Sylvia's Journal

This was probably my most boring 4th of July. I missed being in Manchester, watching the parade and having the wonderful 4th of July plein air lunch at the Makowskis. Instead I spent the day in my hotel room, watching TV whenever the electricity was on, and when it was not, the clouds, the rain and the few people outside through my window. I played solitaire and read Dawkins’ irritated tirade about the God Delusion.

I emptied my mailbox down to the last 3 emails and since everyone is busy celebrating the 4th, no new emails came in. I packed my two suitcases and a small travel bag to take to Bahir Dar – the suitcases stay behind in the hotel – while I watched the Matrix, a movie I would never think of renting or watching in the US. Here I can simply mute it when it gets too exciting. I needed Axel or Tessa by my side to explain what was happening.

Dinner with Pierre-Marie in Don Vito’s was probably the most exciting event of the day. We know the menu by heart. It has not changed in years. We ordered the same thing: mushroom ravioli, salad, a glass of wine and a macchiato served by the same girls with orange blouses. They must be working at least 14 hour days since they also serve us for breakfast in the morning.

And now it is some ungodly hour on the 5th of July which is still the 4th in the US. It is pitchblack outside except for the nightclub decoration and cars coming and going. The musci is thumping along insanely loud downstairs, probably at its peak (it is 4 AM). We are off to the airport with all the other people heading to the graduation ceremonies in Bahir Dar. I hope we are early enough to secure our reserved seats.

The fourth of July started with loud-thumping music seven stories down from one of Addis’ premier nightclubs, conveniently located in our hotel’s basement. The action went on until the day started, around 5:30 AM. It’s America’s birthday but few people would know here.

Liz left on the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt last night. Pierre-Marie and I have the day off before heading out very early tomorrow to Bahir Dar. We have no connections at the US embassy and so we will pretend it is an ordinary Saturday.

Yesterday morning we reviewed the notes of the workshop that starts next Wednesday, demonstrated a few more sessions and hope for the best. The local team is ready to take on the work of developing (health) managers who lead in Ethiopia. We will watch them run workshop #1 and provide them with support and feedback. After that they are in charge. It is a just-in-time orientation that has worked well in Nepal, Swaziland, Ghana and Cambodia. We have active teams busy in all these places, all on their own with only occasional support, by email, from me.

In the evening we were taken out to a cultural restaurant, a uniquely Ethiopian phenomenon, omnipresent throughout the city. It was my third such experience and that is enough for now. You sit on low chairs around a small table, eat the sour-tasting injeera bread dotted with heaps of meat prepared in various ways. This included raw meat which Liz politely declined. Eating vegetables is not part of the experience. I am told that vegetables are for poor people who cannot afford (much) meat. I haven’t eaten this much meat in a long time and am craving fresh fruit and veggies.

Singers enliven the eating experience. The first singers were either male or female, clad in tiny pieces of leopard print and other cloth that would be entirely out of bounds in my future home of Afghanistan. Halfway through the evening the singing and dancing became ‘cultural’ which means tied to specific regions of the country. The government is encouraging the resurgence of tribal pride in ways that makes the younger generation, raised as Ethiopians, and often of mixed heritage, very uncomfortable. They have seen the consequences of tribal pride in neighboring countries and it scares them.

The female dancers are stunningly beautiful in their traditional outfits. The men appeared to be made of rubber. During one of the tribal dances my neighbor points out to me that these men would procure male genitalia as wedding presents to their brides. These were cut from hapless travelers who crossed their territory. I am glad that we have evolved a bit as a human species. There are still a lot of things wrong in the world, but I don’t think this type of cultural legacy is OK.

The cultural restaurant experienced is a bit tainted for me because of the expectations that visitors, especially foreigners get to embarrass themselves publicly by dancing opposite one of these rubber people. I dread the moment when the dancers start to scan the audience and begin to pull people to the stage to dance with them. I tried to make myself small and never look the dancers in the eyes. I went to the bathroom at a strategic moment and in doing so avoided this embarrassment. Liz and Pierre-Marie did not but I missed seeing them dance.

Back at the hotel the red carpet to the nightclub was out and the music had started. We said goodbye to Liz and withdrew into our rooms, trying to shield ourselves as best as we could from the loud thumping of the deep base tones coming from down below.