Small acts....

Funny how the universe can step up and provide the motivation or the answer or the person you need for the day.  This came to me through a news letter I subscribe to and it reminded me that we often change the world in baby steps and sometimes by simply by being present and bringing to it our selves: a sense of grace, a positive or negative attitude, the mindset of victim or creator....  And so on.  

So today, another day of inactivity at work:  there is no power, no fuel, no one there.   How do I use this day?  Well - I can sit home and do my laundry - which needs doing.  I can read another book - have read over 100 now in the year plus that I've been here.  What I will probably do is wander to the Gulu Public Library and see if I can get started organizing their children's collection.  That's going to take some doing.... 

But it's all.... DOING.   (Yes, yes - and now I am DOING by  blogging... forgive me ;-)  But I'm thinking with my mouth open or shall I say with my fingers on the keyboard...)  In Peace Corps and in life in general, I think, we often feel we are not impacting the change we want to see in the world uless we are doing BIG things - and that would be a mistake in thinking.  Development work  is a constant reminder that BIG things do not happen fast.  At least in PC we are in the business of planting seeds we may never see come to harvest - in the way we imagine, anyway.  Simultaneously, though we are forming relationships - with others yes.  But also with ourselves.  It's a great crucible and the process can be transformative if we can be with it.

I don't know what element I will be when I get on the other side of this process, but I do know part of my journey here is a forced slowing down from my innate tendendy of "have to do this, that, the other," and consider my worth or my contributions in the most basic of terms.  It's an opportunity to apply those tools I taught for so long in the ethereal sense to the practical world, both mine and others.  What do I bring to today?   What attitude?  What energy do I put out there?  The opportunities for frustration, judgement, condescension,  compassion and consideration are rife here. But they are rife everywhere, aren't they?   Here I have time to think and be.  In fact, often I AM FORCED to be - and, as I said - this is not a natural state for me.  In some ways it's a luxury to have this gift of time.  In the hubbub of the developed world, it's easy to get consumed and stay "too busy."  Sometimes it's legit and other time we make-busy to avoid facing our inner turmoil.  And I know because  I can make "busy" out of almost anything!

Back home I taught a lot of classes offers tools to manage one's own energy - knowing that the "vibration" we carry influences everything: our lives and those around us.  It gives a different slant on the quote:  "BE THE CHANGE you want to see in the world."  And I like that.   Note that it says BE the change, not MAKE the change.   "Being the Change" can be as small as that random act of kindness: taking time to speak to the old woman or the beggar on the street,  take time to listen - really listen - to a friend,   spend the night at a homeless shelter to be able to keep it open,  lend a book, pick up a piece of litter,  share a meal, be a caring parent, son or daughter.    Some times,  just by virtue of being in the room - we change the dynamic.  It's true.  There was a great piece of research done a while back that had to do with putting two people in a room and attaching them each to an EEG to monitor brain activity.   The was no conversation, eye contact, external communication or agenda of any sort. What they discovered over and over was that the person with the most coherent (translate as: calm, centered....) brainwave patters had the greatest influence in the room:  gradually the less "organized" EEG  would attune to the coherent pattern and frequency.  As a person whose background is the study of sound and vibrations this makes sense, but translating that into a daily way of approaching the world is an interesting exercise in each moment.

When the picture and saying above came across my screen this morning it felt like a gift and I wanted to pass it along and again share  Margaret Mead's quote:

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; 

indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

And now I admit to the need to be busy again and hoof it to the library to arrange something....    Forgive me for being too "thoughty" as my mother would say...

Kindness

 

It’s another one of those amazingly frustrating days in Uganda.  There was no power last night and I fear this is a precursor to more of the same now that dry season is here.  It means attempting to sleep in the heat with no relief of fans and reading by candle light. To all of you who have sent candles: thank you and know that they will be used!  And little battery operated fans.  YES!  Last night – without the white noise of the fan to mask the background noises, everything that happened near my house sounded like it was AT on IN my house – little cracklings outside my window, doors opening, gates that sound like the one in the old Hitchcock thriller “The Creaking Door,” persisted until I drifted in and out of a fitful, hot, dripping-sweat, tossing “sleep.” 

