Showing posts with label Ethiopia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ethiopia. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Fred: Back in the Day

Fred pouring some in-air Hennessy


A colleague from his days in Ethiopia discovered this telling photograph of Our Beloved Fred, clearly at ease as they flew over the arid terrain they were charged with mapping.  I'm guessing this was snapped at the *end* of a long hot day of topographical fun and games...




The Ethiopia-United States Mapping Mission, also known as the Ethi-U.S. Mapping Mission, was an operation undertaken by the United States Army during the 1960s to provide up-to-date topographic map coverage of the entire country of Ethiopia. The soldiers who conducted the mapping operations on the ground during that time used the latest surveying and mapping techniques and were exposed to many hardships and dangers, but they completed their mission near the end of the decade. The maps that were created still serve as the base maps for the country of Ethiopia and are presently being updated and maintained by the Ethiopian Mapping Authority.
Fred loved the country so much that at the end of his famously difficult tour of duty (he suffered several severe bouts of Hennessy Elbow) -- he stuck around for a number of years as an advising civilian.  Today, we honor Ethiopia by sponsoring kids through ChildFund International.


an after hours edit:  i haven't told fred that the picture is posted here... i hope it's okay by him, as there is something about it -- yes, beyond his inclusion in it -- that is likeable.  he said they called the plane "the vomit comet," as it's time was mostly spent landing and taking off, with little level air cruising in between.  we had an interesting conversation a few minutes ago.  he was unaware that the map making mission was listed on wikipedia -- fred is precisely the type of person who does not google himself or the events of his life, thankyouverymuch, as he was there and remembers it all well.  still, i wanted his reaction to the characterization of "the men" of the mission as... well, cowboys and adventurers: 

The topographic surveyors and their aviation support pilots and crew served on field parties that endured sweltering heat in this Sub Saharan region of Africa. They also struggled to subsist in remote areas of the country that included jungles, deserts, dense bush, mountains and swamps that harbored deadly snakes, crocodiles, lions, leopards, hyenas, hippos, cape buffalo, elephants, wild dogs, dangerous bees and ants, aggressive tribes of baboons and sometimes hostile natives, not to mention any number of malignant diseases. In addition, these troops and their support personnel were frequently required to conduct their operations in active war zones along the Somalia and Sudan borders, where brutal wars and indiscriminate killing had been going on for years, [2] and the area of the country that is now Eritrea, where the Eritrean Liberation Front was engaged in armed struggle with imperial Ethiopian forces. [3]

even before he started answering, my mind filled with the memory of his stories, and the realization of how long it has been since he shared any of them.  i realized i was hungry for those tales, often funny, often underplaying the role of danger, always light on the emotional and physical toll he sometimes paid.

most engaging were stories of the other men, their drinking, their drinking and driving (somehow not so bad a thing when you are a bunch of guys in a truck streaking across the uncharted desert), and the inevitable stories of conflict with career military types, not to mention military rules, in general. 

largely, though, they were left to their own wild devices, with the occasional big brass dropping in to praise their isolated work.  uniforms were unheard of, and it sounds like the only schedule they respected was a sketch of one that allowed for the mapping to get done according to flight schedules and the unrelenting rules of daylight and the permission of the weather.

they swam in the same watering holes as hippos, not knowing hippos were at all dangerous.  they managed to crash the truck (it must have been a series of trucks) in that wide, empty expanse of desert, by running into some barrier that i cannot remember.  i guess steering was optional.

when queried about the cognac, fred allowed as to never being "without a crate."

they loved "boonies," and i still get upset at hearing how their pet baby boonie disappeared from the end of his tether one night, with the assistance of a leopard.  then i get upset at the thought of a leopard near my sleeping fred!

he stares into space and lapses into a monotone when he tells of having to retrieve the body of a peace corps volunteer... from the inside of a crocodile.

that same tone relates stories of crashes -- of trucks, of planes, of helicopters.

a smile toys with his lovely lush lower lip when he thinks of the beautiful ethiopian woman he loved and lived with, for a while.

another smile appears when he falls back into the memory of that camaraderie of men, and when he thinks of the country, of the people, of the mornings when the lions of haile selassie, that lion of judah, walked by his tent.

cowboy, adventurer, friend, scientist, lover, and moralist -- all...

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Gentle Sandpiper

I've sent La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore off on a sort of Snipe Hunt this morning, just to get her out from underfoot.

There really is such a thing as a snipe -- a "shorebird," Wikipedia tells me. Plovers, godwits, ruddy turnstones. I even ran across the creature named for the famed attributes of my blueblood birding family: the double-striped thick knee.

I am a sucker for a sandpiper. When I was in high school, my stepmother, a great gift-giver, got me a little sandpiper statuette -- ah, I just found it: the Gentle Sandpiper Sculpture from the Smithsonian Store. Why don't I still have it? Where and when did I choose to leave it, break it, whatever I did with it? Could it be that the bill broke off, that it would not accept my sad efforts at repair?

I am known for the destruction of my own property. Fits of pique, whatever. Photographs, term papers, dissertation chapters. My hair. Gifts from stalkers.

So what is The Castafiore out looking for, what fruitless quest have I set her? To find and purchase the ingredients for injera, a type of Ethiopian bread.

The Castafiore neither cooks nor bakes. She does not grill, steam, braise, fry or parboil. The Chaste White Flower, the Milanese Nightingale does, however, love to eat and enjoys exploring the myriad of ethnic cuisines.

The Fredster lived several years in Ethiopia -- the origin of his passion to end hunger.

Strange, then, that we are celebrating the very paucity of ingredients that has made round and empty so many distended little stomachs.

He misses the bread, the coffee, the large soupy mashes of vegetables and tough stringy goat meat. Eating with the bread as utensil, the act of sopping. Tossing out the odd gem of amharic.

No doubt he also misses the beautiful woman with whom he lived (along with several members of her family) but with whom he could barely communicate. I've seen her picture and she is lovely, brown, placid, thin but also round.

Anyway, after years of harrassment, Fred is cooking an Ethiopian meal for us but is demanding (being demanding) authentic, fresh, quality ingredients.

I suppose it once was impossible to find teff flour, properly ground, to make the spongy sour injera. No more. And really, it is not far from being an unleavened sourdough -- if that makes any sense whatsoever. We go through spurts of drinking a variety of Ethiopian coffees that are readily available at a local international Farmer's Market. Even here -- deep, deep in the Tête de Hergé -- there is diversity.

When all the right makings are purchased, when the stars are all aligned, Bianca and I will clear out and leave him to it.

For today, though, the stuff of his meal is serving me as snipe, for I am in a mood.

This business of little sleep is wearing me down, eating at my sanity. Last night, I managed to sleep from midnight to one, then three to four-thirty. I feel like taking a carrot peeler to my eyeballs.

I am waiting for my surgeon to get back in town. I want to get this second left spacer out. And at the same time, I am tired of trying. Fred and I keep going over the opinions we were given last week. They still don't make sense to us.