Visiting Birthfamilies

We are fortunate enough that we have been able to maintain contact with my son’s Ethiopian family.  Shortly after we arrived in Ethiopia, we took a trip to the Southern Region to visit his family.  

When I picked him up in May, I also visited his family.  However, it was pretty clear to me that his family was a little disappointed that I had not brought him with me at the time.  I think they were very eager to see him and how he was doing.  Video tape just isn’t the same as a real live boy!

So, for the second trip, it was obvious that he was going with us.  I was a little worried.  I didn’t know how he would react to seeing them. My biggest concern was that he would start crying or he wouldn’t recognize them.  My concern wasn’t so much for him. I know he’s a little trooper and we would deal with whatever happened.  My bigger concern was for his family.  I was really worried that they would leave with an image of him crying or being indifferent to them.

When we arrived at the meeting point, his family was not there.  A messenger was sent to get them to tell them we had arrived.  While we were waiting for them to come, we went to eat lunch.  Of course, my son played in the dirt while we waited for the food.  Then he dribbled his soup all over his shirt.  He did seem to be a little celebrity at the restaurant.  A few people recognized him and they were so pleased to see their American-Ethiopian boy had come back to visit.  

Anyway, I had the pleasure of presenting him to his family with very dirty clothes on right at the time of day he should’ve begun his afternoon nap.  There’s a combo for a lasting impression!

Well, one of my fears came true.  He wanted nothing to do with them.  He does have a bit of stubborn personality at times and he is very good at communicating his displeasure.  So, my gut feeling is that he recognized them and wanted them to know he was mad at them.  It almost became farcical how he displayed his apparent resentment.  He laughed and played with the kids from the area and then turned and shot a death glare when one of the relatives tried to engage him.  It was a little bit of surprise for me.  I guess I didn’t expect that kind of emotion or memory from a 23 month old.

I’m spent most of the time trying to get him to interact with them.  He was more interested in avoiding them, playing by himself, trying to destroy the mudding on the house with a stick and throwing rocks at the kids that were watching from the other side of the bushes.  I felt so bad for them.  I did position myself tightly between two of his family members so that he would have to be close to them to get near me.  He still was avoiding them, but at least they could reach out and touch him and pat him without him whipping out a nasty look at them.  

The change occurred when coffee was brought out.  My son LOVES coffee. OK, I know all the bad things about feeding coffee to a 2-year old, but it’s not like I do it regularly.  Once he saw that he wasn’t going to get anymore coffee from me, he started looking around and found the only people willing to share with him were his Ethiopian relatives.  Oh boy did the charm pour out of him then.  After realizing they could hook him up with coffee, he decided they were also capable of playing cars with him.  They were able to sneak some hugs and kisses in then.

As we were leaving, I was demonstrating how to use a disposable camera to one of his relatives.  My son grabbed the camera and had one of his famous meltdowns after I took the camera away from him (he had already wasted 5 shots on the camera by that point).  Unfortunately, the last sight they had of us was walking towards the truck while my son screamed bloody murder because the camera had been taken away from him.

I am VERY glad that we had the opportunity to see them again.  I am VERY glad they were able to see him happy (mostly) and thriving.  I am VERY glad that they could see how much I love him and how comfortable he is with me.  I am VERY glad I found out additional information about his family. I would like to think they feel better knowing for sure that he is doing well physically and is loved.  I would like to think they know how much I treasure his heritage and their role in his life.  I wished we had been able to go to their homestead and meet some of the other relatives.  I don’t know if it was a good experience for them or not. This visit really was more for them than for us but it didn’t play out like I had hoped it would. I felt so sick in my heart about how they must’ve felt.  I don’t regret the trip, though.

I think one of the other contributing factors to my feelings about this experience is that I visited the Ethiopian families of a couple other children that now live in America.  While I know the circumstances were completely different, those families were absolutely joyful to receive news about their children.  And, in their cases, I was on their turf in their environment.  I think that because I was a third (neutral) party, that eliminated some of the uncomfortableness.  I also didn’t have any real expectations before I arrived. My own personal concerns for saying the right thing, acting the right way or being judged by the other party did not exist.  In hindsight, I really hope that my own preconceptions or expectations did not diminish my son’s family’s experience.

Without a doubt, visiting all these families confirmed how much our children were loved and treasured while they were there.   And though we are now separated by thousands of miles, I know that our children are still loved, treasured and remembered every day by their Ethiopian families.

**I know I used Birthfamilies as a term in the title, but I don’t really like that term.  To me, it kind of construes a sentiment of separation and distinction.  I consider my son’s birthfamily his family still.  I also consider them my (and my older son’s) family too.  Therefore, I refer to them as his Ethiopian family (as a generic term) or family in Ethiopia.  When talking with my kids or discussing photos or videos of the family, I always refer to them by name (such as Uncle Bob or Grandma) just as I do for our family here. 

Visiting the School

Near the end of my time in Ethiopia, we made a visit to the CHSFS school.  It is the same school where the Goodbye Ceremony was held when I picked up my son.

When we arrived, school was in session.  As we first walked in, there was a room on the right that is a designated resource room/library.  It has significantly grown since I was last there.  It had lots of books for the kids and resources for the teachers. 

Next we stopped at the classroom for students learning English.  The kids were about 5-8 years old.  Some of the kids had a picture book.  I pointed to the pictures and asked what they were.  One of the three kids was able to tell me in English what the item was every time.  It was clear it was one of their favorite books.  I also asked them what some of the animals said.  e.g. What does a rooster say?  You’d be surprised how diffently Ethiopian and American animals speak!!  One says cock-a-doodle-doo; the other says coo-coo-kah-coo.  All the students were clearly very eager learners.

There was another boy, E., who was probably 7 1/2 - 8 years old.  He was very serious about doing his English lesson.  He was so intent on his English lesson that he refused to smile when I tried to engage him.  Clearly, I did not understand that he was studying English and it was a VERY important lesson.  My heart started to crack right open about that because I know he is one of CHSFS’ waiting children and has seen a lot of children go home with their new families.  I think he was trying so hard to impress me so I would want to become his mom.   Believe me, E, I would love to be your Mom.  You are such a nice boy and play so well with the younger children.  Once your family finds you, they will realize they really lucked out being blessed with such a great kid like you.   If I didn’t have a 6-year old at home that needs to be the oldest child in our family, I would’ve been on the phone begging the agency to bend all their rules/guidelines so I could take E. home right then and there.  Update: GREAT NEWS! E’s family has found him. I’m so happy for all of them. And here’s to a wonderful life together!!

Shortly afterwards, we went outside and waited for recess/snack time.  The kids all headed to the lunch tables.  When they finished, they were released to the play yard.  Some of the student were out there playing gung-ho in their dapper vested school uniforms.

A CHSFS alumni kid who just happens to be a super sweetheart picked out some things for me to take to Ethiopia so that I could share them with the new kids.  She thought they would enjoy those things as much as she enjoyed the things that her Dad brought to Ethiopia when she was picked up.  Well, she was absolutely right.  And, she did an excellent job choosing items.

The kids loved the bubbles.   Bubbles are always such a big hit.  I think the teachers and Lekneh enjoyed blowing the bubbles even more than the kids did, though!!  Of course, I chased and popped the bubbles.  But, I was just trying to show the kids how to do it.  Really!!  Some of them were not catching on, so I had to chase and pop the bubbles for quite some time!!

