Things That Still Aren’t Old (Even After 21 Months)

After 21 months in Ethiopia, things that were once strange or profound now feel mundane, and I often forget that seemingly routine moments are actually unique.

I can ease my way through oncoming cattle the same way I once maneuvered through oncoming tourists on the metro. My best friends are rural farmers and housewives whom I once would have Google imaged and read about like fictitious movie characters.

After 21 months, my once crazy, weird, exotic life is now just… life. But even after 600 and some days of the same moments and the same people and the same scenes, these five things don’t get old:

1. Ayele. Ayele has proven himself as the most amazing “adopted” Ethiopian dad over and over and over again, but I’m still dumbstruck by how above and beyond he always goes to look out for me. About a week ago, he left town to visit family in a distant village and when he was gone, a little boy spit on me and ran away. No one was around when it happened and afterwards, I locked myself in my house, privately cried it out and didn’t mention it to anyone. About a week after Ayele returned, we walked by this little boy’s house on the way home from school and he exclaimed, “Oh Erin, I forgot! Did a young boy spit on you? I found his parents when I returned and he was punished.” The next morning, the boy came to my house to apologize. Weeks later, I still don’t know how Ayele found out about this “spitting incident.”

2. My town “chaperones.” When walking anywhere, I am always hand-in-hand with at least three children. You’d think that at this point I’d be old news to them, but I’m not. Sometimes children will sprint to my side, catch their breath, shake my hand and then run away. Many times when I round a corner, I hear children call to each other, “ERIN IS COMING!!! ERIN IS COMING!!!!!” and then seconds later, I’m surrounded by children ready to escort me down the road. A majority of the children kiss my hands before saying goodbye, and it makes my day every single time.

3. I love people who don’t speak a word of English. I have the same relationship with my Ethiopian brother and mother that I have with my real mom and brothers, even though they can only speak Amharic. When I first moved to Adet, I wrote home to my family about all the rural farmers. Today, these farmers are my home; they are my family. Even after 21 months, I get so happy every time I think about how different we are and every time I realize how little that matters.

4. I’m not a tourist. When I used to walk into the Bahir Dar bus station, station workers assumed I wanted to go somewhere touristy like Gonder or Addis Ababa, and they would try to drag me toward those mini buses. Yesterday when I walked into the station, a distant passerby called out, “Hello, Miss Adet!” as though I were Adet’s “Miss Universe” contestant. A couple seconds later when a little boy ran up asking (in English), “Hello madam, do you go to Gonder? To Addis Ababa?” his friend retorted (in Amharic), “You idiot, she speaks Amharic. She’s going to Adet.” That’s another thing that never gets old… I love being able to understand what people say about me.

5. I’m a freak. When I first moved to Ethiopia, I would “escape” to Bahir Dar or Addis Ababa when Adet got too hard to handle. I traveled for hours and hours to these cities to treat myself with indoor plumbing, two-story buildings and “luxurious” cement sidewalks. Last week, I was in Bahir Dar for a three-day meeting and I missed Adet so much! In Bahir Dar, I had to get used to having a sink (right in my room!)… I honestly missed my various water buckets. I missed my mud house. I missed waking up to goats bleating (is that the right term?) and pigeons dancing on my tin roof. I know I always joke about how Peace Corps is turning me into a socially awkward freak… but I kind of secretly like being a freak. In America, I’m going to miss only showering once a week, and I’m really going to miss my water buckets.