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Memoirs of Home: The Hellhole Diaries. Part I Introduction: Some background is in order: I was born and raised in Ethiopia. Certainly the best years of my life. My fondest memories. Shipped to the United States for kefetegna temhyrt in the mid 1970's. Also the best years of my life. After kefetegna temhyrt, be fielday mesrat for many years proves to be great but unsatisfying. America is home until ... the Dergue thugs collapse in 1991. Having spent half my life in blessed sidet, I decide to visit Ethiopia for a short trip-first mistake. Determine Ethiopia is a good risk. I would give it a shot and return-second mistake. A win-win for all concerned, for king and country. "There is gold in them there hills," or so I fantasized. A planned two-year stay turned into almost four-third mistake. I realize how long I have been gone when I consider that the Dow Jones Industrial Average was just above 3,000 when I went to Ethiopia. At my exit it was above 8,000. But what over 10 years of corporate life in America failed to do to me, four years of Addis life did: almost total burn-out. Yeman neh guregna, meqaTel in Addis? Read on! Do not get me wrong, please. Ethiopia was not a total loss for me. Re-bonded with family. Connected spiritually with the ancestors. Made many friends. Gave back to agere a little bit. I just never quite felt at home however. Never felt I belonged. A foreigner in my own country. A stranger in a totally mystifying land. Yager fikir weTalign, bekagn. I am now back in the states. Ironic, it feels right to be back home again-for good. This is where I belong. Ethiopia lost its charm for me. Nevertheless, I still have considerable passion for the country, albeit at a distance (distance is good). I have a deep need to stay connected. For not doing so would be to dishonor my ancestors. Below are excerpts from HellHole Letters from Addis. Never before published except for limited distribution to a few confidants. I elect to remain nameless. If you feel compelled to comment, e-mail the folks at SELEDA. They promise to forward the anticipated deluge to me. Names have been altered to protect the innocent and guilty alike. Dates have been deleted for the most part. Journal covers mid 1990's. Some of the content may seem dated. I believe however that it still captures the feel, color and spirit of Addis Ababa, as I experienced it. I wish more of us were disciplined enough to document our experiences there.
Dateline Addis Ababa: May 15, 199X By nature some of us are cynical. Hence, the above caption. Actually things are not as bad as implied by headline. They are worse. Perhaps explained by a serious case of withdrawal-withdrawal from friends, companions, bagel and cream cheese, "fresh" cigarettes, Miller Light, football, cable TV, showers with strong water pressure, The Sunday New York Times, The Nightly Business Report, NightLine. Trading off LA and Beverly Hills for the hills of Addis is indeed a tremendous trade-off. A trade-off worth taking (in foresight it seemed) and one that should pay off handsomely, in the long run. By definition, that is why the "misery index" is so high. Read on. And do come visit those of us who are in the trenches. You will be glad you did. Dateline Los Angeles February 27, 199X LA departure day (D-day). Too much kotet, total of three suitcases, six boxes. Three vehicles to transport to airport. Bekele and Ashagre kind enough to help. Tadele nowhere to be found, typical when it comes to Qumneger. Managed to pay only $200 for two pieces excess baggage. Tipped Oriental ticket agent $100. Thought this was a great deal until boarding time at Heathrow. Spent one hour at LAX. After umpteen years in the States, the most difficult one hour at any airport in my life. Dateline London: February 28, 199X Arrive Heathrow after grueling 13-hour flight. Mulu and Paulos are waiting. Went to London for lunch. It is freezing and all I am wearing are jeans. Ran into Abdella. Had not seen him since the mid 70's. He seems very light skinned-lack of sun presumably. Back to the airport. Forced to pay 400 pounds by a stone-faced British ticket agent. Claimed LAX undercharged for excess baggage. So much for good fortune. Dateline Addis: March 1, 199X Arrive at Bole airport after an hour layover at Asmara. It seemed half the passengers drink and smoke excessively. Some have bad hygiene. I go through passport control without a hitch. They ask how much money you are carrying with you. How ill-mannered! Bole pretends to be an airport. Tijuana, Mexico bus terminal is more like it. Baggage area, seemed like forever, but all items accounted for. Damage appears minimal. Ran into "Gorb" from D.C. Great to see a friendly face. Alas! He departs today. Manage to sneak in Apple Powerbook computer, expensive speakers, all other luggage through customs. Seven items of video and hi-fi equipment are held hostage by drooling customs authorities. Spent a napful rest of day at my sisters'. Report to work next morning. Seems there is plenty to do in coming weeks and months. I have work cut out for me. This will not be a day at the beach-not for a while. March 3 - 6, 199X Quiet days except for an accident at Mesqel Square. It is 7 p.m., rear right door of the Mercedes I am driving opens accidentally. I had just dropped off Uncle A and his daughter. Perhaps they left door unshut. The door gets caught by a big camiyon truck's front tire. Lucky door does not fly off, but is forced out of alignment. The truck driver is sympathetic, as are two policemen who are on the scene, who recognize the car and are protective. A crowd quickly gathers. It amazes me how fast a crowd assembles here, especially around an accident. One has to be cautious of crowds. I drive the car home with the door somewhat open but held in place by a rope tied against the other rear door. Rope courtesy of truck driver. I wonder if he would have been so kind had it been his fault. Police get gursha of Birr 20 for their protection from crowd. Gursha is cheap around these parts. Went to dinner at the Ararat (Armenian) Club with Adam, Misrak, Atnafu, Elias and Seble. She tells me that she just got out of the