How Do You Measure A Year?

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,

Five hundred twenty five thousand moments so dear.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,

How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love, how about love, how about love?

Measure in love. Seasons of love, seasons of love.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes,

Five hundred twenty five thousand journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned or in times that he cried.

In bridges he burned or the way that she died.

It’s time now to sing out though the story never ends

Let’s celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends.

Remember the life, (Oh you’ve got to, you’ve got to remember the life)

You know that love is a gift from up above.

Share love, head the love, spread love.

Measure your life in love

Seasons in love

When trying to decide how to mark a year as a sworn in Peace Corps Volunteer and being at site for a year, I thought of all the cheesy things I could use to help me express my past year. For my 6 months at site I marked it with 6 quotes that have helped me along the way, and with a year in country I marked it with a celebration of my dads and brothers trip to Ethiopia. To many back home, this year marker isn’t that big, because I left in July so to my family and friends, the year in country was a bigger deal to them. Their way of measuring how long I have been gone is different than how I measure it. However, for me those first 2.5 months in country in training were not as special to me. Sure, I learned a lot, experienced a lot, and made friends, but to me that was like riding a bike with the training wheels still on. My freedom and excitement really began once the training wheels came off and I had the freedom to go to new places all by myself.

RENT will always be one of my favorite musicals, and this song has a lot to do with it. I find sappy songs put to pictures to be extremely powerful, and I get goosebumps whenever I listen to this song and look back at my past. This song truly gives you an idea of what a year can hold. A January-December calendar year can be impressive, but sometimes 365 days from a certain date gives you more importance than New Years Eve and Day (especially when where you live celebrates a different New Years than the rest of the world!) I have taken a lot of pictures since getting to country and site, and looking back at those with this song playing gives me an even greater sense of what I have accomplished this year- as well as a reminder of what I have gained.

So, how do I measure my past year? With love and clips from RENT of course.

“In daylights”: I was privileged to grow up in New Mexico with some of the most gorgeous sunsets in the world, although I never fully grasped how lucky I was until I started waking up without those and the Sandia mountains. I am lucky, however to live in a place where the mountains, daylights, and sunsets are beautiful as well. They will never fully be home to me, but the landscape in Tigray reminds me enough of the 505, that I feel blessed to live in a place such as this. I climbed to the top of the mountain by my site a few months in, and although the treks up and back were awful, the view from above took my breath away. It was gorgeous, and pictures don’t do it justice. A few days ago I visited an orphanage in a nearby site and we climbed by a gorge and after rainy season it is green and lush and has a waterfall. South Ethiopia is known for their green and water, not the North, so to see colors as vivid as that by my site was spectacular. I don’t think I had ever felt such a sense of God’s creation until that moment.

“In sunsets”: I live on the top of a hill, and when I am outside my compound and walking home in the evening with the cool breeze as the sun is setting I feel safe and comfortable and I am glad to be living in this place, even on the hard days. God’s creation and sense of beauty really is all around, you just have to open your eyes and look. I can look back on my time in Ethiopia and count the number of days, as well as the number of nights. Some are difficult, some very meaningful. No matter how my day was spent however, it always ends with a sunset. A sunset marks the ending of a day, before the sunrise marks a fresh beginning. Sunsets remind me that no matter where in the world I am, no matter what the circumstances, there is a chance to start over with a fresh attitude and spirit at anytime.

“In midnights”: My bathroom is outside my room, and so occasionally when I have to make the few steps to the bathroom outside in the middle of the night I always have a sense that I’m going to run into something living, although I never have. I did walk into the shint bet and see a half eaten rat on the ground, but I would much prefer that to a live one. That’s just one of the many joys I get to deal with living in Ethiopia. It might seem like a terrifying story to someone back home, but to me and other fellow volunteers it’s just another laugh and anecdote to tell later. I grew up in the city, so I rarely had a chance to see the moon and stars to their fullest extent. Looking up at the stars and moon on those evenings at 2am (not exactly midnight, I know), it gives me a sense of just how small I am in the universe, but how much there is to explore and learn. It also reminds me that no matter where in the world I am, my friends and family are looking up at the same moon, and I feel that connection that I miss over here during the day.

