SIX HOURS AT MENDIDA

IRRESISTIBLE INCONVENIENCES In this country where life is totally unpredictable, by the time I arrived at the taxi stop in Tebase, the neighborhood I live in, there were no Bajajs, small three-wheel Indian made vehicles, with vacant seats on the road to take me to the bus station. As I was standing waiting for a Bajaj, I saw three young men who were turning their backs time and again, and that made me suspect that something was going wrong in that direction. It was roughly 6:30 AM. A moment later, I discovered that DeShantell (D.) Singleton of Georgetown, SC, was standing at the roadside behind the young men. I went there and met this straightforward woman in her early thirties. She carried a bag on her back and put a rather huge one on the ground. I could see that she was quite disturbed when she told me that a middle-aged mentally retarded man I saw earlier pass by me was annoying her by his stream of gibberish. She told me that she saw him wandering on the road before that day. I also knew that he was physically very weak and incapable of harming a fly. I told her that I was sorry about what had happened, yet she looked inconsolable. “D. it is like you are going back home to the USA with this big bag here,” I said trying to avert her attention. Unfortunately, that failed me as she responded, “I wish I were!” Why wouldn’t the people around her tell that man to go away! How could they be so indifferent? When I said that I felt sorry about the problem my countryman inflicted on her, she told me that she was rather the problem and would be back home in no time. (I met some locals who believe that PCVs are here only for their country’s benefits, so they might feel that D.’s response here was right. As to me, she is an asset for the school and community here in Tebase.) A woman of no worlds! Back home, America is also full of troublemakers when it comes to African-Americans’ rights. What a nuisance! “They know that I am a black American, so why won’t they help me?” she complained to the three of her fellow compatriots-cum-colleagues who came walking from the main Bajaj stop. Gebrielle Gueye of Cleaveland, OH, came from her site in Sendafa, 40 kilometers from the capital, spent the night here in Debre Birhan and was to go that morning to Mendida with us. This African- American girl was smoking cigarettes that D. whished had in order that she chases her anger away. I felt a little astounded as it was my first time to see her smoke. Meanwhile, the three kept walking to the bus station, yet we kept scanning the road for the Bajajs. Afterwards, I discovered the reason why there was a scarcity of Bajajs. St. George’s ‘yearly’ celebration was taking place in the other corner of our six centuries old town located 130 kilometers north east of the capital. Management majoring girls whom I am teaching writing this semester were coming from the church in that wee hour of the day. They must be coming from that church spending the entire night attending mass there as it would be impossible to go to the three kilometers distant church that morning. How people are becoming relatively active in their respective religions this decade! On the other hand, I wondered what was going on with party going students at our university. Debre Birhan University (DBU) banned them from going to their favorite night clubs for discipline or cultural reasons. When a Bajaj suddenly turned at the zebra crossing near us, D. jumped into it, put her bag at the back of the seat and murmured “I was here before anyone else.” The driver asked, “How much will you pay for the bag?” and another girl who came running to get into the vehicle complained, “It was me who told him to reserve me a seat!” While I was following D. by another Bajaj after a few minutes, I saw the three PCVs walk. They joined us in an old locally patched up bus at the station. How these buses make me feel sub-human! Living hells! I hate traveling because of you! Drivers in my country have a habit of coming to stations after they are told by their assistants that the buses are full – I think that was why the driver came late that morning. A moment later, we started our trip after waiting for a considerable time. My dear reader, I am going to use a conjunction Americans here say is misused. BY THE WAY, the place we started from is made into a bus station only a few years ago, yet formerly it was a police station. In most of the towns I know in this country, different institutions are swapping their places. How this disturbs me! DUSTY, BUMPY, BUT SCENIC At 7:10 in the morning, on the first day of May, 2015, we set off for Mendida town to attend the storybook festival at the elementary school there. The festival was planned and organized by Benjamin Rearick, an American Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) who has been serving at the school for two years now. He comes from Kirksville. “What is the festival all about?” you may ask. Find out below! The driver showed his license to go to our destination to an indifferent looking traffic policeman who stopped the bus at Tebase. We went in a detour past the new defense forces vehicle assembly site. This was a navy’s training camp when our country had one. Women embracing children and wearing scarves were in the bus. A young man who spoke Amharic in a Tigrinya accent was sitting beside me. When he stared at Gebrielle, who was sitting opposite him, she felt angry with him and told me to tell him stop it and I followed suit. He told me that he knew many of the districts of North Shewa and he had been to Mendida over the last six months. His job was carrying merchandize around and distributing to shops. For the PCVs, the plastic bag that he carried contained litter. He lived in Addis with two others and moved to North Shewa a few months ago. On an iron box at the back of the driver’s seat sat a young girl, and it was like the driver was carrying her on his back. She was wearing a headscarf and another around her neck. The driver was wearing a light blue shirt and had hair that was not well taken care of. On the front seat sat D. listening to music in a headset that was orange, my favorite color that