Why

This is a follow up on my previous story, Dust in the Wind. Knowing that (long) story may put things into context.

'Dust in the Wind' – the title of the first story – was obviously borrowed from a song by the rock band 'Kansas'; For the current story, I had the emotional song 'Why' from the Scottish singer 'Annie Lennox' on my mind. This story is not based this song – its storyline existed before I decided on the title – but I hope the song, in the back of my mind, somehow added to the atmosphere.

All names, characters, situations and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons is intended or should be inferred.

Copyright blablabla...

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Of course, it had taken longer than expected – doesn't it always take longer, when you are looking forward to something important? Things will never go the way you had planned. But eventually, the plane had landed, the luggage collected, and we had been welcomed by my parents and my sister Rachel.

For one week, we stayed with my parents, while painting and decorating the house; then we moved in.

Tsegay and Conjit were thrilled by all the new impressions; running around, determined not to miss a thing. Mehret was also excited, eager to take everything in, to learn about the new environment as quickly as possible, and to blend in. Nardos calmly enjoyed the enthusiasm of the others; basked in the stories of the children, but took little initiative by herself. And John, of course, relished the attention that he received so plentiful.

After one week, Tsegay started school – the first year would be at the refugee camp on a school which focused on teaching our language to foreigners. Conjit went to daycare for two days a week, also to pick up our language. Mehret and Nardos had to wait for four months, until the next series of adult language courses started.

Of course, they had all been practicing on the computer – even Nardos – but that only comprised basic social talk; greetings. For shopping, English was sufficient, but especially Mehret had great difficulties not understanding what was going on around her; I knew that feeling perfectly well.

Having entered the country on a temporary visa, waiting for the permanent one, Mehret was not allowed to do any work, and soon, sitting at home started to make her restless. Two weeks after our arrival, one week after entering our new house, I had to start working and our daily parting became harder and harder.

My mother had lent us her sewing machine, explained its working, and Nardos had quickly learned how to make use of it. Mehret, on the other hand, didn't enjoy it. I encouraged her to keep learning; to teach herself our language; to improve on the other school subjects. It would certainly help her to continue further education after she sufficiently mastered our language, and to get a satisfying job.

However, Mehret spent most of her time cleaning the house, shopping and cooking. In some ways, it was great – I often invited colleagues to experience the Ethiopian kitchen, and Mehret flourished under their compliments. However, most of the time, without guests, her life was unsatisfying; I could see Mehret's mood darken. She was bitchy to Conjit and Tsegay, and gave curt replies when Nardos commented on that. Although she still remained happy and relieved when I came back from work, I realized this shouldn't take too long.

My mother started taking Mehret and Nardos to her friends, but after a few times, Mehret told me she didn't like those visits – like my mother, most of her friends hardly spoke English, and after introductions they would quickly change to our own language, excluding Mehret and Nardos from their conversations. This, and the fact that my parents lived at more than one-and-a-half hours driving distance, caused that these visits soon became less and less frequent.

One of my colleagues told me about a group of foreign women, meeting regularly, learning about our language, our culture and our habits together. This as more of Mehret's liking, and she started to look forward to these meetings, which, unfortunately, were only two hours a week.

They also met some other Ethiopians, but after a short period of regular visits, all of a sudden that contact was ended – according to Mehret, due to differences in attitude.

In November, we celebrated John's first birthday. Tsegay and Conjit were totally excited – the first birthday ever, they experienced this close – even their own birthday they had never celebrated before, so this was quite a happening.

Well, it wasn't really the first birthday celebration – Nardos had had hers a month earlier, but that one wasn't really celebrated. I had managed to convince Mehret to buy a sewing machine – Nardos had become quite adept at making clothes, and we bought a second hand machine of pretty high quality so we could return the other one back to my mother. Cake and a comprehensive dinner concluded Nardos' birthday. But for John, we would pull out all the stops.

