mutts and dogs and why finnegan newlands will never exist.

i’m sitting in sishu with chelsea on a beautiful, sunny saint patrick’s day.

i have to imagine that it’s due to chelsea’s eager, friendly demeanor, and her gorgeous girl next door looks that we’ve spent the afternoon collecting random ethiopian escorts as we walked the streets of addis taking care of some errands.

through travels and troublemaking i’ve perfected that look that elizabeth gilbert wanted so badly to affect while she was eating, praying, and loving, that look that says “what’s the big deal? i’m supposed to be here”. consequently, when i walk the streets of addis, i don’t get bothered all that much.

that’s alright. it’s good to mingle with the locals once in a while.

but it’s hot today, we’ve been walking all over the city, we’ve had a number of locals decide that we ought to be best friends (including one that we finally shook to the departing words of “by some chance maybe we will meet again”, and by some chance, that fucker met us again like a half hour later), and for some reason, this morning we totally overplayed how much we had to get done, and thus did everything as though we were in the middle of some high concept kiefer sutherland cop show.

by lunch time, both of us were ready to take down a tall sparkling lemonade, a tofu burger with guacamole and fries, and maybe a nutella and strawberry filled crepe.

did i tell you sishu was awesome?

after a long morning of collecting (often annoying) habesha, and now sitting in a back room at sishu surrounded by the standard cast of assimilated locals and foreigners, chelsea and i couldn’t help but notice how adorable some of these families were. how much this was the kind of grown up life we could convince ourselves to partake in, if we were so inclined to participate in any kind of grown up life.

it’s no secret that some members of peace corps ethiopia seem to think that if jenny and i don’t have kids, we’re doing the world some kind of grave disservice. partly that’s because i don’t get all itchy when fleas or mosquitoes bite me (or when i crawl around in poison oak, but that’s another story), and fleas and mosquitoes are kind of a big deal out here. i have desirable genes. partly, though, i think it’s because the people that would love to see us have kids see families like the ones at sishu.

brilliant, charismatic kids who speak two, sometimes three languages fluently by the time they finish kindergarten. kids who have that all too rare beauty of cultural mutts that makes chelsea say things like “oh my god dave, look how pretty she is! is that what little chelsea and jabars will look like?!” kids who will get kafka (no, that’s not some phlemy disease that afflicts third world babies). kids who will never be disturbed by how many dead bodies BBC world news is reporting, never be fazed by the sight of squat toilets, pickpockets, impossibly disfigured beggars, or eating with their hands. kids who walk through life as though they’ve seen all the terrible the world has to offer, but keep on walking because they know there’s so much more amazing to see. kids who are more sophisticated than most adults, but still carefree enough to say shockingly adorable things like, “ok, well, when you guys are done with lunch, i’ll just be down at the castle playing princesses!”

sweet HMS Beagle, it was so adorable!

people who would love to see jenny and i have kids assume that we would have sishu kids. you know, kids like any one of us PCVs might have if and when we had kids.

you know why i still don’t think i could have kids?

because it’s still st patrick’s day, and chels and i have a date with some green beers…

between sishu and the beer garden chelsea and i picked up a bottle of supermint and yet another local escort.

this time it’s a kid, about the same age as the adorable princess from sishu, maybe six years old.

this kid is wearing clothes made more of dirt, grease, and disease than cloth and stitches. he followed us all the way to the beer garden begging for money, food, anything we wanted to give him. when an older beggar approached us, he snapped at him, defending his territory like a hungry dog, or some dickensian street urchin because, sadly and honestly, that’s what he was (a dickensian street urchin, not a dog).

you know what kids do when they see other kids? they want to go down to the castle and play princesses and stuff.

how could i raise a child that, in all likelihood, would grow up in a nice neighborhood in some international city like addis, go to the best school in the country, have saturday lunches at sishu, play princesses with the other lucky kids, then walk her home and force her to face a world where kids her age are wandering the streets begging for food, suffering all manner of festering illnesses and injuries, not going to school because the one or two birr a day they can panhandle is a big part of the family’s income, passing the dull moments yelling at ferenji because they can’t spare the socks to make a ragball to kick around?

i can’t imagine bringing a child into the world of the latter, but i can’t imagine bringing a child into a world other than the former.

unfortunately, when you run with my crowd, those worlds coexist inseparably.

sometimes one is just outside the front door of the other.

sometimes we have to admit that they are the same world.

no, i don’t think i could bring kids into that.

plus, i’m still making bad decisions like drinking george’s and supermint until chelsea and i turn ourselves green.

happy st paddy’s, everyone!

