Green fingers

After five days of voting, the polls will close this afternoon. Though we laid low for the first few days of the week, things have been quiet enough that we have made several ventures into town. Very little has seemed out of the ordinary. Like rubble in a stream, lumbering army trucks in the town square and clusters of soldiers playing dominoes with guns slung over the backs of their chairs seem to have little effect on life flowing around them. There aren't quite as many vegetables available in the market put people are still out and about, shopping, selling, milling and chatting. It has been remarkable to see so many people voting for the first time in their lives. I am amazed by their patriotism. Zainab, the woman who helps me wash laundry and dishes went to vote on Monday morning. She got to the polls at 6am along with hundreds of other people. She wasn't able to cast her vote until noon. When she came to work she proudly showed me the green dye between her hennaed fingers that marked her as one who had voted. This single mom waited six hours in the blazing heat to vote in an election that, quite honestly, scarcely can claim even the veneer of democracy. While she scrubbed the dried rice off my dirty plates with her colorful hands Zainab briefly mentioned the candidiate she optimistically hopes will be announced as a winner in the days to come. I didn't have the heart to tell her he dropped out of the race altogether a few weeks ago, before voting even started. But in some ways, I'm not even sure that it would have mattered if I did. For her, like many other people I suspect, simply being able to walk to a voting booth, make her mark and drop it in a box to be counted was incredibly empowering. Whether of not her voice will ever be heard, she was able to speak.

The UN security officer came by this morning to collect the names of our "relocatable staff" so they know how many helicopters to have on standby in case people are unhappy with election results that may begin leaking out as early as tomorrow. It's a bit of a roller coaster. After the flurry of preparing for anything last week we have relaxed into the calm and even happy excitement of this week. Now we are back to needing to be ready for anything. And I have to shush my naive/optimistic side that believes so easily nothing will happen and we will be able to go on living here alongside everyone else for years to come. (She talks far to much sometimes.) All I know is right now, I am so proud to be here witnessing this firsthand. And I know that next time I vote, I won't be complaining about the lines.

Easter Olives

On Sunday morning Bryan, Dan, Laura and I woke up at dawn and hiked in grey light to the top the hill behind our house. We sat on the rocky remains of crumbling fox-hole walls and looked at the town spread out like a child's imagination below us. Sleepy smoke from early morning fires hung low and still over yards full of chicken specks and very small women moved slowly, preparing food for hungry things. The air was so still that I felt like I could hear the whole world waking up in the silence of those moments - the rustle of cotton cloth, the clink of a dropped spoon, the padding of bare feet, the gurgle of boiling water - all far below me and yet whispers in my ear. When we had caught our breath we sang a few songs. Then we prayed and watched the sun rise out of a mound of silver clouds and blue mountains. It was a very beautiful morning.

On Sunday afternoon we traveled to the town four hours of North of us for a supply run. The four of us went with Jon and Heather, a couple from the organization next door with a Land Cruiser and generous hearts. The road has improved significantly in recent months but is still rocky and dry with frequent detours through river beds and massive herds of sheep. We must have been quite a sight as we finally pulled into town and over to the only ice-cold-pineapple-milkshake-place in town covered from head to toe in a fine layer of red dust. We plopped down at a plastic table in front of speakers blaring shrill music and ordered several delicious rounds of ice-cold water before starting into the milkshakes. Oh the pleasure! Another delight of our little weekend trip was the fact that all the regular rooms at the local hotel were full, meaning we had to be put into the "safi" rooms with air-conditioning and TV. The only irony is that local custom provides merely a single sheet on top of the mattress itself so we ended up freezing to death both nights we were there. (Heaven forbid we would actually turn the blessed thing off...)
Despite our "couples retreat" mentality, being in this town made the reality of the elections all the more stark. The roads were filled with hundreds of police carrying AK s and long plastic pipes. Some were buzzing down the streets in the back of pick-ups saddled with heavy artillery weapons. Others were in alleys trying on riot control gear. Small blue cars with loudspeakers strapped to the roof inched down streets while the political rhetoric of whatever party they represented tumbled out loudly behind them like excess baggage. Despite the fun of being in the "big city" there was an uneasiness that all the Jackie Chan movies dubbed in Arabic couldn't quite shake.
We got home safely last night and everything seemed normal here. Even after air-conditioning and MTV Arabia, our toasty tent and bootlegged copies of "Smallville" didn't feel so bad. The stars are brighter and the night quieter than they are four hours North of here. And, we now have enough olives and Happy Cow cheese to see us through just about any crisis.