“In cups of coffee”: In cups of coffee is made for Ethiopia. My days here are not complete without a coffee ceremony or at least a cup of coffee at a restaurant or café. Their coffee is more than a drink, it’s an experience. A coffee ceremony can last hours, but the chatter, laughter, and experience of that is something I have come to cherish and look forward to in this culture. In a year (or less than that) when I head home, I already know the buna ceremony is what I will miss the most. The random coffee invitations are what binds my memories together. I was a coffee drinker in the US, but it was out of convenience and need—student teaching, pulling all nighters, or “coffee dates” at Starbucks. I didn’t appreciate good coffee, I just appreciated the jolt and energy it gave me to keep me running from one thing to another. I got to Ethiopia and coffee began to have the opposite effect on me. Coffee to me is no longer something I use to go faster, it’s something I use to slow down and enjoy life. Holidays here aren’t complete without at least 2 buna ceremonies, it’s not a typical day without being invited to someone’s house for buna, and it’s normal to walk past at least 10 girls serving coffee on the side of the road to men on their breaks. Coffee in a lot of ways sums up my experience in Ethiopia. It’s the same everywhere, but the sense of what it holds and what it means is different. I have a new appreciation for the sense of community Ethiopia has, and the coffee ceremony is just one way that’s displayed.

“In inches”: Kids here run in bare feet all the time. It took me awhile to adjust my mindset to the fact that kids as little as 3 can run around neighborhoods and streets with no shoes or pants on and no parents in sight and that be totally ok. Driving through mountains there are kids seemingly hanging off the side of the mountains in the same position, and it’s accepted. If they are wearing shoes, they wear the jellies that the adults wear as well. Ethiopians are known for their track and field experience and being fast runners. We joke that they would do even better if you give them a pair of jellies, not track shoes. They might walk slowly on the street, but they can carry more than their body weight up a hill with jelly plastic shoes in 2 seconds, when I’m walking myself in shoes supposedly meant for the outdoors and I’m only half way up. I have learned here to always be surprised. Kids and adults here are capable of more than I ever thought possible. They are a mixture of clichés, and they embrace their differences. Their strength of walking from villages with straw or sticks on their backs, their joy of running with metal toys down a hill, or walking painfully slowly down the street, they do what needs to be done in the fashion they see fit—even if it’s different than what I expect. Their lives are measured by taking life inch by inch, whether barefoot or in plastic jellies.

“In miles”: Distances are measured here in kilometers, not inches and miles. There are rare signs on the road telling you how far a town or city is from where you are, you generally just drive on the road until you get to your destination. Roads here are perilous, with many accidents happening with cars, buses, animals, and people. Fellow volunteers have been in bus accidents, and I have a fellow teacher who died on the road. Riding in a mini bus (or a big bus), you always say a little prayer before the driver starts moving. They cram more people than you ever thought possible into the buses, they overcharge most of the time, Ethiopians close all the windows, even when one of them gets sick which is almost inevitable. Goats, sheep, cows, donkeys, and occasionally people wander into the road and drivers swerve not to hit them. Drives can be up to more than double what they should be depending on the driver, the bus station, and your fellow passengers. However, on the rare moments when the bus is smooth, it is great to look out onto the countryside and see the beauty that people think of when they think of Africa. No place in the country is easy to get to which can make it difficult to see the country I live in, but sometimes the journey is the most interesting part.

“In laughter”: I have had more laughter than I thought possible. On the hard days when I haven’t laughed it can be difficult to remember how to smile, but sometimes the most random things happen to make me smile and laugh. Whether it’s my fellow volunteers, my students, my compound and neighborhood kids, a good bit of media, or just a random sighting or moment, my time here in Adwa can be remembered with a lot of laughter. I have found a second family in my compound family here. I live in a compound inside of a compound, with the larger one holding many families, all with young kids who I have come to claim as “mine”. They run up to me with the biggest smiles and arms open to be twirled every time I see them. They can make me smile even on my hardest days, and taking selfies with them is the funniest thing to orchestrate. My land ladies are the sweetest people I have ever had the privilege to meet, and they have adopted me as another daughter. Sharing coffee with them, or just talking with them when I’m doing laundry or reading makes for a truly special experience.