hospital after a month-long stay. Wow! it must have been serious I thought. Just the removal of kidney stones. Surely, any knucklehead knows that kidney stone removal does not require that much fuss. In Ethiopia it does. To insure operating room time, she admitted herself to the hospital way in advance (figure the logic of that!). The room was first class, in name only. No windows, pealing paint, foul odor, patients on stretchers in the hallway. She had the room painted at her own expense. Brought in her own bed sheets and covers. Her own medication and IV. One would think a fortune was spent for the treatment. Less than Birr 1000. Certainly a bargain. Given the first class (oops!) accommodations, time wasted, paint expense, I am not convinced of the bargain. The patient is pleased she got out alive. She is hopeful they only took out kidney stones. This is the state of Ethiopian medicine. The Ararat is a humble restaurant, but clean appetizing cuisine. After dinner discover that the bloody Mercedes' gears are stuck in reverse. 10 p.m., What to do? Am told absolutely not to leave the vehicle unattended overnight. Adam knows someone living in the area. Drove car, in reverse, to safe harbor some three kilometers away. No tow trucks in Addis. Oh! LA how I long for you. Proceeded to an azmari bayt. Swore this would be the last time I would patronize such an establishment. Crammed quarters, no circulation, smoke filled. Deodorant starved patrons. Loud, distorted live music, several would-be vocalists taking turns, unintelligible lyrics. One organist-all this noise piped through one child aspiro-sized speaker. Will not serve you anything except liquor, take it or leave it. Actually, one cannot leave it. You are required to order and pay for an alcoholic libation whether you consume it or not. Ambo is never served solo. Only served with alcohol. Nothing will stop the liquor trade here. Not Mothers Against Drunk Driving, nor card carrying Alcoholic Anonymous members. An AA chapter, if one were to open in Addis would do thriving business. People love this azmari bayt scene. Azmari bayt is the default hangout choice in Addis. Wake up early to retrieve Mercedes. Take a taxi and bring along an unemployed mechanic. There are many out of work mechanics in Addis. They congregate in certain areas and wait for work, much like Mexicans wait for work at various locations in LA. And there is plenty of work for mechanics. Vehicles break down everywhere. For some reason, tires are changed right smack in the middle of the road. To this day, I do not know why. Mercedes takes two hours to repair. These mechanics are good and a bargain. Paid Birr 50. You can speculate how much it would have cost in LA. It certainly would not have been fixed on a Sunday. Sunday: Tea party at 4:00 p.m. at a flight attendant's home. Nice home, nice neighborhood-very nice especially on a flight attendant's income-on any income. But let's not digress. Tea party, this is no tea party. There is no tea nor cookies to speak of. You could not get these to save your life. Only liquor. Flight attendants have access to duty free liquor. So if one is going to give a party, on or under budget, one better count flight attendants as friends. Everyone is dressed as if for a black-tie affair. This is Sunday, 4:00 p.m. and a particularly hot day. I am in khakis, much more comfortable. Probably the envy of many for being practical if not naïve, werada and balege as to the dress code of Addis tea parties. Needless to say, they overdress here. An Egyptian man associated with XYZ Corp. arrives for nine days. We go on a couple field trips. Zway is a government farm some 200 kilometers from Addis. The road there is horrific, especially after Mojo. Certainly not a pleasure drive. Certainly not made for a Ferrari. Do not bring yours. Stopped at a Bekele Mola Motel. It is 10:00 a.m. It is hot. No Ambo water, no soft drinks. We refuse to drink yeigzaber's water. So we had beer and eggs. Not bad actually. The Egyptian is fascinated. Zway is a 1000 hectare state farm. Only 200 hectares currently in use for lack of pumps. Fruits and vegetables are grown by an Italian for export. Nice business I am told. Spent the night at Wabe Shebele Hotel in Langano. This is no Four Seasons Hotel. Dust under the bed. Dirty bathroom, no tissue paper, no soap, dirty towels, dirty bed sheets. Good thing we brought our own. Onto Amibara farm the following day. This is a World Bank financed irrigation project to irrigate pasture for grazing. The project started some seven years ago. After millions of dollars spent, it is yet to be completed. The Afars are nomads. No one asked them if they would settle down and become pasturalists. A wasted investment. It makes one sick. This is Afar country. The Afars have a habit of cutting male genitals. It proves their manhood at the expense of another. The Egyptian does not care to hear this and is relieved to get the hell out of Dodge. Onto Meki Zway, another government white elephant. 3000 hectares, barren, big irrigation pump house constructed by the North Koreans. Much money spent, no farming being done. Pretty much dead capital. Wasted tax taxpayer money. Too bad taxpayers do not have a lobby here. The land is there, water is plentiful, yet the land is not being worked. Out of two million hectares of potential irrigable land in Ethiopia, only 100,000 hectares are currently irrigated. They call Ethiopia the potential breadbasket of Africa. It does not appear that it is rushing to get there anytime soon. They claim there is no stress here, and that living is easy. Rubbish! Maybe so for the lazy and leisure rich-but if you hustle, are ambitious and hard working, you have much stress, long hours, plenty of frustration. The worst part of moving here (it is hard enough moving from one apartment to another in the same city), is the friends and relationship you leave behind. It's much more difficult than I had imagined. And the TV, what a joke. Never thought how relevant the phrase "I WANT MY MTV" would be. Forget HBO and SHOWTIME. Give me The Box. Give me Yo!! MTV Raps and all the "tits & ass" titillation that comes with it. All those fly scantily dressed girls in