Dust in the Wind

We took coffee at a bar close to the university, and Girmay introduced me to more teachers - apparently this was where they all hid when they didn't have class... Back in the office, I once more went through the material I wanted to cover this day, we took lunch in another restaurant - Girmay teased me because I still couldn't eat that much injera, but he was also worried if I'd get enough. I told him about my diarrhea and he looked shocked. After lunch and coffee, he dragged me to one of the pharmacies, and ordered something. The person behind the counter looked and asked if it was for me. He gave me a package and told me to take, for a whole week, three pills a day. They contained antibiotics; "Finish the whole cure - take them for the whole week!" he urged me.

Normally I'm not so keen on using antibiotics, but after a week of unsuccessfully using my own stuff, it seemed like the only way. Girmay growled about the prescription from the pharmacist; "Pfft, they only try to make money! A whole week, three pills a day - I think two pills a day are enough, and you can stop when you feel better; you can keep the rest for the next time you feel sick!" I tried to explain the mechanism of antibiotic-resistance and its dangers - a university teacher should certainly be able to grasp that - but to no avail...

With a lump in my throat and sweaty hands, I entered the classroom. It was big!... and almost empty... A blackboard in front, no facilities like a beamer or even an overhead projector - back to old-school...

Slowly, the class filled up - even after the official starting time, students kept coming in. Of course, I knew I should respect the country's habits, but at the same time I was here to bring improvements. So even while people still entered the class room, I started introducing myself five minutes after class should have started. I explained where I came from, what I had done so far, and why I was here.

Ten minutes later, I told them about my intention for the next lesson, to lock the door five minutes after the classes officially were supposed to start. I only had a limited time to teach them - once more I was interrupted by a student entering the class, causing a stir through the classroom - we all had to respect each other, and should not waste time of other people. If you wanted to work at the highest levels - university levels - you needed to be efficient; time efficiency was one of the easiest and most valuable qualities one could learn.

Hands rose - what if you had no watch? What if you were delayed by the traffic, by the previous teacher? I only told them to take my classes serious, and not to waste my time and the time of their fellow-students. Talking about a good start...

I had decided to use the first day for refreshing their memories about the material they should have had in one of their previous courses - knowledge they needed before we could continue with the subject I was supposed to teach. I talked, and after ca twenty minutes, I asked my first question to the class, checking if they grasped the material.

Some hands rose, but the guy, entering the class fifteen minutes late, didn't await my permission. "This is not in the book!"

I agreed, this was not in the book, but relevant to understand the material we would be dealing with later.

"But it is not in the book!"

I ignored him, and gave one of the other students the chance to give me the answer, but also some other students started yelling that this was not in the book. I did hear the correct answer, repeated it, and continued my class. However, this 'late guy' kept shouting comments. I told him to leave if he wasn't satisfied, but then he started arguing that I was being paid to do my job, not to repeat the job of others, and certainly not to send him away.

"So what is my job?" I asked him, and he sighed. "He doesn't even know what his job is! Your job is, to teach us what is in the book!"

I became angry. "No, my job is to teach you understanding a certain subject, and the book is one way to help me with that!"

"So, you think you are better than the book?!"

"You can read the book in your own time, I will summarize its contents, and explore those parts that are unclear to you - I am not going to read a book in front of the class!"

By now, more students started to react. "We are not going to read the whole book! We don't have time for that - you are not the only teacher giving us homework?"

I told them the amount of hours reserved for this subject; I was supposed to teach for a number of hours, and the rest was homework. That didn't go in too well. I decided to give everyone a fifteen-minute break...

I went to my office, and took some water.

"How is it going" Girmay asked, and I gave a short summary. He shook his head; "Not the best way to start your first class." He certainly didn't encourage me to lock the door next time... Yes, he knew the guy with the big mouth - his father was the owner of one of the new, large hotels. Of course his son would never do anything chemistry-related after university, but it was the title that mattered. With your bachelors-, and masters-degree, you could more easily get a job at high positions, no matter what subject you'd studied. After all, several of the lecturers here didn't have a chemistry degree either; quite a number of them, including he himself, had studied agriculture, although almost all of them had followed additional chemistry courses abroad...

