Last call...

By: "Selamawee"

I just hung up the phone with the "SELEDA-2"--the two most notorious members of the secret SELEDA society. My head is reeling, my mind is scattered trying to focus on the million and ande negeroch I have to do before I catch my flight to Addis.

Yes, I am one of the 40K Ethiopians rumored to be Addis bound for the Christmas holidays. Now don't ask me where that 40K figure came from-- and if you do the hee'sab it is absolutely ridiculous and impossible. But, that's what this trip of mine is all about- accomplishing the impossible.

Be-InQirt lie joro degef- now I let the Selda-2 twist my arm into chronicling my last thoughts before embarking on the pilgrimage back home. All I can think of is getting to Marshall's on time to pick up under-priced designer shirts, finding a pair of shoes for my great uncle, buying the fren shera I promised our lifelong neighbor Wzo. Shewaye, and, of course, I need swing by King Street to haggle with Mr. Naryanaswamy to mark down that trademark oversized suitcase made from the cheapest fabric known to man. (I don't know why Merkato or Nini Gebaya don't carry these suitcases).

Not to forget all those ominous envelopes I have to pick up. Start with the Meketa family, Mariam and her sisters, and Gash Hailu (the poor guy barely got here and he already has an envelope ready to go), bringing the total count to 22 envelopes so far (and I still I have 48 hours to go). Too many envelopes means too many dead presidents to sort out- of course the legality of it has long been brushed-off but the inconvenience of sorting theses envelopes and placing it in the hands of the appropriate owners is a nightmare. Every year I wistfully remind my friends and family who entrust me with their hard-earned cash that are only saving 10 cents on the dollar. All I get is: "Ebakhih zim b'leh wesedew...".

And then there is my Boss.... I have yet to disclose to him the length of my absence. Now before the Selda-2 lovingly interrupted me and started relentlessly sticking me with their Guilt SeynTee, I was putting the finishing touches on a rather emotional email explaining why I needed more than the standard one-WASP unit of vacation ( 5 working days).

Seleda-2 types didn't care that I still have to get my passport back from the embassy, or about the endless "to call" numbers on my day planner-- like making the fourth call to my little sister this week to get dress sizes for my cousins. (I swear I must be writing with a magic marker). Still have to pick up the tickets (if the AMEX goes through), pay off my long over due bills (I will have to worry about the magazine subscriptions when I get back), and eeeeeek, PICKUP THE LAUNDARY...No Laundry = NO TRIP... Everything I own is at the cleaners.

And then there the issue of the missing shoe.... A rather bothersome issue that keeps rearing its ugly head whenever I get ready for my trips to Ethiopia...I bought this pair as per my mother's specification Christmas of '97... a veritable "liTiff CHama". Nothing fancy, just a plain, ladies, conservative, black, utilitarian pair. However, as a result of one of those wacky last minute packing jobees, I found myself handing out only the right foot to my mother that Christmas... a rather harmlessly embarrassing episode.

And every year since, magically right after Thanksgiving and before Christmas, the shoe seems to make an announced appearance in my closet. And every time I find it, I carefully stow it away promising myself this will be the year I will festively reunite it with its other half!

I also get on the self-deprecation juggernaut. I come up with a long list of countless promises I have made before, during and after my trips home over the years-- promises to help certain needy ones, promises to make the next trip more meaningful and devoid of the SoHos, Gazebos and the Azmari Bet s. (Select remains my favorite.)

No, I still have not made it to the orphanage I diligently researched and planned to help, nor have I delivered the second installment of the used books I collected for a junior high (I delivered the first installment by sheer luck). Well, now I can't even remember where I last put that left-foot shoe. And the damn dry cleaners place closed on me--- means Khakis to the millennium 'vaganza !!!

And I wonder...am I the only one trying to resolve the left-foot/right-foot dilemma...?

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