butt floss bikinis "in-your-facing" it. Give me the NFL and NBA, and even baseball. Give me ESPN. How I miss Nick and Fred of Sports Tonight on CNN. Shit, give me the Weather Channel, I would settle for that. One tends to become uninformed as to "trivial" matters that seemed important at one time. Sure one listens to the BBC and keeps up with world events. But the trivia, that is what one misses here. Who got traded where? Who is holding-out? Who is renegotiating? Have the Clippers won a game yet? Are the Lakers still in the divisional cellar? Are the NY Knicks going to do it this year? The NCAA finals? Is George Forman still putting away younger opponents as he does hamburgers? Has he picked on somebody his age lately? How much has Clinton aged? Is he still jogging through McDonald's? How powerful is Hillary proving to be? Does she still dress as goofy as on inauguration night? Chelsea, is she still wearing braces? All this you are forced fed, whether you like it or not. All this we are in the dark about. Inquiring minds you see. Addis is no media capital! Monday: Today is my birthday. I have reminded no one. It passes without much fuss. The highlight is an evening spent watching the wretched ETV (Ethiopian TV). Bad editing, lousy programming, and a lot of what seems to be irrelevant interview shows, with what look like irrelevant people. Many documentary shows about this or that gebere maheber. There is one hour of Tigrigna, one hour of Oromogna, two hours of Amharic, and two hours of English. A high-school media class would do better. The English news is excruciatingly embarrassing. The pronunciation and diction, my nine-year-old niece would do better. The graphics! Especially of the weather! Oh, well. You will learn to appreciate Sam Donaldson's English. Negash, a transplant from Oakland calls to tell me that his house was burglarized, in the middle of the night, while he was asleep. The Hi Fi, a prized CD collection was stolen. The Hi Fi was recovered a few days later. The CDs are still at large. Previously owned CDs retail for Birr 120 plus here in some stores. With some 100 plus CDs, someone is making a tidy sum. After having lived more or less alone for many years, living as a refugee is getting a little tired. Staying with my sister, her husband and their two kids has many benefits. Bed is made complete with ironed sheets. If starch was available sheets would be starched. Laundry is taken care of. Food is plentiful and served on demand. Dishes wash themselves. Gates open automatically, with the help of a ticked off zebagna, regardless of how late you come home. Nieces are good company although they get on my nerves sometimes. Husband is good conversation and a nightcap partner, he prefers scotch, I like my Remy. Sister does not drink. I should be moving to my own place soon. That is the plan anyhow. Schedules and timelines tend to be moving targets here. Stayed home all day. Today is Fasika so folks must be devouring meat and butter. Put finishing touches on a business plan. Listening to KLON-Long Beach, on tape. Have some 50 cassettes full of KLON, with traffic reports and all. Sounds mighty odd listening to freeway traffic reports in Addis. Without the Walkman I would be dead by now. Bumped into Dexter at the Hilton. He works at the ECA . Dexter hangs out at Four Stars a lot. I am told that he likes the young girls there. Went to Tedla's Banatu night spot's grand opening. Not too grand. Too loud. Guys dancing with each other. Told Tedla he has to have a policy against such stuff. I hope it works out for him as I was not impressed. But no one loses money serving liquor to the public here. Went onto Andre's for a quick nightcap and headed home. Another grand night in the big city! They say rainy days and Mondays! This is a Monday. This is a rainy day. It's been raining for a week now-demet and wesha at times. My Kenneth Coles' are getting ruined. The excitement of the day. Had what I thought was a productive meeting with an agricultural economist attached with the U.S. embassy in Kenya. Left the meeting. It was poring rain. Umbrella in the car-much good it was doing there. Got drenched. Was driving home. Got stopped by a red light behind two cars at Mesqel Square. Green light, started driving following cars in front. Bang! A green VW Beetle out of nowhere is smack in front of me. It was traveling against a red light to the right of me. I hit it broadside slightly. I came to a complete stop. VW continued on it's merry way. I followed in pursuit onto Asmara road noting the license plate number AA 17081. Several kilometers later the VW stopped. I pulled over a safe distance in front. Got out of the car, driving rain, and inspected damage to my car. Only slight. The driver of the VW came running towards me. There were four in his car. He started screaming, "Yet abac! Yet abac!" I love my abat dearly, however, outnumbered, dark, raining, I decided a confrontation was definitely not in my best interest. Jumped into the car and fled. Driving in Addis is hazardous to one's mental and physical health. Addis nightlife...or the lack thereof. Can be summed up in three phrases, Azmari bayt, Azmari bayt, Azmari bayt. After sampling a handful I have pledged never to go through the door of another. In general, an Azmari bayt is nothing but a hole in the wall, cramped, noisy, smoke filled room. Music distorted, loud and violent to the ears. Liquor consumption very high, predominately male, a gay bar really. Men dancing with each other, some slow dancing with passion, grinding. "Yet lemede new", they say. Yeah right! There are a few "discos" in town. Black and White is a nice spot. Mostly underage crowd. Stars, Andre's Place, excellent sound system and music. Someone described it as an underground New York style club. Dark, narrow and crowded. Always live. Mostly expatriates looking for action. Action is mostly very young girls, many pretty, supplementing their income. Many Ethiopian men are complaining. In the new Ethiopia, the number of expatriates is increasing. Their appetite for Ethiopian women is large. Thus, the ET male is being squeezed/bid out by the wealthier German, Brit, American and Middle Eastern. The