TravelStream™ news feed for member christen.smith on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/christen.smith en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 08 Dec 2008 06:20:12 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1226449620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1226449620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1226449620/tpod.html Mon, 08 Dec 2008 06:20:12 -0500 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Debre Markos, Ethiopia

This entry should probably just be called "Catharsis." Perhaps, though, I can also rightly subtitle it "The Dark Side of International Volunteerism."

So, here we go.

Christen's Catharsis:
The Dark Side of International Volunteerism

Since the very beginning of my recently-completed one year in my site, I have taught supplementary, conversational English twice a week to a group of ten orphaned high school girls, housed together by a local NGO. For the past nine months of that instruction, I have been joined by the VSO volunteer who works at the local university. Over the time that we have spent with the girls, we have developed a close relationship with them. We have seen them grow and progress both in their studies and as young ladies. We have been fortunate to have them open up to us, moving beyond thinking of us as teachers to considering us as friends.

At the end of last Saturday's class, the girls told us that a man named Colin would be coming from Canada to visit. Visits like these, judging from the photographs I've seen and the stories I've heard, occur fairly frequently, in which donors to the program - usually male, usually Canadian - come to see the girls they have been sponsoring. At least two others have come to town during this past year, but having been away both times on other business, I had never been personally involved. This time, however, we were invited by both the program director and the girls' house mother to come and meet Colin, to help welcome him and explain our role in the girls' lives.

When we came to the house on the appointed day, along with the program director and the rest of the office staff, Colin had already arrived and was sitting at a table with some of the girls. We entered the room, greeted everyone in turn as per Ethiopian culture, and then introduced ourselves to Colin and explained our function as volunteers. Immediately, he seemed confused and put off by our presence. As we sat down in the chairs that were pulled out for us, Colin asked his Ethiopian counterpart for "a word" and called him into the hallway for discussion.

When Colin had finished his "word", we all sat down together in the living room to wait for the rest of the girls to arrive from school. The oldest girl, our best and most eager student, sat next to us, her teachers. She had qualified to enter the medical program at a prominent university, and this would be our last day to spend with her before she moved there. As we all waited in the slightly awkward silence borne of language barriers, relative unfamiliarity with our new guest, and a perceived formality of the proceedings to come, our little cluster of three made light conversation and laughed as I managed to spill things all over myself. Colin chatted with the girls at his table, and they responded as well as they could in their limited English. They gave him gifts, and as they named the girl who had given him each one, he pretended that he knew what they were talking about. I complimented a sweatshirt Colin had given to our star student, and overhearing, Colin turned to me and said, "Yes, she has received her shirt early. Once the two of you leave, we will give out the rest of the gifts." It seemed to me a rather odd thing to say, and I was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable with this Colin character.

Girls trickled into the room one by one as they arrived from morning classes. Finally, as our group was complete, the room quieted down, and Colin took charge of the proceeding. Namely, he took charge of the proceedings by saying to the room, "So, I think we are all here now, but our other guests have not yet left...So if you two wouldn't mind to leave, I think we'll make this a time for just our family."

Fortunately, the shock of his incredible brashness kept me silent until I could gather myself enough to be diplomatic in front of the girls. In the most amiable voices we could muster, we gathered up our things and exited the house, telling the girls we would see them in class the next day. Our star student walked with us to the front gate, where we stood and said our final goodbyes. Then, once safely outside the compound and out of earshot, we gaped at each other in disbelief of what had just occurred.

I know for certain that this was the most brazenly disrespectful act that anyone has ever deliberately committed against me. In retrospect, though, I can't actually decide which part of it was most audaciously offensive. There was the fact that a once-a-year visitor has just walked into my town of residence and my place of work and tossed me ungraciously out. The fact that a man had stepped into a program designed to encourage girls' confidence in a strongly male-dominated society, proceeded to gain control of things by disrespecting his female counterparts. The fact that, despite my living and working here for a year now, I was demeaned as a "guest" who was not worthy of inclusion in some sponsorship-purchased "family". There were so many things, really, to infuriate me in that moment. Looking back in a more calm and collected hindsight, however, one thing stands above all others in bothering me.

