Goat Carcasses and Shimmy Shake-Down: My Ethiopian Fasika (Easter)

Wow, I had the best—and the craziest—Easter ever! I must say that I’ve been looking forward to it ever since I got here over a month ago, since everyone’s been gearing up for it by eating “fasting food” (i.e. no meat, cheese or alcohol, among other things I’m sure) and stocking up on goats. Over the past week in particular, I’ve seen more nervous-looking goats strapped to the roofs of cars or shoved in the back seat of vans than I thought I’d see in this lifetime. I was really curious and excited to learn what all this backyard butchery and day-long feasting was about, and still it managed to surpass all of my expectations!

My Fasika (Easter) started last week before my trip to Gedeo zone, when my sweet housekeeper Yeshi told me that I was invited to her home to celebrate. Her 19 year-old nephew Tariku, who’s also the night guard at the house I’m staying at, would meet me at my house at 11am to escort me to Yeshi’s house. I’d asked her before where she lived and she said close, so I figured it was a formality for me to pop in and out, and maybe I could visit my friend Thamar’s house in the same day. Little did I know what lengthy adventure was in store for me!

At 10am on Sunday April 4th I ran to the store to quickly buy an Easter cake to thank her for having me, and at 10:45am Tariku was at the door. We’ve exchanged greetings probably 40 times since I’ve been here, but since he speaks little English and I speak little Amharic, that’s been about it. I know the word for goat is bak, so I joked with him as we walked through my neighborhood to the main Bole road about him killing bak, making the slit throat motion. I don’t know if he laughed because he thought it was funny or if he was just being polite, but he actually belly-laughed when I made a face of astonishment and took pictures of the hundreds of goat carcasses we passed on Bole road. Icky! But kind of hilarious!

I was surprised when we jumped in a taxi bus since I’d thought it was a short walk, and I nervously realized that I’d forgotten my wallet at home. It didn’t end up mattering, because Tariku insisted on paying the few bihr for each of us, or about $0.30. The taxi turned left at a random hotel, and we kept going through a crowded dusty market area, till Tariku and I jumped off at the end of the line. Even though I knew he would escort me back to my place at the end of the day, I tried to memorize where we were going just in case. It was something like “walk straight down the dusty dirt road past coffee ceremony grass and chat (mild chewable grass narcotic) vendors, hundreds of goat carcasses and a soccer field for 20 minutes. Then turn right at the corrugated tin roof jungle neighborhood and walk downhill for 10 minutes. Turn left at the fourth empty car-park lined with a chain link fence and walk for another 10 minutes, till you get to the sketchy bridge made of tree branches roped together. Cross the bridge above a tiny creek and several stubborn donkeys and walk for another 10 minutes down a dustier, rockier path right next to the airport, through dozens of isolated mud huts with metal doors. Yeshi’s house is the one with the yellow door.” All in all, it was an hour-long walk to her house! Talk about close! I couldn’t believe that she and Tariku make this journey twice a day in their plastic crumbling shoes.

The second Yeshi opened the door, I was overwhelmed and humbled with her gracious hospitality. I’d never felt so special as the guest of honor, even though it was her daughter Salam’s 8th birthday! Her eyes were bright as she excitedly greeted me, and I quickly felt underdressed in my skirt, blouse and cheap sandals, since she was wearing a white cloth traditional dress and scarf. She was also wearing bright red lipstick, which showed that Fasika is clearly a very big deal! She sat me down in her little place about the size of my Mom’s bathroom and walk-in closet put together, maybe 30 feet by 18 feet, and put on the noisy radio, apologizing that her TV was currently broken. (My friend/colleague Jason told me this is very common in Ethiopian houses—they love to put on a loud TV whenever they have company, for some reason). She had me sitting on a little faded red velvet love-seat by the door to myself, and her nephew Tariku, her niece Betty, her son Danny, her daughter Salam, Salam’s friend, and Yeshi's friend were all crowded on the love-seat and ground opposite of me, while Yeshi took a kneeling place on a stool by her bed/kitchen area. Her place smelled WONDERFUL from her cooking all day, as well as from the smoky incense of coffee ceremony. I noticed that her place was built of mud but it was really clean, and with the slight electricity and one light bulb overhead, she had a much better standard of living than many houses I’d visited in Bale or Gedeo.