“In strife”: I have had my fair share of both of these this past year, although I don’t know if strife would be the right word. I have gotten along with pretty much everyone at my site, and those I have not great feelings towards I tend to ignore, not cause strife. I have had difficulties with people and situations, and I have felt like wanting to give up on multiple occasions. I tend to write my happy moments, but only my friends here and my journals know exactly all my hardships. However, I try to take them as learning points and to make myself a stronger person. I have yet to be put in an uncomfortable position with men in my town, but I have friends who have gone through more than anyone deserves. I think the hardest part of seeing them go through those struggles is knowing I can’t do anything to help them. I can be there for support, and that’s about it. These situations might happen in America, but it’s a lot easier to escape from a situation, person, or feelings when you can drive elsewhere, choose to not see that person, or have a coping mechanism. Being here can be extremely difficult to deal with any hardship, without that escape route. The past year has shown me that it’s essential to choose how to handle those hardships and strife, and that it’s up to you to create your own sense of happiness—you can’t depend on anything or anyone else.

“In truths that she learned”: I am learning a lot about myself since getting to site. In high school and college I always kept myself busy, so I never had much time to do self-reflection and I was surrounded by people who I tried to emulate. However, being at site by myself I have had a lot of time to reflect and think about myself, my past and future, as well as the relationships I have with people and life in general. The idea that I’m in a new and different situation and environment has changed me for the good and bad. I think everyone in Peace Corps can agree that already a year into site and they are not the same people they came in as. Parts of our personalities become more pronounced as we deal with different things than we ever had to at home. I am beginning to find truth in myself and the world around me, through reflecting and looking around in a new way. I am also really beginning to understand how similar and yet different humans are. In many ways all humans share the same emotions and have the same abilities. My students here are just as brilliant as my students back home, weddings here are just as happy affairs as those in America, and the same sadness is felt when a tragedy happens. However, culture plays a difference in how people interact with each other. I have had to balance how I am the same and yet different from the people I am surrounded with. I can no longer wear shorts outside my house, I don’t really smile at people on the street, and I have to watch what time I get home at night. No matter where you live, there is good and bad, but how that is perceived and treated can be different, and I am continuing to learn that every day.

“Or in times that he cried”: I have had my times of crying here. Whether it be because I’m so frustrated with my school or students, a stupid person on the street, not feeling well and being sick, or just missing my family and friends and comforts of home. I wish I could say I have a coping strategy, but sometimes curling up in bed with chocolate, a soft blanket and stuffed animal, and having a good cry is all you can do. Tears never came naturally to me in America, so it’s a weird experience that I have cried so much here. But the stress of it all and sometimes questioning what I am doing here is enough to make the tears come. As I already talked about, it’s essential in an environment like this to realize your own coping strategy and embrace it. Mine is different than a fellow PCV’s. It can be hard to cope some days, when all you want to do is leave. My students have made me cry out of frustration more times than I can count, rude people on the street leave me wanting to go home, and on the days where I just want to shut the world out but the power goes out makes me want to scream. But, it’s how you take those hardships and difficulties and remind yourself that every one of those is a learning opportunity, that really helps build you up and keeps you going—even when you don’t want to anymore.

“In bridges he burned”: I haven’t burned bridges here. I have not always gone back to organizations and connections that my old site mates made while they were here, but I have not done anything to burn their bridges for other people. I have begun to realize who from home should be in my life and who doesn’t deserve to be. Many people are supporting me through this, but I have finally accepted that those who don’t help me in my life don’t need to be in it, I don’t need to try to fit them in if they don’t want to be there, it just took me living across the world to accept that. Being away from the Internet and not having much time to interact with friends and family back home puts a strain on many relationships. I knew that I would miss engagements, weddings, births, and graduations. I didn’t realize there would be so many, or that it would take such a toll on me. I have lost touch with friends I had hoped I would continue to be in touch with. But, being in a different place has shown me who my true friends are. My family has been nothing but supportive, but I have always known I have the best. My friends who have continued to help me have really shown me how loved and blessed I am. I also didn’t realize until now how amazing it is to be a part of Chi Omega. I have gotten more support from my sisters than I thought I would ever get. Girls who I wasn’t really close to before have stepped up to lift me up, and those who I cherished before have grown closer. In many ways, this year has shown me how to build bridges stronger, not burn them.

