Oxen Plowing
Michelle and I meet two friends of hers, Faskia and Mesele. They are brother and sister (their father was a polygamist so they have different mothers) and have started a farmer's cooperative as part of a non-government organization they've formed. Fasika is a teacher and she's taken the day off to go to the rural farm with us. We meet at 7:30am and take a matatu to a taxi stand. In Ethiopia, they call their van taxis "Line taxis." In Kenya, we call them matatus. Michelle is craving coffee so we stop at a small cafe-type place. But I'm not hungry or thirsty. The infection creates sinus drainage that makes me nauseous, killing my appetite. I've felt so badly for so long, even while consistently taking Panadol to relieve the pain, that I'm beginning to get used to walking around like a zombie. No energy.
From the cafe, we take a regular taxi to the main line taxi stand. We wait for the bus to fill before we head out of Addis, toward Nazareth. Fasika and Mesele grew up in a village built by a sugar cane company. The company operates the mill and provides housing for its employees. The village also has stores, everything the families of the employees might need. It takes about two hours to reach Nazareth. We get on a large bus crammed with lots of people. Religious beads and artifical flowers create a shrine around the bus driver. A large painting of mother Mary looks at us from the front. Their village is 20 kms outside Nazareth.
The road is barely a path in some areas and the bus bounces and jolts us. We drive alongside a lovely, curving river until we get to a checkpoint. We are officially entering the sugar cane village and everyone must get off the bus and be searched. For what? No one is sure. As we move away from the bus, trying to avoid falling into the river where people are pushing and shoving, I feel a hand move from my upper back, down over my butt and onto my thighs. Very strange. Turning, I see a female guard and understand this to be the search. Back on the bus, we enter the village built by corporate funds in rural, poor Ethiopia. We pull in front of a few wood and tin stores, stopping in the dirt parking lot.
There are very few white people in Ethiopia. In the rural areas, there are fewer still. As we stand in the dirt parking lot waiting for a line taxi to take us to the farmers' plots, all the people in the village stare. Especially the children. Some come up and touch us on the arm and run away giggling. Others touch my hair. Sometimes I tire of being a sideshow. But being sick, I have no energy to react, positively or negatively, and just stand, moving as little as possible, as adults and children near and far notice me and Michelle.
We climb into a line taxi and head into the bush over rough roads. After driving for about three miles, we pass a line taxi and stop next to it. Mesele has a conversation with the driver and suddenly we're leaving our taxi and climbing into this new one. They disgorge their passengers and make them take the taxi we were in. It seems this new taxi is driven by a of friend Mesele's and they had arranged for the friend to take us to the farmers' plots. They still charge us for the ride, but supposedly less. In addition, the driver waits for us at the site, as we walk the fields and meet the farmers.
Granted, Fasika and Mesela are like many Africans who start their own NGOs to help their fellow countrymen and women. They think white people have money and means. Michelle has been working with the pair, helping them write proposals for funding. Now that I'm in town, she wants to expand their network by plugging me into it. That's fine, but I'm not at all sure how I can help them. This is common, though, because we simply cannot know how we can assist until we learn more about what they do. I think of Pambazuko's work in Nyalenda, the slums of Kisumu. Can I support more than one organization? I also recall how I've become disappointed in Walter's behavior recently. Will I continue to support Pambazuko? How? What can I do for any of these people and what's the most effective way to contribute?
By the time the taxi stops, we are deep into Ethiopia's rural land. Mesele explains how the farmers' cooperative works. There are 20 families who have joined together, under Mesele's guidance, to help each other farm their plots. It is difficult for a single farmer and his family to own all the tools and knowledge necessary to cultivate crops. If the farmers pool their resources, they are able to cultivate their land and share techniques to increase crop yield. Alone, it's very difficult. Together, they can accomplish much. These farmers have rented plows and other equipment. They take turns using the equipment and share oxen in pulling the plows. They're also able to buy seed and fertilizer at reduced costs because they're buying in bulk. They help each other in tilling or weeding or harvesting if there is illness.
As we walk the freshly plowed fields, we meet the young men of seven farming families. While we're there, three young men relieve each other from leading the oxen as they pull a large, metal plow. Mesele shows us a large, circular hole that's been dug nearby. The hole will capture rain water, which will then be used during times of drought to water the crops and the animals. They're growing teff, a thin, grass-like plant that's used to make Injera.
The sun is intense while we walk the land. Soon we leave the farmers and take the line taxi to Fasika's house. Fasika and Mesele's father is an employee of the sugar factory and they grew up in this house. Waiting for us are 25 orphans and their guardians. These children have been selected by Fasika and Mesele to receive assistance in the form of food, school fees, school uniforms, shoes and medical care. These children, just like millions of others in African countries, lost their parents to AIDS. Many of these children are probably HIV positive themselves.