Beyond the personal slights involved in Colin's dismissal of myself and my colleague, his actions reveal an attitude of ego and self-importance that is poisoning international aid and volunteerism. Every industry has its egos. For some reason, though, we tend to turn a blind eye to such things in the charity and aid sector, as if the sheer force of perceived "goodness" surrounding our acts can overpower any shortcomings in our motives. The problem becomes worthy of our concern, however, when self-involved motives begin to hinder our labors. In my experience, there are too many Colins doing charitable work abroad, too many people who are more concerned with arriving as the foreign savior, savoring center stage in the temporary affections of a disadvantaged people, then broadcasting their righteous acts back home and collecting accolades and pats on the back from the people around them.

If Colin were really concerned with the wellbeing of these girls, he would have been interested to talk to the two volunteers who had been involved with them for the past year, to find out exactly what they had been doing, to learn from their first-hand perspective, to discover ways to work together with them for real solutions to real needs. Instead, his concern was that the two other white people in the room would steal his thunder. We were treated as a threat and an intrusion, rather than partners in a common cause. In the same way, concerns over recognition and attribution have blocked efforts to collaborate and cooperate throughout the world of international aid and development.

The dire needs that challenge us as a global community are simply too large for stubborn, go-it-alone egoism. They are simply too important for solutions to be forestalled and derailed by antagonism and short-sighted selfishness. If we cannot put aside pettiness to work together toward effective, broad-scale, sustainable solutions, then no amount of sponsorship money will be able to cover the fact that we have thrown away our best opportunities for success.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1225894440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1225894440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1225894440/tpod.html Mon, 08 Dec 2008 06:16:09 -0500 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Bahirdar, Ethiopia

In the still hours of the morning of Wednesday, November 5, in Bahirdar, Ethiopia, an international assembly gathered on the patio of the Obama Café. Throughout a sleepless night, they kept vigil over the American election, watching a gargantuan outdoor screen that seemed to reflect not only the proceedings themselves but also their momentous implications. Day broke, and as the rising light gradually overwhelmed the projected images, they moved indoors and crowded around the small television, where just an hour later, together with a fresh contingent of locals, they would celebrate the anticipated election of Barack Obama as the next president of the United States of America.

It was like the long-anticipated finale of an epic narrative we had been observing in installments from afar. We had heard the equally compelling yet vastly different personal stories of the two candidates. We had watched the long and grueling fights through the primaries. We had followed all the twists and turns of the general election campaign, the promises, posturing, predictions, foibles, attacks, criticisms, doubts, and wildest wishes. We wondered as, incredibly, all around the world, everywhere we turned, a wave of excitement for a young, black Illinois Senator swept powerfully through hearts and hopes. Finally, together, we watched him make history.

It was the storybook ending breathlessly desired by the Ethiopian people. Inside the Obama Café, there were cheers and tears, embraces, applause, and a rush of phone calls to family and friends. Meanwhile, footage of Obama-supporting crowds broadcast from all across the world mirrored the outpouring of emotions. There were the images of a victorious Obama at dramatic camera angles, the stirring music, the expectant silence that fell over the gathering as he delivered his acceptance speech, passionate words recalling the momentous march of progress over American history. One could hardly help being swept up in the poignancy of the moment.

For the Ethiopians with whom I watched this all unfold, the pivotal storyline was all about the ground-breaking rise of a son of Africa to the American presidency. Coincident to this historic moment, however, a highly significant side plot was playing itself out. For me, the climax of all the drama came not with Obama's acceptance speech, but with John McCain's concession. There, the American democratic ideal was reflected not only in the ascent of a multi-racially and internationally rooted young man with a foreign name to the seat of highest national executive power, but also in the humble, selfless bending of his opponent to the will of the people.

On stage before his supporters and before the eyes of the world, Senator McCain acknowledged, "The voice of the people overwhelmingly has spoken..." Then, he affirmed Barack Obama as the nation's president, as his president, and promised to continue to service his country faithfully under Obama's leadership. On a continent where power is the ultimate prize and its passing often proves the ultimate problem - a continent shaken by Robert Mugabe's brutal attempts to cling to power in Zimbabwe, horrible election violence in Kenya, military coups, warring factions and constitutional manipulations that have become all too painfully common - it was a moment and a message I was proud to share from my country.