Of course, after fifteen minutes, not all students had returned - after all, I had been talking about the next lesson, not this one, when I spoke of sanctions... I managed to go through most of the material I had intended to teach, and I wasn't totally dissatisfied about the answers I got to my questions. No questions from the class, though... A wave of resistance came over the class when I told them their homework. 'That is madness - way too much - why do we have to do this at home, this is what you are paid for...'

There was internet at the university, and I managed to have a Skype-conversation with my parents, the first one since a week, and of course I had a lot to talk about. But how can you translate the things you'd seen, the sounds and the smells that make Addis Abeba so incredibly special, into words? I was very happy with the knowledge that they would come and visit me, even though this was still months ahead...

It really felt like coming home, seeing the now familiar surroundings of the compound I lived in, and I was sincerely happy to see Mulunesh again. She placed Milkiyas on my lap, and started cooking right away; beef in some yellow sauce. Not bad...

The next day, I was called to Ashibr's office; some students had filed complaints about me. He didn't judge my ideas - he fully supported my drive to change the attitude; that's why they hired me - but I had to acknowledge that I had entered a different culture and perhaps should adapt myself a bit. I should also realize that some of the students needed to work for their living, so perhaps I should be a bit easier on them concerning homework.

I disagreed, and I told him; a master-title is an internationally renowned title that requires a certain level of knowledge and commitment. It would be unfair to those who did give the full hundred percent, to lower the standards and devaluate the value of this title. Of course, I supported the intention to make this level available to everyone, irrespective of their background - that was commendable - but if they couldn't meet the standards, they should be able to take it at a slower pace, or lower their expectations, but the standards for a master-degree should be fixed and be high enough.

Ashibr turned out to be a forthright person, open for discussion, and we ended our meeting with the agreement that we disagreed on certain views. But for now, I was allowed to follow my own path and see where it would go to, although I was not allowed to lock the door when the classes started - safety regulations... Then, he seemed to become a bit uneasy. I should realize that some of the persons that we taught now, would end up at important positions in the future - if I knew what he meant...

The rest of the week went without noteworthy events - every day was a special event, of course, but it is remarkable how quickly one adapts to his environment. I would teach, prepare lessons and discuss teaching material with other teachers, I often had lunch with Girmay and other teachers outside, and breakfast and dinner at home.

When we went for lunch on Wednesday, Girmay asked me if I would also be fasting.

"Fasting?" I asked; "No eating, you mean?"

Girmay laughed. "We will eat, but no animal products; no meat, no eggs, no milk... In Ethiopia, we are always fasting on Wednesday and Friday - the Christians, anyway."

Now it dawned to me that also Mulunesh had not been cooking eggs this morning, and indeed, also the previous week, the meals on Wednesday and Friday might have been fasting-meals. "I think I'll be a Christian, then. I get enough meat the other days anyway..." Girmay did not continue on my comment that I would be 'Christian', but he seemed to appreciate my decision to follow their fasting pattern. It sounded healthy, and so far, I liked the vegetable-stuff Mulunesh had been cooking, so it couldn't be too hard. Only many months later, I found out that fasting also included 'no eating before noon' - Mulunesh never mentioned that to me, and by that time, I decided that perhaps I should remain living in sin concerning that part.

Saturday, I continued my quest to find the missing hotel - this time I searched in a different direction, in a different area with a totally different atmosphere. I had heard some bad language before, but now, the 'fuck you'-s, 'bitch'-es and Amharic comments that didn't sound well, were far more frequent; a few times, even stones flew in my direction. I didn't find what I came for, though, and Sunday also remained unsuccessful...

The next Wednesday, finally my bed arrived - Mulunesh handled the delivery, and was all excited when I came home. She looked happy as if it was her own bed, or her gift for me. She was equally happy with the salon table I'd found on one of my searches - I'd pointed out which table I wanted, and left the negotiations up to her.

Friday, three weeks after my arrival, was also a day off, called Timkat, celebrating the baptism of Jesus Christ.

I'd told Mulunesh that the next three days I'd been invited for lunch and dinner by my colleagues, so she wouldn't have to work for me. She looked suspicious at me but didn't say anything.

