I think that it is legitimately hard to imagine what it means to move to a developing country. Both Darling Husband and I had traveled, but we still didn't have a clue.

When we moved to Ethiopia in July 2003 we certainly had no idea what to expect, even though we were given excellent resources for information. Prior to leaving for Ethiopia we had attended workshops, read extensively and hounded the people in Addis Ababa for information, which they readily supplied. We still had no idea what to expect or even what it meant to move like that.

Our arrival in Ethiopia will forever be imbedded in my memory. We were, or at least I was, exhausted. We were allowed the opportunity to lay-over for a week en route, and we chose to go to Paris. A dream to some, I know, not so fantastically wonderful when you are traveling with a 2 year old, a 7 year old and, know that I am not exaggerating – 12 duffel bags.

If you haven’t had the opportunity to travel to Europe – I will tell you that traveling with tons of luggage is not ideal as hotels, taxis, and other forms of mass-transit are not user friendly when you are traveling with 12 bags, a toddler, a seven year old and as a grumpy couple.

But, more on France later…..


(Max and Olivia, Paris 2003)

After a week of Darling Husband death marching the family through Paris, using his newly acquired French speaking skills and charm (did I mention more on France later?) we left Paris to travel the rest of the way to Ethiopia via a layover in Germany. Note to those of you who are not acutely aware of what traveling in Germany is like, but the “oh so sterile” Frankfurt airport is also not a great place to be with 12 duffel bags, a toddler, and a seven year old and as a grumpy couple. We managed to leave the airport with all of our baggage and check in to a hotel for the longest part of our layover and then we were back to check our bags in and fly the rest of the way.

The US government, when they buy your plane tickets, mandates that you fly American carriers – so know that you don’t always go the most direct route anywhere and our trip had us go from Frankfurt to Egypt for a layover and then on to Addis Ababa. I have, thankfully, forgotten how many hours it took to get there.

When we landed, I used what little information I remembered from correspondence to persuade myself that someone was going to meet us and whisk us through the airport (as I had recollected that there would be an expeditor). Ha. What that meant was that we had someone greeting us on the other end. Nothing expeditious about it and we didn’t know at that time that we could use the “Fast” lane to get through the airport. So, we stood there waiting to clear immigration. We had the two year old in his car seat, the seven year old wallowing on us, and I don’t think that Darling Husband and I could even look at each other we were so tense and wiped out. The two year old had to go to the bathroom…too.

After we made it through immigration, we were greeted wonderfully by the “Boss” and Wife and Darling Husband’s colleagues who did, in fact, whisk us past the crowds and out to what would be our vehicle while there. It was dark, raining and smelled of eucalyptus. Still, every time I smell eucalyptus I am taken back to that evening. First smell of Ethiopia. Fortuitous that it was during the rains, because had it not been my first smell memory of Ethiopia would probably be goat!

We drove straight from the airport to our house. Beeped at the gate and were let in by the guards. I tried not to cringe at the concertina wire over the fence that was 8 feet high. Out of the car, up marble steps, in to the kitchen with a quick tour of the house and a welcome and we were alone. In a mc-mansion. In a foreign country. Alone. Phone lines were down due to the rains. And it felt really overwhelming. Mind you, I hadn’t even seen anything yet – it had been dark.

First sound memory of Ethiopia was a hyena. A HYENA. In my “neighborhood”, outside of my concertina wired fence. Second sound memory of Ethiopia was the morning call to prayer. Nothing you read can prepare you for these things. The assault on the senses.

The first morning there, Darling Husband loaded us all up in the truck and instantly we were following a colleague and neighbor through Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to the U.S. compound. The windy, horribly excavated, muddy streets lined with people, animals and refuse. Ethiopia. Ethiopia. Ethiopia.

Know that I spent the first few weeks, maybe months, picking my jaw up off of my lap as we drove around the city and figured things out. The people are fantastically beautiful. The poverty overwhelming. The history of the city and it's people are fascinating.

Summer at an American compound is when most of the families transition in and out, but also many, many are away on their R & R. A large group of U.S. ex-pats traveled almost immediately upon our arrival on vacation to Kenya, making the Compound a ghost town. In hindsight, this is probably a good thing because we were able to get the lay of the land at a leisurely pace – although it felt frantic.

We were unbelievably blessed to have friends from California, who had been in Cameroon for six months already fly in for a conference the first two weeks we were in Addis - which then turned us in to tourists in our home city. We had a huge advantage because they were "old hands" at doing the maneuvering around an African city thing and they just dragged us along with them. I truly believe that my time in Addis would have been very different, maybe even less enjoyable and enriching had they not come. I believe I wouldn't have felt as safe or at "home" in the city had I not been immediately forced out of my comfort zone and into the streets of Ethiopia.

I take these first moment memories and try to hold them close, hope that I can use them as learning tools, and move on with preparations for Djibouti.