As we enter the gate, the small yard is full of children and the women who have accompanied them here. Not knowing when we would arrive, they've been waiting for us for five hours. Michelle has brought bubble gum, lollipops and balloons, but before we take photos and pass out the goodies, I suggest each child tell us his or her name. It's an opportunity for us all to meet on a personal level since the language barrier and the size of the crowd makes it difficult for us to interact. Each child steps forward or stands up and says his or her name. Some of them speak English. Most of them are confident. A few are shy but speak up so the whole crowd can hear. Their Amharic names are translated into English for us; Joy, Peace, Hope, Strong, Justice. They smile and we smile. Mesele speaks and they hang on his every word. I'm moved by their respect for him and Fasika.
Once the speeches are over, we realize we should head back to Addis, so we can arrive before night falls. Fasika pulls a Pomegranate from a tree in the back yard and offers sections to me and Michelle. Not quite ripe, it's slightly bitter. I give Fasika $5 USD. Ethiopia will be celebrating their New Year in a couple of days and she wants to cook a big meal for the children. I don't have a lot of money and regret it's in dollars and not birr, but the $5 should buy two chickens for the meal. I know Fasika was hoping for about $25, enough to buy a goat for slaughtering, but I don't have that much on me and didn't really plan to give anything today.
The last few days, all over Ethiopia, we've seen men watching over groups of nearly 100 goats. Many goats are marked with green or red on their forehead. Or their horns are wrapped in color-coded scarves. Ethiopian New Year is a huge celebration. Everyone gathers with their families for traditional meals, which they begin preparing the day before New Year's. Some men, we notice, have already started celebrating by drinking the local brew. There were a few on the line taxi that brought us into the sugar cane village.
In addition to the men who were drunk, there were also men and women in the taxi carrying produce and livestock for the local market. One man sitting next to me, facing me, had a chicken with it's legs tied together. He had to keep the chicken facing him so it's head wouldn't protrude into my face. The chicken was protesting somewhat and he and I grinned at each other. He was a very lean old man with a thin jacket and he exited the taxi with others carrying potatoes, grains and handmade goods to market.
We left the small house in the sugar cane village and returned to Addis via bus and line taxi and regular taxi. We had left at 7:30 in the morning and arrived at Michelle's house at 8:00pm. It is a long journey and I can't believe Mesele and Fasika travel the long route regularly while running their NGO.
When we're settling in for the evening, I tell Michelle I'm going to the doctor again the next day. Popping pain relievers before sleeping, my spirits are buoyed somewhat knowing I'll get medicine the next day (I hope!).
From the cafe, we take a regular taxi to the main line taxi stand. We wait for the bus to fill before we head out of Addis, toward Nazareth. Fasika and Mesele grew up in a village built by a sugar cane company. The company operates the mill and provides housing for its employees. The village also has stores, everything the families of the employees might need. It takes about two hours to reach Nazareth. We get on a large bus crammed with lots of people. Religious beads and artifical flowers create a shrine around the bus driver. A large painting of mother Mary looks at us from the front. Their village is 20 kms outside Nazareth.
The road is barely a path in some areas and the bus bounces and jolts us. We drive alongside a lovely, curving river until we get to a checkpoint. We are officially entering the sugar cane village and everyone must get off the bus and be searched. For what? No one is sure. As we move away from the bus, trying to avoid falling into the river where people are pushing and shoving, I feel a hand move from my upper back, down over my butt and onto my thighs. Very strange. Turning, I see a female guard and understand this to be the search. Back on the bus, we enter the village built by corporate funds in rural, poor Ethiopia. We pull in front of a few wood and tin stores, stopping in the dirt parking lot.
There are very few white people in Ethiopia. In the rural areas, there are fewer still. As we stand in the dirt parking lot waiting for a line taxi to take us to the farmers' plots, all the people in the village stare. Especially the children. Some come up and touch us on the arm and run away giggling. Others touch my hair. Sometimes I tire of being a sideshow. But being sick, I have no energy to react, positively or negatively, and just stand, moving as little as possible, as adults and children near and far notice me and Michelle.
We climb into a line taxi and head into the bush over rough roads. After driving for about three miles, we pass a line taxi and stop next to it. Mesele has a conversation with the driver and suddenly we're leaving our taxi and climbing into this new one. They disgorge their passengers and make them take the taxi we were in. It seems this new taxi is driven by a of friend Mesele's and they had arranged for the friend to take us to the farmers' plots. They still charge us for the ride, but supposedly less. In addition, the driver waits for us at the site, as we walk the fields and meet the farmers.
