Monday, October 28, 2013

My Inner Child

I have never considered myself a picky eater. Quite the opposite, I have always thought I was a rather adventurous eater. But, after two months of eating another person's cooking, cooking that is drenched in oil and/or Ethiopian butter (read "lard"), I have had just about enough. I would kill for a raw carrot. It would be nice to eat my own cooking. Losing control over something as intimate as choosing what nutrients go into my body has made me the very opposite of a happy camper.
    At this point I want to mention how much I love my host family. They are amazing. They put up with my wily American ways. They understand I need my space and just generally treat me well. My host mother would do anything I asked her to. However, I can't ask her to change a lifetime of knowledge. Even if it were possible, I wouldn't want her to. So that means I am stuck.
    I am stuck eating very little. I can force myself to eat but day by day it is less and less. I am so hungry and I swear I am losing weight. (I am NOT happy about that last fact so don't congratulate me.)
    Yesterday it all came to a head. In front of visiting family, one person who has lived in Seattle for 10 years so no language barriers prevented him from understanding what was happening, I exploded. And when I say I exploded I mean I threw a temper tantrum. Apart from lying on my stomach and banging my fists on the floor, it was a full on embarrassment of childish rage.
    Let's start at the beginning. My host mother calls me in to eat. Sitting on the table is a bowl of oily dorro wat. Now, before I go further there is something I need to explain. The whole "less is more" concept does not exist in Ethiopian cooking. Subtlety of flavor does not exist. Oil tastes good? Let's put five glugs worth from the bottle. Burburay tastes good? Let's use it as a base instead of as a spice. You like onions? Well, it'll be the only vegetable we add.
    Well, this dorro wat was placed in front of me and I almost started to cry, I was so hungry but I could not bring myself to eat this food.
    I snap.
    I stand up.
    I simply say "I can't eat this" to the room at large.
    I walk to the kitchen and grab some difo dabo (a kind of flat bread).
    Walk back into the living room, go to the refrigerator and pull out peanut butter and a banana."
    Everybody wants to help me. Everybody won't shut up and keeps asking me what I need. I keep telling them that I know what I am doing. Seriously, at this point it is ok to picture a little girl in a flouncy, bouncy pink dress, pigtail bows and her screaming at her bear-armed dad, "I can do what I want, I'm a big girl." Just make sure you picture it all in cartoon.
    Kali tries to take the peanut butter jar from me to open it. I snap just a little further. She is thirteen. I am a grown, 24 year old, highly educated adult. Seriously, she didn't think I could open the jar of peanut butter?! Do you still have the cartoon image from before in your head? Now imagine the little girl straining to open the peanut butter, that little 4 pointed muscle spasm star going off on her forehead.
    I deflated. I couldn't open the peanut butter jar. I gave it to Kali. My pride wasn't hurt so bad because she still couldn't open it and had to give it to her uncle who had to use a knife to jimmy it open. Anyway, I finished my little peanut butter and banana sandwich in silence and went to my room to fume and listen to teenage rage music.
    The next day I apologized for my behavior. My Host mother was very gracious, "It's ok. You are my daughter. I still love you." Very Gracious and then . . . "Just like I still love Kali when she acts like that." Oh great, I am just like a 13 year old.

Friday, October 11, 2013

Not Dead Yet

Dear Friends and Family,

I know I haven't posted in a while. I am currently at my site ad internet options are a little limited. The main office for the school district (Woreda office) has internet and that's what  am using right now. However, the slow speed of the computer and its distaste to read my flash drive doesn't really lend it much usefulness in terms of posting actual blogs.

This little update is just to inform you that, yes, in fact I am still alive and things are going well for me.

I will soon purchase a CDMA which means I can use my own computer in the comfort of my own bed to update all of you.

This short blog is also to inform you that I want letters. Lots of letters. Getting them are the brightest part of my week. So special thank yous to Allison, Tashia, my parents, and my grandparents. They love me the most and I have physical evidence in the shape of letters to prove this.

Love, Julia