When I consider my country's image on the global stage and think about how I would like the world to see us in this recent election, I do hope that people see the progress and promise of America in a victory that would have been unthinkable not so long ago. I hope we can join together to celebrate a triumph for racial equality and the embracing of a dynamic, multicultural society. But I also hope, especially living here in eastern Africa, that the image of a people determining their future, of one man stepping aside to yield to their collective voice while another steps up to heed their call, will be one that endures. This is government "of the people, by the people, and for the people." This is the dream of America.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1223965920/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1223965920/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1223965920/tpod.html Mon, 03 Nov 2008 02:33:55 -0500 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

              America is,
of course, the most important nation on the face of the earth.  At least that's what we Americans like to
tell ourselves.  You might even forgive
us for thinking so this year, however, as eyes and ears all around the world
tune in eagerly, anxiously, amusedly to the Presidential election that is being
billed by international media as, well, the most important on the face of the
earth.

            For
Ethiopia, there is one point of interest concerning the U.S. elections and one
point only - Barack Obama.  Ethiopia loves Barack Obama.  Charismatic and eloquent son of a Kenyan
father, a black man who has risen meteorically in American politics and now stands
well positioned to assume the highest office in a country whose wealth and
freedom hold an almost mythical pull for most Ethiopians, he has captured
hearts and imaginations in this developing East African nation. 

            The
evidences of Ethiobamamania are everywhere. 
Within the past five months, "Obama Café"s have sprung up all over the
country.  The largest and most prominent
of these is in Bahirdar, where you can eat the best steak-and-cheese sandwich
in Ethiopia under multiple images of the man himself, smiling endearingly down
on you from the walls.  Unsurprisingly,
the most extravagant display of Obama exuberance can be found in the capital
city of Addis Ababa, where an eight-story construction project has been
christened the Barack Obama Building.  A
fellow volunteer reported to me an incident in which her Addis taxi driver told
a young street girl soliciting money, "Obama yistilin" - in Amharic, "May Obama
bless you."  The driver remarked, "God
and Jesus, number 1.  Obama, number 2!"

            Ethiopia's affection
for Obama is grounded in both the personal and the political.  Asked why they favor Obama, I have heard
Ethiopians respond, "He is a black man," "He is a youngster," and even, "He is
tall and handsome!"  Black skin and
youthful optimism about the world have made Obama a compelling symbol of the
hope for a prosperous and respected Africa. 
Yet, some of this hope reaches beyond the symbolic.  Many local friends and colleagues have told
me of Obama, "I think he will bring good governance to Ethiopia."  It is a belief that I hear echoed regularly
among Ethiopians.

            Expressions
like these make me incredibly nervous. Inflated American sense of
self-importance aside, the American president's potential for real impact in
the internal governance of African nations like Ethiopia is extremely
limited.  Diplomatic pressure and
economic sanctions can only go so far, as evidenced forcefully in the case of
Zimbabwe, for example.  Moreover, the
limited success that was achieved
diplomatically in Zimbabwe was only realized through the mediation of fellow
African leader Thabo Mbeke, of South Africa. 
Ultimately, real achievements in African governance have to come from
the African people themselves.

            What should
it say, then, that so many Ethiopians are resting their hopes for their own
country on a U.S. presidential election? 
For one, it should pose challenging questions about the way in which the
U.S. and other developed nations have interacted with Africa, and about the
appropriateness of the messages being sent by our methods.  When the ingrained instinct is to wait for
help from the outside instead of mobilizing it from within, we have all taken
steps backward. 

            As this
historic election advances toward its conclusion, questions about an Obama
presidency hang expectantly in the air. 
Would an Obama presidency in fact salvage America's tarnished image in
the global community?  Would Obama
indeed bring an element of cooperation and dialogue that has been lacking in
recent American politics?  Will Obama,
or any American leader for that matter, really deliver sound governance to
Ethiopia?  In the last matter, at least,
I fear real risks for dependency and disillusionment on the part of the
Ethiopian people. 

