10-11-2010 0705 Bole Apartment. So today the largest of the three kids that live with their mother along the wall was in charge, under a different green gabi. She was happy to see my 10 birr, and was busily telling the others about it as I walked on along the paver smoothness and order of the sidewalk at that point. I wonder if that contributes to mom's choice of the location; easier to do housekeeping with a good floor. I hope mom was just off on her morning ablutions; I reversed my usual route today, so arrived a little later than usual. I think one of the kids may have a little impetigo, so perhaps a good use of my tube of mupirocin. Google, who not only knows the time of day here, and that its going to be sunny, also offers to translate what I type into amharic. I havent tried that yet. But as we continue to talk about medical education, its clear that an investment in internet access will carry farther and reach more than an investment in text books.
Yesterday there were few books in evidence around here. I continue to read "Cutting for Stone", and of course each day here adds a new dimension to the already pretty gripping novel. The general consensus is still that the background story of the book is pretty accurate. And it was read as 'the summer book' by a fair number of American educational institutions, because of its edgy treatment of medical skill development and decision making. And so many more people will begin to have some vision of Ethiopia that comes a little closer to the complicated green and beautifully brown truth.
'Dinknesh' is the Amharic word used insteady of 'Lucy' to personify the fossil remains of Australopithicus afarensis that famously put the Rift Valley on everyone's world map. And I actually heard it used as a descriptor...beautiful...the other day, passing a conversation. My amharic is still at less than a handfull level, but alone, I am making a little more progress. However, any real conversations are in English.
Yesterday after working on a powerpoint to describe what actually happens when students are 'working' a case in a Problem Based curriculum, I called Berhanu, and ended up at his house, where his younger son needed the car. This meant time to have something to eat, which of course meant my first actual in home Ethiopian dining experience. The wot was very tasty, with a rich reddish color and a few shortribs with bits of lamb left on them. The seasoning brought on a brief period of hiccups, a sure sign of sufficient capsaicin. And the the kitfo leb leb (minced meat marinated and cooked lightly) was great, along with a minced vegetable that Berhanu didnt identify other than saying it was popular in his home town, to the West of Addis. It tasted a little like parsnips, with a crunchy texture. I am still a very messy right handed injera aided eater...Berhanu of course barely gets his fingers into the wot at all, and none of that dribbling of rice that happen when i try. Part of the problem was that I didnt line my plate with injera first, and then ladle on the rest of the meal...a good base of injera keeps the kitfo in place...just as honey keeps the peas on the knife, I guess.
I am coming to really love the ritual of washing before and after. Its always women serving, of course, and that is always noticeable, but its something we might do for each other. Healthy, too, even for the surgical 'hands off ' approach to eating that Europeans developed and us colonials perpetuated.
Its also a slow down and appreciate the moment event, and for hurry up and get busy guys like me, any event like that is a treasure.
Eventually, after a brief power nap for Berhanu and a period of just sitting in their small but very functional living/dining room, the second son came back with the car, a Corolla, which now did not idle correctly. There was a brief confab under the hood, including Berhanu's wife Saba (=Sheba), two friends of the son, the neighbor and Berhanu himself, and it was decided that Saba would drive her car instead. This was a major step up...it seems very new and elegant..Korean I think...and meant I had Berhanu to myself in the back seat to ask my endless questions.
We drove out to the new Ring road, and then around through literally kilometers of new condominium residences that are mushrooming out of land previously occupied by tin roofed mud and wattle walled shacks. Large boxy multi unit buildings. Most are still uninhabited. Cement and rebar construction, and although I have to admit the joints seem better in these than in central Addis, I still wonder about their safety. Be that as it may, they are going up, thousands of units of them. The plan is for small stores in the ground floor, and thus each building, with perhaps 30 residences, could replace a hunk of shacks with associated small stores. But with water and sanitation, and electricity.
And who will live in them? Berhanu explains that land had no value in the recent past, and by moving squatters off vast tracts, the government has created potential value. By building, real value. By then selling to landlords and banks, increased and tradeable value. And by creating a system of ownership with mortgages, the potential for ongoing issues of payments that will require work in order to make money. Nothing wrong with the system that a participatory democracy couldnt fix, many of the people I talk to affirm.