* * * *

stay tuned for our next episode:

two midgets in a dashiki.

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reading assignment: between a rock and a hard place : aron ralston

never has such an otherwise amazing story been so often interrupted by references to phish and the string cheese incident. jesus h! still, it is an amazing story. it inspired the movie 127 hours, and tells the tale of a hiker in the utah desert who was trapped in a crevasse by a falling rock, and had to amputate his own arm to escape (no spoilers, come on, he’s right there on the cover with his new bionic hand).

meditations on sishu.

sishu is the kind of place that addis wants to be.

it’s sort of all cultures at once, and no particular culture at all.

there’s only one sishu restaurant in the world, and it’s owned and operated by ethiopians on a scale that would get 5 stars from any western restaurant critic, especially the kind that have been living in rural africa for months at a time going on almost a year now, and may be in the market for a last meal due to impending zombocalypse, vampirapture, or perhaps voodoomsday.

sishu is the kind of place that is tucked away in some neglected back alley that makes you think, “shit, we must have passed it”, every time.

sishu is the kind of place where fun, progressive, successful habesha, and ferenji expats, aid workers, and businessmen and women come to mingle over a relaxing lunch.

sishu is kind of like the secret garden. you have to know exactly where you’re going, and you have to know exactly when to go. you cross over from either of the two main roads flanking the legehar neighborhood, down the narrow, crumbling, dank side streets, and look for the tiny sign tucked into the hedges about two feet overhead. when you walk through the gates you are suddenly on the grounds of a quaint little split level, with huge picture windows, porch seating, and a jungle gym in the yard for the kids.

inside you are surrounded by the sort of brightly colored, eclectic, yet minimalist décor you’d find in a well woofed youth hostel. in any of the sunlit rooms, you might expect to see people lounging in adirondacks reading western periodicals, playing board games, or leaning over a coffee table typing away on something or other.

if globalization is intent on bringing the west to the developing world (who, by the way, have no shortage of culture, simply a shortage of money, and thus an inability to keep up with western spending and investing), then why can’t it be this?

no one dropped any bombs on addis to liberate ethiopia, and install a sishu.

nobody’s tearing down the lion of zion statue in the center of town because it represents a fascist dictatorship where french fries don’t come with a side of thousand island dressing.

the habesha clientele aren’t trying not to be ethiopian nor are the ferenji trying not to be from wherever they’re from.

it’s just a happy middle ground, where everyone can enjoy a nice meal, in good company, and we’re all just people in a place.

plus there’s tofu burgers…

sishu is the kind of place that could change everything…

* * * *

stay tuned for our next episode:

they call her mellow cello.

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reading assignment: abraham lincoln, vampire hunter : seth grahame-smith

i wavered on this book. first i thought, great, another hastily written goddamn vampire/zombie story that was obviously written to sell movie rights. then i caved, thinking, what if it’s a well written biography with a macabre and comical twist? i was right the first time, but hey, it was entertaining as hell, and everyone needs to shut down their brain and enjoy life once in a while, right?

the dutch occupation: changing hearts and minds.

i mentioned before that i had been elected to the peer support network to help assimilate new volunteers to life in ethiopia, and to keep current volunteers sane (tall order for someone who dabbles in insanity as a hobby).

well, it was time for PSN to go into addis for training and, for me anyway, it was the first time i felt like i was doing something for peace corps, and not just doing whatever it is i’m supposed to be doing out here in masha.

