer program was not going to budge and yet the father’s name needed to be correct on the birth certificate. So, we compromised in making the baby’s first name “Micah Tesfaye”; middle/father’s name “Travis”; last/grandfather’s name “Williamson.” That way the “Travis” and the “Williamson” dropped nicely into the father’s name slot on the birth certificate. So, unless another problem awaits us between here and the American embassy, our baby will soon be registered as Micah Tesfaye Travis Williamson. Now that’s a mouthful.