Sept. 8, Addis Ababa
Traveled 25 hours, via Detroit, Amsterdam and Khartoum, to arrive in Ethiopia's capital around 10 p.m. My suitcase came late, so I was one of the last to leave, and noticed I was also one of the only women alone or not being greeted by family. In the tension and exhaustion, I had a moment of self-doubt, wondering exactly what I'd been thinking, putting myself through this arduous journey with no familiar face to await me at the other end. But the suitcase came, and I stepped outside to see my name on a card being held by a very pleasant man from a conference planning agency. And there was familiarity in the smoky air outside, which reminded me of my birthplace, New Delhi.
On hearing it was my first visit, Getachen, my greeter, assured me I was in for the time of my life.
I hadn't journeyed to Africa looking to have the time of my life. Newly widowed, I'd come to heal, with paradoxical goals of getting away from my life and getting in touch with myself. Some of this would be accomplished, I hoped, by immersing myself in the lives and challenges of Ethiopia's women.
In a few days, I'll hook up with an organization called EngenderHealth, which supports women's reproductive health projects here. With them as guides, I and a handful of other delegates from the United States will go into some of the most tradition-bound areas in the northern highlands to visit clinics and talk to clients and try to get a handle on our role as Americans in supporting them.
Getachen gave me a mini tour of the area I'd be staying in, so I could plan my next day's wanderings. My big dilemma was whether to visit the university, where I had some introductions from friends in Des Moines, or check out Africa's largest open-air market.
Turns out I didn't have to make that choice. I slept 18 hours, until close to 6 p.m. the next day! People knocked on the door several times, and I greeted them. I awoke once to a shrieking from beyond the heavily wooded balcony outside my Hilton Hotel room -- a monkey or hyena? -- but fell back to sleep, feeling drugged. I unpacked to discover I'd inadvertently disobeyed U.S. security regulations by carrying liquids in my carry-on -- shampoo, face wash, conditioner. I'd heard the announcements and seen the signs, but in making a last-minute switch of carry-on bags, never noticed the offending items that stayed inside.
So much for tight security.
My room is a long outdoor walk from the hotel lobby to a new wing. In the main lobby, a woman in traditional dress sits close to the ground and roasts fresh coffee beans. You sit in low wooden stools to take in the aroma and drink the strong, espresso-like brew in the land where coffee was discovered.
The TV here carries Al-Jazeera but not in English. Most of my dollars can't be exchanged at either of the two banks in the hotel because they were printed in 1996, which in Ethiopia is an easy year to counterfeit.
