Frey

We used to be a good civilization. Long long ago we were one of the most advanced civilizations. Some of our ancestors made history, but not my generation, we are not going to do anything. We are a drawback country. Maybe we make history again, but not yet. It is all because of religion. 

First we were enslaved and then they brought religion, which to me, is another way of slavery, because it destroys your mind. They took away our culture and brought religion, which doesn’t let us work because we are so scared. There are too many saints, too many holidays in which we are supposed to stay at home. We just celebrated Christmas and in a few days we’ll have another holiday for… what do you call them, those with the wings? Angels! Yes, that 's it! Saint Gabriel is an angel. How are we gonna get better like this?

It is Ok to pray. We should be with God, but you can do that a moment before leaving home. And we could have just a few holidays, just for the really important dates and without stopping work. 

Besides, we are robbed. They offer some petty cash to those who have really good minds and they take them to a foreign country. They steal the intelligent ones. I say they steal them because even if they do come back they have changed. They see things differently and are no longer part of us. That’s why many of them just don’t come back. 

All this followed from my approaching Fray to ask for suggestions of what to do on a Sunday in Addis Ababa and she suggested to visit Menelik II square if I was interested in learning more about their history, of which she also explains a little. 

She explains how Ethiopia, Djibouti and Eritrea were once the same country and why is it that they splitted. Abraham, who has just arrived, jumps in and they both entangle in a discussion about the reasons for this and whether or not Menelik is a national hero. 

 

Salam! I greeted Fray in Amharic just for the sake of it, but the rest of the conversation was in a mixture of English, Google and gestures and was only interrupted in the rare occasions where she had to answer the phone or deal with some other host, near the end of a 24 hour shift for which she is payed $1.50 dollars. 

Wondu

After a few weeks in Seville that were so nice they deserve their own entry, the long-awaited moment arrives. I am going to Ethiopia, tomorrow, in the midst of the Three Wise Men celebration to dawn at Christmas. Yes, I still can’t understand why, but in Ethiopia, in addition to the fact that we are in the year 2012 according to their 13 months long calendar (12 of which are more or less long and then one that stretches only for 5 or 6 days). Those days, by the way, as nobody knew exactly what to do with them, do not count, and as they do not count, you do not get paid. I learn all this through Wondu, the driver who picked me up at the airport. But there is still a while until we meet Wondu. 

There are lots of people, plenty of children and tons of packages in the queue at the airport. I don’t get it, why are all these people going to Ethiopia just now that vacations are over? Why are they taking so much stuff? I guess they could be getting their families things that you can’t find in Africa, but I still look at my tiny purple suitcase with suspicion. Am I missing something? Let 's hope not.

On the flight I’m seated next to a gigantic and inconsiderate woman. She inflates a cushion to prevent her neck from twisting, falls asleep and spreads out. I, crushed, fall asleep too. We have landed. 

I am not in Africa yet. Africa is beyond customs and in customs there are so many people. We are asked to wait in different lines according to some mysterious criteria. Mine is not too long but it’s really slow so I start talking to a guy who turns out to be Spanish and works for an NGO. I suddenly feel dizzy and get a little scared. ‘Fuck! Why now!? The man, who turned out to be a doctor, tells me to lie down and not to worry and offers to wait on the line for me. I comply and throw myself on the only bench of that boiling-hot room. A woman offers me chocolate and I take it. 

I’m feeling fine when I finally leave that horrendous room and go fetch my suitcase, which takes ages to come, but it does. I have arrived. I leave the airport to merge with a sea of people, a crowd in front of a fence like those you have in concerts or when someone important is going to make an entrance, but it is only us that make an entrance, people with tired faces and lumps. 

Wondu is nowhere to be found and I am approached by every taxi driver on earth. I try to explain to one of them that somebody is there to pick me up when he takes out his phone: “Call him”. I try to explain I have barely started looking, but he insists: “You have not found him yet, this is easier. Call him”. As he is absolutely right I say no more and make the call. 

Wondu emerges from the crowd and hugs me. He wants to know if I’ve been to Ethiopia before and when I admit it’s my first time in Africa he laughs and hugs me again. He doesn't stop talking on the way to the hotel and he gives me a high-five each time I make him life or we agree on something. 

He teaches me some amharic words, like ‘hi’ and ‘banana’ which of course I can no longer remember, and he explains that Ethiopia is a developing country, that is why there are so many buildings under construction. He is right, the way from the airport is gray and green. 

Choices

Making choices is pretty easy when it comes to choosing between watching ‘The Little Mermaid’ or ‘Peter Pan’ again. I am 6 and what I cannot understand is how is it possible for people to be sure they have made the best choice in any other type of matter. It seems important to me and I decide it’s something I need to learn. Adults around me seem to know how to do it, they claim to have made the best choices all the time. I don’t understand anything. I take it really seriously, I focus but I just can’t wrap my head around it. I worry I will never get to be one of those grown-ups who knows that she makes the best choices. I feel confused.

I’m in 3rd and discover my preschool teacher does not understand anything. I thought all teachers were good. They’re not. I can’t trust adults anymore and that is complicated. She is asking us to draw a picture of an activity we do with our families but I’m having a hard time finding something. I always have a hard time getting started. I am scatterbrained, they tell me. And I am slow. 

A friend complains. He claims there is nothing all his family does together. This brings me back to the class because neither does mine. I was about to draw something I did with some people in my family. I keep listening as the teacher scolds him because "how is it possible that there is nothing you all do together" she says, and "there has to be something", she says. No, it doesn’t. 

I am shocked to realize teachers can be dumb enough to think all families are the same and it makes me uncomfortable to discover that my family is not the way preschool teachers think families should be. 

Something silently breaks inside of me and leaves me engulfed in an annoying sensation, like honey seeping through the cracks of a glass. I no longer care about lying and I hand in a crappy drawing. I suddenly feel confident I have just made the best choice. 

Urgent

I am one of those people who finds a mole and fears they are getting cancer. In my mouth the word 'urgent' tastes like danger. It's 6 a.m. and I wake up to pee without turning the lights on so that my body won't notice the interruption and falls asleep again, but I make the mistake of checking my cell (dam the time change) to see how much time I have left. Somebody needs to speak with me urgently. My body awakens. 
I decide to take a bath before answering because there are certain conversations you just cannot have in your pajamas. It doesn't matter if the other person can't see me, I would know. I would know that I smell like lethargy and the night before, and could not take myself seriously. 
To recreate all the stories that I made up in those 20 minutes will take forever, so I'll just say that I came to the conclusion that urgent things are not necessarily bad. 
I stop thinking and finally take the call. They want to interview me. I might be going to Ethiopia.