New Years Day - Sept 11

I finally had a chance to visit an Orthodox Christian church on New Year's Day in Addis. I was moved by the stillness and the trance-like intensity of everyone present. (This post should replace all negative statements about angry bees I may have mentioned in an earlier post. . . although I have to say that from the outside the sound coming from the speakers is still really bad! But I digress, this is about the beauty of the prayer ceremony)



Selam and I didn't make the 6am start, but we did arrive near the end of the service. . . at 12 noon! We went to the largest, newest, shiniest, most humongous church in Addis. By the time we arrived many people had left, but those who remained were in either resting positions on the floor, kneeling or standing with palms raised to the sky. We ascended to the balcony so that I could take photos without feeling invasive. I was mezmerized by the massive scale and decadence of the church's interior. We waited for a while and another prayer service began. The priests, speaking in Gi'iz—the language of the church, led the audience through several prayers. The call and response rises and falls and sent chills down my back. 

Listen to this clip of one of the prayers:



 

All My Food

in no particular order. . .

Goats at the Gas Pump

Animals and their humans. . .yes, that's right. As my bus passed by, I wasn't fast enough on the draw, to photograph the pack of goats milling around the gas pumps at an empty gas station. No cars, just goats. In general it seems animals rule. On any road trip it's a given that half the mileage will be spent crisscrossing the road avoiding mildly herded packs of co-mingled donkeys, goats, cows, horses and the occasional camel. You may see a barely tail high boy traipsing along nearby, jumping out at the last second to appear to be in control of his animal nation. This is the ire of most drivers whose horns are honking more than they are silent. Brake repair is the business in which to invest. 

The roving animals, however, do not inspire the drivers to drive slower or more cautiously. Instead it becomes a live game of frogger. Not for the faint of heart, especially when it's a giant bus barreling down a curvy, misty mountain pass. This would explain the dozen or so horrifically smashed vehicles from accidents long since past. Most had become part of the landscape with plants growing out of the windshield and rusted bodies to match the red dirt. I wondered why no one came to claim or moved the vehicles. One passenger mini-van still sat dead center of the road, it's guts hanging out and personal items strewn across the road. Very sobering, thankfully even for the bus driver, who crossed his head and heart and slowed his roll. 

Road trip!

Lost in Translation

During the days of the week I walk around Addis, people watch, sit at cafes sipping tea, (coffee when there is electricity) visit bookstores, venture onto minibus taxi rides, endure the ultimate patience test for 80s era internet speed at internet cafes and wherever else the wind blows me. Since I pass as Ethiopian, I mostly just blend in. . .until. . .

Usually goes something like this. . .

I enter one of the many glazed glass office looking buildings that are malls. Before entering I encounter either an airport style security scanner, the walk through kind and the bed scanner or a pair of guards wielding a magic wand. First we establish that I cannot speak Amharic. This after something is asked of me while I’m being felt up, head to toe and purse searched. (I’ve have enough x-rays in me enough for six lifetimes. hmmmm. . .I wonder if the side effects of this is considered or studied. . .not to mention the psychological effect.)

All I can understand is camera. In English I say “I don’t speak Amharic” If I say it in Amharic, then I’ll get a response in Amharic and we are back to square one. Consistently, I get this look. Now normally I am quite happy to blend in and not be stared at like many other places I’ve traveled. But this look. . .it’s a look mixed of what do you mean you don’t speak Amharic and What a shame that you have gone away and lost your culture. I’m always waived through with a look of pity and some murmurs as I walk away. In these situations I don’t bother explaining that I’m not Ethiopian. Although one woman told me I shouldn’t say I don’t speak Amharic, say I’m not Ethiopian.

I save that for the people I have conversations with, which goes something like this. . .

something, something, something (in Amharic)
Oh, I'm sorry, I don't speak Amharic.
eh? Oh you look Habesha. So is your father Ethiopian?
nope

Grandfather?
nope
Your mother?

nope
Are you Jamaican?
nope

Cuban?
nope. American.

American? But you are from here?

nope. American for many generations.

(still don't know how I can be Jamaican or Cuban but not American when it's the same story as the U.S.)

Also lost in translation. . .
 
Sudden in-take of air

What? Did I say something shocking, something wrong? I ask again.