We also brought some balls.  I don’t know where they got these balls, but they were really cool because they came with self-inflating devices (to make easy to transport), they were very durable and they had little grippy nobs on the outside to make them very catchable and throwable for the younger kids. The teachers and Lekneh were playing volleyball while the kids were playing soccer, keep away, and catch with the other balls.

The swings and the merry-go-round were also quite popular.  Neither were quite as popular as my video camera, but…

Aside from my son being extremely jealous of the attention I was giving the other kids, everybody had such a great time.  All of the kids were delightful.  Many of them kept chanting my son’s name (just like they did when we were there in May).  I’m hoping they thought that if my son could find such a nice family (not that I’m nice, but they probably thought that I was the nice one who thought of the bubbles and balls), then their turn would be coming soon too!

My recommendation to all families, including those picking up babies, is to visit the school.  The school-aged students are so much fun to be with.  It is hard not to be bowled over by their zest for life.  And, who really cares if you leave with grass-stains ALL OVER your pants as long as you had fun in the process!?

Waffling is a Sign

This entry is not about the adoption or Ethiopian travel, so you can go ahead and skip if you already have a referral.  It’s an essay on encouraging you on being open to the possibilities and reaping amazing rewards as a result.

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I grew up in a family with four brothers and no sisters. I went to engineering school and the majority of my classmates were male. All of my study partners were male.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I really wanted a girl. I REALLY wanted a girl.  REALLY.  I didn’t want to find out the gender ahead of time because I was afraid I would be disappointed if the baby was not a girl. Well, during the ultrasound, the tech had trouble finding one of the vessels in the umbilical cord. And, you know what the umbilical cord lays next to! So, it was pretty easy for me to see that I was going to have a boy. I was not happy. I had imagined all kinds of wonderful things I would do with my daughter. Over the next couple months, I tried to focus on the perks of having a boy and, by the time he was born, I was pretty much OK.

Fast forward 6 years:  I LOVE having a boy. While I understand there are all types of personalities and demeanors for girls, I am very glad my baby was a boy. He was so easy and fits with my personality so well.

• Hair: clipper it short, slap in some lotion-potion and go
• Toys: Bike and a pile of dirt and some sticks and he’s all set
• Emotions: straightforward, no manipulations
• Clothes: socks don’t need to match, not choosy about underwear cleanliness, no problem with hand-me-downs
• Shoes: two pairs only: sneakers and dressy hiking boots (actually 3 pairs, he also has flip-flops in the summer)
• Road Trips: Just need to find a bush, not a wayside
• Favorite souvenirs from my business trips: rocks (the gravel kind, not the diamond kind)

So, clearly I really lucked out. And, he’s one of the main reasons I decided to adopt a child.

1. He’s so loving and I knew without a doubt he’d be an excellent big brother.
2. How hard can parenting be? Look how great this one turned out.
3. Based purely on the law of averages, there is NO way I could produce another bio-kid this spectacular!

One of the perks of adoption is that you may be permitted to specify the gender of the child. I went through most of the homestudy period absolutely sure that I wanted an infant girl. When I was approaching the end, I started waffling.

Waffle #1: My favorite ages with my first son were when he was a brand-new-newborn (up to 3 weeks) and whatever age he was when you asked me the question. When he was 10 months old, I thought 10 months was the “best age yet” because he just started walking, his personality was really coming out, etc. When he was 2 years old, I thought 2 was “the best age yet” because he could communicate with me, he initiated the most fabulous hugs, was a little helper, etc. When he was 5, 5 years old was “the best age yet” because he was independent, so proud of himself when he learned to read a new word, he could keep up better with adult activities (biking, skating). So, I thought to myself, “Why am I so fixated on an infant?” I knew I was not going to get a brand new newborn and whatever age the child I adopted was, I figured it would probably be “the best age yet!”

Waffle #2: I found myself trying to figure out if I really wanted a girl. I asked my 5-year old what his preference was (it usually changed 4-5 times per week). I actually wrote out a list of pros versus cons for a girl or boy (Man, I’m a nerd!). In the end, I realized that if I was getting so academic about boy versus girl, then clearly I was not absolutely sure that I needed a daughter. And, THAT was when I realized I needed to not eliminate half of the kids. If someone felt absolutely certain about one gender, then they should specify. My waffling and over-contemplation were clear signs to me that I was not passionate about this issue. So, in the end, my homestudy was written that I was approved for a child 0-3 years old with a preference for a girl less than 15 months.

The day my dossier was sent in, I saw my (then) 17-month old son on the WIC list. And, the rest is history.

Ironically enough, on my first trip to Ethiopia, I was most smitten with a 5 1/2 year old boy (unless you are one of my adoptive parent friends reading this,  then what I meant to say was I was most smitten with your kid(s) THEN the 5 1/2 year old boy).  On my second trip, the 5 1/2 year old boy from my first trip was still there so I was smitten all over again.  However, there was also considerable competition to be number one on my Favorites List from a 7 1/2 year old boy.  Kind of amazing how I was drawn to those kids about as far out of the ”female less than 15 months” scope as possible, eh?

The moral of the story is that I really wanted a daughter both times…initially. I think it was fate or divine intervention or whatever you believe in that I was gifted with boys.  And, if you are waffling about gender, age, medical conditions, siblings, etc., then your heart is probably not set and you, too, should consider opening up your possibilities. Sorry, though, no matter how much you open up your possibilities, I already have the two greatest kids in the world!  So you’ll have to settle for kids #3, 4 and 5.

Next time around, I might just skip the whole waffling bit and say,  “0-8, open to gender.”  Actually, no I won’t. I am so OVER the diaper business. It will probably say, “Potty-trained to 8, open to gender.” Or maybe not…maybe, “3 years-10 years, but no more than 3 siblings.” Crap. The waffling has already begun again!

Berbere Yoplait

Coming from America’s Dairyland, I noticed the cattle.  Most of the cattle appeared similar to the Zebu type I had seen in other parts of Africa. 

These cattle were in the middle of the road.  (Surprise.)   This was taken in the Oromo region near Wondo Genet.  I took this photo because I thought the way the cattle were snorting and pawing, I mean hooving, at the ground that we had come upon the beginning stages of a mating ritual.   After I took the picture, I noticed they were both male.  This led me to believe that they were either trying to woo one very lucky cow that I didn’t see or to get me to take a picture of them so they could ask for 1 birr as payment.

The spotted red cattle were near Bahar Dar, just outside the city limits.   Yes, they were also in the middle of the road.  I photographed them because I thought their coats had a really cool pattern and they looked larger and better fed than any of the other cattle I had seen before then.  Plus, their facial expressions reminded me of myself as I drag into work on a Monday morning. 

In Addis Ababa, we visited a family that had some dairy cows.  They looked like Holsteins to me, but I’m not a bovine specialist.  The cows were in a barn inside the city limits.  There were also some calves (and goats and chickens). 

Tsegaye, the farmer, had taken some milk a few days prior and set it out.  The milk started to sour and thicken.  I don’t recall the name of the drink, but it is like thin yogurt…of course without the gelatin, sugar and cherries like I usually have it.  Just as I was getting ready to take a sip, they told me to wait until they mixed in the berbere.  WHAT!?!  No, no, no!  I told them I wanted sugar and cinnamon instead.  They laughed at me and insisted on berbere.  I continued to try to persuade them sugar and cinnamon (or jam of any sort) would be preferable.  Oh, no crazy ferengi, berbere is the flavor here!  I did convince them to let me taste it before they berbered it up.  It was fine and tasted like thin, unsweetened yogurt (or emasi as they call it in Swaziland).  Then they added the berbere and mixed it in. 