Often when this happens, power comes back at 7AM, but not so today.  We have not had electricity at the office since returning last week.  We were supposed to be out of this building by November as it is to be demolished.  Although that has been delayed, apparently, the District neglected to pay the power bill, saying it was unreasonable.   My supervisor is leaving for another area and the Director has assigned me as Acting Regional Team Leader with no authority to handle petty cash or money transactions. (Peace Corps doesn’t want us handling funds – a policy for which I am grateful).  Everyone here knows more about implementation of LABE’s programs than I do, so it’s a conundrum.  One staff member is about to go on maternity leave for several months, leaving me and one other in the office for an indeterminate amount of time.  Looks like this might be a good opportunity to organize the community library where the children's collection is tossed in among the books on war and abuse.  That'll be fun however.

These are not big issues in the scheme of things, but they take on gargantuan proportions when they are life on a daily basis.  Projects continue in the face of no fuel, shortage of vehicles, personnel musical chairs, lack of communication, etc.  I will never again complain about things not moving swiftly when I get back home.  It will probably feel like a runaway train.

There seems to be a malaise that has settled around those of us who are now the seniors of the Volunteer group  – at least after the group before us leaves in April.  Having come back physically exhausted, but mentally energized from traveling and a break, it seems many of us are in a funk.  This is probably a "dip" on morale on one of the charts we received during training – mid-service slump after the euphoria of realizing we’re half way through.    It’s a mixture of:  wonderful to know home is less than a year away, the realization that we can’t get everything done, the daily awareness that we will be leaving Ugandans and PCV with whom we have grown close and will never see again and the frustrations of realizing that development is an excruciatingly slow and tedious process!

Some are wondering if things in Uganda are unraveling to the point that we may not be here the entire time.  Land disputes are increasing, not decreasing.  Museveni threatens to turn the parliament over to the army.   Etc. etc. 

And life goes on at home - and that’s both the good news and the bad.   My sons continue to be happy and wonderfully productive and motivated, moving forward in ways that renew my pride in who they are. My sister and sweet friends send e-mails and goodies, all god-sends here. But dear friends are transitioning, aging parents of PCV’s are requiring their presence at home, houses need to be sold, etc.   So, while it has been good to be out of the day-to-day fray, reality knocks at the door periodically and demands to be granted entry.

The "newbies" (a new group of PCVs assigned to schools) are in town and meeting some of that group and having them near is a bit of a shot in the arm.    There’s a gaggle of little kids who’ve been staying at the compound with their mom who lives in the small quarters behind my house.  Her family lives in the village a day’s travel away and she sees her school age children (ages 8,  11 and 13 or so) rarely.  They are dear and well behaved but I'm not accustomed to kids sitting at my back door, on my front porch and generally being literally "in" my space.  All outdoor space is communal here so it's a challenge to get any privacy unless you hunker down inside with the curtain drawn and the front door nor just closed but locked.  Although these kiddos don't, it's not unusual to have someone come to visit and just come in with no invitation!  I gave them some of the books that you all so generously shared and they were thrilled.  Somehow in the translation when I offered them a box and said pick one book each, it translated into four books each.  I was a bit flummoxed, but figured if they were that excited to have books, that's a good thing and there was nothing dishonest in their taking more than offered - just one of those strange miscommunications that don't translate.   Parents in the village (and even this mother who works as a nurse) can’t afford to buy books for their kids – so it’s been lovely to pass on our Mom's passion for reading.

On an up-beat note, Florence, my Home-Stay host is on the road to starting the first ever library in Wakiso!  She is turning over part of her small house for use as a community library, using the books you all have donated and others I’ve accumulated since I’ve been here.  Since the city has no structure for a library, she’s handling it as membership program to guarantee some accountability.  So far she has six people signed up and paid membership fees (minimal).  When she gets fifteen she will open the doors!  

The imaginative ways people are creating services and helping others here are amazing.    