            If nothing
else can be said for sure, however, it is clear that Ethiopians are allowing
themselves the audacity to hope. 

 
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1221175680/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1221175680/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1221175680/tpod.html Mon, 03 Nov 2008 02:30:15 -0500 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Debre Markos, Ethiopia

             On the
evening before the New Year, I found myself sitting on my back step, peeling a
kilogram of garlic.  My landlady had
recruited me to help with the preparations for this most celebrated of
Ethiopian holidays.  (I have told myself
that her recent comfort in assigning me chores is a positive thing,
demonstrating that she considers me a member of the family, capable of
contributing to life on the compound. 
Perhaps, though, she just likes having a source of free work.)

            A stripe of
cloudless sky was visible between the edge of my peaked tin roof and the tops
of the renters' quarters behind my house, where my landlady was busy cooking injera over a smoking wood fire.  Gradually, as I stripped my way through the
pile of pungent cloves, the hazy dusk gave way to the clear, sharp nighttime
sky, glittering with a million dazzling points of light.  I reflected that, due to quirks in the
history of man's accounting of time, on the day that my home country would
pause to remember tragedies of the past, my host country would be earnestly
looking to the promise of the future.

            The whole
week had been one of anticipation, with a series of town hall meetings, culture
shows, dances, and concerts all leading up to the main event.  The most notorious of these featured a local
girl performing the topless dancing of the South Omo tribes, which was rather
shocking in the context of my highly conservative Gojjami town.  My landlady's second-born son, a singer, was
thrilled to finally have me in the audience at some of his band's shows, and I
was inevitably pulled up out of the crowd to dance at the last song of each one
(fully clothed, thank you).

            New Year's
Day itself began this morning with a heap of fried sheep meat for
breakfast.  I ate with my landlady and
her singer son, the only one of her five boys who had stuck around to spend the
holiday with their mother.  Planning
ahead for future piles of sheep meat to be consumed throughout the day, I ate
as little as I could get away with and left for my female neighbor's home.  I colored pictures with the family's three
little children while a male cousin slaughtered the holiday sheep, spilling its
blood on the grass-covered floor of the house, as prescribed by culture.  We ate together (more fried sheep) and took
silly pictures in the yard before I had to leave again to join my landlady for
lunch (yet more fried sheep). 

In the afternoon, I had
second-lunch with KB's compound family and managed to coat myself in spiced
butter while holding their fussy, butter-haired infant.  Then, in my final stop of the day, I visited
my office's secretary for evening coffee, bread, and, reluctantly, more sheep
meat.  Having only interacted with her
in the rather male-dominated office setting, I was thankful for a chance to get
to know her outside of work in a setting where she felt more comfortable
opening up.  We bonded over talk about
husbands: When I asked if she was married, she replied laughingly in Amharic,
"No, I don't want a husband," which is my trademark reply to this common
inquiry (followed typically by more questions about why I don't want a husband,
to which I usually reply with some variation of, "Husbands are nothing but
trouble.")  Thus, the holiday was
successful if for nothing else than my discovery of the only single female my
age in the whole of my town.

            Now,
back at home, I've settled down into sheep meat coma and am watching from my
living room window as, again, the hazy dusk darkens into deepest ebony.  The anticipated day is over, and tomorrow,
all that will remain of the festivities will be a scattering of sheep bones in
the street-side ditches and the smell of garlic that has seeped indelibly into
the skin of my hands.  Judging, however,
from last year's abundance of posters and cards that proclaimed the arrival of
the Ethiopian New Millennium long after the venerated day had passed, the hope
of a new year and a brighter future will carry on with bated breath.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1220532120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1220532120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1220532120/tpod.html Mon, 22 Sep 2008 08:43:49 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Debre Markos, Ethiopia

Peace Corps service is reliably marked by ups and downs, by the facing of a constant stream of challenges, practical, professional, and psychological. Yet this past month for me was the most emotionally testing by far.