Now, let me just preface this by saying I was an awfully good sport about trying food without being a ferengi snob about it.  I tried everything on the Maherderawi platter.  I gnawed on meat bones (I say meat because I didn’t always know what animal it came from).  I ate the cooked greens that upon visual presentation gave me a flashback to scraping out the underside of my lawnmower.  I optimistically tried everything I was presented with (though I did insist on small portions initially).  But, for some reason, I couldn’t hold back a furrowed brow thinking about taking a hit of berbere yogurt.  I’m sure it was entertaining for those watching.  Eventually, I did take a drink.  It was not delicious, but it wasn’t as bad as I was preparing myself for. 

In hindsight, I was an awful food snob about it.  Especially considering that I love sour cream on tacos and chili, I shouldn’t have been so judgmental about the berbere yogurt.

The Screamer

After looking at my blog entries, it seems that I’ve conveyed primarily the great or interesting experiences I’ve had. And, I did have an excellent time in Ethiopia and my son is a true delight. However, I think that seems a little unfair to make it seem like everything is/was perfect. I would hate for any parents to think that something is wrong because all is not wonderful 24/7 for them. So, here is the biggest problem I faced. I will write about a few other issues in the future.

He was a screamer. I call it the “orphanage scream.” Before he arrived at the care center, he lived as the only child with several adults. I am quite sure that he was attended to all the time.  I think he learned at the orphanage the best and most effective tactic to use was to scream and have a meltdown hissy-fit if he wanted something.

He also definitely had some bully in him. He would take toys away from children. When the other child started to cry or whimper, he would cry or scream louder and the nannies would give it to him…I think to shut him up. He did the same thing with food in the guesthouse - it didn’t matter whose plate the food was on.  I hated that I felt like I was being scrutinized about how I would calm him down or handle the situation.

One time, we were in the van coming back from an outing with the children. My son went nutso crazy crying because I wouldn’t let him drive (sit on the driver’s lap). All the kids, the nannies, the other parents and the driver were trapped in this vehicle with the crazy screaming crying kid, watching me to see how I took care of him. By that point, I was so tired of his meltdowns over nothing. I wanted to just let him scream because 19-month olds DO NOT GET TO DRIVE VEHICLES. I really was unhappy at that point and dreading a future with a child with a drama queen personality. (Let’s face it; I was extremely spoiled by the easy laid-back nature of my first child.)

His screaming continued when we got home to the U.S. I was torn between the attachment bonding recommendations and maintaining my sanity. My 5 year old was also getting very frustrated and said things like, “Why does he cry about so much?” or “He’s screaming because I won’t let him open the knife drawer.” or “XXX’s brother doesn’t scream that much and he’s littler.”

If you are a parent that is heavy into attachment bonding (no visitors in the beginning, co-sleeping, baby carriers all-day long, etc.), don’t read anymore of this entry. You will just freak out and start putting judgments on me and I don’t need that.

After about 6 days, I decided, “if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” I am a single parent and if I go dysfunctional, it could be a while before I have any back up available. I also had a limited amount of time off of work, so I needed to get our home life stabilized before work stuff added to the mix. So, I decided he needed to go into a Screaming Detoxification Program.

From then on, when he started his hysterics about something, I just let him scream. {HEY! I told you attachment people to stop reading! Here, click this link and go read about Rain instead.} I would tell him NO and explain/show what should be different 2-3 times. Then I would walk away. Usually he would follow after me, wailing the whole time. I just ignored him. As soon as he stopped crying or screaming, I would give him exactly what he wanted, pat his head and kiss him. During this time, I was also teaching him baby signs to help him communicate better. I stuck with the basics like eat, drink, more, finished, and go.

After 3 days, the screaming had decreased significantly. After 2 more weeks, it was at a normal toddler level and he was using his very forceful baby signs at me instead of having super screaming-fits. The rest of us were a lot happier. And, that’s when the mommy-bonding really started.

When we returned to Ethiopia in October, we lived in an environment where he was the only toddler with 10 adults. The other kids there were 9-17 years old. That stinkin’ manipulator regressed to The Screamer within 2 days. And, he worked the situation completely to his advantage. Nobody, except me, could tolerate his discomfort. I think he may have even gotten worse. Initially, I walked away from him when he was screaming and let the other adults who raced to appease him (I call them The Enablers) deal with him.

When one of The Enablers told me to give my son my $300 digital camera because he was crying and wanted it, then I finally broke and had a hissy-fit meltdown of my own. I actually started bawling about how I had to go back to work 16 hours after I returned to the U.S. and didn’t have the strength or emotional resources to go through 3 weeks of Screaming Detox with him again. Between gasping sobs, I said that I was only one person and that I don’t have 9 people to help me with him in the U.S. And, finally, in my own drama-queen fashion, I stated very impolitely that I was not the crappy mother that they thought I was.  (If you readers don’t believe me, I can give you a copy of the report I got from parent-teacher conferences last night affirming that I’m not deluding myself about that…well, at least with one of my kids.)  And, I officially absolved myself of dealing with him when he screamed because they were the ones who encouraged his bad behavior by giving him what he wanted anytime he squawked. They created the beast so they could take care of the beast.

About 5 days later, someone said to me that my son only cries when I’m around. That led to another meltdown for me. Um, yes, he only cries when I’m around because I don’t send people to the store to get him a piece of candy to shut him up. I don’t give him my expensive electronics to play with to shut him up. I don’t let him completely skip his nap because he cries when I lay him down in the afternoon.  I don’t let him get away with bullying or stealing from others just to shut him up. Yes, here in this environment, he does cry when I’m around because he knows what screaming gets him here. In my house in America, screaming gets him nothing so he rarely does it.

Near the end of the trip, one of the main Enablers had come around to my way of thinking. He had either decided that I clearly was capable of much bigger hissy-fits than my son and he should appease me first or he realized that they were being ruled by a manipulative 2-year old and that is just too emotionally draining.

That, by far, was the worst part of my adoption/travel experience. Fortunately, the insta-Screamitis only lasted a day or two after we returned to the U.S.  the second time.  He still has amazing endurance for his screaming fits, though.

And, for you attachment people who are still reading this despite having been told to stop TWO times, my son does not exhibit any signs of attachment disorders.  Well, he does hug everyone he sees…but so do the majority of Ethiopian children.

For those of you that have yet to pick up your children, the best advice I received from the social worker during the homestudy process was to remember that your kids are children first and foremost. Being adopted is just part of it. So, when a 2-year old acts like a spoiled bratty 2-year old, it’s probably because he’s a spoiled bratty 2-year old and not because he’s an adopted spoiled bratty 2-year old. Being adopted is not the root cause for every problem. (Clearly, the social work stated it much more nicely than that.)

Lalibela - Rock Hewn Churches

At 6:30am we took a very overpriced ride to the top of the hill where the start of the Rock Hewn Church tours began. We picked up our tour guide who was dressed in a green uniform. By 7:05 am we began our tour. (200 birr per person for 11 churches, plus an additional 200 birr for the mandatory tour guide).

The churches were very beautiful. They were carved out of the rock. I was expecting a little country church, but they were cathedral-like. The arches were carved out of stone.  (Excuse the crappy photography. No flashes allowed inside to help preserve the paintings.) Orthodox churches generally have the same basic setup. There’s a small vestibule/area in the front, a wing to the left, a wing to the right and an open area in the middle. All of these areas were carved out of the same rock.

