5th
LALIBELA
Deception, Greed and EFL at Summer School in Lalibela
Going into the summer, I felt happy to stay in Nekemte and plan for the arrival of the new students in Sept/October (whenever they feel like turning up) at Nekemte Teacher Training College. My colleagues were surprised and glad when I told them I’d be at the college for the rest of the summer. Nekemte is one of the wettest – and therefore muddiest – places in Ethiopia, and most volunteers choose the summer rainy season to escape. So when another VSO volunteer recommended a summer placement in Lalibela, I quickly reviewed my plans.
With its eleven churches carved into rock in the 12th century, Lalibela is one of the most sacred sites in the world for Christians and attracts pilgrims from all countries. The UK-based Lalibela Education Trust (www.let.eu.com) sponsors around twenty children from the town, providing them with the opportunity to complete their education and to overcome the disadvantages that comes from poverty and in some cases, a lack of family. Many of the children are orphans living with grandmothers and extended family. The Trust wanted an English teacher to give lessons throughout the summer holidays to the children to boost their language skills and to occupy their time - there is little stimulation for children in rural Ethiopia, especially during the school summer holidays.
Two weeks later I arrived at Lalibela airport, which had the effect of being in a green caldera – a large open space surrounded by plateaus and low peaks on all sides. The forty minute drive in a minibus to the town of Lalibela was fascinating – rounding every bend brought a new crevasse or ravine, splitting through the lush green plains while staggered peaks and hills climbed either side, framed by distant mountains. Clouds clung to cliffs and mountainsides as we spiralled upwards until we were high enough to see them break free and roll down into valleys below us.
Sheila, the LET Director, and her husband Mike, were staying at the Mountain View Hotel on the far side of the town and, lucky for me, so was I. One of the newer hotels in Lalibela, it is certainly impressive. The location has to be the best of all – built on the edge of a huge cliff which plunges down into a wide, expansive valley, the $63-a-night is justifiable. All the rooms back onto the view and have wide balconies. The effect is almost of a multi-platform golf driving range. Not that you have to leave your bed to appreciate the view – patio doors allow a 180 degree panorama. The design of the hotel is sophisticated, especially compared to the usual selection in Ethiopian cities, and is designed to maximise the impact of the scenery. Every direction offers valleys and hills thanks to the windowed walls, interrupted only by red brick pillars. Inevitably, it doesn’t take long to spot countless examples of Ethiopian handiwork, i.e. a lack of finishing. Smeared windows, bathroom doors that don’t go all the way up to the arch, wonky mirrors, bricks not cemented in properly…. The list is endless and you could say the same about every hotel (bar the Sheraton or the Hilton perhaps) in the country. However, the positives definitely outweigh the negatives at Mountain View – even the overpriced food.
My Classroom
I followed Sheila, Mike and LET member Seleshi, over red-rock plateaus and down slippery sides into mini valleys, green with the recent rain, until we eventually came to the home of sponsored child Emebet, her three sisters and her mother. The house had been bought for them with money from the Trust. When I entered, I struggled to see how the entire family lived there. Essentially a mud-brick house of 3 small rooms, one of them was cluttered with cooking pans and sacks of teff etc., and another was to be my classroom for the next three weeks, leaving the largest room (only just) as a communal place for eating and coffee ceremonies – not that there were any tables or benches. Just a couple of thin futon-style beds on the floor. Although the house was hardly homey or spacious, it was apparently a huge improvement on their previous one. My ‘classroom’ had a single ill-fitting wooden square window (no glass), which I pushed out every time entered. Through the square, valley sides interlocked and narrow paths wound in all directions through the green. The room could fit no more than eight or so children and when I stood in front of them I was surprised they weren’t overcome with claustrophobia. [Actually, I’m not sure Ethiopians suffer from claustrophobia – they often seem to disregard personal space altogether]. I hammered a nail into one of the mud walls to hang a flipchart and on Sheila and Mike bought a couple of benches and a small bookshelf. Although initially daunted by the cramped, primitive teaching conditions, I quickly became excited by the prospect of working there- the kids seemed full of life and the setting was humble- a stark reminder that I was teaching in one of the poorest countries in the world.