I began to loathe after ISIS killings of Christians cladding them orange. Next to her sat Dara Weiser of Philadelphia, PA, a PCV at Sheno. Jeff of Los Angeles, CA, was also listening to Gabby's complains about this young man. He wore a surgical mask. Sorry my brother for suffering as such to lift Ethiopia high up! “Tell him that I am not paying extra” shouted D. when the drivers’ assistant carried her bag out to the back box of the bus. Behind us are locals who I can’t tell much about as they are almost the same. It was me who taught DeShantell much Amharic for two months. The only benefit the teaching brought was that the money she paid me, 1640 ETB, was spent on charity at the school she works in. I think I am a bad teacher and the one to blame. Do you remember that a London police officer held the English teacher, Mr. Brown, accountable for what the latter’s English as a Foreign Language (EFL) student, Jemila, did? In the old London Weekend Television (LWT) comedy series, this Asian woman took many items home from a supermarket after she read ‘free’ written on them to indicate that they were free offer. Likewise, D. doesn’t understand any Amharic even if she has been living here for two years. I taught her say the name of her school – Med-Hane- Alem using two English words – mud and honey. Except for the language, she is more of an Ethiopian than an American. A Radio announcer was informing listeners the rights of people organized as it was May Day. That reminded me of what a young daily laborer in my locality said months back: “Couldn’t we work if we were not organized?” The tone this woman-announcer reads is of convincing people. Always she propagates that we do something or not do another. I don’t like such FM radio stations in this country except Sheger FM. After we passed Angolela, the birthplace of Emperor Minellik II, half of the people got off, so some standing travelers got respite. Young school children waved hands to us. They must be going to schools as some rural schools don’t recognize and close schools during public holidays. A few years ago, a Moslem English teacher in my area complained to me how the director of the school he works in pushed him off the veranda of his office as the former was absent on Romedan day! The 27 kilometers gravel bumpy road is not a dead way. I knew the town when I went past it to the Debre Libanos Monastery with my paternal uncle in May 2003 for a week long ‘prayers’. In the town though, there is a three kilometer asphalted road built to prevent trachoma infections. The sight on our way was of meadows, farmlands and eucalyptus trees. The cactus around houses makes the places look green. Cattle and pack animals were grazing. Around newly built and developed springs gather people with their donkeys and jerry cans to fetch water home. Iron-roof and grass huts are where these people live in. The driver’s assistant charged the people who he let into the bus after we travelled more than ten kilometers the same 12 Birr as we did. They are mostly illiterate farmers who can’t argue. I can say he scooped their money out of their pockets. They didn’t regret and it seems that this is the normal condition. Women walking wearing the local dress and carrying long black umbrellas with them bring the daily life of the people into your eyes. Men carrying sticks as is usual in the country on the other hand walk in the narrow winding paths. A man from Angolela got into the bus and he responded to my query on where he was taking the little girl with him. He said he was taking her to a medical place at Mendida. Debre Birhan was rather near to him, but he said Mendida was better in its service. The clinic built in memory of Menelik II at his birth place is no more functional. This man did not visit Fitawrary Gebeyehu’s remains at the church that is in his congregation either. How some people felt indifferent to the hero who died fighting at Adwa in 1986! I know how he is revered by many a local resident. In our conversation, this man told me that under age children work for the flower farm investment there for 20 Birr a day. It is a public property that the investor is given. Ah! Authorities! Off your hands from this densely populated area! Away with such an investment! Where should the cattle graze if investors go there? The acacia on the spurs were like jewels. I wished the meadows people ride horses across a good future. May you get saved from evil eyes! When we arrived at Mendida, four men sitting at the doorstep of a small house were sort of reconciling each other. One of them who seemed to be a high class was wearing a very neat gabbi, while the others were clad with gray ones darkened out of the dusty roads they walk across. THE STORYBOOK FESTIVAL Brittany Sharpless of Kentucky came to the bus station and took us to the school. She came from her site in Wolisso, past Addis, to take part in this event at the school. The school has a big playing ground in front of it. We saw young people playing football and running in the lane. May we see some of these runners in the international arena! Mendida Elementary School has what makes it Oromo. Some of the pictures on the walls are of Aba Gadas and other Oromo icons. Having met some of the teachers and the PCVs who came to attend the festivity, I started to chat with some students by a side of a classroom. To a question I asked her regarding which language was difficult among Amharic and Oromo, an English loving fourth grader whose name was Meron told me that both are simple based on one’s knowledge of the two. When I asked them what they would do if they got 1 million Birr, two students responded me that they would create job opportunities or save it and help their families with it. Meron said that she would open a hospital. The first grader Betty, who I asked about the importance of education, quickly responded that one can’t be a doctor without learning. Asked what their main threats are for the future, the kids responded me that they feared if they would face a shortage of time, fail to study and finally fail pass to the next grade level. The festival kicked off moments after we arrived at the school. The PCVs including