The men sit on the left side; the women sit on the right side. Everyone removes shoes before entering.

The churches had many, many paintings in them depicting biblical scenes as well as scenes from Ethiopian history.  I was a little bit distracted by the plasticized paintings intermingled with the 800 year old paintings on handwoven cotton.  And, since I had already heard most of the stories twice in Bahar Dar and once in Addis, I was a poor listener. Some of the Bible scenes that I saw in nearly every church were King Herod slaying the babies, St. George slaying the dragon, St. Michael with a scale, the birth of Christ, and St. Yared.

The songs and services are conducted in Ge’ez, a precursor to Amharic. The priests understand the language, but most of the church attendees do not. The songs that St. Yared wrote that are sung in the church are also in Ge’ez.

I think I liked St. George’s church the best.  St. George’s is the most famous.  If you Google it, you will see lots of photos that are much better than mine.   I think I liked it best because it was a nice surprise.  From far away, it didn’t look like much.  But then, when you got to the edge of the rock it was carved out of, it was a big WOW.  If you just imagine that the door on the front of this building dug into the ground is a regular sized door, it helps give you a little perspective.

Plus, my morbid side was drawn to the cave like holes dug into the sides of the rock surrounding St. George’s.  Some people were so devout, that they crawled into these holes and died there.  And, yes, the bones were visible for anyone to see…complete with dried up bits of flesh and ragged clothes.  Unfortunately, tact and respect overwhelmed me and I didn’t take a photo.

I think there were 11 churches in all, but we just saw 5 of them because they all seemed to be similar to me after the first 3….and I was tired and crabby.

If you are a religious person, you would probably be much more interested in the churches than I was. I was hoping for more on the architectural and historical aspects of the church, rather than a recitation of Bible stories. Some of the things that were interesting or surprising for me:

• Most of the churches withstood an earthquake in 1954.
• The churches were over 800 years old.
• There are underground tunnels that connect many of the churches.
• The intricacy of some of the carvings in the churches.
• The swastikas carved in the windows. (Though, this was from 870 years ago when the swastika was a sign of Peace.)
• The number of people praying on the outside, kissing the walls, instead of going inside.
• The 80 year old, arthritic men navigating the edges of the rocks without fear of plummeting 60 feet downward - I guess that was a very good place to demonstrate trust in God.
• The crooked, narrow stairs with slick-worn steps and no handrails.
• The lumberyard scaffolding built to hold up the secondary metal roofs built over the straw roofs.
• The fluorescent lights and wiring casually strung across hundred year old rugs.
• The trash laying everywhere around the church courtyards.  I wondered why they didn’t just pay the beggars to pick up trash.
• The mishmash of crap left on the insides of the churches.  Some of the corners of the churches looked like my Dad’s garage.

Lalibela - Dining with Ferengi

Our first night we had supper at the Jerusalem Hotel. The Helen Hotel had a restaurant attached to it, but I had already been put in a foul mood by some of the people associated with the place so I wanted to get away from there. It seemed that everyone at the Jerusalem Hotel restaurant was a tourist. The menu did not even have any Ethiopian food listed on it. The soup was good. The Steak Diane was not. The table next to us was filled with some sort of academic group of people working on a project in Lalibela.

We stopped at a roadside shop on the way home and picked up some water and chocolate biscuits/cookies. The biscuits were terrible.

The next day we went to The Lal for lunch. For some reason, the restaurants in Lalibela were all circular in shape. We had a table next to the wall and were able to look out onto the tarp covered pool table for most of the meal. The food here was also good. I really enjoyed the homemade bread with the soup. And, the place was filled with Ferengi, a few English speaking but many speaking German, Dutch or some other Germanic language.

That night, we went back to the Lal. This time, we were there at the same time as the American students. About 10 American students were there. They had come in all the blazing American glory and started shoving tables around. A few joined later and took chairs from wherever they wanted. I think they thought they were on stage doing a performance of “Damn Yankees” because they spoke loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear them. At one point, a boy said quite loudly, “Don’t you have butter? Where’s the butter? I need butter for my bread.” I thought, “Shut your pie-hole; you’re embarrassing my country. And, take your frickin’ baseball cap off at the dinner table.”

After that, I tried to speak Amharic as much as possible to the wait staff because I didn’t want to get lumped into the same category as those Americans. We finished quickly and moved to the outdoor café to have our coffees so I wouldn’t have to hear the Americans talk about “Ohmygod, do you know what she said to me? I was like, you know…” nothing. But, it was very loud talk about nothing.

I think it would be really interesting to read their reports or essays they wrote at the conclusion of the trip, because they certainly were not absorbing any culture when I saw them.

The Black Minority

We arrived at the Bahar Dar airport pretty early and waited for our flight to Lalibela. Slowly, the airport became crowded. There were enough people that the airplane flight from Lalibela to Bahar Dar was completely full. And yet, there were only 2 black passengers sitting in the airport…a whole airplane full of ferengi flying to Lalibela.

I never would have guessed that in a rural area of Ethiopia, I would be in the white majority.

Lalibela

We took a taxi/van from Lalibela airport to Lalibela town. The airport is about 25 km away. I think it was located there because it was difficult to find a flat area closer than 25 km to Lalibela. The whole area is very, very hilly. And, the hills are rock based. It is truly a beautiful drive from the airport to Lalibela.

There was a lovely new settlement being built outside of the city. The houses looked newer and all matched, kind of like the new housing developments in America. There was also a new school across the road from the settlement. And, there was a huge plunging drop off right behind the school.

There were also many students walking along the edge of the road as we cruised up and around the hills. Personally, I would’ve been too nervous to walk on the outside of the road, especially with some of the crazy drivers.

These drop-offs were everywhere. As a parent, I would be freaked out all the time about my kid tumbling down a hill onto some rocks below. However, I suppose the kids there grow up knowing about the dangerous of living on the side of a mountain.

In town, we stayed at the Helen Hotel. I highly don’t recommend it. It was sufficient, but uncomfortable. I think that’s where I got most of the bug bites.

Just outside the hotel fence, there were piles of rocks on the side of the road. People were employed to smash the rocks into smaller rocks all day long. There were also two people carrying the smashed rocks from the outside of the fence to the inside. They used two thin logs/thick sticks with a piece of square aluminum sheeting in the middle (kinda shaped like an H with the square metal piece as the cross part of the H). They loaded up the stones outside and dumped them inside…all day long.

The town did have an awesome brick paved road that was the main thoroughfare. As we were walking along the road one day, I saw a monkey tied to a house near the Tej Bar. It was screeching like crazy. I gave it kind of an odd look and was told, “{mumble, mumble, mumble} for eating.” I had seen goats, cows and chickens everywhere and assumed they were future dinners, but a monkey? Why not just get a goat? Well, apparently I misheard because he’d actually said the monkey was screeching because it was hungry and ready for eating (its own dinner). Oh. It was a pet monkey waiting to be fed. Well, that’s OK.

The Jordan River was dried up while we were there, but it runs through the town. There were many graves/sarcophaguses along the Jordan River. The graves ran the gamut from simple to ornate.

We stayed in Lalibela for 2 nights.  For me, one night would’ve been sufficient.

