Amharic 101

I love languages! Amharic is no exception. Though my Amharic is rudimentary, I’ve been able to chat just a bit with people here in Ethiopia who may not know English. What fun it has been!

I’m glad I discovered the U.S. Foreign Service’s online Amharic lessons while still in Mexico. I’m also glad I bought this book to bring with me.

But I couldn’t have done it without Bethlehem Bizuwork! Beti and I began at Meserete Kristos Seminary the very same day—September 13 of this year. My Amharic lessons with Beti began the next day. It’s been a joy to spend time with this cheerful young woman, and I am truly grateful for all she has taught me, not only about Amharic but also about Ethiopian culture. I treasure our friendship.

I find the language and culture connection fascinating. I have dabbled in half a dozen languages in the nine countries in which I have lived. Learning a language can give hints into the culture. And sometimes it’s just fun to notice the differences in how we say things.

1. Ethiopians are expressive. Students (and others) often tell me, “I love you” or “I love you so much”—not a typical expression from student to teacher in my culture.
2. Nothing is a problem in Ethiopia. I hear “Chigir yelem,” or “It’s no problem” every single day. It’s the first Amharic expression that I taught Bob. I think many Ethiopians are more easy-going than I am.
3. Greetings are tricky. When I say “Good morning” or “Hello” to my students in English, they respond with “I am fine.” (I want to say, “But I didn’t even ask you how you were!”) The common greeting in Amharic is more “Are you fine?” than “Good morning.”
4. The other response to a greeting is “Thank God.” It means, “I am fine, thank God.” Ethiopians may more directly express gratefulness to God than we do in our culture.
5. “Ayzosh” (to a female) or "Ayzoh" (to a male) is a common expression of encouragement. It means “Take heart” or “Be strong.” I heard it many times after my mother died, but I hear it in other contexts as well. I use the plural form when my students need a boost in their language learning. I tell them “Ayzuachu!”
6. “What can I help you?” my students ask before or after class. They want to carry my bag or my stack of papers. I usually decline, but the offers are sweet.
7. “I very thank you.” “God is very help me.” My college writing teacher, Omar Eby, taught us to never use the word “very.” (He found it meaningless.) In Ethiopia, the Amharic word for “very”—“bet’am”—can be added to almost any sentence. Sorry, Omar.
8. Ethiopians say “Sure” or “Of course” more than we do in our language. Particularly one student, Samuel, says “Of course” in response to almost every question I ask him. Just for fun, I try to respond to all his questions with the Amharic equivalent—“Ekko!”
9. “T’uro naw”—“It is good” tops the list of oft-used expressions. Is it that Amharic has fewer adjectives, or is it that everything is simply good?
10. Another high-frequency word is “Ishi,” meaning “OK.” I love the sound of that word! It’s the second Amharic word that Bob learned from me. We now say it all the time.

I could go on, but since I’m leaving Ethiopia tomorrow, I’ll wrap this up. I want time to tell everyone “I love you” and “I very thank you.”

Beti gave me this traditional Ethiopian scarf as a going-away gift. 

 

My Daily Bread--Injera and Wat

What a pleasure it has been to live on the campus of Meserete Kristos Seminary and eat my meals with students each day in the dining hall. Another great pleasure has been interacting with the dining hall staff. I met these women my very first day on campus when I knew only a few words of Amharic and was eager to practice. That first day, I learned each of their names, and in the next week or two, a bit about them. I learned to ask, Where were you born? Do you have children? How old is your daughter or son? How many brothers and sisters do you have? (In the photo above are Asnakech, Tigist, Teje, Mulu, Mekdes, Mulu, Tagu, Tadu, Tiruye, and Meseret.)

Tagu, Tiruye, Tadu, and Mulu 

Meserete and Mekdes 

These women work hard! Every day they peel onions and garlic, bring wood from the wood pile and stoke the fire, make stews and injera, serve 200 students three times a day, and wash dishes. Pictured directly above are Askala and Diribe.

Injera is the staple of the day. This spongy pancake is made from the Ethiopian-grown grain called teff (and water). Yeast lives on teff’s surface, so the sourdough naturally ferments in one to three days.

In the “injera bet,” which literally means “injera house,” Asnakech and Tigist make about 200 injeras a day, measuring 22 inches in diameter. They work with four electric griddles for about five hours, using a straw mat to lift the injera off the griddle.

In the “wat bet,” or "stew house," the cooks prepare the stews of the day. Pictured here are Teje, Mulu, Meseret, and Tadu. 

They use yellow split peas, brown lentils, red lentils, and chickpeas roasted and ground into a powder for traditional “shiro wat.” (Above chickpeas dry in the sun outside the dining hall, with the kitchen off to the right.) These stews are rotated throughout the week. Bob knows how much I love legumes and never seem to get enough. Well here in Ethiopia, I have my fill!

The stews are either “red” or “white.” Pictured above is one of each. Red stews are made with the signature Ethiopian spice blend called “barbare,” a mix including chili peppers, ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, and other spices, (depending on family preferences).

Once a week, on Mondays, we have a “red” stew with ox meat, a nice break from the usual fare. It’s served with a “white” potato stew.

Ours is a one-dish meal, eaten with your right hand. Ethiopian children learn at age 3 or 4 to soak the injera with the wat, working it with their fingers, and scoop it up into their mouth. My skills are weak, but I keep trying! I keep eating!

Four times a week we have pasta and eat with a fork (Friday dinner and Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday lunch). Our menu is the same each week. The sauce is made from tomatoes, onions, garlic, and grated carrots. The spaghetti is served with vegies on the side—cooked cabbage, cooked potatoes and beets, or raw tomatoes—the rare raw vegetable we have.