How much will it cost? Perhaps 300 birr a month...$20 US. Of course, its much more than the people in he shacks were spending, and some wont have the money to make the downpayment. Some may be transferred...further away of course. And some...well...hmmmm.
Scattered around, often by themsleves, sometimes growing out of a field of shacks along the road, like a magic castle sprouting from some magic bean, there are much larger dwellings, often with angles and tiny useless cantilevered balconies...well, useless unless you are Juiiet...(cf, Christopher Alexander et. al, "A Pattern Language", Oxford Press 1977, thank you again Helaine) that look to me more beautiful in their monotonic teenage skeletal selves than in their later glassed and stuccoed adult personas.
The style here is to put in the new road, with roundabouts, complete with curbs and drainage, and with some underburden, and if needed, open it up to traffic before putting on the tarmac. Yep, quite a demonstration of the mechanism of pothole formation. In the rains, just finished, it must be a mire of mythic proportion.
We get to Sebata, and the road to Meta Abo Brewery. Berhanu has been coming here for several decades; he loves the quiet of the park like place that the brewery has maintained next to its plant. A lane extends up along a small valley and ends in several waterfalls. Now there is a large outdoor swimming pool, and several covered halls, an Ethiopian Brauhaus. Yesterday it was not so tranquil..several weddings, large groups of student age people, family units, small children running, teenagers slurping and, because there is no public transport, thus anyone here is likely of some moneyed family, texting, picture taking, game playing and generally interacting with their phones as much as themselves. But very fun. Saba, through custom or prefference (she is very religious...orthodox..confides Berhanu) stayed with her car...and drove both ways. "She doesnt lend it easily", says B.
On the way back, a call from Oluma, and we arrange to meet for dinner. The powerpoint is coming along, its a right brain process for me, a calming change from left brain developmental planning work. For dinner, we walk through the gathering gently windy African night along Bole to The Ginger Tree...a coffee house restaurant on the third floor of a modern building with an associated english language bookstore. Oluma immediately sees one friend at a table, and as we sit talking several others come by. Finally, an absolutely prototypically gorgeous woman and a solid friendly looking man come by, both friends, both of an age with Oluma...that is, with kids the age of my grandchildren...and we join them for dinner. She also has one of those voices with amazing modulation, tones that make any language sit up and sound intriguing and significant. I catch a few envious glances from ferengi sitting nearby. I have Ethiopian friends, in some small way I have moved beyond the curtain of custom that separates the traveler from the society she travels in. Or perhaps they are admiring Oluma or his friends...all very attrative people.
And so I learned a lot about background and even something about the political realities. How the tribalism that Nyerere warned about is alive and doing he devils work here, as it is throughout Africa. How the development, or the Underdevelopment as Walter Rodney (now dead of an assasins bullet, the author of the most important book ever written on the subject, "How Europe Underdeveloped Africa") taught, comes down to who has the power to make change.
""The decisiveness of the short period of colonialism and its negative consequences for Africa spring mainly from the fact that Africa lost power. Power is the ultimate determinant in human society, being basic to the relations within any group and between groups. It implies the ability to defend one's interests and if necessary to impose one's will by any means available. In relations between peoples, the question of power determines maneuverability in bargaining, the extent to which a people survive as a physical and cultural entity. When one society finds itself forced to relinquish power entirely to another society, that in itself is a form of underdevelopment." ( from Wikipedia).
We lived next to Walter in Dar es Salaam, shortly after the book was written, both families expatriots with vastly different backgrounds, but drawn to Tanzania by Ujamaa..the possibility of working together. And he is dead. Vale, Walter!
Well, that reflection makes me a little sad, but I am glad for the morning, for the noises of people doing things outside, for the light coming through the newly peeled back curtain, for the thought of a day working, and perhaps a trip to visit a health post and a health center, and tonight to visit the ER when its up and running.
More later
salama
Alan
No comments:
Post a Comment