though i had stayed at other hotels in addis (the ras, mr martin’s cozy place…) it was the first time peace corps had put me up anywhere but the kings, which is crucial because the kings just has this sort of shoobie vibe to it (shoobies are people who wear shoes to the beach, and as such, are not to be taken seriously). it was the first training in which i felt like i was an integral part of the proceedings, like i had done something, rather than had something done at me. it was also the first time (in addis, anyway) i got to say “ooh, actually, i’ll have to catch up with you. i’ve got to pop into the office for a bit.”

plus… it was another chance to explore addis. which i’m really starting to appreciate.

chelsea and kelsey, however, were not as keen on navigating addis, so when the three of us went out exploring the city, i took the chance to test my “addis day” hosting skills.

the verdict?

i have some work to do.

chelsea and i hopelessly lost kelsey, though i’m almost positive we were standing back to back having some kind of abbot and costello moment…

you’re at the ras? i’m at the ras! i don’t see you…

i’ll tell you what we did find, however: the holland house.

we had to find it because joanna kept going on about how she needed to get some sausage inside her, and she meant the culinary kind (it’s that kind of dedication to a joke that makes joanna so lovable).

sausage with spicy mustard, heavy beers, and french fries with mayonnaise?

oh, yes they did.

the holland house is like a combination beer garden/hostel nestled behind the nicer of the addis bus stations (though i’m pretty sure you can’t sleep there, unless you’re willing to share the RV parked out front where the owners seem to live, and i plan to bridge that social gap…). i’m convinced that ferenji don’t know about it and habesha don’t care about it, because, aside from a handful of dutch folks, who all seemed to know or to be the owners, peace corps were the only customers. as usual, exploration compounds upon itself, and i found myself drawn like a moth to the flame of the adventure company stickers plastered all over the windows of the restaurant.

desert dune buggy races, hot air ballooning?

oh, yes i will.

another bonus of being in addis this time around was that the PCVLs (peace corps volunteer leaders, or PCVs who extended for a third year) are now people i know. i mean, i knew the old PCVLs, but they were PCVLs first, and actual people later. the current lineup is composed of people i know who became PCVLs.

i hadn’t been in ethiopia long when i had made up my mind that i would not be extending for a third year.

that was back when i hated addis, and generally, though i loved being a part of all this, i felt like two years… two years would be plenty.

then there were mumblings of opening a regional office in jimma or assela, and i thought, well, maybe.

then the rumors were rebuffed when i discovered that peace corps’ applications to open an office in those towns (both in oromiya region) had been rejected by the oromo government. at this i softened even more. if i resolved to only apply for a third year given an opening of an office that probably won’t open, then i can flirt with the idea of extending without committing to it.

then one day i am sitting at the holland house across from PCVL sher, who in many ways is so much like me (the good ways, sher… the good ways. although you seem to have caved to the glee trend pretty easily), and works out of the bahir dar regional office. i’m sitting across from her and wondering why i’m limiting my options to the improbables, when i actually really like addis, and bahir dar is a much better place to live than jimma or assela.

one day i am sitting at the holland house, and thinking i finally feel like a real PCV, thinking that i actually really like this ethiopia place, and thinking that maybe i could do this a little longer.

* * * *

stay tuned for our next episode:

zombie unicorns and gamma raynbows.

* * * *

check out my latest redwood city patch post: 9,000 miles away from opening day.

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reading assignment: walden, or life in the woods : henry david thoreau 

you know why it took me so many tries to finish this book? because i thought it was about life in the woods of walden pond, and as it turns out, that’s exactly what it’s about, and that’s not as much fun as it sounds. shopping lists, budgets, gardening tips… you know why i kept going back to it though? because it’s a good book. it’s just not the book i thought it would be.