A young man I know from the streets used to be a street kid himself and despite not having school fees to go beyond the 6^th grade, considers himself fortunate.  He’s put together an organization to try to help other street kids and has convinced GUSCO (Gulu Support the Children Organization) to let  him use a house to shelter 50 street boys.  He’s now looking for funding for basic food (beans, rice and posho) and hoping for ways to get them back in school at some later point.  

There’s a poem my friend Karla sent me that speaks to the kindness I see here everyday in some form.  I think it speaks to what people here have experienced and what their response has been.  The author (Naomi Shihab Nye interviewed on The Daily Good:    (http://www.dailygood.org/view.php?sid=373) wrote it after she and her husband were robbed of everything while riding a night bus in Columbia.  When her husband left to get help after the bus driver was murdered she had no food, shelter, money, etc. and was on the street.  She ended up being befriended by a gang of street kids who shared their food with her and kept her safe until she reconnected with her husband.  Her poem is an outgrowth of that experience.  I hope it’s not true that we MUST lose everything to offer up kindness and that, as sentient beings, we have that capacity, empathy and compassion to act without having to be brought to our knees first.  Hopefully, loss is teacher of the last resort!  Here’s the poem: 

 

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.

What you held in your hand,

what you counted and carefully saved,

all this must go so you know

how desolate the landscape can be

between the regions of kindness.

How you ride and ride

thinking the bus will never stop,

the passengers eating maize and chicken

will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,

you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho

lies dead by the side of the road.

You must see how this could be you,

how he too was someone

who journeyed through the night with plans

and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,

you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 

You must wake up with sorrow.

You must speak to it till your voice

catches the thread of all sorrows

and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,

only kindness that ties your shoes

and sends you out into the day to mail letters and

     purchase bread,

only kindness that raises its head

from the crowd of the world to say

it is I you have been looking for,

and then goes with you every where

like a shadow or a friend.

                                         Naomi Shihab Nye

                                         From:  The Words Under the Words: Selected Poems

Those are the thoughts of the day.  Power is back.  I've found a place to teach classes along with another PCV and time and possibilities move forward.  Once again - it's the roller coaster of emotion of Peace Corps.  

Be blessed and Dong maber (Remain well)

Rhino Trekking with Obama

NOT Obama

Yes - Obama!  Yesterday we went Rhino Trekking at the Aiwa Rhino Sanctuary about two and a half hours south of Gulu, off the road to Kampala.  The road was absolute torture even though we were riding with our friends in their very nice, Toyota SUV.  Clearly these were not Peace Corps friends, though they were Peace Corps folks in Siberia, which is why they take mercy on us now (to our great joy and appreciation)! The roads are just that bad and the worst part was the paved section. That just seems wrong.  We saw three overturned 18-wheelers on the way and that was just the morning's yield. They were not there the day before.   It's always sobering.  Under one of them was a man taking a nap.

OBAMA

We arrived at about 2:30 - giving the Rhinos time to wake up and read their Sunday paper.  Turns out Rhinos are not early risers.  They don't get active until about 4:00 when they start grazing, take a little saunter down to the local watering hole, wallow in the mud a bit then eat all night. So we ate lunch and climbed in the Cow Truck as it's called to go find  the Obama family, consisting of Obama, Bella and Donna.  I wonder if Michelle knows???  Rhinos, which are endemic to Uganda,  became extinct in 1982 due to the war and poaching, to mention two of the main factors.  Ziwa was formed in 2005 with the intention of re-introducing  Rhinos to their natural habitat.   They started with six Rhinos and now have twelve.  When they have twenty or so they will relocate some to Murcheson Falls.