Quickly after breakfast, I left the house. The streets were busy; lively; and they all seemed to go in a certain direction that I was not going to. I liked the atmosphere of the city this day, and enjoyed my walk. Many people were calling me - trying to get my attention - but in a friendly, inviting way; it was almost like a national celebration back home. Several people tried to explain the nature of this day; told me where to go to for the best views in town. However, the idea of being in such a large mass of people scared me off, and I didn't want to be an intruder in their church rituals. The only negative point about this day was that there were also more people begging; especially elder people and women with small children... I did give a lot of money, but it still felt like I was failing on them...

Even in the area where I was searching, the people seemed more friendly; nevertheless, also this time I didn't find what I was looking for... I took several breaks for drinking, lunch and dinner, and used the change to share around the people on the street. Despite the begging people I heard music everywhere; I saw people having fun. My emotions ran in overdrive - anger, pity, joy and sadness rapidly followed on each other.

When it started to get dark, I felt less comfortable on the streets, surrounded by all those people, and I went home early.

Saturday morning, the city seemed to wake up slowly, as if recovering from a late night, but the joyful mood returned again in the afternoon. However, neither Saturday nor Sunday did I find the place I was looking for, and once more I accepted I was still looking in the wrong direction.

The next week, I once more started from the hotel I'd been staying in the first nights; this time I felt confident I would succeed. I thought I recognized the atmosphere of the area, and at one point I even thought I saw something familiar in the distance, although I couldn't decide what it was. However, when I got there, there was nothing special; perhaps wishful thinking...

However, when I walked through that area on the Saturday, six weeks after my arrival in Ethiopia, I heard a child-voice sang "Williham?" and I immediately knew: Tsegay!

I turned, and saw the old woman holding Tsegay's hand. For a moment, she remained impassive - hesitant, but when she noticed my happiness to see them, she quickly walked my way, chatted excitedly, and hugged me - pressing her cheeks against mine, again and again. I was astonished; she was even happier than I; why?

I had no time to think about it - she grabbed my wrist and dragged me with her; rapidly speaking to me. For a moment, she shifted the attention to Tsegay who, not shy at all, this time, grabbed me by the other hand. And together, they guided me through the streets. It didn't look familiar to me - I didn't get the impression they were bringing me back to the hotel; then I realized they brought me to their house. Of course, it had not been the hotel I'd been searching for.

We entered a compound, curious eyes watched my way, but I was quickly guided inside a small house - a single room with a bed, a sofa, some carton boxes and a few posters on the wall. I was pushed towards the sofa, sat down, and Tsegay was sent out again.

The old woman started rummaging, brought out a tray with cups, a coffee pot and a stove, put some charcoal on it, and then moved out of the house for a moment to return with Conjit. Conjit was placed next to me on the sofa - for a moment she was looking shyly away with her large eyes; tried to slide off the cushions. But when I started talking to her in my own language, I got her eyes fixed on me. I recited a little rhyme, which ended in tickling her, and after repeating it a few times, Conjit started to anticipate; her laughter filled the room long before I laid my hands on her.

Then, a shadow filled the doorframe, and my heart stopped beating. Mehret quickly covered her face with her shawl, moved to the bed to pick something from the ground, and left the house in no-time. Out of my view, she softly spoke with the old woman, who then continued getting the charcoal burning.

When the smoking had stopped, she put the burner inside, called, and Mehret came in to sit on the small stool behind it and started roasting coffee beans. She was now dressed in traditional clothes, her face still hidden behind a shawl over her head. The old woman talked to her - tried to pull the shawl away, but to no avail. She spoke some more, Mehret nodded, and then asked me, shyly: "Do you like coffee?"

Of course I liked coffee. However, the situation had made me very uncomfortable. Of course, I had been searching for them, but never thought about what would happen when I found them. I asked about her work - she was a cleaning lady in the hotel; about learning - she went to evening school; and then already I was out of subjects.

The old woman had taken a plate, cut some oranges in pieces, and washed some banana's which she also placed on the plate. She offered me water to wash my hands, did the same to Mehret, and then offered us some of the fruit.