 

knock knock. WHO’s there? interrupting polio. interrupting polio—mooooo!

someone get that cow out of the vaccination room?! that can’t be sanitary. ok, back to business… who can tell me how to detect polio?

well, first we all get in the swimming pool. then we blindfold the doctor, and he yells out, “marco!”

alright, has anyone heard of AFP?

that’s that video show that bob sagat used to host.

the most confounding thing about that response is that you know who bob sagat is. no. no, it stands for acute flaccid paralysis. who can tell me what that is?

[crickets] uuuuuumm—

and i’m gonna stop you there because i’m assuming you’re going to make an erectile dysfunction joke. can anyone tell me what the symptoms of measles are?

…some… rash… skin…

yes. rash. good… and fever… aaaand… the three c’s… is that ringing any bells? what are the three c’s?

cookie! cookie! cookie!

nooooo. no, that’s rabies.

* * * *

i would like to point out that the above drama was embellished by myself. had the health workers of masha woreda been half that clever i would have enthusiastically blurted out “quit your day job! please! you are horrible doctors… well… you’re not doctors, but you are terrible at your day jobs!”

meanwhile, it’s looking like i’m getting a little better at doing my day job.

my day job being “pretending to be a doctor”.

honestly, people… i’m not supposed to be the guy who catches unreported measles outbreaks.

i’m not qualified for that job.

i mean, i didn’t think i was qualified for that job.

but now that i’ve spent some time tagging along with the guy who is specifically qualified to do that job, i can say that i am in fact qualified to do that job.

in a relative sense.

i wouldn’t place my expertise anywhere near that of warren, the RPCV (returned peace corps volunteer: kenya) and WHO representative with whom i spent last week, checking up on the state of the masha woreda (county-ish) health facilities, but i would put my expertise far above that of anyone who works at the masha health facilities.

what really played out during the aforementioned review was a lot of blank stares, silence, guarded laughter, and then most of the “nurses” left the room elbowing each other in the ribs over how unbelievable they found WHO’s concern with their lack of knowledge and skills.

while ethiopia is working toward a classification of “polio eradication” from their current status as “polio interruption” (which means there hasn’t been a case in some years, but there have been in bordering countries), and kefa zone (adjacent to masha) is fighting off a measles outbreak. WHO saw red flags when masha woreda earned a “silent” classification.

silent means the ministry of health, and WHO have not heard of even one case of suspected polio, measles, or other serious diseases.

in a country like ethiopia, silence is anything but golden.

silence means people are likely not doing their jobs.

silence means that, even if it’s the opposite, and masha woreda has discovered some panacea to cure what ails ethiopia, WHO wants to know about it.

WHO will be paying a visit.

when WHO paid masha a visit, what they found was chago health center.

after a two hour hike in from the main road, warren and i found masha’s rural health center.

a health center that doesn’t have a single employee who is trained, certified, or otherwise qualified to diagnose disease, or give injections and vaccines. we found incomplete records, and a warm vaccine refrigerator, with no emergency plan in place (in case of power outage, for example). we found a staff that spent the day laughing and joking while sick men, women, and children sat outside waiting to be seen.

they would not likely be seen that day, if ever.

we found a health center who’s buildings looked akin to a troublemaker’s calculus text book, unwrapped, but never opened.

when warren and i perused the patient history log, what i discovered was an unreported case of measles.

technically, one case of measles constitutes an outbreak.

i had discovered an unreported possible measles outbreak in masha.

the day before, after visiting the main masha health center, and both health outposts, warren quipped (of polio), defeated, “we’re never gonna eradicate this thing”.

as we began our long walk through the jungle and back to the truck, he was even more dejected, “i’m going to die in masha aren’t i?”

there’s a reason our eternally upbeat PCV, mary, was fired from the rape hotline. she was too damn happy all the time.

and there’s a reason that i could never work at a depression hotline. I’m too damn zen sometimes. when warren expressed his mortal fears of dying in masha, as we walked through the jurassic park megafauna of southern ethiopia in the fading afternoon light, all i could say was…

we’re all gonna die, warren. who are you to decide where and when?

i’m not planning on quitting my day job.

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stay tuned for our next episode:

is she having sex with clowns in there?

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easy listening: U2 : when love comes to town