Over the coming week the students’ attendance was pretty sporadic, apart from Emebet and her sisters (the classroom was in their house), although I did see most of them at one time or another. It was difficult to organise them into groups of ability: their ages ranged from ten to eighteen years old. However, in those first few days I taught a session in the morning to the girls and one in the afternoon to the boys. Everyone enjoyed the introductory lessons involving kinaesthetic activities, games, photos, writing exercises and lots of speaking. I was loving the experience.
A Spanner in the Works
Halfway through the week a dispute erupted between Emebet’s parents and Amdemariam, the first ever LET sponsored boy now studying tourism in Addis. The mother walked the length of Lalibela to the Mountain View hotel to hand Sheila a handwritten letter on her penultimate night. After purchasing the house with money from the Trust, the parents accused Amdemariam of stealing the remaining money from Emebet’s mother’s bank account. On the night of a party put on for the children, the father loitered in town, drunkenly denouncing Amdemariam to passers by, insulting him in public. The next day some basic investigations revealed that Amdemariam, although a bit of wheeler-dealer himself, couldn’t have embezzled the money and that it was an attempt to gain more money from the Trust by deceptive means. It was thought that the father and a boyfriend of one of the daughters, Zenebech, were behind the accusations. Indeed it was the boyfriend who wrote the letter – Emebet’s parents are illiterate. A look at the mother’s bank account book revealed that the money had been withdrawn by her in one lump sum. Also, the seller of the house confirmed the total cost of the house, including registrations, handover money, tax, etc, would have been around the amount that the mother had withdrawn. It quickly looked like a plot to squeeze more money out of the Trust and to frame Amdemariam.
Perturbed by the failure of their attempts, the father warned the boys of the Trust- who were friendly with Amdemariam- not to come to the lessons at the house. The success at the beginning of the week descended into a mess of local politics and squabbling, borne out of greed. Seventy-thousand birr to buy a new house was obviously not enough for Emebet’s mother and father. The thing that quickly became apparent to me while I was sitting at their house with only a few children from the Trust to teach was that the children were the ultimate losers. The adults were sabotaging their own children’s summer school lessons – an opportunity to learn English and play sports with a native speaker for free for 3 weeks – for their own selfish gains and, as a result, have ruined their chances of any future donations from the Trust. A familiar example of short-sightedness ruining long-term development.
With Sheila and Mike’s departure the day after the party, I found myself being pulled into the argument, everyone seeing me as a Trust member. Each side ranted and explained what I had to do. I did my best to keep a distance and explained I was there purely to teach. I would teach wherever the children were, which eventually turned out to be Zewdu’s house, right at the top of the town.
It was the best solution and the children started coming back to the lessons – all except Emebet’s sisters. They’d obviously been told not to by the father. Again they were being denied the chance to learn by the stubbornness and greed of their parents. She herself had fought with her father and he’d kicked her, leaving her with a deep gash in her foot, which required several visits to the hospital. She’d fled the house and been staying with friends over the weekend. I was happy to see her at the first lessons at Zewdu’s house but the bandage on her foot and the wound beneath were disturbing.
My long, steep journey from the Lal Hotel at the bottom of the town up the paved, winding road to the top every day left me gasping for breath and soaked with sweat. The exercise was welcome though and I raced past ambling locals and tourists on their way to churches. The town is a joy to walk through – the road cuts through rounded hills above and below and traditional round stone houses sit perched amongst the trees. There is a peace which is not often found in other Ethiopian towns – attributable to a restriction on modern buildings (although that seems to be relaxing as time goes on). However, apparently some locals living in or near the traditional stone-made tukuls are being moved out by the local government to new settlements on the edge of town. Conserving parts of the town is undoubtedly important but it would be sad if they were left lifeless. Part of the charm is to witness people still living there. Whether those people welcome a move into a cleaner, more modern house, I can’t say.