It was a month in which those anticipated ups and downs seemed to climb and dive to extremes beyond their typical character, and every high was tempered by a sobering low. We saw the most sun since the rainy season began three months ago. We also experienced some of the most intense downpours. I took major steps in my two biggest projects. My volunteer assistance grant was approved by Peace Corps for the local mill that will be built to provide job opportunities for people living with HIV, and the HIV&AIDS community forum I have been planning with the teachers college looks to be on its way to happening. Day-to-day work, however, was agonizingly slow, with schools out of session, work partners in other towns pursuing degrees and certificates through summer classes, and rain regularly disrupting each day and usually taking electricity with it. With the hiring of a new APCD, program assistant, and administrative officer, the Peace Corps Addis office had hopes of being fully staffed for the first time since April - until the resignation of our EPC (I don't know what it stands for, either) was announced. Volunteers were overjoyed to hear that one of us who had left the program due to family issues was initiating the process to return. On the other hand, we were hit hard by the departure of six more volunteers (four by choice, two four medical reasons), reducing our current numbers to just 30. Ethiopia had a mixed showing in world news. Four Olympic golds and the restoration of the ancient Axum obelisk to its rightful home counted among the positives; severe food shortages in the southern regions and a bomb blast in the capital, killing four and injuring 24, were among the tragic negatives. Even the Olympics served this roller-coaster pattern. Watching with my community as Ethiopian runners took spectacular victories in the men's and women's 5,000- and 10,000-meters, and joining in the exuberant celebrations following, I was blessed to share the triumph of a nation that has begun in special ways to become mine. Yet sitting in local cafes surrounded by Ethiopians, witnessing thrilling wins by the U.S. including Michael Phelps' historic 8 golds, feeling the welling pride and excitement of those moments and finding no one with whom to share it, painfully underlined the fact that I am away from the country that will always be my true home.

We volunteers are entering the period that the Peace Corps literature terms, "mid-service crisis." Elements of Ethiopian culture that we formerly found interesting, quirky, endearing, or at least amusing, now somehow spark only annoyance. Excitement over the exotic has given way to longing for the familiar. When we get together, we talk about home more than is probably healthy, as many of us look forward to spending the year-end holidays with America family and friends. When we return again to our respective sites, in moments of quiet solitude our thoughts drift inevitably homeward. All my dreams that I can remember from the past three weeks have involved people and places from back home.

And yet, even now I can see glimmers of light at the end of this emotional tunnel. I can sense the competency and state of settled adaptation that I've been assured are coming. I'm feeling more savvy in my work these days. I know which organizations and offices are doing what, I know where to go for resources, I know who I can (and cannot) count on to get things done, I know who will be my leaders and advocates, I know generally "the way things work" and can more adeptly navigate the necessary processes and channels. An impressive portion of my town's 120,000 residents know me by name. Some of them even know what I'm doing here. Children in the streets are catching on to the drill that I ignore, "YouYouYou," "FarenjiFarenjiFarenji," and "MoneyMoneyMoney," but will faithfully and cheerfully respond to, "Hello," "Hi," "Good morning/afternoon," and any variant of, "Kristi." Often I hear them correcting their unenlightened friends. I can navigate full days in Amharic. I actually enjoy going to the chaotic Saturday market. Even the environmental conditions are looking up. The fleas and mosquitoes are on their way out with the rain, the mud occasionally has the chance to dry up, and - miracle of all blessed, blessed miracles! - one local shop has begun to stock Snickers and Twix bars.

Above all, it's such a comfort to know that I'm not riding this emotional roller-coaster alone. It's funny: You hit a slump, and you come up with a whole litany of extenuating circumstances. (It's cold, and I hate cold weather. My nose is runny. My couch has fleas. My bed has fleas. I'm out of postally-provided American chocolate because I binge on it instead of rationing.) Then you talk to fellow volunteers and discover that, across the board, they're feeling the same way, even though your lists of reasons read completely differently. You realize that you'll always have someone to talk to about the tough times, someone who will understand and empathize, a comrade to see you through.