Expat is having a field day. You see these old, falling apart Expats feasting on the girls here. Certainly, heaven for them as women in their homeland would not give them a second look. There is an African spot in Bole. Run by a Ugandan, located right smack in a residential neighborhood. The neighbors do not get much sleep around there. Zoning you ask? What is zoning? It is in a small house, crowded and very loud. Plays mostly African music. All sounds the same to me. Queens is run by a former Queens, NY resident. Current music but not very good setup. Coffee House, located near the university is as the name implies, coffee house. Sundays a live band entertains. Cottage is a UK style pub. Serves food and drinks. And oh! yes, the Hilton. One goes there mostly because for some reason everyone else does. This is where most everyone who comes to Addis passes through. The prices, highway robbery. These are triple prevailing prices in town. Caution: Prices here are extremely cheap when converted to US dollars. When first arriving here, one tends to convert everything to dollars. Very dangerous when you realize that your income is in Birr. When you think in Birr, cost of living is high. Addis has become an expensive town. Certainly a better day. Got instructions early to go to Bole customs to retrieve my belongings. Had to cash a check first, so off to the bank I go. But you need an ID card I am told. No problem, a California driver's license does it every time. But not in Addis. Certainly a U.S. passport, a valuable possession anywhere should do the trick. Not here! Tried to cash the check by having two total strangers endorse the check. No, their ID's are not acceptable either. Finally a third person's ID does the trick. This is after the check has been endorsed by three people. Oh! Well. This is the state of banking in Ethiopia. Off to the airport for additional adventure. After seven or so stops, many forms, after three hours, after visiting various miserable excuses for humans, one hundred signatures, too many egzer yistilign and Birr 3,500 payment, it's off to the warehouse. Thank goodness, all the items are there. After closer inspection discover that the state of the boxes and packing are atrocious. No care at all given to re-packing the goods in the original form. I am told to be thankful the material is still there. Thankful for what! For Birr 3,500 I would have expected the bloody fools to deliver to my door and hook up the equipment. Again, told to be thankful that I was not charged Birr 20,000 instead of Birr 3,500. I am starting to realize that folk here are thankful too often for too many things that any reasonable human would take for granted. People here complain but accept and flow with the currents. I am putting up a fight and resisting capitulation. Now with 100 plus CDs, 60 plus cassettes of KLON-Long Beach jazz music, cannot wait to plug-in the Hi-fi and blast the neighborhood, any neighborhood. Thursday: Tilahun Gessese appears on TV slashed on both wrists, stomach, and throat. Looks very bad. EyeWitness News TV cameras in his hospital room. Privacy? There is none here. The talk is that his wife did it. Others say it is attempted suicide. Poor chap, he may never sing again. He leaves for London tomorrow-better treatment there you see. Nothing on Friday. Boring day at work and early to bed. This is the state of my social life in Addis. Not much to do outside of work except drink and if you are lucky, turn into an alcoholic. Eritrean referendum is today continuing until Sunday. Pretty much a non-event. The consensus seems to be "who cares?" The polling stations were packed. Many Eritrean establishments closed. The place I get my morning machiato from also closed. Pisses me off. The Eritrean owner makes the best machiato in Addis. Saturday: Wedding reception at 4 p.m. Mamo and Mamitu's wedding at Hilton Hotel pool area. Very nice, lucky it did not rain, first time it did not rain in two weeks. Allegedly a "benefactor" financed affair. These days, if one has a fancy soiree people claim it is a "benefactor" bankrolled affair, whether it is or not. Embarrassing to the many who often beg, steal and borrow to bankroll their own extravagant gybjja. Many are resorting to putting out statements to the contrary through their spokespersons (werren-noch). "Benefactor" is throwing a lot of money around town. There are countless many sniffing for crumbs. They look pretty pathetic. Plenty of high-end booze at this wedding. Soft drinks, mineral water, and food very difficult to obtain. Many "trendy" weddings now place an unopened premium bottle of scotch on each table. No more waiting on slow waiters. You pour it yourself-a sort of self-service bar at your own table. If bottle is not high-end, sewoch chumchumta about you. "Sisitam!" you are labeled. As a result, Keman anesku is driving many to the dehha bayt. Mahmud is singing. Amazing how folks can put away liquor, on empty stomachs at that. "Indayt be bado hod yibellal?" they say. Spent bulk of time nursing a beer and talking with the Gemechus. Off to the dinner at a private home, this at 9.30 p.m. Still no food to speak of. A tent set up and an extremely loud distorted azmari band playing what sounds like noise, but to many is music. Time ticks, no food but promises of it. 11:30pm no food. Booze consumption continues. Food finally is served when I am about to leave. Good food too, would have been worth the wait if only it was served earlier. Went home at 1:00 a.m. I understand they continued drinking until 5:00 a.m. I understand I missed a good fistfight. Yes, they still fight at gybjjas here. The fashion style here, or the lack of it! Fashion capital Addis is not. Wedding attire is no different than what one sees at an LA or DC wedding. No fashion sense at all. One wonders if these women actually think they look good. Do they have gwadegnoch? If so, how could they allow them to wear some of the bizarre, zegnagn threads they do. At least in the states, one makes a purchase at Nordstrom's, or some other merchant, and returns it for credit after the event. Here a purchase is forever. Seyt weyzeroch here are as misguided in their fashion sense as their