The Wife and Baby

Obama is so named because of his heritage:  one parent from America, the other from Kenya.  So there you are.   Donna is a one year old weighting about 800 kg.  She stays pretty close to her mama and you always see them always within a few feet of each other.  Turns out you don't see Rhino's in a herd; they tend to graze together as a family.  White Rhinos are not a different color from Black Rhinos!  Who knew?  Well - now you do.  There are all manner of theories about why they're called "white," including one that assumes it was  mistranslated from the Dutch word for "wide."  Another theory has to do with the fact that they like to wallow in a mud and bird-droppings that leaves a whitish  caked mud on the skin and the last one has to do with the horn being a lighter color.  That's probably way more than you wanted to know, but when you see one and it's NOT even remotely whitish - one wonders.

Obama in the Background

The sanctuary shares its grazing lands with herds of cows (in this case Ankoli) because cows keep the grass short and Rhinos like short grass.  About fifty rangers on 12-hour shifts follow the families 24-hours a day, to keep track of them and protect them from poachers, not to mention to know where they are when tourists arrive.  When visitors come, they are driven part of the way to which ever families are near and then walk in.  We got pretty close considering that these are still wild animals, not tamed or handled by humans in any way.  They grazed in front of us in total calm and kept moving in our direction, so we just kept moving back.  They have pretty poor eyesight, so we were told along with the advice that if they charge, just climb a tree or hide behind one.  Fat chance I'd be remembering that if one get's me in its cross-hairs. 

The beasts below are Ankoli cattle and this picture doesn't really do them justice!  Their horns are between 2 and 3 feet long.  And these are not particularly docile creatures. A particularly cantankerous one lifted one of the volunteers off the ground on its horns when she was just walking through the field for training.  Evidently they don't "play well with others," unless you happen to be another cow or - a Rhino.  Wisdom is the greater part of valor, therefore we stand clear.  This has at times been a challenge with the herd that occasionally graces the alley leading to my house.

Unimpressed by the Cow Truck

Ethiopia, Donkeys and Hell

Awoke this morning back in Gulu, to the feeling of being back in the twilight zone.  The deep bass drum of the marching band vibrated the windows had the distinctly ominous sound of a call to action.  After having read in three different publications yesterday about Museveni’s threat to turn parliament over to the army if this “confusion” (factions disagreeing with his handling of the recent murder of a member of Parliament) continues, I wondered….    But as I quickly threw on some clothes and found the keys to unlock while the brass section joined the drum – it stopped as abruptly as it had begun.  So I still don’t know what all the drum-beating was about, but Gulu seems to be its normal, somewhat chaotic self.  So I went to breakfast to verify normalcy – at least in my mind  (I know now your laughing…)  if not elsewhere.

I have survived yet another trip into Kampala, another stay at the Annex and another LABE yearly Strategic Planning Retreat - my last.  We were spared a third day having been invited to attend the swearing in of the new group of 40+ PCVs. Lovely to realize that we’ve been here 18 months now and we’re seeing the light at the end of the tunnel and it’s not a train (cuz’ there aren’t any trains in Uganda!). 

Re-entry to Uganda and site was a bit brutal after being away from almost a month and a half.    On December 9^th I left site to go in for they early medical interview required by Peace Corps and stayed until our happy group of four departed for Ethiopia.   We had lunch overlooking Lake Victoria before heading to the airport three hours early and it was a good thing we gave ourselves plenty of time.  We were greeted at the one set of doors entering the airport by a huge and unruly gang of travelers all trying to get through the one door at the same time.  Lines – orderly or not – do not work in Uganda.  If there’s more than a hair’s breadth between you and the person in front of you or one the side, it’s too much.    Late arrivals bullied their way through the waiting throng like it was our fault they didn’t get to the airport in time to catch their flight.  It was beginning to get ugly as we neared the door and people were throwing the bags onto the ONE luggage x-ray machine (the second one died just as we entered). More than once in that debacle I wondered if things would turn violent and wasn’t happy about relinquishing my bags with camera and money to a conveyor belt where it would be easy for anyone to grab them on the way through.  I had all of my trip money on me and it made me nervous.

We did a bit of bullying of our own and arrived at the other side with belongings in tact only to arrive at the ticket counter to be bullied again when they demanded we give them our credit cards so they could make a copy of the one used to buy our online tickets. Logic having failed we decided it was time to pull the Muzungu card and said “no way your getting access to that – call security if you must.”  So they only copied our passports and reluctantly gave us boarding passes.  It felt like a scam, but I've heard it from others...