Coffee anyone?

I hate it when I haven't done something that I love in a long time but the longer I have been away from it, the more daunting it seems to pick it back up again. That's how I have felt about blogging this week. In the time that I have been away from this I have travelled to East Africa and back again, (and ate about half a dozen double espresso milkshakes while I was there), turned twenty-seven over Ethiopian food, met up with old friends, made a couple of new ones, had a ugly twenty-four hour stomach bug, read four books and re-introduced myself to running. I have come back refreshed and rejuvinated after a few days in a cooler climate but I am so very happy to be here again with my sweet husband, affectionate cat and occasionally psychotic puppy. It's good to be home.
It is an interesting time to be here though I will admitt. Many of you may know that our host country is holding their first democratic (quote unquote) elections in 24 years next weekend. These elections are leading up to a referendum next year in which the southern half of the country will get to vote on whether or not they want to become a seperate nation. We live in a state considered a "transitional area" meaning it was claimed by both sides fighting in the civil war that ended a few years back. We are in a particularly interesting place in a particularly interesting time.
Last week the president of this country made a surprise visit to our town. (Many of you may have read about his uniquely poor relationship with the International Criminal Court due to certain conflicts in the western part of this country.) We had heard rumors he was coming to town but didn't really believe it until we saw the presidential helicopter fly over our house and land on a road behind a line of trees. We jumped in our ATV to go and hear his campaign speech in town (it's not every day you get to see a president and someone wanted by the ICC right?) but were stopped on the way by some soldiers who politely suggested we stay home for a while (quote unquote). We later found out he stayed only forteen minutes because he was met by too many people throwing stones. Awkward.
A few day later we found out that all oppostion parties are boycotting the elections. So the whole "democratic" thing has kinda gone out the window. And people are bummed to say the least. This morning we woke up to the sound of soldiers marching and singing to the sound of shrill whistles as well as the cracks of a couple of gun shots fired into the air. We haven't heard whose army they were or why they woke up so energized but the relative calm of town suggests it was just a drill. We have stocked up on food and water just in case things go poorly next week. We have our cards and dominoes out in case we need to army crawl nextdoor for our weekly game night. And plane charter companies are on standby in case next week turns out to be a good time to take an early vacation.
I don't want to upset anyone by my nonchalant attitude to all this. I assure you, the seriousness of the situation does not escape me and every day we pray that God will keep us and this country safe from any harm. And for whatever reason, I really believe that he will. But I have also been shaped by my neighbors and friends in this place. Over and over again we ask people, "What do you think is going to happen? Do we need to be concerned?" And the response is almost always the same. There is generally a short laugh, a quick upward motion of the hands and words something along the lines of, "Who knows? We pray to God for peace, we mind our own business and take care of our families. We will all see what will happen soon enough. How about some more coffee?"
So we are trying that one out - praying, minding our own business and spending time with each other. And drinking sweet hot coffee. We'll all find out soon enough. And honestly, right now everything feels very comfortable. Life as we know it seems very normal (quote unquote).

If you can't stand the heat...

