Real Rural Ethiopian Life
I've just come back from the field... an unusually intense experience. For the first time I was in control... well administratively anyway.
One set of observations I had to do was a structured household survey, where you basically go and sit in someone's house for three hours and see what happens. This entailed getting up at 5am to drive out into rural Ethiopia, and brave the dark and cold of the fields (with the risk of hyenas) alone to get to someone's house who I had only met once, wake them up, and completely invade their privacy. Pretty awkward... especially if you have no common language!
I've been in houses in the developing world before, but never just sat and watched. What I experienced was everything you expect, but as with everything it only really hits home when you see it with your own eyes (making this post pretty irrelevant). The houses were circular mud huts with animal stalls covered in straw, shit and urine on one side; and three small partitions on the other: two beds (hard mud with straw and a blanket) and a kitchen/storage area. The first person up is the wife, she washes her hands and face with turbid water and then goes to collect straw to start the fire. While the hot plate is warming up she washes the plates, bowls, pots and all the cups for the coffee ceremony, again with dirty water, and wakes her eldest daughter who washes and then lets out the animals. The child then brushes, scrapes the floor of dust, straw and faeces. Meanwhile her mother is roasting coffee beans on the hot plate. Afterwards, she collects more straw and puts the water on to boil. By this time the husband may be awake and slouches on the bed, possibly smoking. The younger children are left to sleep until breakfast is ready. This may not sound like much, but from a 6 o'clock start it is now at least 8. Two things I cannot adequately describe are the feelings that occur when you see an 8-year old girl scooping up animal shit with her bare hands, or the panting of the mother as she grinds the coffee beans.
At breakfast the father sits on his bed, a large plate of injera in front of him. The rest are sat on small stools in front of him. The mother takes mouthfuls of injera in between the refilling of cups of salted coffee that are endlessly extended towards her by her family. She seems to be happy at being the recognised the provider. The father leans forwards extending his cup, which is generally larger than the others, one of the children, generally the elder son (since he sometimes eats from the same plate as his father), passes it over for refilling. It is passed back silently, nearly reverently. After breakfast the children go outside, apart from the elder daugther who begins to tidy up. Meanwhile the mother fetches the kettle of turbid water and a bowl which she dutifully holds for her husband to wash his hands with. He then gets up and goes outside to wash (or take a crap), while his wife washes the breakfast utensils and stokes the fire. By the time he comes back she has collected the empty jerrycans and has begun to saddle up the donkeys for their 2-hour trek to the river. The father then begins entertaining some friends. Like a pride of lions the women do all the work and the men have it (relatively) easy.
... By this time it's already 9am and the observation is over. Where are my colleagues and interpreters for the follow-up interview? Not once were they on time, leaving me stranded in an alien house, when its obvious to all my job is finished, the house is practically empty, nothing is happening and I can't speak a word to my host... awkward... again! These activities have made me infamous in the target village. So much so that the final one had so much warning the house was clean when I arrived and she hid all her actions in the tiny kitchen area. Why? Because I am a man! My data collecting abilities are hampered by my sex. This was one of the few times I wished I was a woman.
Anyway there's something very humbling about the way they live. The early morning ritual runs almost like clockwork. It was like watching the same play 3 times, where even the animals play their part, and so completely different to anything I've ever experienced in my life. Here I sit in Awassa listening to Massive Attack and the humming of my water filter/cooler. Soon I will lie on my mattress and soft pillows, while they sleep on what is essentially the hard ground. Back in Europe I can cook a meal in 5 minutes with a microwave and all I have to do is watch TV. Clean water flows abundantly from the taps and anything I need is probably only 10 minutes away by car. I tried to imagine what it would be like if these people were parachuted into my world and the confusion that would ensue. Once, my phone rang and the effect was instantaneous: mother, father, sons, daughters all stopped what they were doing and looked at me, transfixed. Even the animals eyed me strangely. Something so inane to me and anyone else reading this shattered the ritual in an instant. It's one thing to go from having more to having less, but from less to more instantly could only lead to culture shock the likes of which we can't imagine. Consider for a minute the aforementionned family in front of a cash machine, a McDonalds or the London Ungerground. Would they give up what they had for what I have? Probably. But I doubt they realise the responsibilities involved (bosses, council tax, mortgages, etc.) and the freedom they would be giving up. They are self-sufficient, essentially accountable only to themselves. Everyone has their function, they live off their land with the resources available. Would I give up what I have in exchange for their life? The overly romanticised side of me says "Yes". The rational and reasonable side (which I listen to more and more these days) says "No. But it's only when we give up everything that we're free to do anything."