Decorating the house was a celebration on its own. Under critical supervision of Tsegay and Conjit, I put up the flags, serpentines and balloons – the balloons reminded me of the day that Tsegay came home with one long-stretched balloon in her hands, which almost gave Nardos a heart-attack, and Tsegay a sound beating. Tsegay had found a condom on the street...

The celebration itself was a success – it was on a Saturday; of course my parents and Rachel came over, but also some of my colleagues, some new friends that Mehret had met at the foreign women group, and a family with children of the same age as Tsegay and Conjit that we had met at daycare. Everybody tried to keep speaking English, to include Mehret in the conversations, although that wasn't always easy to keep up. Tsegay and Conjit, of course, had no problems playing with the other children.

Mehret and Nardos had seized once more the opportunity to show off their cooking skills, although I had made sure there would also be plenty of non-spicy dishes. At the end of the day we were all satisfied by how things had gone, although Mehret and Nardos were astonished by the presents that were given; perhaps even a bit hurt to see how much money was spent on things they didn't see the need for.

Christmas was celebrated at my parents' place, New Year with friends, and then it was Tsegay's turn; her fifth birthday; the first to be celebrated! Of course, she was excited!

To my big surprise, Mehret didn't want to celebrate it – what was the use of wasting all this money – we'd just had Christmas and New Year, so why another celebration? Nevertheless, Mehret and I went shopping for presents, but one idea after the other was rejected: why would she need another doll, she already had more than necessary; what is the use of a scooter; what is the use of Lego; no way she would ever wear that Princess Tiana dress; didn't she have enough books already... Eventually we compromised on a new bike and some clothes...

Tsegay was allowed to invite five friends for her party; unfortunately one of her best friends from the refugee camp was not allowed by her parents to come, but nevertheless, we brought a loud and cheerful crowd back home that Thursday afternoon. Mehret had been worried – what will they be going to do all day; what will they eat, drink; how do you keep such a group of children sufficiently entertained... I assured her everything would work out fine. 'Leave it up to me...'

The party started by decorating muffins; of course, some whipped cream ended up on the table, the floor was covered with sprinkles and one of the glasses with juice went down. But while Nardos seemed to relish the enthusiasm of the children, I could see Mehret heating up in frustration. Several times she tried to lower their voices, to stop the yelling of excitement, asked me to tell the children to walk and not to run...

Mehret calmed down a bit when all children hung on the sofas, watching the Disney video Brave. In the middle of the movie, we took a break, played candy memory (carton beakers placed upside down, covering the sweets inside – the aim of the game to find similar pairs of sweets...) they had some drinks, and the movie continued.

After the movie was finished, it was time to eat. It had taken quite some persuasion to convince Mehret that the spicy Ethiopian food might not be suitable for this children's party; that pancakes would probably be a better choice. Nardos, Mehret and I assisted in preparing the pancakes, but still, at the end of the feast, table, chairs and floor were sticking... For Mehret, it was a great relief when all children were brought back home after dinner. "Never again!"

I didn't understand – for my standards, this party had gone very well; noting broken, no-one hurt. It had been cheap, and still, everybody had enjoyed it. Although she didn't say, I think even Nardos had enjoyed the party. And Mehret had hardly been involved in the organization and supervision. But she assured me she wouldn't be home next time a party was planned...

Three weeks later, it was Mehret's own birthday. She besought me not to organize anything at all for that day – cake was fine, but no presents and no visitors. I didn't want to let that day go without any presents, so Tsegay, Conjit and I had selected a set of golden earrings and a bottle of her favorite perfume. And the ladies both added a nice drawing to that.

Despite her warnings, the presents were appreciated; however, she didn't like my parents showing up in the evening. She got a very angry look after they had left.

"Did you invite them?"

"No, I didn't, but they knew it is your birthday, so I'm not surprised they showed up."

"So, if you were already expecting them, even though I told you I didn't want a celebration, then why didn't you tell them beforehand that they shouldn't come?"