So yes, it's true that I feel like screaming when I get the exact same questions over and over again from everyone I see, when my Amharic inevitably gets laughed at and repeated several times over amongst the giggling crowd of curious gawkers, when each person I talk to during the day feels compelled to point out the pimple that's popped up overnight on my forehead and cross-examine me on how it got there. It's true that I would probably sell my soul at this point for just one day at home with my family and friends, eating terrible processed foods and watching college football. But it's also true that the melancholy feelings will pass, that I'm not alone in experiencing them, and that most importantly, they are a part of a much larger journey that, in the end, will be wholly, unarguably worth it all.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1218118800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1218118800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1218118800/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:21:42 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Debre Markos, Ethiopia

On the eve of the Olympic opening ceremonies, I called my Ethiopian host family in Welliso. My momma answered and had barely enough time to say my name, before my little brother swiped the phone and yelled excitedly into the receiver, "Christen! The Beijing Olympics start tomorrow!"

Throughout much of the Western world, mention of Ethiopia recalls the images of pot-bellied starving children and skeletal adults that were broadcast during the terrible famine of the mid-1980s. Perhaps occasionally, the name sparks association with fine coffee. Often, it sparks nothing at all. Once every four years, however, Ethiopia has a chance to shine brightly on the world stage for a distinction that is undeniably worthy and universally commanding of respect: supremacy in the gruelling sport of distance running.

This August, the eyes of the world will be on these Games in China. Some will look on in pride, seeing the emergence of a strong and modern nation into the ranks of the global elite. Some will watch in anger, indignance, and disgust as the Olympic torch is taken up by a government marked by heavy-handed oppression and a dubious record of human rights. But amidst all the politics, the posturing and the protest, there will be one bright-eyed Ethiopian twelve-year-old - and millions of others like him - watching in breathless anticipation for a chance at victory, for that moment that will exalt him with his country into the limelight of international glory where they will be seen without pity or trivialization, where, most importantly, they will be seen.

I will watch these Olympics on behalf of the dedicated athletes and the ordinary people to whom they mean so much. I will watch for the sake of those remarkable stories that unfold to captivate and connect us all. I will watch for my awesome little Ethiopian brother. I hope you will, too.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1216131480/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1216131480/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1216131480/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:19:42 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Addis Ababa, Ethiopia

I slept in awkward spurts lying on benches in the airport and stumbled semi-deliriously through check-in, security, and onto the plane. I must have strung together some amount of rest, though, because I was alert enough this time to actually see our descent into Khartoum, even awake enough to humor the flight attendant by taking the 5 A.M. breakfast offering. Khartoum appeared much as it had been described to me: "hot and dusty." As we took off again, I tried not to think about the disasters that had recently taken place on the same runway.

My first experience back in Addis was that of three men push-starting the line taxi heading into the city. Welcome home.

It's a little strange to be back. It's not so much coming from Egypt back to Ethiopia; rather, it's seeing my best friend again after so long, reuniting with that part of my life, feeling that longed-for connection to home, and then having to leave it all behind again.

On the other hand, it is nice to be back in the place that I know. It's nice to feel competent again, to fall back into the "don't-mess-with-me-I'm-not-a-tourist" swagger. It was good to settle into my little house again, to see the familiar faces around town, to be greeted by name out on the streets, to be told I was missed in the community, even to be told in the curious complimentary fashion of Ethiopia that I was looking SO good and fat after my vacation! It feels good to feel that I belong.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1213452900/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1213452900/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1213452900/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:18:18 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Cairo, Egypt

I woke up the next morning to say goodbye to Suzanne as she left for the airport. It was an abbreviated affair; neither of us is a big fan of goodbyes.

My flight not being set to depart Cairo until 3:30 the following morning, the girls were good enough to let me tag along with them through the day. I walked with them around the city, glad to be able to see areas that were new to me (though also painfully aware of the big blue hiking pack I was toting through the crowded streets). While they went off to a meeting, I hung out in a trendy café near the American University, drank iced lemonade with mint, and finished up my postcards. In the evening, I met back up with them at the center where they teach English, and their boss invited us to see their newest center on the other side of the city. My last image of Cairo was gathered as we drove with him across town at the close of day: a fiery sunset over the Nile silhouetting a commercial skyline, with two of the Great Pyramids just visible in the hazy distance.

At the new center, we were surprised to find a quaint little grassy backyard, where we were seated like VIP guests for dinner at plastic tables amidst the flower gardens. The girls' boss had bought us each a strand of jasmine from a street seller on the drive over, and we wore them in our hair and felt like perfect pixies as we dined on hotdogs, hamburgers, and hibiscus tea in our secret garden.