sisters in the States. Some odd looking outfits. Probably costing a pretty penny. ET women must be Armani Frankenstein's laboratory rats for test marketing of new, grotesque designs. But to each her own. The men are no better. Men do not have too many attire options, besides the Old Faithful suit. Less opportunity for creativity, and thus goofing up. But the ties, oh! my God! Some high-water pants too. The shoes and socks? Do not get me started. The older folk? They dress in classic traditional, especially the women. The benefit and wisdom of years, you see. Telephones here are temperamental. Sometimes work, many times not. Often for months, especially during kiremt. When working, often lines are poor. Overseas lines are much clearer, perhaps because the profit margins are higher. Electricity is generally reliable in most neighborhoods. Other locales are not as fortunate. Water-there is an acute shortage of it. It is forecast to get worse. Too many bodies in town. During the day they walk around aimlessly, much like in the two movies "Night of the Living Dead" and "Invasion of the Body Snatchers". I have no idea where they disappear at night. Crime is not as bad as one may think. In fact, it is not a campaign issue. Addis is safer than most "civilized" cities. Roads, what roads? Pothole capital of the world, Addis is. Driving, every man for himself. This is the Wild, Wild West. Traffic regulations are not respected. There might as well not be traffic regulations. Vehicles come in and out of non-existing lanes as they please. Taxi drivers are the worst offenders. They ought to be shot. Yet "road-rage" is unheard of here. You can curse drivers all you want but you will get little satisfaction. They simply look at you with that moronic smile showing you the hand to mouth gesture of "Min larg? Injera new". Defensive driving-they wrote the book here. It is required reading. Buildings-shocking! Dirty, non-operational elevators. One is searched at entry. Who would want to bomb these already dilapidated government buildings is anybody's guess. I am starting to run out of personal effects I brought in with me. Caress, Crest, Mitchum, ChapStick, Vidal Sasoon shampoo, Gillette razors, Foam Shaving Cream. No problem. The 7-11's here, or Arab Bayts carry virtually everything, for a price. The other day I saw Charmaine (don't squeeze the Charmaine) on an Arab Bayt shelf. Unlike his US counterpart, the Arab Bayt clerk will let you squeeze the Charmaine. Birr 18 per six roll. Squeezable soft paper, what a wonderful thought in a tissue paper starved country. I have not seen Mitchum deodorant yet. But ok there. Still have plenty supply. BUT the town does not! Talk about "o-dare" as Richard Pryor would say. One cannot escape this odor. It is everywhere. The funk shows up in the unlikeliest of places and on the unlikeliest of people. Not sure whether folks do not use deodorant, do not shower, or both, or whether ETs are just too funky (excuse the pun). It can be quite repugnant. Some rock star should organize "Funk-Aid" or "USA for Africa" and airlift deodorant to Ethiopia urgently. Noses here would be appreciative. But who knows, as Pryor would say, perhaps the natives find my cologne as repulsive as well. Had a beer at the Cottage with a Dawit, an old friend of Alemayehu's from the old Oakland ESUNA days. Ran into Getaneh, Gemechu's brother. He is looking as sharp as a razor. Dresses like a CEO/diplomat in a dark suit. He is in town looking for tedar. Good luck. Stopped over at Andre's. This ghost appears in the person of Faisal, heir to the largest private fortune in Ethiopia, perhaps in all of East Africa. I had not seen the old chap in 15 years. Has been married twice. Has seven children! Explains why he looks so well preserved. Faisel had seen me earlier at the Cottage but claims he had not recognized me. He says I had gained too much weight since he last saw me. "You looked like a wealthy arrogant Yemeni" he says. An arrogant wealthy Turk, but a Yemeni! I blasted him for not recognizing his best childhood chum. Faisal tells me that year-to-date, on coffee exports alone, they have grossed Birr 18 million, should net Birr 9 million after taxes. This is more than all the Dergue years combined. Needless to say, the family loves the new free market Ethiopia. Who would not! Bayisa calls. He brings word from the Oakland front, from Samson, Eskinder, Ephrem, et al. They are all curious as to my well-being. It seems I am the guinea pig in this experiment called "Back to Ager Bayt" . In spite of how miserable this place is, in spite of the long hours at work, starting to enjoy what I do. I feel challenged and pushed, to the limit at times. Feel I am creating something, doing something good, and will ultimately be a part of something quite worthwhile. Settling into more of a routine. There are more trials and tribulations to report. Withdrawal getting acute. Cold sweat at night, blurry vision by day. This bloody place is hard to get adjusted to! Starting to miss the smog, traffic, drive-by shootings in LA. Missing the lazy pleasure drives along Pacific Coast Highway, the walks on Venice Beach, the magazine and book browsing at Barnes and Noble, the Sunday New York Times and Magazine. The machiato at Starbucks. And Kitfo, miss the raw Kitfo with a ton of butter at Awash Restaurant in LA, the stuff that melts in one's mouth. One dare not eat it raw here however for there are consequences. Before moving I was warned to watch my cholesterol. I do not now consume eggs, milk products, or excessive meat. I advised Dr. Samuel. He says not to worry. No one worries about cholesterol here. Life expectancy is short. Folks die of other maladies before cholesterol does much harm. I intend to die of a heart attack. I intend to live long enough to die of a heart attack. So cholesterol I am concerned about. The principal malady here is biyrd and nefas, the infamous draft. Biyrd and nefas is the primary killer here. Someone dies and nine out of 10 times, it is claimed biyrd and nefas was the culprit. Folks here are terrorized by this biyrd and nefas. It can be the hottest day of the year, you see perfectly sane folks dressed layer after layer after