We have water to drink and no dessert—no fruit, no sweets. An Ethiopian American friend of mine says, “How could you have room for dessert after filling up on injera?” She’s right—it is filling. It’s also nutritious. The grain teff has the essential amino acids, so it's a great source of protein, as well as magnesium, potassium, fiber, and iron.

Once or twice a week (and every breakfast), I eat at home—when my tummy needs a break from injera, or I don’t feel like eating with my hand, or I need some alone time. But mostly, mealtimes in the dining hall are a great pleasure! I love the simplicity and the social time.

I also love Tagu, the head cook. She has a special skill in helping me with Amharic, explaining things in a simple way without using any English. She’s been at MKS 21 years, first working in the “wat bet,” then the “injera bet,” and now as head cook. I leave Ethiopia at the end of this week. I will surely miss Tagu and her wonderful team. What a privilege it has been to get to know them and become friends.

Losing My Mother While Living Abroad

 

I knew the day would come someday—the day I would learn that a parent had died. But still, it took me by surprise. My mom--Theodosia Ruth Hartzler Yoder--died on Sunday, November 20 around 10 p.m. in her sleep.

On that day in Ethiopia, I had lunch with two students—Mega and Tsega—who I sometimes eat with on Sundays outside on a stairstep that I call our “secret corner.” We talk about things we don’t necessarily discuss with just anyone. That Sunday—November 20—we were talking about prayer. I told them about my lingering questions to God for some years now: “Why does my mother have to suffer as she has for five years?” “How long will she have to go on living in her condition?” How ironic that my mother left her suffering that very night.

The first week after her death, I remained in Ethiopia for five days (waiting on my passport and new visa). The second week, I was with my family in Ohio. The third week, I was back in Ethiopia. A whirlwind.

Though it’s strange in Ethiopian culture, where there are three days of mourning and wailing at home, I decided to hold classes that first week. In my classes, I shared a slideshow of my mother and told my students about her life, her faith, our relationship, and some of the things I learned from her. Students wept as I spoke. Then they prayed for me and my family. Prayer is an integral part of MKS student life, so it did not surprise me to hear the audible prayers of my students as I sat crying in a chair. I snapped a photo (also strange), thinking “I want to share this with my family.” 

After four classes and four other bereavement rituals (coffee, devotions, and prayer with the faculty, cleaning staff, dining hall staff, and two friends in their home), I felt overwhelmed by love. It was truly a blessing to be comforted by the MKS community. Some of my faculty friends told me it was a blessing for my students also that I invited them to comfort me.

My travel time home was 32 hours, and my travel time back was 39. Not easy, but good for journaling, crying, trying to sleep, and marking student writing (on my way back, that is).

Bob and I met in Detroit after midnight on Saturday evening. Terry and Joanie picked us up on Sunday on their way from PA to OH. My family all met on Sunday in the late afternoon. We were immediately thrust into preparing for the visitation and memorial service—a slideshow, display tables, music, and a tribute among other details. It was wonderful to be all together, remembering Mom.

Less than 24 hours later, Monday afternoon was upon us, where people were shaking our hands and hugging us. Both the visitation and memorial service the next morning were beautiful, sacred moments. What an honor for us children to meet people we didn’t even know who had a connection to Mom and/or Dad and wanted to talk with us. What a surprise that high school classmates showed up and said nice things about Mom. What a joy to welcome out-of-town visitors, to talk with friends from our home congregation, and to have our aunts, uncles, and cousins be present and support us. 

The hardest part? Not having enough time to talk with everyone. The biggest regret? Not taking family photos the day of the funeral—of our immediate family, the grandchildren, and our extended Hartzler and Yoder families.

Terry and I had the privilege of speaking about Mom on behalf of the four of us children, though it wasn’t easy. Thank you, Grandson Austin, for writing a tribute which was read by Grandson Jeremy.

Terry encouraged us to sing at Mom’s funeral even if it would be hard. Mom loved our music, so why not sing for her? Never mind that we didn’t have much time to practice with the sound man or that my mouth was as dry as cotton or that we couldn’t hear Bob’s guitar through the monitor so we sang in a slightly different key than he played. We had agreed beforehand that we were going to sing with Mom in mind. We felt God’s grace and peace so that we could do exactly that. We sang two of Mom's favorites: Lord Jesus, you shall be my song and I wish you Jesus. 

Back in Ethiopia, the most difficult week lay before me. My mind and heart were elsewhere. I missed Mom, Dad, Bob, and my siblings. Had I made the wrong decision to return? I didn’t want to face anyone though people showed up at my door five different times that first day. Another coffee ritual with faculty and staff just made me cry. People's attempts to cheer me up had the opposite effect. I only felt truly comforted by those friends who asked about my mother, who wanted to know more about her. I was longing to talk about Mom, so when people gave me that chance, I healed, even if only a bit.

Saturday morning, I woke up thinking about my mother’s gratitude journal, which she kept from 2012 to 2016. Her first hip surgery (and the beginning of her demise) was in 2015. Until July 2016, before her second and third surgeries, she was still trying to be grateful. I woke up thankful for that, thankful that she is no longer in pain, and thankful that she was my mother, confidant, encourager, and friend throughout my life. I woke up with a heart of gratitude. There will most likely be days of mixed emotions ahead, but I trust that I can keep moving forward, holding the memories of Mom and her love in my heart. (This is the last picture of Mom and me, taken on Mother's Day 2022.)