Inside the Hay House

“Will you be living in one of those hay houses?” a young attender of one of our presentations asked us before we left for Ethiopia. Our standard response was, “No, our house will probably have a tin roof to keep the bugs from falling on us in the middle of the night.”

With Micah being just 2 months old when we moved out among the Gmz, we decided not to be too adventurous right away. By that I mean, we mostly stayed at home learning from the Gmz teachers who would come each day, rather than sitting around fires each night drinking “keya” with the Gmz. There would be time for that down the road, but preferably not until Micah was big enough to take his own malaria prophylaxis. However, because language and culture are inseparable, we knew that our classroom at times would HAVE to take place out from under our tin roof and what better place than inside what our young supporter so eloquently referred to as a “hay house.” So, in our fifth week of language learning, we made arrangements to visit each of our teachers in their homes.

The first visit was with Wohis, one of our close neighbors. As we walked up the hill and past the other houses in Wohis’ village, a few curious Gmz children fell in step behind us, chattering about the unusual visit from the foreigners.

Wohis led us to the doorway of a very large house where he stooped down to remove the two heavy logs which had been leaned against the woven mat which covered the doorway. Upon entering, the brightness of the sun outside at first blinded us to the contents which lie in the darkness of this large Gmz house.

As our eyes adjusted, we scanned the circumference of the circular room. The walls, both inside and outside, were plastered with mud which had been smoothed to give a nice appearance. In the few places where the dried mud had cracked off, we could see the horizontal vines woven in and out of the strong vertical poles which formed the house’s skeleton. Looking to the roof, we saw the many long bamboo canes which joined together at the top of the solid center pole, all of which is charred from the cooking fires inside the house.

And poking through the bamboo was the dried grass, or “hay” which provided necessary shelter from both sun and rain.

Not sure what to do with foreigners in his house, Wohis offered us a seat and then just looked at the dirt beneath his feet. Taking that as my cue, I started to point at things and ask questions. Soon Wohis and I were moving around the room picking up and pointing out many types of pots, baskets, tools, etc. Within the context of Gmz everyday life, the Gmz language felt right at home. Questions that I would have never thought to ask while sitting on my patio, now found their voice. “Why are there two fires for cooking?” (ans: the big one is for the main porridge and the other for the sauce.)

“What are these stakes for?” (ans: At night, the goats get tied to them to protect them from predators outside. (ie. hyenas)) “What are those baskets hanging on the wall?” (ans: that is where the chickens lay their eggs.) “What is this flat stone used for?” (ans: the women grind grain on it)

“What is this cone-shaped tightly woven basket?” (ans: it is a strainer for the “keya” drink).

What is this woven platform? (ans: That is the bed where the three smallest children sleep.)

Language learning is so much more efficient when you are sitting within the world it most naturally describes. Gone were the roadblocks that I frequently ran into while trying to learn how the Gmz language defines MY world. (ie. there is no Gmz words for shirt, pants, socks. It’s all one word - ahwa).

After spending an hour or so in Wohis’ house on Tuesday, we repeated the experience on Friday with Habtamu, whose village is a good 30 minute walk UP the mountain. Habtamu’s house was smaller and a bit older, but we saw many of the same things there, performing the necessary vocabulary checks on Wohis’ words. Before we left, Habtamu went out to his field and picked a nice pumpkin for us. It may be green, but it tastes the same as the Halloween variety back in the States - a very welcome gift since we both enjoy baked pumpkin, pumpkin bread, pumpkin soup, and of course homemade pumpkin pie. Suffering for Jesus, I know.