Benjamin were busy working. For example, Sarah Brandwood, who comes from New Jersey and who works at Enewary School was writing an illustrated post in both Amharic and English. Lauren Lapointe, Sarah’s site mate, comes from Florida. I feel emotionally attached to her because of all these PCVs she is the only classroom teacher I know. She handles two sections of students at Enewary high school. How lucky would her students be to be educated by this native English speaking girl! A young man who was wearing a nice jacket opened the festival by listing the advantages of reading to the school community in Oromo. I thought that he was a teacher there. Later, I learned that Dinkisisa Temesgen was from Nekemte and at this time he works as an LCF (Language and culture facilitator) for Peace Corps Ethiopia in Addis. At first, I asked myself why this young man who spoke good English had to teach at that elementary school. In the meantime, I knew that I was mistaken. My belief is that any grade level deserves the best teachers, yet the reality is that the smart ones often go high up. I delivered Dinkisisa’s message in Amharic for those who didn’t understand Oromo. After my speech a young man read a children story in Oromo. However, since some teachers suggested that the nice story should also be shared with Amharic speaking students, who according to one teacher constitute more than half the school’s students, the young student re-read the story and Dinkisisa beautifully translated it into Amharic. Messages and announcements were delivered to the students in both Amharic and Oromo, and in my view the school is truly a bilingual environment. A fifth grader girl read the story of the hare and the tortoise in Amharic. This girl uses four legged walking sticks which her mother told me were brought as a gift to her by a German man who lived in the town. Now, though, the sticks are getting shorter as the girl is growing up. I saw another boy walking using crutches. I think his legs were injured by polio. The next activity was in the classrooms and we let the students write stories. I was assigned to grade seven. Both Oromo and Amahric medium students were mixed and I managed to tell them about a story structure and they had about an hour and a half to write and illustrate their stories. They wrote on AIDS, discipline and other areas. Some students who wrote stories they heard before were disqualified. I formed a jury among the students and they selected the five best stories. One problem I faced was the shortage of pens. Most of the students went home to bring pens and didn’t come back. Telling them the previous day to bring pens would work. The school community gave us participants from other places gifts of nice traditional scarves which I am very thankful for! I met a four or fifth grader girl mistaking a picture of an Oromo Abab geda with Aba Dula Gemeda, the current speaker of the Ethiopian House of People’s representative and the former president of the Oromia region. This Oromia is not into the blood of the students yet. I found them more of Ethiopians than Oromos. THE DIVERSE YET ALIENATED PEOPLE Oromo First? This town located in the Abuchuna Nya’a District of the North Shewa Zone of the Oromia Regional State is 180 far away from the center of the zone, Fiche town. The poorly built road makes travelling hard for the people who go there to access services. If it were Debre Birhan, 27 kilometers away, the residents of the district would have a great access to administrative facilities. Ethnic federalism is doing its job there. Interestingly, it is common to see the photos of the legendary bare-foot first African Olympic gold medalist, Abebe Bikila, at the gates of the public offices there. Even if he was not an Oromo by blood, based on what I heard on Sheger FM a few years ago, he is the fruit of Oromia. In addition to this, there is an effort to make the town look Oromo – writing the names of businesses in posters first in Oromo and then in Amharic. How many fought and died for this right? Religious and ethnic diversity is seen at this one kebele small town. Italians were the first foreigners to start working at the town in the missionary they set up during the Italian occupation of the town in 1940s. Some people told me that Mendida is dubbed the nearest town in Ethiopia to Italy since many a Mendida resident went there by the support of the Catholics there. The Orthodox Church at Mendida has been working hard to fundraise for the building of the new St. Mary’s Cathedral. The National Synod via the Fiche Diocese gave the go ahead, breweries sponsor the event and the bazaar, the first of its kind as far as my knowledge is concerned, starts the job. We had a lunch at the bazaar and I met the organizers of the fundraising to have some discussion. Orthodox Christians, Catholics and Protestants have churches in this small town of 5 ooo people. As we started the back trip at 2:45 PM, I asked two of the PCVs about the program before they stuck their ear phones into their ears. Dara told me, “For the children this is an opportunity to do a creative, fun, and interactive activity than just the lesson plans.” She set up a Book Club and a Geography Club at her school. She also brought US Embassy girl scouts and held a community gender discussion at her site. D. who says that she was nervous was the photographer- cum- facilitator for the session. She told me about the festival saying that through story writing they learn how to integrate more than a single piece of art. They also learn how to use their imaginations. They knew not this before. It is a good start. She is also doing a great job at her school and I am a witness of her great job as I sometimes assist her. I arrived at Tebase and had some compiling work on this travel account. When I was walking home afterwards in the evening I heard an old woman say for her mooing cow “You have eaten what you have for today; the remaining hay is for tomorrow.” I learned that not only people but also cattle get famished in this country. I hope that the pictures I took at the school will give you some highlight on the event. I also invite you to read what Benjamin posted today.