Lines and Porters at Bole

We arrived at the airport at about 7:25pm for a 10:30pm flight to DC.  The ticket agent said we should be there by 7:00pm.  So, when we pulled into the airport parking lot and I saw a line of people stretched half the length of the airport I freaked out.  There had to have been 200+ people in line.  My mind was racing with thoughts, mostly about how I shouldn’t have waited till 4pm to start packing and I shouldn’t have taken so many breaks in the middle of packing.   I was also convinced I would never make my flight if I had to wait for those 200+ people to pass by ONE security guard. 

Then I noticed NONE of the people in the line outside the airport had bags with them…not even carry-on bags.  We drove around a little bit more in the airport parking lot.  Finally, one of the porters told us the line was for visitors or family queueing up to say goodbye to their loved ones.  The passengers could go directly into the airport.

We parked in the parking lot on the passenger entrance side of the airport.  As a porter (easily identifiable by the jumpsuit) was loading my bags onto the cart, I did a check for tickets, passports and money.  Yes.  A check.  No, I did not do a first check or initial check at the house.  Nope.  I waited until we had driven 25 minutes to the airport and then I did THE check.  Do you think I should’ve been surprised then that I couldn’t find our airline tickets?  Well, I was surprised anyway.   Since I had gotten a new ergonomically-friendlybackpack from the Jansport factory outlet store near my house just a week before I went to Ethiopia, I was not too familiar with it.  It is the kind of backpack that has about 10 compartments with a yet-to-be-determined number of hidden inner compartments.  After I completely dumped out my backpack while barely resisting the parasympathetic nerve impulses pounding my detrusor muscle, I found the tickets in an inner compartment.  Phew.

But then I saw a man, not in a porter uniform, pushing my sleeping son away in the stroller.  I quickly jammed the stuff in the backpack and started yelling, “Tew. Tew!!” The man slowed enough so that the porter with my jumbo bags could catch up to him.  I repeatedly said, “It’s OK, I will push my child.  No.  Me. I push!”  He would have none of that.  When we arrived at the end of the parking lot, security stopped the man who had appropriated my son.  The man’s English then suddenly improved and he said several times while holding his hand forward, “OK.  I’m finished here.  I go no more.”  Clearly he was looking for a tip, but oddly I have a policy against tipping people who swipe my children.  So, I just replied, “OK.  Bye.  Ciao.”

I then had to pay the standard 10 birr fee for the porter usage.   I also had to show the security guards our tickets and passports.  At that point, Lekneh was not allowed to continue with us, so he headed towards the endless line of well-wishers waiting to be screened to be let into the airport (for a 2 birr fee).

There was just one person in front of me at the x-ray screening area for passengers.   However, the way the goalie bag (my oversized hockey bag) was being tossed around by the porter and the screeners, I was absolutely sure the clay surface of my injera cooker was being cracked into bits.  I was hassled over the metal tripod for my camera in my check-in bag.  Apparently, some of the screeners thought I was purposefully trying to make their jobs difficult by knowingly putting a piece of metal in my checked bag.

Junior woke up over the drama with the tripod.  After I walked through the metal detector, I called for him to “race to Mama.”  After 3 times, he learned that “race to Mama” means don’t touch the sides of the metal detector machine walls if you don’t want Mama to go crazy on you.  (Oh, and I also jammed his hands down the inside front of his pants so he couldn’t easily reach out and touch the sides on the third run-through.)  The repeated detector walk-throughs did give me the opportunity to practice 1, 2, 3 in Amharic.  The third time, even the detector monitor guy was saying, “Andt, hulet, sohst, NAH!”

Fortunately, the line and screening process was quick and I was finished in about 5 minutes.

The porter helped reload my bags.  Junior decided he only wanted to push the stroller. Errrrgh.  We headed for the Ethiopian Airlines line to DC.  I hadn’t tied up my hockey bag because I was sure I was going to get the special security search like I had on the previous trip.  And, carrying the threatening camera tripod had me absolutely convinced I was on a “watch list.”  The check-in went smoothly until the ticket agent said, “Your bag is oversized.  It will have to go down there.”  Then, as my heart dropped to my lower intestine, I watched as she raised her hand and pointed in the direction of the bonus security bag check screening area.  With a beaten aura about me, I said, “Do they have to look at both bags?”  Then she said the magical words, “No. No.  Just leave the big bag on the cart.  The porter will take it and put it on the end of the conveyor.”  Hallelujah.  No extra security check.   She was just telling me my bag wouldn’t fit on the skinny part of the conveyor by the check-in desk!!

I quickly whipped out my rope and started to tie the bag shut.  The porter “helped” me by moving the bag every way but the right way.  I gave up and let him tie it.  I also figured all of the really good stuff was in the suitcase.  And, if someone really needed to bust into my hockey bag to get an injera cooker and plastic Ethiopian shoes, then they probably needed it more than me anyway.

The whole check-in and line waiting period only took about 20 minutes.

I took our boarding passes and headed back towards the visitors section to look for Lekneh.  All of the visitors are trapped behind a cordoned off area.  The cordoned area was jammed full of loved ones.  I found Lekneh and eventually someone told me that I could go to his side of the rope, but he could not come to mine.  We migrated to the other side with a little trouble navigating through the very dense crowd.  Lekneh found a restaurant up the steps that was quieter than the food bars/stands on the main level.  We went up and had a dinner of spaghetti bolognese and cheeseburger/french fries.  There were some really nice pseudo airline seat booths right next to the edge of the mezzanine so I could look down at the people below. 

At 9:00pm, the monitor in the mezzanine restaurant (unsecured side) said “Proceed to Gate.”  I thought, “one and half hours early?”  But, at about 9:20p, we left taking a detour to the toilet for a diaper change.  We went back down the steps.  I didn’t know how to get secure again, so we went outside.  We said our goodbyes outside the airport. 

Then my son and I went through the initial security again.  Once again, there was only one man in front of me.  But, while he was talking to the metal detector guy, a woman bedazzled in gobs of jewelry cut in line.  She kept trying to go through detector with her chunky metallic necklaces, her metal belt, her metal watch, her gigantic metal earrings and her shoes with a metal buckle on them.  When she kept getting beeped, she rolled her eyes in my direction expecting me to give her some sympathy.  Nope.  None here.  Why are you surprised you get beeped when you are adorned in half of Fort Knox?  Eventually, I got through when they waved us ahead of Mrs. “You mean gold is metal?” Lady.

We headed towards the customs/immigration control area.  I filled out the cards for both of us.  YES, babies flying on Ethiopian passports need their cards filled out too.  Fortunately, this agent didn’t hit on me (like the one on the previous trip did) and we cruised through.  Most of my time was spent filling out the card.  I think it was about 10-15 minutes total here.  We went straight to the gate area. 

At the gate area, we had to pass through another screening.  We were graced with the commentary of the obnoxio-Americanos behind us in line for quite a bit of the wait.  This metal detector was more sensitive and I had to take off my belt and shoes to make it through this one.  People were already getting on the plane at that time.  Before we could board, I had to go to another desk and have the gate agents put a dot on my boarding pass.   They gave some extra dot stickers to my son to play with (top-notch security, eh?)

Then we boarded the airplane. 

Though I felt a bit rushed at the end, the rushed feeling was much preferable to the previous departure when we were dropped at the entrance to the airport and I spent 3 hours sitting in the gate area.   Sit in the restaurant (secure or unsecured side) and drink a macchiato or Fanta instead of going to the gate area.  And, don’t be tempted to buy the 6 dollar M&Ms from duty-free.  You’ll be in America in a few hours and can get a whole pound of M&Ms for $2.99.

