The cold morning air has crept in with a vengeance, and it wakes him up. He listens as the birds and chicken try to crowd out the morning's calm and silence by what seems to him to be egomaniacal crowing. Amused, he listens for the sparrow that has nested just outside the window, waiting for it to belt out its occasional piercingly lusty advertisement of satisfaction with life.

"Cante para mí, pequeñito", he gently goads - "Sing for me little one."

He breaks into a smile as he is rewarded.

He takes a long sweeping glance through the room, expertly judging which if the many rows of bunk beds held a body that was awake. There were none.

Gently, he slips off the bed, expertly putting on the green khaki uniform, the boots, the field jacket. Everything bears the crisp newness of a fresh military issue uniform - his little hole to the storage shack has yet to be discovered.

As he is about to slip off, Jaime wakes up. "Carlito?"

Carlito freezes, and then whispers back, "Si."

Jaime's morning daze fades a little off, and with realization slowly easing in, he whispers with a knowing smile.. "Chanchullo?"

Carlito winks back - yup it is monkey business, but he isn't about to say it to the whole garrison. Furtively looking about he slips out the open window, and creeps along to that little invisible corner of the wall he has gotten to know.

He is well on the way along the eucalyptus forested track towards kidane mhret by the time he hears the beginning of the morning prayers from Cqunu mikael bEte krstyan. He loves this easy jog every early Saturday morning. The air is clean and crisp, and he somehow gets to start a rhythm with his boots that appears to him to match the slow cadence of the church chant. Invariably, he passes small groups of two or three curious people, wrapped up in their neTela against the morning cold, with some kind of a container in their hands. They would be most probably be going to the agua santa ("Tebel" they call it) at the kidane mhret church.

As he fords the gully and the much dwindled stream of the qebbenna river, he is exultant. He thinks he hears the loudspeakers crank up back at the barracks, and grins imagining Jaime and his other buddies invoked into yet another day of socialist duty as the selfless ambassadors of the Cuban Revolution to socialist Ethiopia.

If everything goes well, today should be his final trip.

By the time he gets there, shuro mEda’s market is already up and bubbling nicely. He had gotten to know this place by accident, when his platoon was driving around one day, and the regimental party secretary had pointed out “La embajada de los imperialistas” at the high walled verdancy graced by the stars and stripes. Curiosity at the marine guards had very quickly been replaced by the sudden scene of the calm chaos across the street and just north of the US embassy. This was his first view of the spontaneously emerged shuro mEda market, which, as he later happily found out, was not too far away from the garrison.

As he eases his way into the crowd, optimistic yells of “ferenju, ferenju” are quickly replaced by the knowing “ay kubaw new” which are themselves followed by “compaNero, compaNero”. Carlito laughingly yells back and quickly melts into the crowd of shoppers and hawkers crowding the makshift spreads on the ground and the impromptu stands.

To his left and right stroll hawkers with contraband watches and misspelled Adidas sneakers.

He looks around, and then the first thing off is the field jacket….

“feeld jacket… seelasa beerr!!” He raises three fingers just to make sure he communicates his correct price. He has learned to ignore the shocked and the curious – the hard nosed bargain hunters would congregate pretty soon.

Across the barely formed aisle from where he is standing, Amsalu is minding her little spread of beans, peas and lentils – all neatly piled with the once-tomato paste cans filled to the brim and waiting to dole out the customer’s desire for the right price. Since hers is no stall, but just a spread on the ground, she has to make sure her wares do not get trampled over. And yet, practice now allows her to be half consumed by the strange scene in front of her.

She has seen this soldier – boy, really – come in a new military uniform, and now he is shedding it piece by piece.

“ferenju mn nekaw” she asks to no one in particular.

“ere ferenj aydelem – kuba new” the kid should know – he has been exchanging “compaNero!”s with Carlito for the past three weeks.

"wy bemotkut. tadiya mn bichegrew new lbsun yemisheT.”

She thinks, ”drowunum besew ager hidunna mutu teblew asar fddachewn ayyu – ahun demo mn ida wusT bihon new kezih yederesew.”

Her curious eyes slowly turn to pity.

“mts! ewnet mariyam endew yhE and hSan lj bemn edaw endih yemihonew?”

“mts! weladitn yematasemin gud yelem!!”

Carlito is now down to negotiating the green military issue shirt. He has offered it for 15 birr, and buyers are not offering higher than 8. But he does not fail to notice this woman sitting on her haunches and staring at him. Every so often, he would see her lips purse, with her eyes intent on his face.

“ishi .. aseerr aannnddd beeerrrr!!! baakaa!! ”

Did the woman just purse and unpurse her lips at him?

“ay medhanialem, indew mn abate largew? mts!”

Yes, she did!! “ayayayay!! una mujer que me besa!!”

Kissing Carlito is the last thing on Amsalu’s mind.

“ahun innatu mn ylu yhEn biyayu? mts!” her eyes misting over.

Carlito is flattered by the depth of her look and the romance of the kisses ever so gently and meaningfully sped his way. He smiles, purses his lips and sends a silent “mPua” her way. He immediately gets swamped by bargainers wanting to bid his trousers down from the 15 birr he has offered.

“ere mnnew bayangelatut itE! Isti atasCenqut! Mts!” calls Amsalu to the crowd. She can see his bare legs sticking out of the military boots.

Carlito hears the kiss again. “que bueno!!”

He sells his trousers for 9 birr. He has brought his running shoes, so he only has to dispose of the boots now. He steps over to Amsalu’s spread, and says “selam!!” with a shy grin.

“wy bemotkut, demo yegzer selamta yawqal. selam lantem indihu, indEt yetebareke new! Mts!”

He squats beside her in the T-shirt and running shorts he is left with, and changes his boots for a pair of thin running canvas shoes he now holds wrapped in his hands. He loops his finger to indicate he is returning, takes off for fifteen minutes and is back with no boots and a slight more bulge in his cash pocket.

“un Panasonic para mi madre?” he asks. Points to someone walking with a portable cassette player, repeatedly pointing to himself and the player.

“ere geN! Demo yci mn alat… na isti teketeleN!” she leads him to the electronic goods corner.

He manages to communicate to her that he is buying this tape player for his mother back in Cuba. Impressed she gets misty eyed again, and graces him with a number of “mts” s along the way. Now taking it upon herself to be the unofficial buying assistant, she haggles mercilessly for each unit he points to.

The Panasonic they finally buy is exactly what he has been dreaming of, just within his three month savings for this, small, portable and with a good sound. His Spanish is now reduced to invocations of his mother – “ah para mi madre…que bueno!!”

She sees his happiness, and overcome by the thought of this kid stripping himself almost bare to buy something for his mother, she “mts”s repeatedly.

Carlito decides it is now incumbent upon him to respond to the affections expressed, and grasping her hand, purses his lips and makes kissy sounds.

Amsalu turns to the tape vendor and asks… “ante sewye, ye SehayE yohans ‘yaz yaz’ yelehm?”

*****

When Carlito makes his way finally back, his punishment for going AWOL is confiscation of his new Panasonic.