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.