National Museum - Axumite Artifacts

These bronze brands used on livestock are from the Axumite era. 

 

Makes the ole Double R brand look kinda lame in comparison.

This is an oil lamp depicting a dog chasing an ibex.  It is dated to the 1st Century BC and is from the Matara/Eritrea region. 

1st century BC!!!  Amazing the cultural history of our kids, eh?!

Real or an Ad?

How cute is this?  It almost makes me want to buy the clothes for myself (or at least my sons)!

 

Just a neighborhood boy stopping by to say Hi to us. 

Airplane Seat Assignments

Sometimes the seat you get on your flight to Ethiopia is just what is available and sometimes you have options. Here’s a summary of my 4 transatlantic flights (3 with child). All of my flights to/from Addis were on Ethiopian Airlines.

My first flight was as a solo passenger. I flew from London to Addis. I was in Economy in the middle seat of a 3 seat section. The plane was hot. To summarize, it sucked but it was only about 7 hours. The flight was packed full. I think I slept for about ½ hour total. How am I supposed to sleep when there are people on both sides of me and it is 80 degrees? Since I also didn’t sleep on the flight from Newark to London, nor during the 12 hour daytime layover in London, I felt (and looked) like crap when I landed in Addis. If I had to do this segment with a kid on my lap….that would’ve been very, very awful!

My second flight was with a 19-month old. It was from Addis to DC. I had a bulkhead window seat with bassinet in a 2 seat section. (And, since I had no idea what a bulkhead seat was when I started this whole process, I will tell you it is the row of seats directly behind the wall. There is no seat in front of you.)  I really liked having a window. And, though my baby was pretty big, the bassinet was nice to sit him in while I ate. I could also just let him sit in the bassinet and play with his toys (or plastic cups). It was a pretty good setup. Since I was pretty exhausted by that point, I did not have high standards. It was tricky navigating under the bassinet but over the seat divider to get out and go to the bathroom. Lucky for me, the bathroom was right in front of us. Also, being in the front, you get served food first. So, you can eat and go to the toilet before some people have even gotten their food. This flight was also packed full, but the temp was good. I probably slept 1.5 hours total.

My third flight was from DC to Addis. My son was almost 23-months this time. I went hardcore charming on the ticket agent in DC. The agent was Ethiopian and I whipped out all 8 of my Amharic words on him, plus I pulled out my secret weapon…Junior. I made him say Selam to the agent and as a bonus he was blowing kisses to everyone. We got the bulkhead row. And, since the airplane was quite empty, the ticket agent gave me a seat with an empty seat next to me in the bulkhead row…actually I had the whole 3-seat section of the bulkhead row for my son and me. AMESEGENALEHU!! The setup was very nice for spreading our crap out all over everything. He got his own seat which was great except for his obsession with continuously buckling and unbuckling his seatbelt. The bulkhead row has a lot of leg room, so he could also play on the floor by my feet. And, he had plenty of easy access for flirting with the flight attendants and anyone who used the toilet. It still was a little uncomfortable trying to sleep semi-upright, but it was better than the previous flights. I think I slept 2.5 hours. Wahoo!

My fourth flight was from Addis to DC. I had a reservation for a bulkhead seat with bassinet. I had gotten spoiled by the last flight and was not looking forward to sticking a 31 pound kid in a bassinet. I know his legs would’ve been very bent or dangling over the edge if I actually did lay him down in the bassinet. At the ticket counter, I asked the agent if we would be getting a bassinet. She said it was available. I told her if there was a seat open that I could have for my son, I would be willing to take that and leave the bassinet for families with smaller babies. The flight was pretty full but not packed. Fortunately, she said there was a seat setup like that available, but it was in the back. It wasn’t the very last row, so I said OK. We ended up in the second to last row in the middle 3-seat section. Since my son had a meltdown pre-takeoff when I tried to make him wear his seatbelt, the woman in the third seat sprinted away as soon as the Seatbelt Light turned off. I never saw her again. Oh, shame, because we now had 3 seats to ourselves. Now, these seats don’t have as much legroom as a bulkhead row, but the armrests on these seats flip up. When the lights dimmed and it was time to sleep, I threw my modesty out the window and laid flat down across the 3 seats, with my knees curled around my son in the outside seat. The people in the row behind us had gotten rid of all the extra pillows and blankets by dumping them in the empty seat in our row. So, I had 5 pillows (2 I graciously gave to my son) and 4 blankets to make myself a cocoon out of. After a couple of hours he started to fuss about my legs pushing on him, so I pulled him up and he fell asleep on my chest while I was still sprawled out across the 3 seats. This was the best sleep I had ever gotten on an airplane!! I think I slept 6 hours! Yee haw!!! Sure, the awake time in the airplane was not great because I had to continually admonish and redirect Junior because he was kicking and pushing on the seat in front of him, but what a difference an additional 4 hours of sleep makes on a Mommy-Attitude!

So, if I had a choice between a bulkhead row with bassinet and a cattleyard seat with an open one next to it, I’d pick the bulkhead. But, if I could have cattleyard with the whole row, definitely I’d pick the cattleyard. And, if I could have one Business Class seat versus any of these situations, I’d take the one Business Class seat every time!

Tis Abay

Tis Abay is the name of some Blue Nile River waterfalls located near Bahar Dar.  To get to Tis Abay, we contracted a ride with a man named Asmamo for 300 birr roundtrip.  When we were nearly there, we parked near an arced sign for the Tis Abay hydroelectric dam and about 25 tourist stalls.  Lekneh paid the entry fees, the guide fees and the video camera use fee (only 50 birr here). 

While we were waiting for Lekneh to return, Baby, Asmamo’s friend hopped in the van.  He was lucky enough to sit in the front seat next stuffed white cat with red heart sitting on the tan shag covered dashboard. 

Lekneh returned with Wollamew, our designated guide.  We then drove until we got to the drop off point.  We got out of the van and started walking.  We walked quite a ways through some pretty rocky terrain.   After we had gone part of the way to the falls, the guide said, “Don’t worry we are halfway.”  Shortly after that we came to the Portuguese Bridge, a gorgeous rock bridge built hundreds of years ago by the Portuguese who had come to the area to promote Christianity and help locals resist Muslim influences. 

While we were there, the water in the river was quite low.  However, the portals/windows in the side of the bridge were built to allow the flooding rivers to pass through/over the bridge.  The bridge connects the Gondar and Gojjam regions of Ethiopia.

Once we crossed the bridge we began our uphill climb that seemed to last forever.  Fortunately, our guide told me we were halfway there.  We kept climbing and navigating the precarious rocks.  The route is clear, but it is not really what most people would consider a path. 

About halfway to the falls, we decided to stop to catch my breath from the climbing, rehydrate and listen to the local boys play the homemade wooden flutes they wanted us to buy.   I asked Wollamew about the flutes.  I thought maybe they were used to call the cattle or goats.  Nope.  Are they used for cultural purposes?  Nope.  Do they keep the snakes away?  Maybe, but that’s not why they have them.  OK, I give, what’s the purpose of the flutes?  To make noise so the tourists look at them and then want to buy the flute or pay 1 birr to take a photo of them playing the flutes.

Oh?  Did you notice that we got to the “halfway” point 3 different times?  Me too.  Later, I learned that it should’ve been halfway through the going-down part, halfway through the easy part, and then halfway to the Falls.