layer. Kapport, kot, chemize, tight kerebat, kenetera, and the old faithful ubiquitous gabbii on top of that. The car window is rolled up for heavens sakes!!! No air conditioning! You do not see them break a sweat either. Petrified by the fearful biyrd and nefas you see. Doubt is starting to sink in deeper. Doubt about this whole exercise of returning to the fatherland. There is a whole new set of rules, mores and psychology to adjust to. Psychology that even Sigmund Freud would find difficult to dissect. Am journaling this entry after a bad day so judgment is clouded. Oh! LA how I long for you. Many overseas Ethiopians come to visit Addis for a month or two. Have a good time, leave and tell the world how wonderful, hunky-dory, fun and games life here is, layla neber they say. To them this is Club Med. The men get more play in one month than in all the years they have spent overseas. You see a lot of happy smiling overseas ET men here, especially in the morning. The visiting ET women smile a lot, too. I could tell you stories, but ... Many come here on an hedonistic furlough, away from their individual rat races and tired lovers. Yes indeed, many a visiting Shegitu gets her groove back in Addis. Still others paint a dark and dire picture. One has to live here to really make a judgment. Not all bad, not all good. This HELL HOLE journal is simply one perspective, with a little humor meant not only to entertain but also inform. Inform those friends who may be interested on how day to day life really is. It is also meant for those who are mulling over prospect of returning. Coming back is a calculated decision that is best taken after careful, sober consideration. A move not easily reversed. A move not for everyone. A move, once made with the right perspective and expectations, could be quite fulfilling, rewarding, and liberating. The politics are another story. That I care not for, it is not my calling, nor is it of the overwhelming majority's. Believe the ordinary man in the street does not care much either. If more folk were less concerned with politics, and more concerned with feeding their family, perhaps we would all be better off. So there! Doing business: There is no level playing field. Survival of the fittest, law of the jungle, that is the rule here. Sure there are laws, rules of conduct. But these are often either discarded or not adhered to. The local business folks here are well grounded in how this place operates. They are resourceful and fierce competitors. They do not take prisoners. One has to wake up pretty early in the morning to compete with them. Underestimate them at your own peril. The risk factors here are unlike anywhere else. Market, competitive, regulatory risks, yes. Add increasingly aggressive competitors owned and financed by the ruling party. New laws that are often retroactive. Lack of a functioning court system. Near impossible access to land, credit, phone lines. You get the idea. The first few economic reform steps have been weak and timid. More bold policies are imperative. The investment code: meek, irrelevant and disappointing. How they expect capital to flow to Ethiopia under this code is anybody's guess. Have heard sentiments to the effect Ethiopiyan mesheT anfelegm. Who would want to megzat Ethiopia anyway? There are plenty of other options, and better at that. Capital is scarce, capital is timid, capital is highly mobile, capital is blind, capital needs to feel it is appreciated, wanted and protected. Capital requires stability and certainty. If a country intends to attract capital, as many of these conditions as possible have to be met. An unwelcome trend now is the proliferation of ruling party owned private companies. While the government is shutting down state-owned enterprises, it is setting up its own companies to compete with the private sector. These companies are well capitalized, connected, are privy to inside information, who knows if they pay taxes-it smells bad. It would be one thing if these corporations were undertaking real investment, building factories, employment generating activities. Unfortunately, they are primarily engaging in the importation of Qira-Qimbo consumer items. It appears they are also attempting to grab a piece of the commodity export market. Many feel that things are much easier than before. So what if things are better than before? Policies cannot forever be compared with the Dergue years. Policies have to be framed to closely match, and exceed progressive laws in other countries. When dealing with any government office the operative word seems to be nege, nege, always nege. A dimwitted individual sitting behind a desk, earning a miserable amount of Birr per month, making decisions on investments a million times his salary, has the nerve to dege-maTnat you. It makes no sense. Lead poisoned they are, the lot of them! Occasionally they will throw in "minim chigir yelem." Watch out for this phrase! Minim chigir yelem generally means there is plenty of chigir to follow. And their moronic smile! Heavens, one will learn to hate that smile. There is a feeling that the bureaucracy is sabotaging the policies that the government is trying to promote. This is being done at the banks, investment offices, post-office, customs bureau, and even the airline. Ethiopian Airlines. Whoever is behind a government desk, in general is there not to serve but aggravate. As far as I am concerned, if every bureaucrat was fired today, it would be a day too late. Civil Servant is defined as a "servant" engaged to serve the public. Civil Lord is more appropriate. The civil lord's whole being, its raison d'être if you will, is to aggravate, frustrate, castrate the public. These beasts will make you run around in circles until you turn blue, if that were possible on an habesha face. The angrier you seem, the slower they get. The more you protest, the more power they exert. The more you frustrate/bleed, the more nonchalant they become. They derive pleasure from your despair. Your anguish is their fuel. And they do that moronic smile, smile of pleasure at your astonishment. You know you may have to deal with these bone-heads again, so how should you treat them? It