All these details I soaked up over the course of the next 5 hours, since the first thing she did was serve me HEAPS of food. Before anyone else even had a beverage or a plate, she had before me a plate with piles of injera, a Pepsi, and three scoops of different kinds of meats—I think they were ground sheep with onions/pepper, sheep bone wat (thick sauce), and goat bone wat. For the next hour, she urged me to “Eat! Eat! You must eat the bone! It’s the best part! Eat! Eat!” It was delicious, and I tried to eat as slowly as I could, but I ended up gorging myself nevertheless. While I ate, she busily roasted coffee, grounded it, and brewed it right before my eyes! I’d never smelled anything so good. We also had popcorn and bread, and she kept paying a girl outside to run out and get me more soda before the one I was drinking was finished. I couldn’t believe she thought to buy me soda, since we were in the middle of nowhere and I’m sure it was expensive, and they were all drinking tela, a slightly alcoholic home-brewed beer that tastes kinda like sour mud-flavored water. But I really couldn’t feasibly refuse. I begged her to eat some herself, and to give the bone to her kids, since I have no idea how often they get to eat meat. But she insisted. At one point I actually picked up my plate when she tried to put more on, saying I was full—“beka! beka!” (enough)—and she momentarily acted really hurt! I guess Ethiopian Fasika is similar to American Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas, where the goal is to see how much you can fit in your stomach! :)

Yeshi had bought a cake of her own for her daughter Salam’s 8th birthday, so after we lit the candle and sang happy birthday, we each had two huge pieces of vanilla and mocha-flavored cake. Then, the best part of my Fasika happened, when a popular song came on the radio and everyone mildly shook their shoulders in a traditional dance move. I took a video of Tariku, Danny, Salam and her friend doing it, and pretty soon we were watching the video together and laughing. Then her niece Betty started busting out some really crazy shimmy dance moves, and before we knew it we were all dancing for the next 1-2 hours!

It was one of those rare cross-cultural moments where you forget that you don’t speak the same language, and you’re just communicating through music and dance and gestures and laughter. I was grateful that shimmying happens to be one of my only good dance moves, haha, as I was copying and going back and forth with Betty, the kids, and her friends. By this time another of her neighbors had stopped by, I think perhaps because my presence as a ferenje (foreigner) was a novelty in the area. So now there was a lady whose name I don’t remember but who had beautiful tattoo marks across her chin, as well as a beautiful older lady with a 50s-style sleek upturned hair-do. I really lost myself in the moment, and it wasn’t until I stood up to dance that I realized that I was a whole foot taller than everyone else! I thought, “DAMN I must look really out of place right now!” But they made me feel so welcome and at home, and I truly loved dancing with them, so the feeling of being “the other” didn’t last too long.

After I’d been there from 11:45am to 5:45pm, drank 4 sodas, shimmied up a storm, and eaten until I was ready to pop, Yeshi and her family walked me back to the taxi bus. She realized that my cheap sandal had a hole in it, and made me trade shoes with her! Then she tried to pay for my taxi! This time Tariku ended up insisting, throwing her crumpled up 10 bihr note back at her out the window as we drove away in a swirling cloud of dust and amasegenallos (thank yous). The whole time I was there, I couldn’t believe her kindness and hospitality. I think I’m going to leave her a big tip and anything that doesn’t fit in my box I’m mailing home or my bag that I’m taking to Kenya, but it still could never really be enough. I told her she’s my Ethiopian mother… hopefully she’ll stay employed with PHE-Ethiopia and Packard, so that I can mail her a gift from the U.S. as well!

So that was my beautiful, loving, diverse Easter. I’m so happy that I’m here for another 2 weeks so I’ll get to continue dancing and experiencing this culture with my friends, especially for my birthday the day after tomorrow! Now of course I can’t imagine leaving Ethiopia… but I guess all good things must come to an end, and I have no doubt that I’ll be back some day… hopefully soon!