We’re beyond jet-lagged, way beyond. Neither Jane nor I have any idea what our bodies think as far as what time it is, or what place this is, for that matter. The 8,000 foot altitude is killing us. We ventured out about 1:30 PM local time or 7:30 Ethiopian time. We walked all the way to the corner and around to a GoSip café. This was no small feat. I twisted my ankle twice. The sidewalks are all broken up or non-existent. People used to level sidewalks, curbs, and paved roads need be very careful. Put your foot wrong and you may break something. There are no handrails on stairways and steps in the walks.
Architecturally, it’s like “OK, let’s build this thing here.” There is no plan that can be easily observed. This town is growing so fast; many streets are not paved or even graded. And there are cars, bicycles, donkeys, busses, taxis, wheelbarrows . . . whatever has wheels on it and can be driven or pushed is on the street. And people walking, in the street, on the side of the street, on sidewalks where there are any, hundreds, thousands of people walking everywhere, all the time.
Stop signs, where they exist, are pretty decorations. At major intersections, few that there are, the presence of police does get cars to stop at red lights. At a round-about, you watch drivers play “chicken” as they try to break out and through each one. And this is very curious – when anyone, anyone, gets or makes a cell phone call, they pull over to the side of the road and stop, no exceptions; all this in a place where vehicles and pedestrians do a dance of death down every street. Millimeters separate cars from pedestrians. It’s like a bunch of marbles rolling around in a shoebox, yet no marble ever touches another. It is truly a magic ballet to be appreciated.
When you park, you lock your car and walk away. When you return, you discover who has been watching your car, for he or she will appear to collect their “fee” for protecting it while you’re gone.
On Thursday morning we are picked up at 10:00 by Dawit, the driver our boss has sent to take us down to the Ministry of Immigration for permanent resident permits. Jane and I are separated as she goes to the women’s security check and I to the men’s. If you enter public buildings, hotels, stores, many restaurants, you will be searched and your bags scanned or searched. We learn not to take it personally. Security is a big thing here in Ethiopia and they work hard to keep people safe. Jane has the camera in her purse and they take it and hold it until we leave. No pictures inside public buildings, airports, anything municipal, period.
We go to a hall where Dawit tries to find out where we are to go. He speaks little English, so we communicate with hands, pointing the way, or by his calling our bosses’ sister who speaks English and translates for us, telling us what is next.
Now we go to a room that seats less than 100 people. No line, no numbers, no one in authority there. Dawit points, we sit. After a while, a young lady comes in and sees some of the sitting people, not in any particular order. Dawit talks to her and then goes to get forms to fill out. Here’s where we learn about Ethiopian names.
In Ethiopia, your name consists of our given first name, your father’s name next, and then you grandfather’s name. Abel Baker Charlie, for example, was named Abel by his parents, his father’s name was Baker, and his grandfather’s name was Charlie. When Abel has a son and names him say, Steven, his name is Steven Abel Baker or really Steven Abel, because they don’t worry about the last name much. Essentially, everybody is known first and foremost by their first name. By the way, for women the process works the same: Your mom’s names become your middle and last name. And it works fine unless you are from the States or Europe, say. Then it’s possible for them to register me as Theodore Harold, totally leaving out my last name, because last names aren’t as important as first names. Even the Prime Minister, whose name is Melis Zanawi, is known by everyone as Melis.
After we fill out forms, we find, after a wait, that we need more than what we have. We need a form from the Ministry of Labor. “Back to hotel,” says Dawit. Later we get a call from our boss’s sister and we find out that Dawit will pick us up tomorrow.
Friday morning at 9:30 we leave for the Ministry of Labor. Security easier here, it’s a smaller place. We get the forms to fill out, but need: 1. our passports and visas and two Xerox copies of each. 2. Two passport photos each. 3. A letter from our employer stating the specifics of our employment and 4. Our resumes. “Back to hotel,” says Dawit. Sis calls and tells us we need to get the photos and copies made and arrange to stay longer in Addis (we were scheduled to leave on Monday for Mekele). We arrange to stay until Thursday.
Friday afternoon and we’re still not feeling right. I begin to think that we’re just too old to get used to the high altitude. First I, then Jane get the “tourist’s complaint,” and we spend the weekend just limping along. Thank God Dr. Lin gave us a big bottle of Cipro before we left. The stuff works great.
Monday dawns on a week when the African Union, headquartered in Addis, begins two weeks of meetings. All the African heads of state (except Mubarak of Egypt, who is busy being deposed) are on the way to Addis and the army is everywhere.
Just a word here about safety. At no time have Jane or I felt any less safe than when we are in the States. In fact, there is a welcoming spirit among these people which we find refreshing. Even though we don’t speak the language and have to strain pantomime and pointing to the breaking point, the spirit is friendly. When I stepped on a scale being rented by a boy on the sidewalk (they try anything to make a Birr) and it promptly shot past the highest number, he laughed out loud and so did I. I tried out a resin chair in a furniture store and when it held me, I said, “Well, it didn’t break and again all the Ethiopians laughed. They are poor people, but they are good people.
Nothing more happens about residency cards or much anything else for the next two days. We sightsee some, but mostly we walk around and enjoy the people, the scenes taking place right here, right now. More later.
No comments:
Post a Comment