1 abesha’s confession!

I’ve talked about how I am not given to tears upon hearing songs. This is one of those few times in which a song made me cry.

But first, a confession!

It won’t come as a News to you I’m sure, the fact that I am not your typical Ethiopian, if you have been around this blog for the last few months. If it does, you would just have to get over it. I am an atypical Ethiopian who used to think she hates her country or country men (or both, don’t really know the difference, seeing I’m unable to sing “Ethiopia Hagere” and say ‘sew kifu’ with the same breath). There have been too many angers, resentments, etceteras, stuff my fellow-church goers at Winners International (Plc.?) used to call “gAs! niTsuh ayer yasfeligenal”.

Until, that is, my husband-to-become flew to Addis 3 years ago and we took residence at the Crown Hotel (was nearer to the countryside than any hotel in Addis; close to my office; nobody can see you! ;)).

After a long day of being stared at everywhere we go, escaping various attempts at ripping us off from drivers of every four wheel we went into, and dinning in a bar where two guys appeared to want to pick up, or take away, the sister (the kind of guys who would have tried to pass through me under normal circs. That’s the thing I notice about us Ethios. When we are seen with somebody cute/stud-like/hunky, or “tsegure liwit” – God knows how that translates as “cute” -we start glowing in the eyes of those who needed a microscope to pick us out), we decided to head back to our hotel and see what was on the menu. “They have music there,” one of the waiters suggested “at the Traditional hall!. Foreigners like it”.

“Why not?”, said I, made less than enthusiastic by the chilling weather & icy looks of the day but welcoming the diversion

“Why not?”, said my H-2-B excitedly

A hop, skip, and a puddle jump underneath a borrowed-umbrella later we found the restaurant; fully lighted and filled with the noisy preparation of a traditional band on the stage. Being younger & shyer than the two groups of white people who seemed to have claimed ownership of the place for the evening, we sat at the back. Ordering “tej beBirile”, we let our eyes wonder over to the various traditional paintings on the wall, lending our ear to what the loud spinster-type American lady was expertly speaking about (a comparison between Thai food and what was on the table, If I remember correctly).