I must say that even with all the money being spent by tourists and as a focus of interest for charities and NGOs, Lalibela is visibly poorer than many other towns. People wear rags, children look more destitute and there isn’t nearly as much selection of fruit and vegetables on the markets (owing mostly to the landscape). However, as one of the premier attractions in the country you would expect the people to have a better quality of life, comparatively. You would expect to see some improvement in the town aside from the UNESCO buildings.
Word quickly spread amongst the young and old of Lalibela that I was a teacher and I avoided more hassle than tourists. Instead, on my daily walks around town I got shouts of ‘Hey teacher, where you go?’ rather than the usual indiscriminate remarks. I also received discounted Habesha (Ethiopian) rates in the local café when the owners learned that I was teaching. This was a small but welcome consolation – Lalibela is expensive compared to other Ethiopian towns, especially small villages in the countryside.
Although somewhat understandable given the attraction of the churches, all visitors are discriminated against and are presumed to be ‘rich’. I accept that anyone who can afford the flights and costs of visiting Ethiopia can probably afford the 300 birr (15 pounds) to visit the churches, but what about volunteers who are dedicating a year or two of their lives to contribute to development, who live on the allowance of 2300 birr (115 pounds) a month and who hold a permanent residence permit? When my friend, a fellow VSO volunteer in Metu, tried to explain this to a group of priests - who set the prices and are largely in charge of the money collected – they responded frankly with the comment, ‘we don’t care what you’re doing here, you’re a farenjii so you have to give us money’. I met a 17 year old Ethiopian girl who had emigrated with her parents to Boston, USA, ten years ago and she was made to pay the farenji price because she held a US passport – plus an extra 100 birr because she had a video camera. Is it a matter of birthright or economics? Evidently the latter. King Lalibela built the churches to provide Ethiopians with their own Jerusalem, so that they didn’t have to make the perilous journey across various countries. The girl felt unwelcome and cheated by her own country. I accept that the people of Lalibela have a right to gain from visitors (although they don’t see much of the church profits) but if the charging is purely economically-motivated, what about the fat businessman from Addis Ababa who are exponentially richer than normal citizens? They get in free and would probably argue that it is their right because they are habesha (Ethiopian).
Having experienced Lalibela as a tourist a month after my teaching experience there, I can say that this approach to tourism, along with all the other tricks and scams we experienced as tourists, left an unsavoury taste in my mouth. It’s a short-sighted approach because people won’t return if they feel they have been fleeced unfairly from every direction. The hotels, cafes, restaurants, taxi drivers I return to are the ones which have treated me fairly – the others won’t ever get my business again. They lose.
I got into an argument with shoeshine boys in Lalibela when I was with my family. The four of us needed our shoes cleaning and were giving a small group of boys outside the Lal Hotel our business. However, after I declared that we would pay them the usual rate of 4 birr per pair of shoes, they kicked up a fuss and became stroppy – purely because they were used to over-generous payments from previous, less-than-clever, tourists. These people create a dependency on outsiders which, in the case of shoe shining, lures children away from attending school. In Nekemte and everywhere else a shoe shine with polish and cream costs 4 birr at the most, and that’s how much the locals accept because it’s a fair price. So why should these boys get the 30 birr they’re asking for? Because they are used to it and they don’t like it when they don’t get what they expect.
This expectation, and almost belief, that farenjis owe locals something is damaging and, as most people know, will ultimately hinder development. Aid in the form of technical assistance is often not even recognised as aid at all on the ground – locals expect materials and money, and that’s what interests them, and that’s what they expect. While in some cases money, food and materials are definitely required, it’s not always what is needed for sustained development; Ethiopia needs assistance in finding its own solutions, on its own terms.
Thankfully, the LET-sponsored children expected only one thing from me during my stay – to be taught English and to have fun. With the well-managed support from the Lalibela Education Trust in England, they can build their own future using the skills they’ve developed at school and at summer schools like this year’s one. Next year it will run for 6 weeks during the summer and will be conducted by another VSO volunteer.
