As an ex-pat, I have a pretty simple life here. Most weekday mornings I wake up around 7, make a simple breakfast and some tea, do a little computer work or reading and then leave about 8:15 to walk the 20 minutes to the museum. I have a research room at the museum that I am share with an American paleontologist who specializes on fossil horses. I spend my days going through the rocks we’ve found in the field, identifying and describing the different types of leaves, and photographing as many specimens as time allows. I promise a future blog on the actual research that I’m doing here, lest you all think I come here just to escape American life.

The museum is freezing, so generally for lunchtime I sit in the courtyard and make a sandwich. My favorite creation is avocado, mango, cheese, and mustard on a fresh-baked Big, crunchy white rolls. Other days I’ll alternate with peanut butter/honey/banana, tuna, or sardines. Or, on the rare occasion that usually coincides with visits of other visiting scientists, I’ll go to one of the restaurants near the museum. After lunch, I work until about 3:30 and then take a tea break at the museum cafeteria (the Ardi – the name Lucy was already taken by the tourist trap restaurant next door). Then, we get kicked out at 5:30, at which point I either meet friends or go home and cook dinner, using ingredients from my pantry (see picture).

The canned goods are purchased from small shops, the produce from street vendors, and the bread from the local bakery. I’m sure none of the produce is organic, but it’s fresh and local and tastes so much better than American fruits and veggies. In the US, when I make ful, I have to use tomato paste in addition to tomatoes, because American grocery-store tomatoes barely have any flavor. Here, the tomatoes are bright red, juicy, and full of flavor (and note that I don’t even like tomatoes), so quite perfect for any tomato-based dish. I know I’m not the first person to recognize the following, but it never fails to amaze me that America has been the most powerful nation in the world for the last 50+ years, and yet much of the food we eat is crap flavor compared with what you get in the “developing” countries. True, we do have farmer’s markets and Whole Foods, but it’s tricky for me to afford that regularly on Miami University assistant professor’s salary.

Weekends are relaxation time. Saturday morning I do some laundry and food shopping, and then make my way to the Hilton by 2PM for Hash, which is what makes my time in Addis so enjoyable: a couple hours of clean air, exercise, and delightful company, followed by beer, dinner, and dancing. It’s a wonderful opportunity to meet many amazing people (see previous ode to hashing). Sunday is back to the museum, maximizing the most of my short month here, but I let myself have a slightly slower pace of work on Sunday.

My mom asked for more pictures, so here are a few scenes from my daily life. I live in a clean, quiet guest house with my own bedroom and bathroom, and I share a kitchen with the other inhabitants. Today I bought a jump rope (running in Addis outside of Hash has not suited me), so starting tomorrow I will be the crazy ferengi jumping rope in the courtyard!

On several occasions this year, the following phrase has run through my head: “My 16-year-old self would be so mad at my current self right about now.” In junior high and high school, I was an idealistic tree-hugger. I loved all things furry, and would probably have been vegetarian if I had a little more knowledge of how more of the world outside northside Chicago lived and was courageous enough to announce to my parents that we needed to save the animals and not eat meat. (Note: my present-day parents would probably be ok with that, because, like me, they are now aware of how harmful the American meat-based diet is to climate and the environment).

My family celebrates Christmas Eve in the traditional Italian manner, with a seafood feast culminating in lobster. As a child, I would accompany my father that morning to buy live lobsters, they would sit in the fridge until dinner-time, and then he would drop them in the pot of boiling water. Try as he might make me, the thought of killing a lobster myself by dropping it into the boiling water was too much for me, and I always refused.

Now flash forward 16 years, and 12 trips to Africa later, and my 32-year-old went to the sheep market and “participated” in the purchase of three live sheep and one goat for Christmas dinners. This is the tradition here. All families who can afford it buy a sheep for Christmas; very rich families may buy cows and poorer only chickens, but the norm is the sheep. My friend Mesfin asked me if I wanted to come with him this year to buy the family sheep, and naturally, I jumped at the opportunity, after first asking whether my presence would raise the price for him and his friends. After his assurance it would not, it was settled. Hence, this afternoon I found myself on the side of the road leading to Gondar traipsing amidst herds of sheep, a good distance behind the Ethiopians so as to minimize the risk of price inflation, and being pestered by the shepherds to buy a sheep. Seriously, buddies, as much as I love eating sheep, I really do not have the means to slaughter, store, and cook an entire sheep at my guesthouse! But, business was slow while we were there, so I suppose it was worth a shot.

After much haggling, Mesfin and his friend got their desired animals (from 2500 birr down to 1100-1350 birr, depending on size), which then had their legs tied and then were rather unceremoniously tied to the roof of the jeep. Last, we drove around Addis delivering the two sheep and the goat, one of which was quite feisty and kept trying to propel itself to freedom, only to thump back onto the rack to which it was tied, and dropped the last off at Mesfin’s. My 16-year-old self would be horrified by the day’s endeavors. My current self can’t wait for Christmas dinner on Tuesday!