To start off, I’d like to know if anyone is even interested in these stories. If not, I’ll move on to some other topic and write about the trip elsewhere.

This one will be a little shorter than the others because I’ve been up for almost 24 hours now, and I’m a little loopy. I want these to be some semblance of coherent, so let’s see what we can do.

Our first trip away from Addis took us to the town of Debre Zeit. In Debre Zeit, we were to teach at a government-run school for what they called “change agents.” They had gathered 50-60odd students from villages all over the country to teach them agricultural technique, basic medical care, STD prevention, education techniques, business theory, and a number of other skills that would be useful in turning their villages into more laterally connected units from their original seclusion. The idea is to move away from mere subsistence to trade between villages.

At the school, we taught first aid, basic structural engineering, water purification, English, and several other things. Our last day at the school, we were approached by the head master, and asked if we could stay for just a little while after we were done teaching. We gladly agreed, and what a treat it turned out to be.

As we sat under a grove of trees, the sky greying as some clouds grew, foreshadowing the coming rainy season, a girl brought out a tray of popcorn (a popular treat there!), and began working at the low fire. She picked some berries off of the bush behind us, and began to roast them. To my surprise, the green and red berries she had started roasting were turning brown, and the subtle smell of coffee wafted through the humid air.

The girl, whose name I also could never pronounce and now don’t remember, as you can see, is beautiful. In fact, a great number of the Ethiopian people are beautiful. They all seem to share similar patrician features which bring such richness to their faces that I haven’t seen anywhere else. After roasting and grinding the beans, they made us coffee. I’m no coffee drinker, but I’d have to say, if I was ever going to be one, home-grown coffee would be the way that I would have to drink it. Nothing else could ever suffice after having tasted it once.

The coffee, we later were told, was no small gesture of thanks. The ceremony performed for us was usually to welcome esteemed guests into households, and that for the other couple of groups who have come to visit the school (Neither of the other two had come to work, they were mostly large donors to Buckner Orphan Care) had not been honored with the coffee ceremony.

There we were, seven college students, giving what little talent and knowledge we had, and we were met with a great honor in their culture. I still feel that glow of pride whenever I think about it.

NaBloPoMo entry #9.