The Anchorage Daily News: January 2008

2008...in style

The last thing I thought I would be doing on New Year’s Eve 2008, and in all countries Ethiopia, was seeing a Rhianna and Akon concert with near to 25,000 other people. For those of you who know who these hip-hop stars are (Holla!) this was quite a shock. It all began with an innocent, albeit indulgent, trip to the Sheraton Hotel with my parents on December 29. Reputably the posh-est hotel in Africa and after having been there I agree; it’s the posh-est hotel I have ever been in in my life, we went for a taste of the high life with the ‘rents. Driving up Patty was tickled by the numerous Santa Claus’ climbing ropes of light all over the outside of the building. Inside, it was as if Christmas has thrown up: massive trees decorated in sickeningly over-the-top decorations, glitz and glitter, lights and shiny balls everywhere you turned. (Yes, we did get the proverbial family photo in front of the tree in the lobby. Are parents always this cheesy?) The icing on the cake, or should I say, the topping of all toppings, was the dessert buffet in the lobby café, complete with a chocolate fountain. I had never actually seen one of these in person; it was as if we were magically transported to an alternative Christmas reality when we walked through the metal detectors at the door. Were we even in Ethiopia anymore? Lori and I wandered in a daze, trying to focus on other things around us, while our minds still dwelled on the chocolate fountain – did we really need dinner? And then, a poster caught our eyes: “Rhianna and Akon at the Millenium Hall, December 31st 2007.” What?! Was this a joke? Of all places these artists could be to bring in 2008, they were going to be in Addis Ababa? After reading and rereading the poster a few times, my parents were interested and needed a full explanation of who these musical talents were. We found a scantily clad Rhianna singing her (overplayed) hit “Umbrella” on a nearby T.V. and my parents laughed. “You should definitely go,” said Allen.

Yeah right…but the seed was planted.

The day after my parents left was New Year’s Eve and we had no serious plans. However, we still had Rhianna and Akon in the back of our minds. Fortuitously my folks had some birr (Ethiopian currency) left over and decided we needed it more than they did. We refused, they insisted, force ensued, and of course the elders won out. So, here we were a few hundred birr richer and what better way to spend it than go to a hip hop show for New Years? The flyer said “Proper Attire Required,” which of course really meant, “Look hot or you won’t be let in!” What else were we to do but go all out? We found ourselves in the Piazza Market after breakfast and a trip to the Sheraton to buy our tickets, the last day of 2007. A few hours later our arms were laden with bags: two shiny new dresses, enormous earrings, a little eye shadow, red toe nail polish, and one pair of high heels. The last time we put on makeup was in October…this was a day to remember. After showering and getting gussied up we headed for a taxi, already 8pm, only fours hours left in 2007.

Arriving at the Millennium Hall was like arriving at a Hollywood event and walking down the red carpet. Everyone was gorgeous. Decked out for the celebration the concert-goers were dressed to the nines. Distracted by people-watching we soon found ourselves immersed in a sea of bodies, near the stage, cheering as Rhianna walked out onto the stage, her first trip to Africa, and we were there to welcome her. It seemed absurd. Here we were in Ethiopia, far away from our home in Alaska, after nearly three months in the country, wearing the same two outfits, using public transportation, eating every meal with our hands, volunteering, and then, to find ourselves, decked out, surrounded by almost 25,000 others, at a hip-hop concert in the capital city…surreal.

The evening was a beautiful blur. The music was better than expected, our feet hurt from dancing, and we couldn’t have had a better time. As the clocked turned the page, a new chapter began: 2008. Only minutes after we entered this current year, Lori and I realized how little we needed. In the midst of the bumping, grinding, and shouting, we lost our bag. Luckily, we really didn’t lose anything. To be exact: 2 black pashminas, 2 chapsticks, 400 birr (~$40), and the high-heels I had bought hours before. Thank goodness my feet hurt so early on that I changed out of my heels into my precious flip-flops! As we rode home in the taxi a couple of hours later, shivering and penniless, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was the perfect way to begin the New Year: with nothing more than we needed. Lori didn’t share my initial joy because, unfortunately, she was the one holding the bag at the time it was stealthily slipped away, but by the next day we were both smiling. It was a great evening, a brilliant story, and the perfect end to a very full year.

going going going

we arrived in delhi this morning...

colors, colors, smells, sounds, too much to take in all at once. i stumble down the street like a typically stupid wide-eyed tourist and nearly get hit by a taxi, then a bicyclist, then a gari, before mandy jerks me back into reality and says we have to walk on the left-hand side of the street here. ah yes--i hadn't even thought about that. at our taxi from the airport this morning i stood dumbly waiting for the driver to get into the drivers-side before realizing that wait...he WAS on the drivers-side and he was waiting for ME to get in the passenger-side. this whole opposite-side-of-the-road thing is throwing me, and i could blame my spacey-ness on lack of sleep from an all-night flight, but really, i think it's mental overload from leaving one heart achingly beautiful and infinitely special country for a brand new one.

ethiopia was so much more than i ever thought it would be. three months there and it8felt like home. we met people that were like family. we became adept at maeuvering the buses, we cracked jokes in amharic (tinish tinish!), we had favorite spots for coffee and ethiopian food and pastries and grocceries, we traversed the country up and down and found every part as amazing as the last. we savored our time there, and when it came down to our last day, i felt unexpected pangs of sadness at the prospect of leaving. we boarded a plane at 1 a.m. and left behind the country i'd never had an inkling to visit, but one i'm sure i'll return to someday soon.