Granted, Fasika and Mesela are like many Africans who start their own NGOs to help their fellow countrymen and women. They think white people have money and means. Michelle has been working with the pair, helping them write proposals for funding. Now that I'm in town, she wants to expand their network by plugging me into it. That's fine, but I'm not at all sure how I can help them. This is common, though, because we simply cannot know how we can assist until we learn more about what they do. I think of Pambazuko's work in Nyalenda, the slums of Kisumu. Can I support more than one organization? I also recall how I've become disappointed in Walter's behavior recently. Will I continue to support Pambazuko? How? What can I do for any of these people and what's the most effective way to contribute?
By the time the taxi stops, we are deep into Ethiopia's rural land. Mesele explains how the farmers' cooperative works. There are 20 families who have joined together, under Mesele's guidance, to help each other farm their plots. It is difficult for a single farmer and his family to own all the tools and knowledge necessary to cultivate crops. If the farmers pool their resources, they are able to cultivate their land and share techniques to increase crop yield. Alone, it's very difficult. Together, they can accomplish much. These farmers have rented plows and other equipment. They take turns using the equipment and share oxen in pulling the plows. They're also able to buy seed and fertilizer at reduced costs because they're buying in bulk. They help each other in tilling or weeding or harvesting if there is illness.
As we walk the freshly plowed fields, we meet the young men of seven farming families. While we're there, three young men relieve each other from leading the oxen as they pull a large, metal plow. Mesele shows us a large, circular hole that's been dug nearby. The hole will capture rain water, which will then be used during times of drought to water the crops and the animals. They're growing teff, a thin, grass-like plant that's used to make Injera.
The sun is intense while we walk the land. Soon we leave the farmers and take the line taxi to Fasika's house. Fasika and Mesele's father is an employee of the sugar factory and they grew up in this house. Waiting for us are 25 orphans and their guardians. These children have been selected by Fasika and Mesele to receive assistance in the form of food, school fees, school uniforms, shoes and medical care. These children, just like millions of others in African countries, lost their parents to AIDS. Many of these children are probably HIV positive themselves.
As we enter the gate, the small yard is full of children and the women who have accompanied them here. Not knowing when we would arrive, they've been waiting for us for five hours. Michelle has brought bubble gum, lollipops and balloons, but before we take photos and pass out the goodies, I suggest each child tell us his or her name. It's an opportunity for us all to meet on a personal level since the language barrier and the size of the crowd makes it difficult for us to interact. Each child steps forward or stands up and says his or her name. Some of them speak English. Most of them are confident. A few are shy but speak up so the whole crowd can hear. Their Amharic names are translated into English for us; Joy, Peace, Hope, Strong, Justice. They smile and we smile. Mesele speaks and they hang on his every word. I'm moved by their respect for him and Fasika.
Once the speeches are over, we realize we should head back to Addis, so we can arrive before night falls. Fasika pulls a Pomegranate from a tree in the back yard and offers sections to me and Michelle. Not quite ripe, it's slightly bitter. I give Fasika $5 USD. Ethiopia will be celebrating their New Year in a couple of days and she wants to cook a big meal for the children. I don't have a lot of money and regret it's in dollars and not birr, but the $5 should buy two chickens for the meal. I know Fasika was hoping for about $25, enough to buy a goat for slaughtering, but I don't have that much on me and didn't really plan to give anything today.
The last few days, all over Ethiopia, we've seen men watching over groups of nearly 100 goats. Many goats are marked with green or red on their forehead. Or their horns are wrapped in color-coded scarves. Ethiopian New Year is a huge celebration. Everyone gathers with their families for traditional meals, which they begin preparing the day before New Year's. Some men, we notice, have already started celebrating by drinking the local brew. There were a few on the line taxi that brought us into the sugar cane village.
In addition to the men who were drunk, there were also men and women in the taxi carrying produce and livestock for the local market. One man sitting next to me, facing me, had a chicken with it's legs tied together. He had to keep the chicken facing him so it's head wouldn't protrude into my face. The chicken was protesting somewhat and he and I grinned at each other. He was a very lean old man with a thin jacket and he exited the taxi with others carrying potatoes, grains and handmade goods to market.
We left the small house in the sugar cane village and returned to Addis via bus and line taxi and regular taxi. We had left at 7:30 in the morning and arrived at Michelle's house at 8:00pm. It is a long journey and I can't believe Mesele and Fasika travel the long route regularly while running their NGO.
When we're settling in for the evening, I tell Michelle I'm going to the doctor again the next day. Popping pain relievers before sleeping, my spirits are buoyed somewhat knowing I'll get medicine the next day (I hope!).
posted by Cindi at 12:55 PM
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