I've spent a lot of time in the kitchen lately. While Bryan was gone I tended to eat only one full meal a day, and spent the rest of the time just munching on cucumbers and raisins. It's just so hot that my appetite evaporates along with every other vestige of moisture in the air and cooking required more time and energy than I seemed to have. Now that Bryan (who has the metabolism of a race-horse) is back and Dan and Laura are here with him, I have gotten better about having food on the table and they have all been so patient with my experiments. Last week a team of six Americans/South Africans passed through town on their way to work on a project in a neighboring village and they camped out on our compound for a few nights. They were an easy crowd to impress and a loaf of banana bread and pot of stew seemed to go a long way. Even so, the sole woman in the group made a passing comment that was funny to me. Sitting with me in the kitchen as I mixed up the dough for some saltine crackers she said, "Wow. You must really love to cook." And while I certainly don't mind cooking I wanted to laugh out loud. Because it's not that I love cooking. It's that I love eating. Here, if you are at all interested in eating, than you better learn to love cooking (or marry someone who is).
We were vegetarians for the first few months here because I was scared to buy meat at the butcher. Now our iron intake has gone back up and a trip to the butcher is more like a weekly adventure. The bloody cement room plunked in the middle of the market has windows on all sides to which you push your way through the crowd to reach. You shout your order to the man in the bloody apron wielding what might be properly described as a scimitar (the order basically being "red meat" or "regular meat" which includes bone fragments, fat veins and various pieces of unidentifiable organs. I generally opt for "red.") and he hacks off his the preferred amount from the half of a cow hanging from a hook on the ceiling. The whole time he is slicing I am praying the flies swarming the room are not carrying any dreaded diseases this week and that the ash from the cigarette dangling from the butcher's lips doesn't hit my intended supper. He throws it on a scale, tosses it in a plastic sack and hands it out with a friendly smile. I've learned that it's good to have exact change. A ten pound note tends to come back through the window with dark pink fingerprints on it. One time my language lesson failed me and before I could catch myself I asked for "green" meat instead of "red" meat. The sad thing is before I could correct myself I only got a vaguely surprised look from the butcher before he turned to go scrounge some up for me.
We have had a lot more vegetables available lately which is really nice. Carrots and cucumbers have become somewhat regular features in the market and papaya has even graced our breakfast table recently. Bell peppers are also around occasionally, though they tend to be spicy, like chilli peppers. Weird huh? Someone told me it is because they are growing in such a dry climate and not enough water makes them spicy. Does anyone know if that is true?
Tomorrow Laura and I are heading to East Africa for a women's conference. And I have to admit, I am looking forward to a few days out of the kitchen. The thought of milkshakes and hamburgers is almost as enticing as the idea of eating something that I didn't cook. But I know, once our trip is over, I will be glad to get back home and back to experimenting in the kitchen. I've found that there is a certain creative outlet that comes with making new things with new ingredients. I feel a new appreciation for my grandmother's generation not to mention the women all around me here who are doing so much more than I am with so much less. I am so grateful for a lifestyle that makes eating responsibly and simply so much easier than it was in the States.
Even so, I have to admit I'm looking forward to a few days of irresponsible eating of complex food. A few days out of both the heat and the kitchen will do me good.

Rooster and Rice

R.I.P

Our good friends next door called me today to tell me that they found our rooster dead in their hen-house this morning. Now that sounds like a case for CSI, doesn't it? Except, we all knew our rooster had recently abandoned his family of ten (now nine actually after an unfortunate incident involving a hawk) and shacked up with the two single hens next door. This may (or may not) have also had something to do with a incident in which I whacked the poor time-impaired bird off of a chair with a flashlight outside my bedroom window at 4:45 in the morning. Or when Bryan pegged him with a rock at 4:30 am on a separate occasion. (Neither of us actually meant to hit him. It was dark and we were only half conscious. What are the chances?) Nonetheless, I went next door after I got the call and sure enough, there he was, dead as a doornail. The weird thing is, we couldn't figure out what killed him. There were no abrasions or contusions, no signs that he has been sick (not that I would know what those were in the first place), and upon a closer postmortem examination, no fang marks, either insect or reptilian. We all stood around and stared at the rooster in silence for a moment, each with the same burning question:"Is it safe to eat him?" We asked around and the general consensus was a shrug of the shoulders followed by a confidence-evoking, "Sure, why not?"
Before I say what you know I am about to say, let me mention that chicken is not sold anywhere here (at least not in the non-feathered, non-pecking, non-crowing at 4:30 am kind of way) and I haven't eaten poultry in two months. I felt my "Lord of the Flies" side kick in as I carried my once sorta-pet by his feet back to my house, handed him to our Askari and told him if he would do the dirty work, I would cook the bird up for the both of us. Which is exactly what happened. I ate my rooster for supper. And he was delicious!
So the moral of the story is, if I come down with claw-in-mouth disease or poultry flu or something equally terrible, you guys will know why. Really my only concern now is that Asad and Nimir, who thought they had died and gone to heaven when I gave them those chicken bones, will put two and two together and start looking and those little chicken babies running around the yard differently...

And on a much happier note, BRYAN COMES HOME TOMORROW!

Only four more days...

