[I found this old draft post sitting in the blog on May 1, 2017, and thought I should post it back when I wrote it...]
My life is very small these days. It exists along a T-shaped stretch of road in a tiny town in, really, the middle of nowhere in Ethiopia (most Ethiopians we met in Addis didn't recognize the place of "Yabello" when we told them where we were headed - we had to generalize to "Borana region"). I spend most of my day at the Arefat Pension, our hotel at the far edge of the transit junction, which I already mentioned is not even part of "town" itself. Cora and I venture to the junction for breakfast and dinner with Nate, we take walks in the evening when the world has cooled down a bit, and otherwise we are here, washing up or cooking or playing on our hotel room's small tiled porch.
Cora's friends are the two washerwomen who come in the morning, and the young man who manages the hotel who likes to play ball with her.
My life is very small these days. It exists along a T-shaped stretch of road in a tiny town in, really, the middle of nowhere in Ethiopia (most Ethiopians we met in Addis didn't recognize the place of "Yabello" when we told them where we were headed - we had to generalize to "Borana region"). I spend most of my day at the Arefat Pension, our hotel at the far edge of the transit junction, which I already mentioned is not even part of "town" itself. Cora and I venture to the junction for breakfast and dinner with Nate, we take walks in the evening when the world has cooled down a bit, and otherwise we are here, washing up or cooking or playing on our hotel room's small tiled porch.
Cora's friends are the two washerwomen who come in the morning, and the young man who manages the hotel who likes to play ball with her.
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