I remained silent.

In January, four months after we had arrived, the residence permits were granted, and also at that time, language lessons started for Mehret and Nardos. Twice a week, they had three hours' language classes. Those days, John also went to daycare.

Having a residence permit, Mehret was finally allowed to work, and immediately she found a job in a hotel, cleaning rooms on the mornings that she wasn't going to school. Of course, I was happy about Mehret's job, but I was disappointed that she insisted on working five mornings a week, including Saturday and Sunday, as it severely limited our freedom to make trips and enjoy our time together. However, Mehret's arguments were that I only had a three-year contract, and she was worried for what would happen after that – we needed a financial buffer... Although I tried to convince her not to worry, it was impossible to change her mind; she kept working.

Saturday afternoons were mainly spent roaming the market and the shopping center. Nardos would search for fabrics to copy clothes she had seen in my mother's old fashion magazines, and for herbs, spices and other cooking ingredients. Mehret would try various clothing but rarely bought any – always waiting for better sales-offers. Tsegay and Conjit would run between the stands, the cloth-racks, the people; always on the look-out for familiar faces, children from school, from daycare, from our street, ..., impatiently waiting for the end of the day when we would buy ice-cream or snacks. And I would be pushing or carrying John, trying to distract and watch over the girls, trying to persuade Mehret or Nardos to buy the items in their hands.

Within a few months, both Tsegay and Conjit had sufficiently picked up the language to be able to speak with others. They loved chatting with my parents and with Rachel on the phone. Also Mehret was quick to learn the language; Nardos was having more difficulties – Even after half a year of language courses, my Amharic was still better than her knowledge of our language, and I had to abandon the idea of prohibiting the use of Amharic in the house – that would be too much of isolation for Nardos. But now it was me who remained left out on the chit-chat between Nardos and the others.

Still, I had nothing to complain; when I entered the house after work, Tsegay and Conjit would be waiting for me, hardly giving me the time to take off my shoes and jacket. They would be dying to tell me all about their experiences of the day: the things the teacher had said and done; the nasty girl from a few blocks away; the television program they'd seen, ... After a few minutes, Nardos would call us for dinner. Although still not comfortable to go shopping by herself – when going outside, she would always be accompanied by Mehret, or, lately, Tsegay would do too – it was Nardos who took care of the cooking these days. Ethiopian-style meals, alternated with pasta and sometimes even dishes inspired by my mother's cooking.

No matter how little Nardos would eat, I always insisted on taking our meals together – that included Nardos; even John would join us in his high chair. This was one of the few moments that Tsegay was silent – was forced to be silent. Without that restriction, very little food would enter her mouth, as talking was considered more important than anything else – no wonder she was that keen on learning the language... Conjit's attention, on the other hand, was generally drawn to John, mothering him; trying to make him eat and smile. Mehret's and my ideas differed on this – Mehret encouraged the care-taking, while I would rather have Conjit sit on the other end of the table, minding her own eating... But as usual, it's a game of give and take...

Dinner was always followed by coffee ceremony – even to Nardos it had soon become obvious that coffee ceremonies in the morning were not feasible, but every evening all accessories were taken out, although the charcoal burner was replaced by a small gas burner, the incense lumps by sandalwood sticks, and an electric grinder was used to grind the beans. Most times it was Nardos preparing the coffee; sometimes, I could persuade Mehret.

Coffee time was my moment with John – he would sit on my lap and I would make sure to get some food in him. In between the second and third round of coffee, I would change diapers and get him into his pajamas, and after the third cup, the little ladies and I would put him in bed. I would read a short bedtime story – also appreciated by the girls – we would sing a song or three, and then leave the room.

