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.