Sudden in-take of air. . . with an ever so slight up knod of the head or lift of the eyebrow with the mouth just barely parted.

Oh now I get it. That sound I know as shock or surprise is an affirmation, yes, or yes continue. Very confusing at first.

Ish, ish, ish. . .also yes, continue

Hand shake, shoulder tap

Triple kiss, left right left cheek, no! right left right cheek.

All greetings which one do I do when?!!

Descent into a crater

This weekend Selam and I went hiking. We survived a death ride to a lake in a crater. It's an amazing place and the first time Selam had been.  We were in Wenchi, a remote village just a short drive from Addis. We climbed down a no path, path on a brilliant green carpet mountain to the lake. A "search party" came after us. By the time we came back up we had collected a pack of youngsters on horses waiting for the moment we'd give up and beg for a ride. But we perservered in the high altitude and vertical climb on dewy grass with all the wrong shoes. Truly an amazing place. It's winter here and quite a shock to my system after the Middle East! But oh so beautiful.




Oh, when we stopped at the tourist center to collect our guide, one little boy came to the car to ask for a pen. We couldn't find any so we gave him a piece of candy. He summoned alllllllll his friends and they rushed the car, and then followed us to the start of the path.

Narcissus the bird

It took me a minute to realize what was happening. I sit lounging in one of the many living rooms, reading "The Witch of Portabello." There is a persistent tapping on the window. A bird is attacking its reflection! The windows have a mirror glaze. But you have to understand this bird is going to kill itself, he's pecking so hard. He hops away and flutters his wings angrily and then dives back in for another round of pounding. He keeps this up for 15 minutes at a time and has come back on multiple days. He's a cute little bird. Maybe he's been listening to the screeching at the church too. . .

Angry Bees

I woke up at 3am. I was having angry dreams about people stealing from my massive pile of french fries. but that's not important. What woke me up is what was making me have angry dreams. And how do I describe this without sounding like a hater. I'll start by saying that I've been told that if I go to an Ethiopian Orthodox Christian church I will be amazed by the beauty of the ceremony and the singing. I'm looking forward to that experience. In the meantime. . . I am being tortured nightly by the nail-on-chalkboard screeching of the really bad speakers that broadcast the prayers from the church across the way. Last night I woke up at 3am to this ongoing sound.

Imagine an auctioneer on a really bad microphone combined with a massive swarm of angry bees buzzing a centimeter from your ears. This went on and on and on. It was especially bad last night because it was the end of the fast. Which coincidentally is also the start of Ramadan. And on that note, I am used to this, coming from the Middle East, where the call to prayer is broadcast from mosques. But never at an ungodly hour like 3am and its melodious and lasts 2 minutes tops.

Ok, now that I've vented, I'm going go to eat some french fries. I'll revisit this with a new attitude after my visit to a church. By then I'll have a beautiful image to replace the auctioneer and angry bees.

Making Injera

It may look easy, but it really isn’t. I’ve made my share of pancakes, but spreading the injera batter in a large circle, over a very hot clay plate, evenly and quickly is harder than you might think. Sadly mine ended up in the reject pile. Not perfect enough. Fit for firfir, maybe? (In case you didn’t know, injera aka breadforkplatenapkin, is the staple food that is eaten with everything.)

The reject pile. . .

Stairway to Heaven

Addis is the same time zone, so I'm up and about by 11am. I meet Selam at her new office and we walk to lunch for Habesha food! What a way to start my trip. I arrived during the fast, during which no meat or dairy is eaten.

But wait, let me back up and tell you about my accent to heaven also known as the Minaye's house. Thank god I just came from hilly Amman where there are stairs in the side of every hill. So I was well prepared for the climb to "my suite" on the 5th, 7th floor? I lost count. . .wow.

Ethiopia Day 1

I almost missed my flight! I had the wrong day. That's what happens when you lose track of day and time. It was only because I was telling Susu how I reminded Selam that Tuesday at 3am is really like Monday night so don't forget me! Thankfully I realized this at 10am and my flight was for 10pm. So I left Jordan in a whirlwind and then suddenly. . .I'm in Ethiopia.

But that four hour transition from Amman to Addis Ababa is one to be remembered.