is catch-22. Many complain that the government is laying-off people. People who have given many years of disservice (or is it service) to their beloved country. People who have families, responsibilities. Oh! Well. They may have families but they treat you like you have none, that you are garbage. They forget that they are paid by the poor soul, Mamo Public taxpayer. Do not know about you, but my heart bleeds for these felonious illiterates every time I hear they have been sacked. Of course there are always virtuous folk that will inevitably fall through the cracks. Those I feel great empathy for. Indeed, I have met many gentlemen bureaucrats. Competent and proud in their work. The vast majority however are miserable souls. We hired a former government employee some months ago. Brought with him bad habits. He shows no initiative, reads the paper or one of the many periodicals being published, all day. No Puritan work ethic. I am about to show him the door. You go to any government office. Meat after meat sitting around doing absolutely nothing. Presumably waiting to ambush the next poor, unsuspecting Mamitu public-tax payer who walks through the door. Six, seven meat for every job it seems. Yet choma is always ready with an excuse not to perform a task. Throw the bums out of office. There is an unintended result with throwing the bums out however. The following was related to me by "A". While he was stationed in Lagos, customs personnel were fired in mass for being corrupt. A thought this wonderful. The locals were despondent. Locals knew that as corrupt as the sacked workers were, they had at least been amassing wealth for sometime. The new hires, hungrier, would be twice as corrupt. Everyone is an accomplished virtuoso at passing the buck. No one is willing to use judgment to make decisions. Unless it is absolutely by the book you can forget it, your gudai will be shuttled from desk to desk, from knucklehead to imbecile to bone-head to deranged. A friend suggested that the civil service suffers from the acute effects of lead poisoning. That is about the best explanation I have heard on this subject. To be fair however, bureaucrats are essentially the same wherever they slither. Difference is, at least in the "civilized" world, one may only have to deal with one or two boneheads instead of five or six that is customary here. Enough already! Balcha invites me to an Harari wedding at the City Hall. I notice that folks are drinking Fanta and Coke. No alcohol, how refreshing for a change. A Rock & Roll Harari band is blasting away. Sounds half way decent. Run into Omer (LA). We exchange experiences since we returned. He leads me to a back room behind some curtains. Many men, hidden from the akrari crowd, drinking alcohol. Am told that this is the way it is done, to respect the sensibilities of the traditionalists. On re-entry to main hall, chewing gum is handed out-to cover the alcohol breath. Very colorful and beautiful Adere dresses worn by the elderly women. They have fashion sense. Weddings: Invariably the same formula, particularly those at the Hilton. Whoever has trademarked ET weddings is making a tidy living on the royalties. Except for the different faces of the wedding party, everything else is much the same. The ceremony, the band, the song selection, the guests, the food. From the grand entry, procession led by Hilton waiters carrying flaming dulas, to the pigeons released in the ballroom, to the iskista, to the sinibit. Bloody much the same formula. Asked by someone living abroad to deposit Birr 1000 in a bank account. What bank would reject deposit of money? Well I am at the bank with Birr 1000 and a deposit slip filled out all nicely. Oops! you cannot deposit cash into someone else's account, account holder has to be present, we need the savings book to make deposit, you need authorization from bank manager... Excuses, no one wants to take responsibility. A bank that will not accept money, now that is alien to me. Withdrawal perhaps, but deposit? An hour later, after bank manager signs reluctantly, deposit is made. One would think manager's time would be better spent managing than doing the tasks of a teller. Morons. Oh! LA how I long for you. Balcha takes me along to the post office to pick-up a package. He feels that I should learn the system. What a system it is. Stop at window seven to get a signature. Go to window nine to get a receipt to pay for an incoming package! (Payment for an incoming package! now that is a novel idea, one Clinton ought to consider to reduce the deficit). A package of catalogues with no commercial value. Go to window four to pay Birr 4.50. Lunatic woman claims she has no change. Mamo tells her to keep the change. Mamo says she does this all the time. Nice income for her. Go to window three to prove that the Birr 4.50 has been paid. Go to window five for what I forget. Go to window one to pick-up package. Go to window two to get package inspected for any custom payment. Process takes an hour. It involved many bored, tifir-biting, cannot wait until quitting time, postal workers. It should have taken two minutes. It should have involved one person. Time has no value In Ethiopia. Oh! LA how I long for you. Had lunch with Tilahun and a Getaneh at Castelli's. The food is to die for, as is the price. I had to drink Melotti beer since they did not have any other. Melotti is now imported. Getaneh is still looking for tedar. Tedar, I do not know why men come to Addis looking for this thing called tedar. Many women it seems have all been exiled, living abroad. The ones that are still here, well there are a great many lovelies but trouble starts when they open their mouth. Getaneh keeps looking. Keep telling him the story that ET women are beautiful is a gross exaggeration. This man ought to know having lived in the beauty capital of the world, LA. There are indeed a few classic drop-dead ET beauties that startle the naked eye. One sees more pure beauty in LA however. If you plan to come here looking for tedar, do yourself a favor and look instead in the South of France. Tekeste tells me the bimbos are better conversation there. As a bonus, they also sport butt floss bikinis