A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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Greetings to all who read! Sorry for my absence, and thank you to those who’ve checked in. As you know, I was in Ethiopia---Lalibela, the beautiful village in Amhara known for its rock hewn churches, where I woke up early to cook chechebsa over the fire when we were without electricty, and then I was in Addis Ababa, maybe one of my favorite cities--complicated, vibrant and culturally rich, where I danced to azmari music at Fendika, was cared for by loved ones and where I explored Piassa, and its pastries and antiques with a dear sister of mine. My time in Ethiopia felt more personal and intimate than my other experiences here, for many reasons, so I think I’ll keep most of Ethiopia to myself as I’ve divulged much with all of you. If you’re truly interested, we can share a cup of bunna or a plate of shiro when I’m back in Chicago. I will, however, share with you one short and sweet story: “Auntie, na!” Sunday morning I woke up early and ate a healthy portion of firfir and injera, which I washed down with a hot cup of bunna. I then took a taxi, through congested, yet relatively quiet Addis. I passed the small blue taxis, remnants of the communist era, gifts from the USSR. I passed men and women covered in white scarves and clothing going to and from church. I discussed the political situation in the northern part of the country in broken English and Amharic with my driver. We finally reached our first stop---Bilos Cakes. Dawit, my beautiful friend, had sent me on a mission to a) get fasting cakes and b) deliver them and play with children. This was an easy mission---I love vegan cakes, and y’all know I love the kiddos. Dawit grew up at SOS Children's Village, my final destination, and so this was special to him. I think the SOS model is really lovely---children, who for whatever reason, cannot live with their biological families---grow up in a home with a mother figure and siblings coming from similar situations. In many ways, I relate to this upbringing, and I know firsthand that families are not just biological. Families are groups of people who love each other so much, that no matter where a member is in the world, she can feel the embrace or comforting smile of the others, even when she is miles away. This bond is spiritual and deep, but not always genetic and biological. I picked the prettiest cake Bilos had---a smooth white rectangular cake, with neatly placed dark chocolate shavings and bright red strawberries. Cake in hand, and trying to channel Dawit’s love, I head to SOS, which is adjacent to the beautiful and looming Bisrate Gebriel Church. The guard walks me passed quiet homes, clean and neat, surrounded by greenery and every now and then we run into a smiling child who the guard will high five. As soon as I enter Dawit’s home, I’m greeted warmly by his auntie, and his siblings ranging from age 7 months to age 15. I’m immediately offered eggs and bread, which Le’Elt, maybe 9 years old, and Tame, 6, feed me-- “gursha.” We watched Habesha music videos, as we munched away on our eggs. I'll miss the constant streaming of music videos in living rooms across the African continent---these music videos which don't always objectify women and that don't only depict black life as thug life. Three of the children walked me around their home, their school and showed me their favorite spots of SOS all while skipping, pulling on me and singing---clearly happy children. When we returned home, I was welcomed back into the sitting area, where our auntie was roasting fresh coffee beans over a coal fire and burning frankincense. I sat near her and the magical smells filling the room. The children fought over who could sit next to me, and we danced (my shoulders didn’t move as fast as theirs, no surprise to anyone who has seen me dance). At this point I was full of eggs, coffee and cake, but our auntie assured me that I needed to eat injera---just a little bit. Over the course of the next 30 minutes, I was fed injera with misir wot and gomen. As soon as I would sop up the last bit of berebere spiced misir with my injera, my plate would be quickly taken and re-upped with warm injera, spicy misir wot and fresh, green gomen. This loving woman, raising 9 children, from all over Ethiopia, of all ages, had just met me, fed me piles of food, and then served her 9 children even bigger plates of food. After several hours, the children wrapped themselves in white gabi and began to head to church---of course not before blessing me with kisses, hugs and affectionate, “ewedishalehu”-s. I hopped in a blue taxi and made my way home, with a full belly that would taste nothing else for the day but half a bottle of Habesha Cold Gold. People comment on my ability to make friends and close familial bonds in unfamiliar places. Perhaps it’s because of my expansive understanding of family. I’m back in Botswana, in my last 10 days on this continent for now. Ethiopia, I love you, and I’ll be back, I feel even very soon. እወድሃለሁ. Botswana, I will enjoy my final week here in your slightly cooler temps. For those of you following my journey, thank you. I think one or two chapters remains in this story. May your week be filled with family, seeking more family and feeding those you love.
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AuthorFulbright Distinguished Award in Teaching Archives
April 2019
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