I arrived at the airport after an Arabic lesson and date proposal from my taxi driver. I escaped hastily and went inside. At this airport you go through security before going to your airline to check in. I arrive at the check in counters and can't find BMI on any of the signs. So I ask three different people and finally I'm told that I'm four hours early. I say "no way! my flight leaves in an hour. Where is the counter for BMI?" Oh well they don't have a counter yet. Just go sit over there and someone will come for you.

This is truly a first. So I sit and decide to use the airport wireless to upload some pics. Then a BMI agent comes over and asks me if I'm flying to Addis. I say yes, and he says come with me. We go to the check in counter and the "interrogation" begins. Why are you going to Ethiopia? Are you Ethiopian? How long are you staying? When did you arrive in Jordan? Obviously I looked confused and or annoyed and he smiled and said with his British accent, "This is for security purposes." I said, mhmmm and asked if I'm the only passenger. He said yes. Now I'm suspicious! I asked, am I the only person on the plane?! Is it a regular commercial jet? No you are not the only passenger. There are 30 or so other passengers coming from London. Hmmmmm. Very strange.

Next I go through immigration. They look at me, look at my passport, look at me. Are you Ethiopian? no. Is your father Ethiopian? no. Is your grandfather Ethiopian? no. Why are you going to Ethiopia? I'm thinking to myself why are there flights to Ethiopia from Amman if it seems so unusual? How long were you in Jordan? one month. Luckily I was at exactly one month after coming back from Syria. Otherwise I would have been over my 30 day visa and who knows what suspicion that would have caused. The officer smiles, stamps my passport and waves me through.

So I go to my gate and wait alone. There is no one around. The boarding time has come and gone. There are no signs to update me. Finally the same counter agent comes to walk me down the jetway to the plane. I say "well aren't you just everywhere" and he smiles and says, "yes I am."

The flight is short—four hours. I wake up and enter a new world. Its 3am and I stumble off the plane into the immigrations area. There are only a few agents waiting. Most hurry and sit up from their sleeping positions. No one is there to guide us, so I go to the Immigration desk and the officer is almost done processing me and asks for my visa. I say I want to buy one and she says oh, you have to go to that window.

So I go to the other window, wait in line and discover that they only take US dollars or Euro for the visa payment. I had planned to get US dollars, but because I had to rush to leave, I didn't have time and figured the Jordanian dinar is stronger, surely they'll take it. So they send me to the exchange counter. The old man behind the glass looks at my dinars, looks at me, clicks his tongue, waves me away and turns his back. I say "excuse me!" I need to exchange some money to pay for my visa. He says "I don't take that" I say well what shall I do? He says go to that window over there, they'll take it. I go and no one is there. I wait. No one. I go back to the visa window, and the woman says, "oh there is someone there. just bang on the window, they are asleep under their desks." I go back, bang on the window, yell through the hole. No answer.

By now, there is another family in the same situation as me, they have British pounds. I go back to the visa window, the agent says, did you bang hard? I said no one is there. She says, yes there is. There is a jacket on the chair. Oh my god! it's now 3:30 am. My friend is waiting in arrival. I feel like I'm running in circles. I go and ask the visa agents what can I do? They said is there someone here to meet you? Get some money from them. I said my friend is Ethiopian, she won't have US dollars or Euros. They said take her Ethiopian birr to the exchange and get US dollars, then come back. So let me get this straight, you'll let me walk out through immigrations and customs without visa to ask for money to pay for my visa because someone is sleeping under their desk? Yes ma'am, you have five minutes.

So I do just that. Meet my friend's mother get Ethiopian birr from her (nothing like asking for money from someone you've just met, but its now 4am and I just want to leave) and return to the exchange window. Sorry, we don't take birr. WHAT?!!!! you don't take your own money? Are you serious? I go back to the visa window, tell them what's happening, give them the poor sad tired eyes and ask them what I can do. Three agents huddle together, speaking in Amharic and come up with a solution. One agent rights out a "receipt" and says take this, leave your passport here and when you get US dollars or Euros, come back to the airport for your visa. I said "what? are you serious!" I can't leave without my passport. The agent assured me it was fine, the passport would be safe and secure and this was the only solution since someone was sleeping under their desk. I pause and consider the time and that my friend's mom is waiting. I take the receipt and slowly leave. As I get to baggage claim I seem a British woman from my flight. Yes! I ask her if she has US dollars or Euro that I can for exchange my borrowed birr. She agrees but insists on giving me the $20USD, yes, all of this for $20 at 4am.