When we arrived, we were gifted with the awesome beauty of three waterfalls designated as the small, medium and big falls.  They were not as impressive as Victoria Falls, but defintely better than anything I’ve seen in America.  The roar of the water was actually soothing.

To become a guide, Wollamew had to take a written test.  After being a high qualifier for that, he had to do a practical exam.  So, since he obviously knew a lot, I asked him a lot of questions.  Some of the things he told me:

• Tis means Smoke.  Abay is the local name for the river.  So, Tis Abay means “Smoke of the Nile” which is quite appropriate.  (Side note:  People named Abeyne or Abeynesh are named for this river.)
• The water in the Abay is brown, but it is called the Blue Nile.
• The Blue Nile was named by a Scotsman a long time ago; presumably the water was not so brown then.
• The Blue Nile, which starts in Lake Tana, contributes 60% of the volume of the Nile River.
• A lot of the water in the Blue Nile is diverted to the new hydroelectric dam.  The remaining water makes the falls.  Before the water was diverted via a canal for the dam, the crashing water splashes for the falls could reach all the way across the gorge.
• The new dam was built 4 years ago and is 73MW.
• The old dam, built in the 50s or 60s was only 11 MW.
• Although the new dam significantly decreased the majesty of the falls, the government went ahead with approving it.  Revenue generated from tourism related to the falls was $50,000 per year.  Revenue generated from the electricity from the new dam is $50,000 per day.
• There are plans to build much larger hydroelectric dams upstream.  The electricity generated from those plants will reduce the demand from Tis Abay II (the new dam) requiring the water to be only diverted at night time in Tis Abay.  This will leave the water flowing at greater force during the day to be more impressive to the tourists.
• The producers of the IMAX movie, “The Mystery of the Nile” paid $1,000,000 to stop diverting any water to the hydroelectric dam so the videography/scenery of the falls would be much more impressive.  (You can check imax.com to see if it is currently playing at the Imax theater near you.   Plug in your state and city in the blue box on the upper right.  I didn’t even get paid for that plug!)
• Only a 2 people have died there. 
  • One tourist was busy videorecording and didn’t realize how close to the edge she was.  She walked forward to get a better shot and fell down the gorge.  They never found her body.
  • The water from the big falls had been diverted. Five university students were walking across the rocks at the base of the falls in the bottom of the gorge that were now accessible with the additional water diversion.  While they were down there, an operator in Bahar Dar (about 32 km upstream) stopped the diversion and the water began flowing to the big falls again.  Four of the students were rescued with ropes, the fifth one died.
• Wollamew grew up in the town of Tis Abay.  His mother has never seen the Falls.  His father only saw the falls after Wollamew became a guide.

After a while of relaxing and watching the local livestock graze remarkably close and confidently to the edges, we hiked back.  It was much easier on the way back.

The whole hike was more difficult than it needed to be.  Before we left Bahar Dar to go to Tis Abay, I asked Lekneh if it was going to be a walking trip or a driving trip.  He said, “Driving.”  So, I put on my flip flop sandals.  Needless to say, when I saw how far and what kind of terrain we had to hike through, he got an earful from me.  Fortunately, I was able to use the phrase, “well, at least YOU didn’t have to walk from Gondar to Gojjam in flip flops…” to my advantage quite a bit after that.  And, Lekneh was smart enough to never point out to me that 90% of the local people make the same hike every day with their backs loaded with goods they carry to and from the market in their BAREFEET.

We returned to the van and headed back to Bahar Dar, dropping off Wollamew and Baby along the way. 

Child Stalker

One morning, we were all playing in the yard area when I heard a man walking down the street happily singing, “Belo, Belo, Belo, Beloooooooo, Belo, Belo, Belo, Beloooooooo.” Since Belo is my son’s nickname (Belo means “kick.”) and it’s the name he was called while we were in Ethiopia, I immediately perked up…as did my son. He thought it was the funniest thing that someone outside the gated yard was calling out for him. He ran to the gate and stood by it.

My first thought was, “What has he been doing that the neighbors are shouting out his name?” My second thought was, “Why can’t the guy just knock on the gate door like everyone else?”
My third thought was, “How does that guy know him?”
My fourth thought was, “Man! What kind of weirdo is he?”

The guy kept shouting, ““Belo, Belo, Belo, Beloooooooo, Belo, Belo, Belo, Beloooooooo.” He didn’t stop. It started to make me nervous, especially since I could hear him getting closer to our gate. What kind of man is that obsessed with a 2-year old?

Finally I asked, “Why is that guy looking for Belo?” Do you know what the response was? LAUGHTER! Unrestrained! It’s nice to know I can amuse others with my concern about their creepy neighbors stalking my baby.

Well, it turns out the man was shouting, “Kolo, kolo, kolo, kolooooooo!” Kolo is Amharic for “roasted barley.” Ooops. I just confused a food vendor trying to sell his products with a child predator.

Whenever the sorghum guy came by after that, we joined in the singing, “Belo, Belo, Belo, Beloooooo.” I can just imagine what was going through my son’s mind: “In Ethiopia, people walk around outside shouting my name joyously. In America, I hear my name shouted outside only when my mom yells at me for chasing the cat with a stick!!”

Hey Returned Parents!

How well did you pay attention when you were in Ethiopia?  Here are some cropped photos.  Can you identify what the items are?  Be specific.  Leave your guesses in the comments section. 

I’ll give you a week before I confirm or deny.

A.      B.      C. 

D.  E.  

F. G.

National Museum - Lucy

At the National Museum, Lucy was not what I expected.  I guess I have been to far too many Children’s Museums in the last several years .  I now expect all bones to be pinned together, filled in with resin and attached to an automatronic device emits dinosaur noises when I activate the hidden motion sensors.

First, some facts about Lucy.

She was named Lucy because the anthropologists who found her were listening to the Beatles’ song at the site.  However, Ethiopians call her Dinknesh which means “you are lovely”.

As a full grown adult, Dinknesh was the same size as a typical 6-year old. 

They were able to determine she was female because part of a pelvic bone was found.

Dinknesh is not a homo sapien, nor is she in the direct line with the development of homo sapiens. It was explained that the predecessors to humans split into to lineages.  One line continued developing into humans.  The other line, which Dinknesh is from, did not.  That line did not evolve into any modern day animals/humans.  It just stopped. 

Dinknesh is a Hominid which is somewhat like an ape, but not really.  She walked more upright than an ape, but her brain was not as developed as a human.

While I was in Ethiopia, some scientists had just released information about an older skeleton that had also been found in Ethiopia.  This one is named Selam and is a child.  It seems that skeleton is also much more complete than Dinknesh.

I was shocked by the exhibit itself.  The security seemed minimal.  The bones were near a sunny window with bright overhead lights.  It was kind off to the side of a room.  I am sure when/if Dinknesh does come to America (she is supposed to be here for 4 years), the displays in the US museums will be much bigger whoop-dee-doos.   I suppose the bones are probably just replicas of the original bones that are stored in some humidity/air controlled vault somewhere.

The text next to Dinknesh’s display says (copied exactly from the sign):

Lucy:- The beginning of Human mankind

This skeleton is the most complete human ancestor yet discovered any where in the world.  Found in Afar Depression in 1974 by Donald. C. Johanson, this adult female skeleton was nicknamed “LUCY” after the popular Beatles’s song “Lucy in the sky with diamonds “.  But the Ethiopians prefer to call her “DINKNESH”(WONDERFUL). The skeleton of Lucy is about 3.2 million years old; her brain was no larger than Chimpanzee’s.  But she walked on two legs a character placing her in the family tree of man .She was of a small stature standing 3.5 feet tall .Her scientific name is Australopithecus Afarensis.