One set of observations I had to do was a structured household survey, where you basically go and sit in someone's house for three hours and see what happens. This entailed getting up at 5am to drive out into rural Ethiopia, and brave the dark and cold of the fields (with the risk of hyenas) alone to get to someone's house who I had only met once, wake them up, and completely invade their privacy. Pretty awkward... especially if you have no common language!
I've been in houses in the developing world before, but never just sat and watched. What I experienced was everything you expect, but as with everything it only really hits home when you see it with your own eyes (making this post pretty irrelevant). The houses were circular mud huts with animal stalls covered in straw, shit and urine on one side; and three small partitions on the other: two beds (hard mud with straw and a blanket) and a kitchen/storage area. The first person up is the wife, she washes her hands and face with turbid water and then goes to collect straw to start the fire. While the hot plate is warming up she washes the plates, bowls, pots and all the cups for the coffee ceremony, again with dirty water, and wakes her eldest daughter who washes and then lets out the animals. The child then brushes, scrapes the floor of dust, straw and faeces. Meanwhile her mother is roasting coffee beans on the hot plate. Afterwards, she collects more straw and puts the water on to boil. By this time the husband may be awake and slouches on the bed, possibly smoking. The younger children are left to sleep until breakfast is ready. This may not sound like much, but from a 6 o'clock start it is now at least 8. Two things I cannot adequately describe are the feelings that occur when you see an 8-year old girl scooping up animal shit with her bare hands, or the panting of the mother as she grinds the coffee beans.
At breakfast the father sits on his bed, a large plate of injera in front of him. The rest are sat on small stools in front of him. The mother takes mouthfuls of injera in between the refilling of cups of salted coffee that are endlessly extended towards her by her family. She seems to be happy at being the recognised the provider. The father leans forwards extending his cup, which is generally larger than the others, one of the children, generally the elder son (since he sometimes eats from the same plate as his father), passes it over for refilling. It is passed back silently, nearly reverently. After breakfast the children go outside, apart from the elder daugther who begins to tidy up. Meanwhile the mother fetches the kettle of turbid water and a bowl which she dutifully holds for her husband to wash his hands with. He then gets up and goes outside to wash (or take a crap), while his wife washes the breakfast utensils and stokes the fire. By the time he comes back she has collected the empty jerrycans and has begun to saddle up the donkeys for their 2-hour trek to the river. The father then begins entertaining some friends. Like a pride of lions the women do all the work and the men have it (relatively) easy.
... By this time it's already 9am and the observation is over. Where are my colleagues and interpreters for the follow-up interview? Not once were they on time, leaving me stranded in an alien house, when its obvious to all my job is finished, the house is practically empty, nothing is happening and I can't speak a word to my host... awkward... again! These activities have made me infamous in the target village. So much so that the final one had so much warning the house was clean when I arrived and she hid all her actions in the tiny kitchen area. Why? Because I am a man! My data collecting abilities are hampered by my sex. This was one of the few times I wished I was a woman.
Anyway there's something very humbling about the way they live. The early morning ritual runs almost like clockwork. It was like watching the same play 3 times, where even the animals play their part, and so completely different to anything I've ever experienced in my life. Here I sit in Awassa listening to Massive Attack and the humming of my water filter/cooler. Soon I will lie on my mattress and soft pillows, while they sleep on what is essentially the hard ground. Back in Europe I can cook a meal in 5 minutes with a microwave and all I have to do is watch TV. Clean water flows abundantly from the taps and anything I need is probably only 10 minutes away by car. I tried to imagine what it would be like if these people were parachuted into my world and the confusion that would ensue. Once, my phone rang and the effect was instantaneous: mother, father, sons, daughters all stopped what they were doing and looked at me, transfixed. Even the animals eyed me strangely. Something so inane to me and anyone else reading this shattered the ritual in an instant. It's one thing to go from having more to having less, but from less to more instantly could only lead to culture shock the likes of which we can't imagine. Consider for a minute the aforementionned family in front of a cash machine, a McDonalds or the London Ungerground. Would they give up what they had for what I have? Probably. But I doubt they realise the responsibilities involved (bosses, council tax, mortgages, etc.) and the freedom they would be giving up. They are self-sufficient, essentially accountable only to themselves. Everyone has their function, they live off their land with the resources available. Would I give up what I have in exchange for their life? The overly romanticised side of me says "Yes". The rational and reasonable side (which I listen to more and more these days) says "No. But it's only when we give up everything that we're free to do anything."