Sylvia's Journal

I am starting to get the lunch routine: large quantities of finely cut meat and chicken deposited on the rag-like injeera bread, eaten very quickly as if one’s life depended on it and then a visit to the espresso machine for a much more leisurely after lunch macchiato. Eating is more of a functional activity than a social activity. Some of the people who have visited the US commented on how long Americans spent in restaurants. Not here.

The restaurant where we ate Wednesday night’s meal is called the Friendship restaurant. It serves a house injeera dish, friendship firfir, chicken pieces, egg mixed in with pieces of injeera on top of injeera. Last night’s new dish was Ethio-Italian fusion: spaghetti with injeera, eating with one’s fingers. Kids would love it here!

I am beginning to learn the names of the various local dishes. At first they all looked alike. I can now detect the raw meat dishes that are served amidst the cooked meat at lunch during the workshop. Since we are holding the workshop in the dirty hotel, I am not touching those. This seems the prudent thing to do, even though I did like the ones I tried last week in Addis.

The Friendship restaurant is an example of Ethiopian entrepreneurship. The owner is a lecturer about entrepreneurship at Bahir Dar University and clearly knows his subject matter. He started with a small eating house which has now become one of the more popular dining establishments in town. When we got there it was full and when we left it was still full of people eating injeera or pizza or spaghetti. Even last night, with electricity missing, it was full with people eating entirely in the dark. We went elsewhere, preferring a meal we could actually see.

At lunchtime I joined a zonal governor and a regional health economist. They talk about leadership – what else – and then about Obama. They had both read his two books and cheered him on long before most Americans decided he was the right person. They brushed aside his African descent as of minor importance; instead they admired his stance towards change, his sincerity, his courage and moral character. You’d think he is their president, so proud are they. It is nice to hear that people here feel America has brought them good things, for a change, like Obama and Michael Jackson.

The group is beginning to thaw a bit. I notice a little more energy on our second day. The shy people (the two women and some of the men lower in the hierarchy) are starting to participate more. The facilitators are realizing that the quiet nature of people is not entirely an immutable fact of life and depends to some degree on their own behavior as facilitators. It’s a powerful lesson about change and taking things for granted – we are going straight against the grain of a long process of acculturation. I am pointing out things they can’t see because they are so used to them being the way they are. We are trying to instill a habit of questioning the status quo – it’s a little revolutionary. Some of the people get that and see the potential.

The facilitators have a tendency to drift back into what I call ‘priest behavior’ – passionate lectures with raised finger to emphasize their message, make a point. Everyone falls right into position of passive listener. It feels familiar and comfortable and we argue a bit about whether it is good or not. There is a tendency to patronize people: punish late comers (the facilitator is the one who punishes) and reward those who arrive on time with a prize. I remind them that this is a parent-child relationship with people who are otherwise adults and ask them if that is what they want. No, they don’t but had not realized that that is what they were doing. These are very deep-seated habits, created way back in grade school and never questioned since. The pervasive religiosity in this country, with its paternalistic language, supports this way of thinking and being – flocks, sheep and shepherd, father and son, obedience, good and evil.

After dinner we went to a tiny night club, its 25×25 feet floor space occupied by at least 50 people sitting (very) closely together on tiny stools drinking beer or Coca Cola and watching traditional music, song and dance. The artists performed in a space no larger than 3 feet by 2, with waiters and incoming and outgoing patrons squeezing by. Sometimes the audience had to duck to avoid the dance props (umbrella, sword and stick). The songs, I was told, used to be about politics but now they are about sex. All the foreigners were singled out for sung comments, producing much laughter. Pierre-Marie and I smiled as if we got the joke and pressed the expected 10 Bir bills in the singer’s hand.

Back at our dark hotel Hana and I tried to negotiate a late check-out but the desk clerk was unmovable about the 11:30 AM check out time (“I will have to charge you another night after that time”). After all the lousy service I managed to get myself worked up about his rigidity and unhelpfulness and angrily climbed the 3 flights of stairs in the pitch dark, fueling my anger even further. I vowed to write a scathing review on the virtual tourist and trip advisor sites, joining many other negative reviews. The concept of customer service is not in use here. I don’t think they realize they should try to avoid getting customers like me so upset.