Yes, I did take photos of a lot of the signs next to the displays because I knew I would not remember most of what I read or heard after I left.

Bahar Dar - Biking

In Bahar Dar, the best (and cheapest thing) we did was rent some bicycles and ride around town. The town is flat, well-designed and very bicycle friendly. It is not crazy full of traffic like Addis. Many people use bikes as their main means of transportation so the vehicle drivers are used to the bikers and accommodate them properly.

So, the morning before we left Bahar Dar, we started walking around town to find a place to rent a bike. The first place we stopped, I was a bit wary of. I said, no thanks and we kept walking and walking and walking. I thought it would be easy to find a place to rent a bike since I had seen collections of bikes with a renter guy next to them all over town the previous day. Well, it turns out, the majority of those “collections of bikes with a renter guy” were parking lots for employees or patrons of businesses. And the renter guy was just a guy who happened to be hanging out there.

Eventually, we found another place to rent the bikes from. Go ahead and call me a snob, but I had a few basics I insisted the bike have.
1. Brakes
2. Pedals
3. Seat
4. Wheels
5. Handlebars

I should have been a little more specific on my expectations. I test-rode every bike they had that was small enough for me. In the end, I chose the BEST bike. It had:
1. Half of a front brake (no back brakes).
2. Two pedals with only one of them missing a chunk.
3. A seat that just happened to be rusted tight into the perfect height for me.
4. Two wheels. They were warped but mostly inflated.
5. Handlebars with the film of a slightly greasy substance on one side.
6. As a bonus, it also had a decorative gear shifter. Yup, decorative…not, functional.

It took a little bit for me to get into the groove of how to ride a wobbly bicycle while dodging pedestrians, buses and goats. But, I did get the hang of it. We rode a lot and I saw a lot of the town. It was an excellent way to see the sights up close and personal.

Plus, there was the added entertainment factor. I was able to amuse myself by wagering (also with myself) on which group of people would look up, gasp and give me the “Holy Crap! A Ferengi is riding a wobbly, brakeless bike. What happened to her Range Rover?” expression. Some of the people waved. I tried to wave back, but I could only give them a nod and raise 2 fingers as an acknowledgement. (The bike was too wobbly that I was scared to go one-handed most of the time.) Some people yelled. One time I asked Lekneh to translate. He saidthe person said, “You are doing a good job riding the bike.” Based on the guy’s tone and facial expression when he shouted, I am pretty confident that Lekneh may have “accidentally” mistranslated.

When we got further out of town, we decided to race. We were bookin’ along pretty quickly. At one point, I thought, “if I go fast enough, the wobble will disappear.” Then, I thought, “My 6-year old will torture me until I die if I crash this bike.” Why? I was not wearing a helmet. (He knows that if I catch HIM riding a bike with no helmet, his bike goes in the trash.) Plus, I had just seen an ambulance speed past us 10 minutes previously. I was a little concerned the town may have only had one ambulance and it was currently unavailable to stop by and scrape by brain bits off the pavement. So, I slowed down…and got called a chicken by Lekneh.

Then I noticed we were almost of the town limits, heading towards the airport. I was absolutely certain that since we were so far away from where we started, it was probably the best time for an axle or chain to break. I really didn’t want to spend the next 2 hours pushing the bike back to the rental place. So we turned around. We passed by an undeveloped almost park-like area surrounded by huge walls. I turned in and saw the sign stating that it was a government facility. I was a little worried that I would be in trouble for breaching security. Lekneh talked to the security guard and he said it was fine. So we rode in, over some pseudo-dirt paths (Thank Goodness it was a mountain bike!), and down onto a beautifully bricked path next to Lake Tana.

It was breathtaking. I thought this would’ve been a great way to get tourist money. Send them on a bike ride in this beautiful area. Then I thought, if this area were all filled up with tourist, it wouldn’t be so great. We rode to the end of the bricked walkway and then turned around and rode along the walkway in the direction of our hotel. The path was wide, probably 8 feet, but some of the pavers had 1.5 to 2 inch gaps between them. It was a bit precarious, at times, because I was concerned that my wheel was going to get pinned in the ruts between some of the pavers. My hands started to tense up because I was steering the handlebars so hard.

Then I saw it. A portion of the path had a short brick wall, about 18 inches wide, on the Lake Tana side. The wall was built right up around a huge tree with huge limbs hanging out over the water. It was gorgeous. We sat on the low wall, leaned back against the tree, closed our eyes, and listened to the sounds of the lake. I could feel the muscle tension disappear. I could feel my stress diminish to nothing. I could feel peace fill me. Until…

The audience arrived. Some men were walking and just happened to stop about 15 meters from us. This is a stinkin’ 3 km pathway and you couldn’t use the other 2.5 km to take a break. Of course, they couldn’t just stop. They had to stop and watch us, although they pretended they weren’t watching us. It is hard to relax when you can physically feel yourself being scrutinized. Fortunately, I had been Zenned enough that I didn’t get upset. I just sat up and spilled all of the coins out of my pocket in the process. I was pointing out where I wanted my retirement home built (on the other side of the lake). A couple boys of boys sat right next to us, which was actually preferable to me than being spied on from 15 meters away. They started looking out onto the lake, probably trying to figure out why I was pointing to land with nothing on it. They were nice boys, though. They didn’t even laugh or smile when I spoke to them in Amharic!

Because we had a plane to catch, we finished our ride and returned the bikes. Renting 2 bikes only cost us 7 birr! And, more importantly, I was amazingly happy and energized.

Jackie Chan or Ah-nold?

Kids generally loved having their pictures taken.  They especially loved being able to see the images played back on the digital camera screen (bring extra batteries!).  This boy, aka The Kung Fu Kid, was a charmer.  As I was taking photos of some scenery, he said in English, “Me.  Photo.  Me.  Photo.”  With a winning smile like he has, it was impossible to say no.

So, I said OK and pointed to where he should stand.  I lined him up in the viewfinder, pressed the button to start focussing and WHAT THE…?

I saw a blur of black hair and the image above is all that was left in my viewfinder.  The Kung Fu Kid had dropped, make that PLUMMETED, downward into the splits.  A huge surge of sympathy pain shot through my groin as I looked at him. 

Apparently, it was unwarranted sympathy pain since he was grinning as big as he could!  He was very pleased with the snapshot when I showed him.  He let me get back to the scenery photos and then he wanted another picture of him.  So, I said OK.  (You knew I couldn’t say NO to him.)

As I was moving around to minimize the impact from the sun, the kid RIPPED OFF HIS SHIRT and struck a pose.  No, Madonna, you’ve got nuthin’ on the Kung Fu Kid.  I took the photo and he kept busting out new poses. 

   

I couldn’t decide if he was trying to be a Jackie Chan or an Arnold Schwarzenegger.  I think he could’ve gone on indefinitely with the poses, but his big brother showed up!  And, before I could blink, Kung Fu Kid Senior dramatically ripped of his shirt and struck a pose!

You know, I have a camera in America too!  Why don’t American men rip off their shirts and show me their buff bodies??!  Ooops.  I guess some of them do.

Billboard - Side of Truck

It seemed like a command not a suggestion. 
I felt I had no choice but to comply!!