It grew late, and the girls and I finally parted ways, they to their home and I to the airport. Their work colleagues helped me obtain a taxi at a fair price, and generally showed unbelievable kindness to a strange girl that had stumbled into their lives for an evening. Along the drive, I chit-chatted with my driver, Mohammed, who was all smiles and so pleased to hear that I had had a wonderful time in his country. It was a long way from that first uncertain taxi ride into the city.

As I watched out the windows, the lights of Cairo streamed past me and faded into the night in the rearview. I felt truly sad to be putting it all behind me.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215958380/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215958380/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215958380/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:14:45 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Alexandria, Egypt

On the morning of our arrival back in Cairo, Suzanne and I dumped our bags at the hotel and hopped the Metro to the Coptic section of the city. Wandering through the Coptic Museum, I was fascinated by the peculiar religious mixtures that emerged in the wake of Christianity's appearance in the region. Christian mythologies mingled and merged with those of ancient Egypt and Greece, John and James beside Horace and Anubis beside Leda and the swan. I will say, though, that the shock effect of 5, 6, and 7 A.D. falls somewhat flat after a week spent amidst wonders from a few thousand years prior.

We went back to the hotel and hung out with those still remaining from our tour group, who were set to leave that night. We sat around and watched whatever happened to come on the English-language movie channel - I think Fatal Attraction (through which I slept, my apologies to Mr. Redford) and that one with Deniro and a very young Leo Dicaprio. An Axe Body Spray commercial came on, and we had to explain to our Egyptian tour guide what "bow-chicka-wow-wow" meant. ("Bow-chicka-wow-wow" apparently does not translate across cultures.) Later, we applied this new vocabulary when he left to go visit a "girl friend" at another hotel.

After finally saying goodbye to the others, Suzanne and I caught a few hours of sleep in their vacated hotel rooms before heading out early to Alexandria. Our tour guide had helpfully arranged everything for us, securing a car and dictating a day's itinerary to our driver. He had requested a small car, which apparently was not available that day, so we had the rather awkward experience of being chauffeured around just the two of us in a spacious 12-passenger van.

Alexandria is a beautiful seaside city, described to us a having a "distinctly Western feel." (I think this refers to the TGIFriday's in the downtown.) It provided an interesting contrast to Cairo. Mainly, though, I think I was just thrilled to see the ocean again. We toured the catacombs, Pompey's Pillar, the shoreline citadel, and the enormous Alexandria Library. At each stop, our driver would drop us out front, go to park our small personal bus, and promptly pass out in the reclined driver's seat, leaving us to sheepishly wake him upon our return.

I'm not sure whether it was the fact that we were two foreign women traveling around alone or if it was a distinction of the city itself, but Suzanne and I got more attention in Alexandria than we had anywhere else. Waiting in line to enter the Library, we attracted a pack of adolescent Egyptian boys, who somehow managed to entertain themselves for 20 minutes by speaking to us across a significant language barrier in broken Arabic-English. Walking through the citadel, I was followed relentlessly by one Egyptian man in particular, who wanted to take a picture with me. When, in hopes of getting rid of him, I finally assented and asked him for his camera, he said, "Oh no, I don't have a camera. It is a photo for you!" Thanks...but no thanks.

We ended the day by splitting a pricy (by our African-volunteer-and-in-debt medical-student standard, at least) seafood dinner and strolling down the trash-strewn beach that abutted the sapphire-blue ocean. As we drove away from the city, I tried to keep the sea in sight for as long as possible, storing up memories to take back with me into my landlocked life. Our tour guide called us once, ostensibly to check up on us, though I think he really just wanted to brag about his night. ("Bow-chicka-wow-wah-wee-WOW!!" was, I believe, the exact word he used in telling me.) Two hours later, we were back in Cairo, boarding the Metro out to our accommodations for the night.

