I’ve been rather hermit-like all weekend, so this afternoon, Sunday, I decided to take a little walk. Somehow I ended up walking along side a young girl named Chaltu in the direction of the lake and the countryside. I recognized her friendly face but I didn’t remember from where. After talking a bit I realized she is in the high school’s HIV Awareness Club. She was going to the country side to do something I didn’t know the word for, so I just tagged along for the ride. Turned out we were heading to a small patch of lake-side farmland. We then spent the next hour watering the young saplings of hot green peppers and something else whose afan oromo name I didn’t recognize. A small irrigation ditch was gently ushering water from the hillside down to the lake and passing along side the land.
I forgot how much I enjoy gardening. The simple serenity of fetching water and slowly walking down the rows, rocking my watering can back and forth. It was a neighborly affair, a small group of all ages had gathered to assist in the watering process. It was squishy and muddy and peaceful and sublime. The view of the lake from the garden was gorgeous in the fading sunlight. After a weekend of little action and a growing sense of unease about the up coming week, getting whisked into a garden was exactly what I needed. This sort of thing is a special perk of living in Ethiopia that I am very thankful for. The ability to strike up a conversation with practically any person and then it actually lead to a little adventure, if such events occur in the states they are very rare indeed. The quiet feeling of community and collaboration, centered around a simple, natural task. I couldn’t help but feel more peaceful and relaxed than I have in a long time.