and converse with you topless with bronze tans one would kill for. Somehow just do not see ET bimbos emulating their South of France sisters anytime soon. Too bad. If they did, perhaps we would see less men dancing and fondling (no kidding) each other at azmari bayt. Sirak, a class mate of Lemma's at St. Joseph tells me of the day Lemma's mother slapped him upside the head, in front of the whole class, for being ranked third in his class. Go mom! Sirak claims he was first. Apparently, mom was quite a disciplinarian. Sirak is here for a month, extended it for another, somehow everybody extends their stay. Sirak loves this place. Most do, how can they not. Visitors are sheltered by friends and family. They are Johnny Walker whiskied and dinned. Almost all tabs are picked up by someone else, sometimes by total strangers (an odd and aberrant Ethiopian ritual). Folks fight over tabs here, it is the national past-time. Going "Dutch" is an alien concept. Mail is not delivered. So one quickly forgets that there are such matters as bills, rents, mortgages to settle each month. Network news does not get delivered here. So one does not get bombarded with news about the end of western civilization as we know it. No news on serial killers, drive-bys. No news on dismal housing starts, on auto sales. None on unemployment, on inflation, none on leading indicators, none on mass layoffs, on budget/trade deficits, on lack of consumer confidence, on new record taxes. No news on the Knicks traumatic loss to the Bulls, in spite of Jordan's late night escapade in Atlantic City. No news on Clinton's $200 LAX runway converted to barbershop haircut by a Hollywood barber with a French name. Sirak claims he is returning for good in a few months. He has not read HELL HOLE I, if he had, perhaps he would ponder twice. Many beggars/panhandlers around the city. Generally satisfied with 10-15 santim. You recognize the faces after a while. They recognize you, too. If you ignore or tell them "Igzer Yistilign" once too often, some will snap back. "Oph! Hul gize Igzer Yistilign, hul gize Igzer Yistilign! "" They come at you like locusts at traffic lights. And generally do not take no for an answer. You must carry a lot of loose change with you to ward off the onslaught. There is this woman I keep seeing around the new insurance building. They say she is insane. I say she knows the tricks of the trade. She is a lemagn, quite a successful one. She parades around topless, that is the scam and gimmick. The are a few men going around naked as well. They do not do as well. They are insane. California Highway Patrol and the LAPD would have a massive heart attack if they saw the driving, road and pedestrian conditions here. On the other hand, the San Francisco Police Dept. would find the AAPD quite liberal. AAPD allows its motorcycle police to ride-share. They do look rather ridiculous, grown-up men in full uniform, ride-sharing, the officer in the back hugging the driver for dear life. There are not enough bikes to go around. Avoiding pedestrians is a major preoccupation for drivers. Pedestrians lack common- sense, are oblivious and fearless of cars. Donkeys, sheep, cattle, and other assorted animals (which contribute to the crowding of Addis streets), are better pedestrians and more cognizant of danger than humans. It would be interesting to know the number of humans versus animals that are run-over in a year. I would hypothesize that human fatalities are greater. On Bole Road, right across the street from entry to Wollo Road, there is a house occupied by a French lady, or so the story goes. Allegedly the house is a house of Devil worship. The gate is painted. Looks to me like abstract art. The natives see it as Satan art. Human sacrifice is allegedly carried-out. A young boy and girl were sacrificed it is said. The natives got restive so the gate has been painted dull gray now by the kebele authorities. Too bad. I thought the artwork was quite creative. Not sure what happened to occupants. Politics. I have yet to recognize the alphabet soup political parties or what they stand for. There is the EDU, ENDO, EDC, OPDO, EDAG, OLF, ALF, BPLM. Must admit I have not allowed myself to be sucked into political debate with many. Most of the time it proves fruitless and a waste of time. Talked to an enat the other day. She has several children overseas that I know well. Some are considering a return. Enat is convinced it is not such a grand idea. Asked me to be brutally frank with them not only about realities here, but also about the hard facts about starting afresh here. Well, do not know how much more brutal HellHole can get. But the following may be what she meant.
Asked a favor by some zemed. Favor to help accompany this 21 year-old girl to the US embassy and help her get a student visa. Keen to help my fellow human I went along. It helped that she was quite the looker. There are literally hordes of Ethiopians at the US visa office, all wishing to go to America. Everybody wants to go to this thing called America. Few are granted the privilege. Back to this girl. No one told me she spoke peasant's English. No one told me she had appalling grades. No one told me she had a visa application rejected some two years ago for forging her transcript. I was walking into a trap! Sure enough, she goes to the window, two minutes tops gets rejected. I am summoned to help. Wey Mewared. I plead her case with the officer. He runs through a laundry list of rejection criteria. I place my tail between my legs and walk away. Never again am I going to help anyone get a student visa, unless he is the Pope himself. I keep getting requests for help. Help my wife, my husband, my son, my daughter, my mistress, help my dog get a student visa to America. Everyone and their mother wants to go to America. I have a few friends at the US embassy. So everybody thinks I can get even Saddam Hussein a US student visa. I wish it were that simple. I can think of many Ethiopians that the country could do without. Now they should get a student visa! Part 2... Next month: More on life, liberty and the pursuit of good tissue paper in Addis.
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