On Sunday morning I will arrive in Addis Ababa, and the year will be 2006. Ethiopia, as you may already know, follows a calendar very different to our own Gregorian calendar. Based on the Coptic Calendar, and similar to the Julian one, the Ethiopian calendar is approximately 8 years behind the Gregorian. Each of its years (amet in Amharic) consists of twelve months (wer) of exactly 30 days (qen), and a thirteenth month, known as Pwagame, which consists of five or six days, depending on the year. This week Ethiopia celebrated its New Year or Enqutatash, which occurs on Mesekerem 1 (or September 11th) every year. Typically it marks the end of the rainy season (Kremt) and the start of the flowering season. This year, the rains seems to persist amidst New Year blossoms, but I will shortly be arriving in the earliest days of Ethiopian 2006, itching to get down to work.
The thought of going back (or forward) to 2006 got me thinking last night as I squeezed tea bags into my suitcase. In the Gregorian calendar that was a bit of a ropey year for me. It was the year in which the sheen of graduating from Edinburgh University was fading as all the opportunities I assumed would be laid at my feet did not materialize. I moved down to London and in with my extremely accommodating cousin, having failed to get a job as a part-time receptionist at The List magazine in Edinburgh (which I, obviously, believed was the only path to greatness). I started working for less money than I needed to live on at a Mayfair gallery that I was far too common to be staffing and churned out the odd awkwardly written exhibition review. My family was going through a difficult time and I shamelessly lived for the smorgasbord of free canapes and cheap wine at any art opening my dear friend Katie could get us invitations to. I quickly came to realize that I was neither glamorous nor savvy nor [add your own adjective] enough for the Art World. And to top it off, I was unceremoniously dumped by my first love, calling on his lunch break from his far more exciting job in America. This, naturally, led to several months of insisting that I could never, ever, ever be happy, ever again. I was your classic self-centered, melodramatic Generation Y-er. I probably still am (this particular blog post may corroborate such suspicions), but Gregorian 2006 has gone down, in particular, as my annus horribilis.
This 2006 is going to be quite different. I've been having those disturbed, teeth-grinding nights of sleep that inevitably come before an exciting, yet intimidating move. I've packed and repacked and packed again, anxious about what to take both to survive the end of a very rainy rainy season and to ensure that I make the most of this opportunity to study and learn. I've tried to revise some of my Amharic, although I think anxiety is wreaking havoc with my language recall; I'm relying on the whole "immersion" experience to trigger my memory. I'm squeezing in books I feel I ought to take, and packing the odd photograph to brighten my room.
Its quite strange to be thinking of returning to 2006, since I distinctly remember toasting "good riddance" to it on Gregorian New Year's Eve that year. Funnily enough, it was in the first few weeks of 2007 that everything changed. I got a fellowship to Harvard University, where I enrolled later that year and audited a class on African Craft and Design with Prof. Suzanne Blier. It was this class (and the wonderful professor who taught it) that would radically shift my life path. And it is that same (sometimes meandering) path that has led me to this point: packing up my belongings to travel to sub-Saharan Africa for doctoral dissertation research.
So here's to a new Ethiopian year ...and to my being much older and a little wiser in 2006 this time than I was as a hapless 24 year old.
The thought of going back (or forward) to 2006 got me thinking last night as I squeezed tea bags into my suitcase. In the Gregorian calendar that was a bit of a ropey year for me. It was the year in which the sheen of graduating from Edinburgh University was fading as all the opportunities I assumed would be laid at my feet did not materialize. I moved down to London and in with my extremely accommodating cousin, having failed to get a job as a part-time receptionist at The List magazine in Edinburgh (which I, obviously, believed was the only path to greatness). I started working for less money than I needed to live on at a Mayfair gallery that I was far too common to be staffing and churned out the odd awkwardly written exhibition review. My family was going through a difficult time and I shamelessly lived for the smorgasbord of free canapes and cheap wine at any art opening my dear friend Katie could get us invitations to. I quickly came to realize that I was neither glamorous nor savvy nor [add your own adjective] enough for the Art World. And to top it off, I was unceremoniously dumped by my first love, calling on his lunch break from his far more exciting job in America. This, naturally, led to several months of insisting that I could never, ever, ever be happy, ever again. I was your classic self-centered, melodramatic Generation Y-er. I probably still am (this particular blog post may corroborate such suspicions), but Gregorian 2006 has gone down, in particular, as my annus horribilis.
The late, great Tigger in Gregorian 2006, summing up my thoughts entirely.
This 2006 is going to be quite different. I've been having those disturbed, teeth-grinding nights of sleep that inevitably come before an exciting, yet intimidating move. I've packed and repacked and packed again, anxious about what to take both to survive the end of a very rainy rainy season and to ensure that I make the most of this opportunity to study and learn. I've tried to revise some of my Amharic, although I think anxiety is wreaking havoc with my language recall; I'm relying on the whole "immersion" experience to trigger my memory. I'm squeezing in books I feel I ought to take, and packing the odd photograph to brighten my room.
Its quite strange to be thinking of returning to 2006, since I distinctly remember toasting "good riddance" to it on Gregorian New Year's Eve that year. Funnily enough, it was in the first few weeks of 2007 that everything changed. I got a fellowship to Harvard University, where I enrolled later that year and audited a class on African Craft and Design with Prof. Suzanne Blier. It was this class (and the wonderful professor who taught it) that would radically shift my life path. And it is that same (sometimes meandering) path that has led me to this point: packing up my belongings to travel to sub-Saharan Africa for doctoral dissertation research.
So here's to a new Ethiopian year ...and to my being much older and a little wiser in 2006 this time than I was as a hapless 24 year old.
Kate, I am SOOO excited you are writing a blog. And so excited to keep up with your travels and research which are unendingly inspiring for me. YES. Have a great trip - it will be amazing, I know it. Just wish I was flying through Addis instead of Amsterdam in a few weeks time! Send me your Ethiopian number and I'll call you when I land in Kigali xo
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