I arrived at my assigned window seat to discover it filled to overflowing with a large, smelly man who seemed to think that he should have the seat because he wanted it and he liked it better than his assigned seat.  Really?  Well tough – move over.  I had to endure his smothering odor for the next few hours with the help of the overhead shot of air.   Still – the airline itself was nice, the food was good and in general it was more efficient than most  Stateside carriers!

We arrived in Addis Ababa late and there was no one there to met us.  Aided by a very nice Ethiopian man with a telephone that worked (ours didn’t work outside Uganda) he happened to know the person attached to the number we gave him and found them waiting at the domestic terminal.  Huh? 

The second surprise on arrival was how chilly it was!   But we had arrived in tact – luggage in tact – our $20 visas (obtained in a very orderly fashion) in hand and ready for food which we found just a short walk from our budget hotel.

The next morning we were met by our fabulous tour guide, Awoke, and driver and had our first of many cups of Ethiopian coffee. For four coffee snobs, this was heaven. We piled into our four wheel drive I named El Burro about a week into the trip after discovering that it took to the sometimes-treacherous roads like the ubiquitous donkeys that make Ethiopia work and headed for Bahir Dar.  Donkeys were often so overloaded with teff  (the grain used to make injera) and hay that all that could be seen were huge piles gliding down the road or up the mountain apparently on sticks.  After passing we would discover the pile had a head and big brown soulful looking eyes.  Note the ears sticking out at the front of this pile.

The 19 days traveling around northern Ethiopia, known  for its amazing underground churches chiseled out of solid rock were filled with history, dazzling landscapes, an untold number of  pee-stops in some of the most beautiful places on the planet and one gasp of amazement after another.  It’s hard to believe that the symmetry of these churches and the artwork was produced in the 5^th and 6^th centuries.   Some the oldest are accessible only by hiking and climbing (more on that later) and have survived only because of their remoteness.  Some can only be reached via vertical climbs only a free-climber can manage. (That wouldn’t be us).   While there are good and cheap flights to some of these areas, we  would have missed the breathtaking beauty of the countryside traversed to reach them.  Most of northern Ethiopia is mountainous and we’re talking 12,000 feet! These expanses of dramatic mountain-scapes dwarf the Grand Canyon.  

Peak events (so I don't bore you to death...)

The Blue Nile Gorge: accessed via a hike of about 45 minutes the falls of the Blue Nile were spectacular even in dry season.  As if on cue a rainbow appeared in the mist and we spotted a manger down in the valley that seemed perfectly timed and placed for Christmas - especially since one of the Tree Wise Men was said to be Ethiopian and we were in the land of Fransinsence   These falls used to extend over the full section of exposed rock before one of the dams was installed - probably looked more like Niagra, but it is still impressive.

                                                                          Lake Tana: a huge Lake boasting islands dotted 
with ancient monasteries dating back  the the  the 17^th Century.  We came across a flock of  Great White Pelicans sharing the lake with fishermen in Papyrus boats.  Worship includes huge painted (often) ceremonial drums.  You can get a glimpse of some of the artwork here.  This is original and un-retouched.

Fasilades Palace:  an absolutely huge  complex of castles dating back to the 1600’s, complete with steam baths, lion cages and a hall built specifically for music. 

Mingling with Bleeding 

Heart Baboons was a high point for me.  These peaceful, beautiful grass eaters allowed us to walk among them  in a state of awe and bliss and they constantly picked at the grass,  nursed babies and preened.  
 
Awaiting us – high in the astounding mountains - was a ragged group of local children who had set up “shop” a short walk away, selling their wares in relative calm, until we showed some interest and then the push started. It was the start of what became a real problem at some locations where we would be hawked mercilessly and sometimes dangerously. That night we nearly froze in the hotel and while we were thrilled to have indoor showers, we were too cold to get wet. Having planned on cool weather but not freezing, we could have really used a subarctic sleeping bag.