“Or the way that she died”: Knock on wood- I have yet to be called to hear that any of my family has died while I am over here. My cousin came too close for comfort, but he is doing much better now and I am eternally grateful for that. Hearing he got in an accident and not knowing if he was going to make it was probably the most stressed and heartbroken I have ever been. Knowing he got better and improved, and then seeing him when I visited home was the most relief I have ever felt. I have yet to go to a funeral here, although I have been to many weddings (I prefer the weddings). However, I have seen the sadness that accompanies funerals, because I live right by a church. The circle of life and the idea that life is so fragile has always been apparent to me, but seeing funerals much more open here and hearing the music (they have music they play whenever someone dies) almost every day, I really get the sense that life is precious. As mentioned in “in bridges he burned”, I have truly amazing family, friends, and sisters. That being said, I think I take their friendship and support for granted. Every time I get in a mini bus (mostly) I always say a little prayer to get me to my destination safely. So far that prayer has worked. I know that death is inevitable (scary, I know…) but I hope I have a while before I have to experience that with anyone close to me, back home or here. I was in Ethiopia when 2 of my fellow Greeks at UNM died in a car crash. Although I didn’t know either of them personally, many of my close friends and fellow sisters did. Seeing the outpouring of love and support on media really made me realize how precious life is, and how sometimes only the good do die young.

“Seasons of Love” gives a great dialogue for a year, and in a lot of ways it sums up my experience here. I cannot even begin to describe everything I have experienced, learned, and seen. Pictures do some visuals justice, words do describe some moments, but generally I think my experience will stay with me. I wish I was able to have everyone walk in my shoes, to see what I have seen and learn what I have learned, but that’s sadly not possible.

My students, neighbors, and random people on the street have taught me more about life and exploration than I will ever teach them. Their sense of love, family, and fun has given me a new perspective that I will take with me forever. On the flip side, I have been shown that sometimes cultural differences can be too much and that people with bad intentions are everywhere.

I have experienced hardship that no one back home will ever understand, no matter how much I explain. Peace Corps and living here can be extremely difficult and my year hasn’t always been rosy. There have been times where I have looked around, questioned all of myself and my life decisions, and thought about calling my parents to tell them I’m coming home. I have had many days where I’m just fed up with everything and everyone and shut out the world with a book and music. There have been times where I have come very close to hitting a student or a guy at the bus station.

At the same time, my time can be summed up with random moments of laughter and excitement. I have gotten to see and learn new things that I didn’t know were possible. My compound and neighborhood kids braiding my hair and coloring in the rain, horseback riding through Ethiopian mountains, drinking coffee at 8pm, dancing in a traditional dress at a wedding, or laughing with fellow Volunteers at midnight while drinking wine. These are the random and little moments that I string together to remind me why I haven’t made that phone call and why I struggle through the hard times.

A year can’t be measured in a song, in a blog post, or even in pictures. The memories and experiences are strictly your own and will continue to stay with you. Pictures, journals, and posts help you remember your year, but a year is an experience. I sometimes struggle with how I will get through the next year, but then I remember how fast the past year went. Some days it felt impossibly long, but looking back the year seemed to fly by. Through teaching, living, and learning I know that my life will be much fuller when I am back with this year of Peace Corps in my life. Every moment is a learning experience, for good and bad. If that’s true, then my past year has held enough learning experiences to cover the rest of my life.

As the cover of my first journal I used in country says: “Life is a journey, not a destination”. Sometimes I forget that quote, and I just want to get to the end. On the hard days I close my eyes and count to when it will be the next day so I can begin again. On the good days I just want time to slow- neither of which works as I want. I am sometimes so preoccupied with getting to the end of my service, that I forget to look around and experience everything. This is my life, it doesn’t start when I get home—I’m living it now, through the good and the bed. Even in the hardest moments, my life is full of enough love from friends and family back home and people here to help me measure my year as an official Peace Corps Volunteer.

So how do I measure my first year as a Peace Corps Volunteer? In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes full of love.