Thereafter, it would be time for both Tsegay and Conjit to shower, brush, get into pajamas and have them a story read; sometimes Tsegay would read, to show off what she had learned so far, but both preferred me to tell the stories. A little cuddle, and also Conjit's door would close... A little later, as part of the ritual, I would sneak back into that room, alone, for a few minutes of private father-girl talk. Talk about problems at daycare, about Mehret, Nardos or Tsegay, about other thoughts that haunted her mind, or just a few more minutes of cuddling and snoozing together.

Depending on the time, Tsegay would get another thirty minutes up to an hour to watch some TV, play with the laptop or a game with me, and then it was her turn to get bed-ready. Another short story, and then I would lie down next to her, to listen to her talking. Unlike Conjit, Tsegay had little need for privacy to tell about her problems – often those were the first things I would hear when I entered the house – but Tsegay just liked to express anything that came up into her mind; just talking for the talking. Although sometimes, some unexpected revelations would flow together with the stream of non-information. I had learned better than to ask during these moments – if she wanted to tell me, she would; but when I asked for details, she would act as if she had never raised that subject. Most of the time, those issues would be about the other family members, mainly Mehret, and she seemed scared to raise them.

By the time the kids were in bed, the dishes were long done, allowing some time to be spent on the sofa with Mehret and Nardos, drinking some wine or a beer. Normally, I would start by asking Nardos about her day, to encourage her to try some of our language – the rest of the day she would only speak Amharic. At the beginning of those talks, Nardos would repeat a standard set of sentences, not giving problems anymore, but when I continued to ask more specific questions, she would stammer and her eyes would beg Mehret for help, and beg me for mercy – beg me to end this torture. However, if she couldn't talk with me, then how would she ever be able to talk to others? And I wanted her too to be able to find her way in this country... I had always pitied those women from other countries that were kept inside, locked behind language barriers...

A few months after the language lessons had started, Mehret told me she got a job for the evenings, to clean offices. This work was in addition to the hotel work she was already doing. Again, I was not pleased; I was angry and I showed her. I didn't like the idea of sacrificing our dinner time – our family time – to work. But according to Mehret, it would only be for three days a week. And we needed the money... And she needed something to do – five times four hours was not enough to satisfy her need to contribute to our finances. Why could I work forty hours a week, while she was not allowed to do the same? And what was the problem; Nardos was around; she could take care of the children and the household duties...

Conjit's birthday was just before the summer holidays, and this time we decided to invite three of her best friends and to go to the swimming pool. Conjit, and also Tsegay, loved the water – Tsegay even followed swimming lessons – and most Sunday mornings, when Mehret was working, the kids, Nardos and I went to the swimming pool.

Conjit's birthday was on a Saturday. My sister Rachel was very much willing to assist, Mehret had taken a day off, and so we came with four adults, five little kids and a toddler.

Mehret, who had been to the swimming pool only a few times before, didn't like the smell of the water, the noise of the children, and almost exploded when one of Conjit's friends splashed water in her eyes. With great effort, I managed to keep her from walking away, but she refused to go back into the water, and all the time she expected one of us to accompany her... It was a great relieve when the party was over and all children were brought back home. The whole evening, Mehret remained cantankerous; she promised this was the last children's party she would ever attend.

I had to go back to Ethiopia for two weeks, just before the holidays started, to give some lectures, to share some teaching material with the teachers of the university, and to try to get a student exchange program taking off. I asked Mehret if we could go together, but she was strongly against it – we didn't have the money (in my opinion, we had plenty of money...) and she had to work – she couldn't take a day off at the hotel. The children were not allowed to join because of the money, and Nardos couldn't, because she had to look after the children. My suggestion to let the children stay with my parents and let Nardos join me was met with an angry look – after my mother had suggested to Mehret to work a little less and spend some more time with the children, Mehret's feelings for my mother had deteriorated. "I can't be without my children for two weeks!"

It was nice to be back in Addis. As soon as I left the airplane, I was welcomed by the smell of the big city; an indescribable mix of dust, smoke and spices, which made me feel home again. How different from two years ago, when I was totally blown away by the chaos; suspicious by every move, every sound from the people around me.