I took an orange-part - almost pulled everything from the plate as I found out it was still joined to the other three parts of the orange. The woman tore it off, and then gave a second piece of the orange to Mehret.

It was sweet, juicy. I tore the pulp from the skin and ate it, but now I was left with the peel and some pits. I looked at what Mehret had done with it - she'd put them just on the ground next to her, but the old woman quickly took it out of my hands and threw them outside.

Then she took one of the bananas, showed it to me, and before I could react, she opened it and gave it to me. Her way of peeling surprised me - instead of starting at the stem, she had opened it from the tip... I told her the fruit was very nice, the old woman looked at Mehret who quickly translated, and then they shortly talked with each other.

Finally, Mehret asked me "Why are you in Ethiopia?" I told her I was a chemistry teacher at the university; she seemed impressed - "Are you a professor?" - "No, I'm an associate professor" - not sure if they'd know the difference. Mehret answered the old woman's questions, who then pulled out some school books, probably from Mehret.

By now, the roasting was done, and Mehret stood up to let me smell the beans. She spread the smoke through the small room, and handed the pan over to the old woman, who said some praising words and took it outside.

Tsegay came back in with a roll of biscuits and, at the directions of Mehret, she took a plate, opened the package and distributed them. Then, she offered one to me. I broke it in the middle, and held one half out to Conjit, who eagerly took it with both hands and shoved it to her mouth. A large piece broke off and Tsegay hurried to pick it up, but I already got it. I used my finger to carefully push some of the biscuit, all soft by her saliva, from her cheek into her mouth and at that moment the old woman came in, letting out an approving squeal.

She gave the straw fan with coffee powder to Mehret, cuddled Conjit, and took place on the bed. Then she directed Tsegay to take place on the sofa next to me; Tsegay drew Conjit on her lap and played with her. I looked for a moment, but the old woman pointed to the books, so I took one and leafed through; biology.

The old woman said something to Mehret, who shook her head. She said some more, but it seemed that Mehret didn't give in. I assumed they talked about Mehret's lessons, so I asked which courses she found most difficult. She hesitated, the old woman said something and they seemed to get into a discussion, but eventually she whispered "Mathematics and physics are most difficult."

"And what about chemistry, and biology?"

"Biology is ok; chemistry is also very difficult for me." Of course I asked if I could help her, but she remained silent. The old woman said something, but Mehret shook her head and pushed the shawl back over her face.

I paged through the other books - they were old, but I probably could help her. If she wanted. So I told her so. She didn't react; neither did she answer the questions from the old woman. The old woman sent some nosy neighboring kids away, who were staring at me through the door opening, and then covered the entrance with a cloth, making it even darker inside.

The first coffee was ready and delicious. I complimented Mehret, and confirmed it to the old woman; "Konjo buna?" "Betam konjo buna - very nice coffee!!" The old woman looked pleased and said some more to Mehret, which made her shrink - was the old woman trying to couple us?

Mehret offered me a second cup of the first brew, which I didn't reject of course. While waiting for the second brew, I played with Tsegay and Conjit; Mehret tried to avoid my attention, and I didn't know what to do with the old woman; I had been learning a few sentences of Amharic, but it was insufficient to start up a conversation.

So I slowly let my fingers walk on the sofa towards Conjit, ran the last part and then tickled her. When I repeated this, Conjit tried to stop me, laughing and squealing delightedly. Tsegay also tickled Conjit, and then slipped off the sofa and walked towards me. Both Mehret and the old woman seemed to warn her off, but I quickly grabbed her, dragged her on my lap, making her squeal in surprise. The squealing, snorting, giggling and wiggling intensified as I ran my fingers over her tummy. Mehret covered her face with her hands and the old woman clapped her hands in surprise. I let Tsegay get her breath back, who then shouted something delightful to Mehret. Mehret shook her head, said something in return, but I heard some glee in her voice. Tsegay tickled my sides, and then we were enmeshed in a tickling-battle; I had to be careful not to hit Conjit, who also joined the frolic, and in the end, all three of us were panting on the sofa, observed by Mehret and the old woman, who exchanged some joyful talk.