I take the $20, walk back through customs and immigration, the wrong way! Where's the security? And retrieve my passport. Cheers all around. The agents asked where I found it. I told them about the random act of kindness. They said, "ooooooooh! she must be very rich."

Note for future travellers: always keep US dollars on hand.

Yeah! I made it. Just like that, I'm on another continent. New language, new money, new people, new way of life. The second adventure begins!

These are a Few of My Favorite Things

I love the desert! I think I'm borderline obsessed with it. The stillness and endlessness magnifies how small we are as human beings. The sublime sunrise and sunset when all is perfectly quiet. I have the utmost respect for people, plants and animals who navigate the extreme conditions. The only way to survive is to be in tune with every sign and signal from the sun, to the wind to the stars. One of my ultimate dreams is to make a trek with the esoteric Tuareg (nomadic people of North African) through the Sahara desert. 

In the meantime, I took an overnight trip to a Bedouin camp in the Jordan desert. Not nearly as grueling and adventurous, but amazingly beautiful still. Wadi Rum is in southwest Jordan and about a two hour drive from Petra. I went with fellow instructors Mark and Susu and we began our day hiking through Petra. After climbing and descending 1000 "stairs" to the top of Petra we were whisked away by our driver to catch the sunset at our campsite. We met our camp guy at the entrance to the area and he drove us winding and spinning through the sand to our campsite. . .for tourists. We arrived just as the sun was disappearing over the rocky cliffs to a camp full of French tourists. I have to say I was disappointed as I imagined this experience of me against nature! So I dragged my bedding away from the rows of tents and slept under the stars. So beautiful. So beautiful. I tried to stay awake all night, but the hike in sweltering heat and direct sun soon caught up and rocked me to sleep. The next morning I awoke before sunrise and before the camp was awake. The red sand and cliffs changed colors as the sun rose higher and higher. It was so quiet and still, I felt like the only person on earth.

I love the dessert! Other favorite deserts: The lencois dunes in Maranhao, Brazil; The Dogon villages in Mali.

A Song for Baghdad

 














In Amman, we held class at the sports club at the Wehdat refugee camp. Our photography students were only a small portion of all the kids and adults attending the center. Everyday we were mobbed by screams, sad eyed, angle headed pleading and leaps for your cameras. I fell for the act the first day, but quickly learned that little people should not be allowed to play with very expensive cameras. But because we had fallen for the act the first day, everyday was a repeat of the begging and mobbing. Regardless, they were very cute inspite of their persistence. On this particular day a group of Iraqi students decided to sing a song about Baghdad for Susu. Notice the performer in the middle! 

And because they knew that we were recording them, they insisted on seeing the video.

 

Giggles, giggles, all around.

Crossing Borders, Again. . .

Susu and I have spent two days in the labrynthian old Damascus and we are moving on to Beirut. It’s a only three hour ride from the capital city in Syria to Lebanon. I’m excited and anxious to see Beirut. I’ve heard so much about it being the Paris of the Middle East which is an image that is exactly the opposite of my mental image of Beirut, provided courtesy of the war-machine media. I first heard about Beirut in 1985 during the hi-jacking of TWA 847. At such a young age, all references to Beirut were drawn in my memory as a city far away, were people were stuck on a plane. Really, what I remember is an image of a runway with a plane and some people on the ground. This is such a vivid image and I see it in black and white. So I wonder if it was  a newspaper article or just my imagination. Whatever the case, I never envisioned Beirut as a whole city full of life, and color and people and love. Though Beirut has seen years and years of civil war and political instability, it is a city that continues to thrive and negates all stereotypes of what is the Middle East.

We plan to spend 10 days in Lebanon, but have no real “plan” for exactly how we are going to get there and only a vague plan for where we will stay. The night before we leave I go to an internet café and print out the Lonely Planet guide for Beirut. Our friend’s sister who has been our host and guide in Damascus calls a taxi friend that she has used to make the trip. He is not available and sends a friend. We are to meet him near the old Roman columns in a white car at 7am. How about that? When was the last time you crossed a border with a random taxi that you find waiting for you on the side of the road at dawn.

