Monday, Nov. 19th,
The last few days have been a little difficult. I am frustrated by my inability to communicate effectively, and am also troubled by the fact that almost everyone I have met has asked me for money- and sometimes a rather significant amount.
The stories are sad, but you can’t help everyone and also we have our own debt to consider. Perhaps it’s a cultural thing, that it’s ok to ask for help and for money from friends or people you know. And, maybe it’s because of my own cultural baggage that it’s so off-putting to be approached in that way for that reason- pull yourself up by the bootstraps, don’t rely on help, and certainly don’t ask for handouts.
But I also think that people here see us and think “money.” Often times, just walking down the street, people will call “money, money” “give me money” “give me a pen” “give me _____,” often accompanied by “faranji, faranji, faranji!” at first this wasn’t so much of a problem but it has started to become quite off putting. It’s not that we’re dressing richly- t-shirts and casual pants, and often I have been wearing the local head covering/shawl, which seems to earn me slightly better treatment. I just think that, with television and perhaps also the legacy of US AID in Ethiopia (it’s a common sight to see a building with a US AID sign, or bags of food at the market labeled likewise (also it reads ‘not for resale’ but this is in English and not in Tigrinya, and it gets sold. There are often US AID tins that have been made into decorative items, or into coffee containers or other types of kitchen ware for sale in the market.
On the one hand, this aid has certainly helped a lot of people and as a result Ethiopians generally love the United States. They generally have only positive things to say about our country and I believe they deeply appreciate the aid. On the other hand, they also associate westerners with AID, and just assume that we have plenty of money, more than we could possibly use, and so it wouldn’t be a problem to ask.
I can understand this, because they see us and the fact that we bought plane tickets to be here, that we’re staying in a hotel (one that is infested with rats and has sporadic water availability, dingy, stained carpet, is sorely worn with holes, mildew, but is still a far cry better that the living situation of those living around the hotel in dirt floor shacks with metal roofs and no toilets). And, I understand that many of these people are paid one, maybe two dollars a day (or less), and that any point I have in my pocket the equivalent of an entire month’s pay (or more).
The guard from our hotel is a person who is paid about a dollar a day, and he sits in front of our stairwell, taking his work very seriously, and giving us a gap-toothed smile that stretches across the entire plane of his weather worn face.
We are rich. We turn our water faucets on and water streams out, in such a quantity that it never occurs to most Americans to wonder where such a miracle comes from, or what they would do without such incredible luxury.
I think that living in a hotel is also a barrier in some respects to my research. My relationship with Tamrat is a bit strained after not being able to buy him clothes.
Part of the problem is that in Ethiopia there are no ATMs, nor, outside of Addis Ababa, is there a way to get a cash advance on a credit card (and in the capital they charge a steep minimum fee on top of a 6% commission). So when you travel here, you have to budget in advance and simply take your cash with you, in some combination of dollars and traveller’s checks. The point is that even if I did want to buy Tamrat a new wardrobe (and I’m not entirely sure that I would…its hard to think about buying new clothes for someone who already has decent clothing when there are so many that have more holes in their shirts than threads) I don’t have the available cash to do it if I want to eat and pay my hotel bill.
Perhaps if I somehow had a different living situation, perhaps renting a house like the Italian NGO people or the Doctors of the World guy, it wouldn’t be as much as a problem.
Then last night, a medical student who we have gotten to be friends with, and have bought dinner for several times, asked each of the medical students individually if they would sponser him for $100/month for three so he can finish school (right now, he is supporting his family (his grandmother is paralyzed on her right side from a stroke, a common problem here). He is working as a nurse for a few months until he has enough money to go to school for a while, a process that will take him a decade instead of three years.
They don’t see or understand that we are all in so much debt ourselves- med school and grad school isn’t cheap!- one day that will be different, but right now we just can’t do that.
The other thing is just that there are so many sad stories. It’s difficult to know how to best help. I think, like Dr. Carl, we had some naïve ideas about coming to Africa “to help.” That somehow, just by wanting to, just by being here, you can make a difference. I still think that being a doctor or a teacher here can do a lot of good
topics for later:
Eating lunch with Kibrom at his home.
Single room- eating, sleeping, talking
His time in an Eritrean prison