In true Peace Corps Volunteer spirit, I feel, I both began and ended my Egyptian tour by imposing myself upon strangers tenuously connected to me through mutual friends. This final night's stay was with some friends of a PCV friend who, also in keeping with Peace Corps spirit, were living with an Egyptian host family on the outskirts of the city. This proved to be one of the most colorful, authentic, and memorable experiences of my whole trip.

Upon our arrival at the house, we shared tea seated together on the family's living room floor, the three women of the family, two little girls, and the five of us Americans. Our three hosts answered in Arabic all the family's questions about Suzanne and me, and we smiled and nodded and tried to look as agreeable as possible. I realize how much the Peace Corps experience has affected me by how little I'm bothered being in the midst of totally incomprehensible chatter. In fact, I could have sat and listened to them talk all night, just observing the scene, soaking in the moment, picking up words here and there and storing them away. Such has been much of my life in Ethiopia.

A cassette player was produced from the back bedroom, and before we knew it, tea time had broken into a belly dancing party. Washtubs and metal pots were beaten like drums in rhythm with the music, and we each took turns making fools of ourselves as the sassy little six-year-old daughter dragged us up in turn in front of the gathering. That is to say, the rather more Caucasian among us made fools of ourselves, while getting to see displays of incredible talent from the others. It reminded me very much of all those nights spent dancing in the living room with my host family in Welliso - except that now it was my hips, rather than my shoulders, that I was attempting to gyrate in ways that I believe are truly beyond my physical capabilities.

When the music and the laughter finally subsided, we bid the family goodnight and retreated to the girls' wing of the apartment, where we talked late into the night about our different experiences abroad. It was a perfect last night in Egypt, in my mind, one that felt less like tourism and more like traveling. It exemplified all the things that drew me overseas with the Peace Corps in the first place, all the things for which I have gained an even greater appreciation since.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215785400/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215785400/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/christen.smith/1/1215785400/tpod.html Sun, 10 Aug 2008 10:12:15 -0400 Do You Then Have Any Idea?: Modern Tales of a Southern Girl in an Ancient Land

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Luxor, Nile River Valley, Egypt

Leaving behind our faithful felucca and taking once more to travel by land, we followed the path of the Nile north, reaching Luxor by midday. Formerly the ancient capital of Thebes, Luxor maintains a sense of power and regality through the magnificent temples, tombs, and monuments that it still hosts.

We started at Karnak Temple. If Abu Aimbel had seemed to me the impressive embodiment of authority, Karnak was even more so. Massive stone pillars, towering obelisks, kingly statues, and a fantastic wealth of hieroglyphics all paid tribute to the god above all Egyptian gods, Ra. I couldn't help but be held in awe.

(At times, though, I will note, my awe was mingled with immature amusement, as I also couldn't help but snigger at the many representations of the fertility god Min, who as a result of having impregnated the entire female population of an ancient Egyptian village, is always depicted in an...aroused state.)

The next day, we traveled to see the Colossi of Memnon and the Valley of the Kings, similarly constructed to honor, inspire, and exalt. The ravages of thousands of years gone by had diminished the effect very little.

Lunch that day was served to us at a home off the back streets of Luxor. We had been invited by the wife of the brother of the owner of the hotel at which we were staying - an incredible show of hospitality on her part to invite 12 foreign strangers into her house. We sat on cushions around a long, low table in the living room and ate savory chicken broth and pasta soup, stuffed peppers, fresh marinated tomatoes, baba ghanoush, dense bread, and the best fried chicken I've tasted since leaving behind the American South. After the meal, we sat together with the family and sipped mint tea, while the two little daughters constructed cars and boats out of the couch cushions.

Throughout all this, there was an element of the Luxor leg of our tour that felt like the beginning of the end. During group meals, our tour guide made speeches about how much he enjoyed his time with us and how leaving was the hardest part of his job. Email addresses were exchanged, along with all the usual, "It's been nice meeting you," "Safe travels," "Keep in touch." Boarding the night train back to Cairo, though, sparked the formal goodbyes. We took our goofy group photos in the station, we played our last hands of cards together on the train, and finally in Cairo we said hurried goodbyes to those who were rushing off to make morning flights. The organized portion of our trip had come to an end, but Suzanne and I were just on our way to a new (disorganized?) portion on our own.
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