Up to this point we’ve had battles with all our taxi drivers who feel the need to provide us with information that is not exactly true. I’m not saying they were lying, just re-forming what is necessary information to benefit themselves. Yeah, right. So we find out that we are sharing a taxi and drive to another part of town to pick up a student who is attending a university in Beirut. The charge for the shared taxi depends on, get this, where you sit and how many people are in the car. If you ride shotgun, it costs more! So we take the back seats, which are a safer distance from the inevitable come-ons of the driver. All cars are supposed to have AC which is why you take one instead of a bus. Oh and all the taxi cars are very modern four door sedans, Toyotas or Hyundais, so there is no issue with them being unreliable. We’ve negotiated the price of $30 each and are off on our journey.

The drive is beautiful and I strain to stay awake. We are still jetlagged as we’ve been through four countries in the last five days. But I’m determined to stay awake. We quickly reach the border and first go through exiting in Syria. Then we drive on a ways and have to go through immigrations/entering for Lebanon. (Watch the Syrian Bride and you’ll get an idea of how wide the border crossings are.) Because Susu and I have American passports we have to get out each time and go inside to pay for our visas and have our passports stamped. It’s all a bit murky as to what we are supposed to do. So the taxi driver hastily rushes us through pointing us towards the counters we need to visit. Driving in a Syrian taxi he can cross the borders, but must also show his papers and that he can legally take us.

Lines? What lines? Pushing and shoving and yelling is the only way to get through immigrations.

When we go through Lebanese immigrations, it is calm in comparison to the entry into Syria. When we go to buy our visa, they tell us we need to exchange our US dollars for Lebanese money. Thankfully Susu was on top of the exchange rate and acutely alert, while I was foggy and disoriented. We asked where we could exchange our money and the immigrations officer turned and pointed out the door to. . .a man. . .standing. . .behind a hole in the border fence!!! That’s right! I couldn’t believe it. I was in the parking lot halfway between the car and the fence trying to keep an eye on our luggage, but also staying with Susu to make sure we weren’t getting ripped off. For whatever reason, the taxi drivers ALWAYS feel obliged to insert themselves in all transactions, which leaves us feeling suspicious. As if exchanging money through a hole in the fence isn’t already suspect enough. As expected, mr. money changer decides to test our math skills and does some fancy calculations that leave us scratching our heads and wondering if he thinks we are really that dumb. Battle number nine ensues and Susu emerges victorious.

We get back into our taxi, our other hijabi passenger, plugged into her ipod, waits expressionless. . . and we are off. Just like that, we are now in Lebanon. The landscape becomes greener and more lush with each turn in the winding road. We are approaching the coast and the dry dessert air first becomes cooler as we go up over the mountains and then becomes thick and humid as we descend into the sprawling outer limits of Beirut.

We have a contact in Beirut, a friend of a friend who is supposed to meet us and take us to our room at a dormitory at the Arab University. The taxi driver drops of the other passenger and we continue on through one-mile-an-hour bumper to bumper traffic to the other side of the city. We aren’t sure where we are going and the taxi driver calls our friend for directions. We are sitting at an impasse where officers are trying to direct the laneless traffic. Our Beirut contact finds out our location and says he’ll come meet us. And not a moment too soon! He drives up, just as the traffic officers pull our taxi driver off the road and out of the car. We find out he’s not licensed to drive this far into the city! As a Syrian driver, he’s supposed to drop us off at the border and we take a local taxi into the city. We felt bad leaving him in the situation, but what can you do? So we hopped out and got into the other car and were whisked off to the dormitory. . .which had no vacancy and no record of our “reservation.”
This is gonna be good.

Welcome to Beirut!!!

note to self: Forget Everything You Know


>>view of Jebel Amman, from my apt window in Jordan

My latest travel adventures have begun. I am traveling with friend and fellow artist, Susu, around the Middle East—Dubai, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon and Ethiopia until late September. I like to believe that when I travel to new places, I have no expectations. At least I've decided not to believe the media images that we are fed in the U.S.

But what image do I have to replace that "non-image?" I'm surprised every time.

Looks like once again taxis will be starring prominently in my stories.

I'm now in Amman, Jordan and week one of Project Souarna is complete. I'll be working backwards and forward filling in the daily details to catch up on posts. So much to share already at the end of week three.

Stay tuned!
ab

(this was my first post on July 25, but I'm gonna do some time travel and post things according to the date they happened. can you follow me?)