Vacationing in the North - Part 1

“…fasten your seat belts…we’ll be landing at Bole International Airport in ten minutes. The weather…” The pilot’s voice authoritatively interrupts Of Monsters and Men’s ‘Little Talks’ that is playing through the plane’s headsets. I make a mental note ‘It was about time anyway’. Let’s agree, the only good moments in a plane ride are takeoff and landing, no? Between the two it's not exactly interesting especially with occasional turbulence and you being seated next to a girl and wishing the Lebanese man who just walked past you heading to the WC had booked her seat! However, I do think my mission in this life (read as sex department) will be complete when I take it over 30 thousand feet high! One of you opined to me last week that his friend has wanked that high. I was like really? That I can do under my warm Maasai shuka effortlessly. I mean if it has been done in the back pew of a cinema hall... Look at it this way, if Olivia Pope can get some presidential quickie on the table at the Oval office, a pretty boy is allowed to dream right?

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Behind The Scenes

Last week after I left C.D.R, while making my way home, I had a very interesting encounter with a man who’s just walked out of his seven year marriage. He was a stranger seated next to me in the bus and just started a conversation on how his wife has never appreciated his efforts, his parents and neighbours warning him umpteenth times etc. He even showed me texts she has sent and his reply to her post the breakup separation. It got very personal at some point. He said that he had discarded some stock of condoms and family planning pills and when the lady found them in a dustbin asked him how did he dare do that when she may be using them with someone else? Poor thing. I patiently listened and only asked him about his kids. One other thing I asked him is whether he’s happy about the decision and he said he’s not guilty and feels more at peace. In addition to time heals, I told him that the fact he's happy about the decision is the most important thing in life. The guy who had a wedding ring on and seated on my left gave me those questioning looks meant to say I'm giving bad advice. I ignored him. In shrink school they teach you one thing; you can never offer a solution to anyone’s problems. People actually have solutions to their own problems and the decisions they make sometimes just need a neutral party to second or affirm them. Of course I didn’t tell him that maybe he ought to try men when he told me that among other things women are evil. After I alighted and wished him well, it got me thinking. As early as 14 or 15, I’m the one person who used to say that I’ll not marry. I was judged as naive and still growing. Now as 25 beckons, I don’t even lose sleep over the thought of marriage even as my classmates arrange for wedding committee meetings that I graciously attend. It is such encounters/little fates with strangers that affirm my conviction. What’s the deal with people and societal expectations anyway?

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The Airport is located amid hills and just happens to you! When you are actually expecting the plane to descend, it  rapidly ascends and in a short while it occurs to you that you are already on the runway. My friend Jamleck who gate crashed this trip informs me that Ethiopian pilots are among the best in the world. I am still trying to figure out what influenced that conclusion. I request the taxi driver to make a stopover at Awash International bank (that was reliably suggested to me by a friend) for me to exchange my currency into the Ethiopian Birr. Good thing about their money is that it’s not centered on an individual but rather the people. Coffee is offered by the gentleman I was advised to meet. I seek clarification on whether it's the bank's practice or his own offer. He says it's the latter. My inner princess twirls imitating a teenage girl who's making it difficult for his childhood crush to take her out on prom! 

After checking in for the fortnight stay and resting a bit at my guest house, Jamleck (who’d arrived earlier) and I decide to take an evening walk to a nearby Mall. It’s a very wet afternoon with drizzles. As we walk along Bole Medhane Alem Road, there’s a middle aged man walking a few meters in front of us and a lady walking towards our direction. The man almost hits a street lamp pole as he checks out the lady. I think he was checking out her booty. I laugh and tell Jamleck that the guy is so straight beyond help. The guy is at a standstill as the lady (who’s clearly not noticed him) sashays away. He sees us and introduces himself. “I’m Petros, I saw you earlier at the guest house” He says. We inform him we are heading to the mall. He offers to take us to a cultural tryst just en route the mall. He even supplies that we may meet beautiful women to marry or even take back to Kenya. We roll our eyes.  

We reluctantly agree as it’s our first day here. We walk into a largely residential woreda (suburb) and reach a black painted gate. It’s next to a chancery though. Once inside the compound we follow the path to the residence blaring some music and giggles. We walk into a living room full of skimpily dressed beauties and are offered a seat in the almost wearing out leather couches. I sit near the door. I study my surroundings and the colored women paraded in front of me. It all becomes clear: it’s my first time in a brothel, the Fuck? 

 To be continued…

Jamleck steps out of the black Chevy cab. He smiles broadly to the driver who is kind enough to open for him the car door. As soon as the cab zooms past him he opens his Spartacus Guide and grins. He’s finally on 639 New York Ave Northwest, Washington, D.C. He enters the dimly lit watering hole that conspicuously consists of only white men. He gets a considerable number of stares as he makes his way to the counter. He hands a $5 note for an order of a glass of lemonade as he surveys the crowd; he notices he’s the only black guy in the room. The robust bartender in a tight leather half coat that exposes the tattoos on his developed biceps places a glass of fresh lemonade in front of him displaying a judgmental look. When he refunds the change to Jamleck, the same is short of $1.25. Jamleck raises the discrepancy in his change and the bartender gets rude. The nearby patrons who were chatting go quiet as they follow the argument. 

Jamleck maintains his position even as almost the entire bar goes quiet. He rises up looking at his watch and the coins on his hand. “You know what? You can keep them!” He sententiously tells the surprised bartender as he throws the coins from his hand making them sprawl across the counter. He turns to make his way out. He gets whistles from the crowd as he struts across the bar where anyone blocking the exit way has moved.

To be continued…

Cole