and now... india. once again i'm at a loss for langauge, since "salaam" and "amaseganalo" won't really cut it here. our hotel's busy street is a hippie's paradise: wool sweaters and colorful scarves and linen pants and shops laden with jewelry and beads and bags and trinkets of every kind. stands are piled high with fruit, street vendors peddle delectable-looking fried food (i haven't tried it yet...our hotel owner cheerfully counseled us on "delhi-belly"), men strain at their bicycle pedals in an attempt to move impossible loads, thin dogs shiver on street corners, hawkers shout and cars honk and we're absorbing it all.

india. paneer masala at a rooftop restaurant, fresh coconuts streetside in wooden crates, piles of grapes and pomegranates and so many different kinds of breads and tomorrow we buy our train tickets for shimla, to the north. india--you've got a lot to live up to after ethiopia. but so far things look perfectly promising...

Bump

Looking back on my first trip to Africa I can now laugh at the 20 lbs I gained in Ghana, then, however, it was no laughing matter. I had to blink away the tears the first time someone pinched the back of my arm and said “you are getting fat-O!” Now, I blink tears of joy, understanding their pride. By the third or fourth time my surrogate family and the refugees I was working with slapped my behind with vigor and told me with a smile that my “momma will be so proud!” I could take it with my chin up. In Ghana, and most of Africa, it is a good thing to be plump, curvy, fat, if you will. Because if you have an excess of weight, you must have an excess of food. My Sierra Leonean family was proud that I gained a few pounds a month while I lived with them, shedding my slight figure for a more “traditional build,” as Mma Ramotswe proudly says all women should be in the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency novels set in Botswana. Millicent, my mother for those six months, proudly traditionally built herself, always made sure there was an extra inch of material sewn in to each side of every skirt and dress I had made while I was there – ever hopeful of my weight gain. I think she was never more proud to walk down our street in Dansoman with me than in my sixth (plumpest) month, showing off her fat Abruni visitor to the neighbors.

West Africa is hot. Six months of barely any movement, because the heat wouldn’t allow it, and a diet consisting of carbs, carbs, and more carbs, with some fruit too (doesn’t the sugar in fruit break down into carbs?) was the trick to getting my fuller figure. Unlike me, my parents lose weight every time they are in Sierra Leone, dieting on their prepackaged tuna and eating barely anything else. Therefore, they experience the opposite: every time they return to Bo the kids say, “Patty you are bump!” The equivalent to my smack on the rump! People in West Africa notice your weight and aren’t afraid to share! Ethiopians are less transparent about commenting on your weight; however, at the beginning of our trip Lori and I checked into the National Park office in Debark before we began our trek in the Simien Mountains, and the guy at the counter didn’t believe we were American because “everyone knows all Americans are fat.” I don’t think he would have any trouble believing us now.

Before we left for Ethiopia I told Lori I would gain weight. This being my third extensive trip to the continent I have come to know, and even embrace, my weight-gaining abilities, I mean habits. At this she laughed. The ever exaggerative Mandy. Little did either of us know the temptations and indulgences that would soon surround us. We find ourselves in the country most people stereotype as a desolate place filled with emaciated children, already almost ten pounds heavier in only three months! From experience I thought the weight would come from pasta, bread, and lack of exercise due to the heat, but I was wrong. The culprits? The Italian influence: decadent pasty shops every 15 ft with freshly baked croissants, cakes of every flavor topped with inches of frosting, buttery biscuits drizzled with chocolate perfect for dipping in our sinful cups of macchiatos. That’s right, we can’t just have one – the cups are small! And then there’s the bread, oh the heavenly fresh-baked dabbo (bread) of Ethiopia! Each town has a signature loaf: fat ones, skinny ones, round ones, oblong, square, white, wheat, spongy, hard on the outside and soft on the inside, some with stars and spirals baked artistically into the top – who could resist! Yes, of course you have heard our joy at six days in the Simien Mountains summiting the highest peak in the country, as well as just recently our seven day trek from Dodola to Adaba in the high altitude hills of Western Ethiopia. Sure, we burned calories, walked many kilometers a day, and pushed ourselves up steep peaks. But in our enjoyment of the elements, we couldn’t be selfish; we had to share our delight with others. We had to support the local economy. And what better way to do both of these important things than invite a mule or a horse to carry your things and have his handler come too? Even if we had carried our own (very light) packs, the difference it would have made in our waistlines would have been infinitesimal.

Now, three months later, we find ourselves with rounder faces and a heavier step. My hiking pants are officially too short now, and are in that awkward not quite pants, not quite stylish capris, but more like hideous waiting-for-a-flood?-length, due to the newly acquired junk in my trunk. But embrace it, enjoy it, I say! Pish posh to those travelers who come home skinnier than when they left, clothes hanging off their svelte figures. The only excuse for that should be worms or parasites! Cheers to the extra pounds – there’s more to love! Cheers to the expandable waistline of wrap-around skirts! Cheers to the morning macciatos and pastries! Bring on the bread and the biscuits, what’s a meal without dessert anyway? And how better to let food digest than a nap in the sun, a few hours of reading and writing, or playing cards in the shade? My favorite form of exercise is shaking my bootie on the dance floor, and I can do that much better with my significantly improved ba-dunk-a-dunk anyway! So, here’s to indulgence, and gaining, which is always much better than losing.

…ok, so we did just buy a jumprope…