In case  you haven't guessed these baboons are so named because of the dominant bright pink flesh in the middle of the chest.  It's really large on the males as you can see in this picture. We met tribes of Bleeding Hearts several times as we went on down the mountain and they were never the slightest bit hostile or aggressive.  When we got closer than about 2 feet they would simply meander as a group a little further on.   I worried a bit when we had to make one of our find-a-bush stops smack in the middle of a huge tribe, but they didn't even look our way.

  

Yes - there's a church in here somewhere

 Christmas Eve found us at the miserable little town of Hawzen with seemingly no redeeming features and tho determined to mutiny and demand we leave before our few days of sight seeing there were up, we spent Christmas Day clamoring up a ridiculously steep mountain in search of a church.  This Christmas Day will go down in history.  After climbing a treacherous assent to view one of the famous rockhewn churches, Betty and I opted to sit it out a third of the way up.  My fear of heights and the challenge of a climb that ( had it been rapids would have been Force 9 - the only higher rating for this mountain would be Free-climbing straight up).  Holly and Bill continued with the aid of two helpers, as Betty and I sat on a ledge listening to Christmas music and Chris Kristopherson on her Kindle,  gasping as our Ethiopian companion hoped around the edges of cliffs and hoping the next days church hike would be less harrowing.

If we weren’t chagrined enough, we sat there and witnessed the daily Ethiopian trekkers (including a woman of about 70) climbing down like mountain goats and the priest hopping gingerly down the canyon wall – having taken the "easy route."     Still – it was a good decision to stay put and the scramble down was made mostly on our butts.    For our endurance, we were thrilled to find space available at a little Italian lodge where stuffed ourselves with a Christmas Dinner of sumptuous pasta, green salad with veggies fresh from their garden, wine and Christmas toffee offered by a British tourist.  

The town redeemed itself again with Market Day which was an olfactory and visual carnival of merchants selling raw honey, Frankinsense, the classic handwoven shawls (shammas?), every spice you can think of and then some, red peppers which are seen drying everywhere along the roadsides, donkeys, injera ovens, baskets, bushels of eggs... In 1988 this market was the scene of one of the worst massacres in recent times when Eritrean  Air Force attacked the market with cluster-bombs killing 3000 people. To this day, while Eritrea and Ethiopia share a culture, one cannot get to Eritrea directly from any point in Ethiopia.

Everywhere along the way, we saw huge, orderly piles of something that looked like hay, but was much finer.  And there were people everywhere slashing and harvesting a very fine looking grass. Every hut and village boasted multiple piles of perfectly symmetrical stacks of this stuff and donkeys and carts and even camels were piled high with it. Then there were circular threshing areas with a team of cows stomping something.  That would be teff, the smaller-than-sesame grain that is ground into paste, mixed with water and allowed to ferment before it is poured onto a huge crepe like disc and baked on an open fire. On the way out, we passed a teff farmer who was threshing teff out in the
the desert.  Our wonderful driver stopped and asked if we could see his process.  Not only did we get to see it, this farmer took out his lunch of injera and a thick chili dip (can't remember the name) and shared it with us.  Here are a few pictures of the process from start to finish.
To the left is the traditional oven; below the woman is
removing it from the earthenware plate.

Priest with cross

In the next few days we toured so many amazing churches it's hard to remember the names.  Artwork  characterized by intense colors, big eyes (which hold huge significance in Ethiopian art) and gory be-headings covered every available surface.  In religious art - and it's all religious in Ethiopia - two eyes shown denote a good person, one eye shown with the face in profile denotes "evil."  And always the pupils are huge, round and black - looking in a direction.  So one tends to remember the artwork, the crosses (there are hundreds - but each of three regions has it's own cross:  Gondor, Axum, Lalibella) and odd characteristics of places and people.  For example, this almost other-worldly picture I took at one remote church on the way to Lalibela is pretty unforgettable.  It was taken with available light and no movement.  Note what appears to be a vapor streaming off the cross and his robes. It was not visible to the naked eye and not in either of the pictures before or after taken in the same location, but not of the “sacred relics.” I've had this experience with orbs and some other strange "energy forms" but this was a first.  

