broker Addis

2.

I met a faranji on the street.

Blue-black tracksuit pajamas with an army green cotton jacket. A brown cross body bag. Short hair. Wearing glasses.

Couldn’t tell, if it was a boy or a girl. So, I asked.
She said she was a girl.

I asked her if she is interested in Habesha boys. Not me of course, but other good looking Habesha boys.

She said, no thank you.

I told her that all faranjis like the flavor of Habesha boys.

She told me, she already had a boy.

I asked again.

She said, she is married.

I told her that I’m a house broker.

Asked her if she wants to rent or buy a house.

She said, she already has a house.

She shook hands and told me her name.

I kept holding her hand for much longer than necessary.

We chatted some more, while we walked in the same direction.

She asked me if I would tell her a story.

I asked, why.

She said she likes to collect stories.

We sat down on a rock by the roadside and she pulled out a small digital camera.

She explained that she wants to go home and write the story down. And because she has a bad memory, she has to record it on film.

She also explained that I won’t be in the film.

The lens will be facing the road.

I told her, we shouldn’t sit here, because there is a lot of diplomats living on this street.

And the security guards will come and ask questions.

So, we walked some more.

I asked her if she is making a documentary.

She said no.

I asked her if she is a journalist.

She said she is an artist.

I asked her if she works for some organization working for poor Ethiopians.

She said no.

I told her that people photograph the poor Ethiopians and make lots of money.

She came to the sub-city on bole road, with me.

It's a beautiful outdoors café.

Tables arranged sparcely. Some surrounded by trees and plants.

Old men sitting in groups, playing dominoes.

We sit down on a table in a corner. Almost private.

I asked her how I should trust her.

She said, its just a story.

Any story.

True or imaginary or even fantastical.

I didn’t understand.

I told her, that ‘trust’ is bad. Its dangerous.

I told her that she also, shouldn’t trust people.

She shouldn’t have trusted me and come with me.

I could do anything.

But I’m not a bad person. So, she was safe.

My parents spoke what Jesus spoke and so do I.

So, I told her;

Ethiopia is God’s country. It is the only Unique country in the world. It is the only natural country in the world.

It has Lalibela which is more than 3000 years old. Without a single crack.

We are the only people that believe in God without seeing him. Israel is also a unique country, but they believe in God after seeing him.

We are poor but we are happy, because God is taking care of us.

God doesn’t care about Himself but people other than Himself, like Us.

After death He takes care of us, He saves us from life by giving us death.

Jesus died for us and you.

When Italians came, Menelik prayed to God. And that's how we were saved.

Ethiopia is the only natural country. Not plastic.

Ethiopia was never colonized.

People from the whole world come to Ethiopia to see it.

There is no place in the whole world like Ethiopia.

I also told her;

Once a faranji told me that he wanted a Habesha woman. I said it will cost at least 100 $. He said he can get one only in exchange for a coffee. So he arranged to meet one with me there. He made promises to her. Told her that he wants to live in Ethiopia, marry her. He said he will also set up a boutique for her. Though he was old and ugly, but she agreed because he had lots of money. He was successful in the end. Faranjis are very tactful and dishonest.

She asked, if the woman was also tactful and dishonest because she was interested in his money.

I didn’t agree completely.

*sub-city cafe off bole road, Addis, 30th Dec 2015.

sub-city cafe off bole road, Addis, 30th Dec 2015.

samsung

1.

I’m wearing my new blue-checkered shirt with my old jeans. And my retro style plastic rimmed sunglasses.

I’m looking my best.

I meet a faranji on the street, near edna mall.

She was alone.

We had an introductory chat, while we walked in the same direction, for a few meters.

She offered to sit for a cup of coffee, in exchange for a story.

I agreed.

She wanted to sit at the next outdoor coffee shop, while I preferred the one across the street.

She agreed.

We found out that all the tables were occupied, so we walked back to the one she preferred.

We chatted some more.

I asked her what she will do with the stories.

She told me that she likes listening to stories and wants to start collecting them in the form of audio and writing.
I asked her if she was French.
She said no.
I asked her if she was Indian.
She said, almost.
She told me she was Pakistani.
I asked her if Pakistan is next to Syria.
She laughed and said no.
She told me Pakistan is in Asia. And is in the middle of China, India, Arabian Sea, Iran, Afghanistan, and Tajikistan.
She wanted to sit in the sun.
I told her, i can't afford to. "I have a burnt face", I said.

She asked me, if I would allow her to record the story without me in the frame.

I asked her if she was a journalist.

She said she was an artist.

I asked her again, what she will do with the stories.

She told me that right now, she is only collecting and recording them. It might take the form of a book or an exhibition.

I asked her, if she would sell them.

She said that most, in fact all, of her work is non-commercial. She doesn’t make any money from her art.

I agreed to tell her the story, after coffee.

We chatted some more.

She had a big fat camera.
She paid for the coffee.
She complimented the waitress on her hairstyle.

She asked me if I would allow her to take my picture.

I told her I will have to call my manager to ask.

She looked confused.

She asked me what I do.

I told her that I work for LG shop.

She asked me, if every time I get a picture taken, whether with friends or family, I call the shop owner to ask for permission.

I said no. But you are a faranji. They take photos of Ethiopia and sell them for money. And become rich.

After finishing my coffee, I excused myself to take a phone call.

And I disappeared. 


*kaldi's cafe near edna mall, Addis, 28th Dec 2015.

tele cafe, Gonder, 19 Jan 2016.