I've realized that I don't write as much when I am unhappy. Which I guess is a good thing considering I generally write a lot - blogs, e-mails, journal entries and other random bits of scribbling I keep to myself. And for the past few days, despite ample time to do all of the above I have hardly written a word, to myself or anyone else. My flu-like symptoms deteriorated into gagging-on-my-tonsils throat infection that had me down for three days. And it was on one of those days that I found there was no room on the incoming flight for Bryan, pushing his homecoming back to Tuesday, two full weeks after he first left. Needless to say I was a little bummed.
BUT, the good thing is a round of antibiotics has me back in the land of the living and, even though Bryan wasn't on the flight today, he was able to smuggle on a box of good stuff for me so tonight I dine on peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches! (And no, I'm not being sarcastic. This is a very good thing!)
Though I would never have wished to be here by myself for this long, I have to admit it has been really good for me. I have had lots of Arabic language practice with only my cat and dog to speak English to and it has been fun to learn new things. I have had to do a lot of those weird things that scare me like rounding up water (you've already heard about that one) changing money, paying construction workers (building a store room/garage for us) etc. All of this has left me feeling just a little more confident if I ever have to be here alone again and that can only be good.
I think those who will have to adjust the most when Bryan comes home are Asad and Nimir. I have found that one of the things I am not brave enough to do is sleep in our tent by myself in these horrific wind storms so I pulled my bed into the kitchen and have been sleeping soundly behind cement walls. This means though that Asad is usually cuddled up under my bed and Nimir cuddled up right beside me. I have had to take back all the bad things I have ever said about sleeping with animals. Lately, I haven't minded all that much...

Filled Up

Yesterday I went to the market to try and round up some water. This is always a little intimidating to me. The water is turned on at four o'clock in the afternoon and dozens of young men and their donkey carts crowd around a small tower where a fat hose pipes out foamy water into their barreled carts. There is always a buzz of adolescent rough housing overlaid with the irritated braying of donkeys as everyone jostles awkwardly for space in the muddy alleyway. Determined not to be easily cowed in such a crowd I walked into the melee more confidently than I felt and asked who could bring a barrel out to my house on the other side of town. I got a lot of "Sorry Lady" looks and a couple of passing "We don't know where you live." When I tried to give directions guys didn't look up and continued their work or just passed me by on the way to sell their water at other people's houses. I persisted for a while but finally, defeated and having exhausted by Arabic, I went on into town for a couple of other errands. I was bugged though.

In town I stopped at the shop of a charming young guy who is sure he is going to marry my youngest sister. His sodas were cold and a Champion eased my frustration about the water situation. However, as I was preparing to pay, a man I have never seen before walked up behind me. I greeted him before realizing that he was in an altered state of mind - either crazy or drunk I wasn't sure. He looked at me harshly and started growling, "You are not welcome here. Go back to your own country Khawaja. We don't want you here!" followed by other words and gestures I didn't understand. I was surprised and unsure of what to say or do when he stepped up on the shop ledge I was standing on and grabbed me roughly by the arm and yanked me closer to him. Startled I stepped back and he let me go but continued muttered unintelligible (to me) angry sounding things. My friend the shopkeeper and a couple of other people nearby looked on with disapproval but didn't do anything. Embarrassed and more shaken than I wanted to be, a stammered a quick goodbye and left. That is the first time in the eight months that we have been here that anything like that has ever happened.

Today I woke up sick. It's just flu like junk but in Bryan's absence and on the heels of a bad day it felt a little worse than it probably is. I stayed in bed reading and sucking throat lozenges most of the morning, willing Thursday afternoon to come quickly. I got a call mid-morning from one of our friends, another shopkeeper in town who has sold us many of our building supplies. He greeted me and told me he was on his way over to check in on me. When he showed up he gave me a phone card (all cell phones are pre-paid here using scratch cards) so that I could fill my phone back up with credit. He said he wanted me to be able to call Bryan whenever I need to. Anything you need, anything at all you just call me, he said. I want to look out for you while he is gone because Bryan is my friend, like this, he said laying his two fingers side by side.

Minutes after I saw our friend off I heard a clanging noise outside. I got back out of bed and went to check on the commotion. A donkey cart, not one I had asked for, was at the gate. He came inside and filled our nearly empty barrel full again.