Lalibela is world famous for it’s rock-hewn churches, the most famous probably being St. Georges (featured in one of the Amazing Race episodes) chiseled in the shape of cross.   Words don’t begin to work here and not even pictures do it justice.  But who in the world would look at a piece of rock and say, "Wow,  let's make a church?  Got a chisel?"   Apparently a lot of people did. There are hundreds.

A number of churches in the general area were built built IN a cave.  Ethiopia’s Christmas is on January 7 (Julian calendar) and the high point of this trek was the pilgrims who had hiked barefoot up the mountains for thirteen days.  The belief is that if you make a pilgrimage to this particular church once in your lifetime, you are absolved of all sins and also have the privilege of being buried there.   Interestingly, families will bring the body back there, but burial entails being left on a stack of other remains and covered with a little dirt.  The next layer is just piled on.  Kinda like a grotesque layer cake.   The stack now is many feet high.  Note the skull on the top of the pile.

The exit from "hell"

Another church in the Lalibela group included a long dark tunnel (and I do mean dark – not a glimmer of light.)  The tunnel which can only be navigated with feeling your way through is symbolically the dark journey through hell before lifting yourself up to the light of God.  The four of us needed a little help to climb  out of hell.  I feel sure that's loaded with significance...  They went to a lot of trouble to build churches in remote areas to save them from marauding interlopers who wanted to crush Christianity and take over Ethiopia.  One positive outcome of the on-going battle between Judiasm and Christianity has been a blending and acceptance of both beliefs and a full recognition of both religions holidays.  And a bit of trivia: at each church we paid an entry fee, a local guide whether we used one or not, the priest (often surly) for opening the church - and at the Lalibela churches - a shoekeeper.  Yes - and it turns out he was worth every birr, because as we would enter into one church we merged into another and another - to exit somewhere down the way and there would be our shoes!  He even tried to tie them for us!  But I seem to remember being allowed to keep our shoes on in hell.  (And although I hear there's beer in hell, we didn't find any there.)

The trip ended in Addis Ababa – where – yes – we shopped and discovered a wonderful artist there who really captured the humor embodied in the chaos of the city and the ever-present herds of donkeys.  Everything stops to allow donkeys with their enormous loads to cross the road.   We fell in love with these sweet beasts-of-burden,  their endearing personalities and soulful eyes.  Donkeys are so much a part of every Ethiopian farm family, there are Donkey sanctuaries to care for the old and ailing - donkeys that is. And - we seemed not to be able to get away from Peace Corps insanity.  In Uganda there is a no-boda-policy.  You can try for a Boda waiver (unlikely) but one understandable has to wear a helmet.   Frankly, I understand this policy...  However, in Ethiopia Peace Corps has a no-DONKEY-policy and one must apply for a Donkey Waiver, or be sent home if caught riding one.  And - ya gotta have a helmet.  A horse policy I can understand and even mules can be obstreperous, but I'd sure like to know the history of the donkey ban.

So there you are.  It was a grand trip.  Ethiopia is I think the only country in Africa that has never been colonized and it is very evident.  It has retained the full measure of its cultural history and fought one invader after another.  It's a dictatorship basically, but it is meticulously clean and we NEVER saw a shred of litter in the countryside and almost non in the cities.  The roads are excellent, with the exception of a few that are unpaved, but even those a graded and good by Ugandan standards.  There is a strong Chinese presence there in road building.  There is no land ownership.  At the same time there is no military or police presence.  I'd love to go to the south and visit the truly primitive, tribal part of the country.  

My parting picture is one of a basket stall in Axum.  There are so many beautiful crafts there, ranging from baskets to silver and hand carved wooden crosses, that I was hard pressed not to fill an additional suitcase!  But - you'd have been proud. I traveled for 21 days and was gone a total of six weeks and did it all out of one smallish REI backpack/medium backpack!  How times have changed...