When we parted ways a week ago, I had just woken up at the Ramada Hotel in Addis Ababa. It was a very nice hotel, a 7-star establishment. The day before, we had flown into Addis Ababa at night, and the effects of what I had drunk on the plane hit me as soon as I landed.
Unknown to me, they had to find a spare key to get into my room after I didn’t respond to knocks or answer calls. It turned out I couldn’t even receive calls because my phone didn’t work outside Kenya.
Anyway, I quickly dressed and joined Pius and his friend, who were ready to leave. When I told them I hadn’t had breakfast, they said the hotel had already closed breakfast service. Meanwhile, our driver was looking at us impatiently, saying we needed to leave.
“Where we’re going is far, and the roads are crowded,” he said. I wondered what he meant by “crowded,” but Pius clarified—it meant heavy traffic. Pius asked him how long it would take to reach our destination, and he said about two hours. It was 12.30pm, and our meeting was at 3pm. Smiffy had also arrived that morning and was with Pius.
The driver, Addisu, was a former teacher and Pius’s NGO contact in Ethiopia, introduced to him a few weeks earlier. He was very talkative. We all entered the car, except Pius’s friend, who remained behind. I sat in the front with the driver, while Pius sat with Smiffy at the back.
Addisu’s car was very old—a blue car whose make I couldn’t identify. Almost everything in the car was not working: the radio, seat belts, and buttons on the dashboard. But to its credit, it could move fast! We got in and started navigating the traffic. Indeed, the traffic was heavy, just as Addisu had mentioned. At one point, Pius asked where we were going.
“Debre Zeit is about 40 kilometers away, but because of traffic, we can’t stop to eat. We’ll stop when we return,” Addisu said when I asked if we could stop for a quick bite.
“But that’s not where we’re going,” Pius interjected. “I didn’t read anywhere about Debre Zeit. Please stop so I can check the name.”
“It’s Bishoftu, not Debre Zeit!” Pius clarified after checking his notes.
“Same thing,” said Addisu as he started the car again.
“No, it is Debre Zeit. It is the French who call it Bishoftu,” he said, unwilling to be drawn into the discussion.
“I said Ferenji—outsiders,” he clarified, focusing on the road. He kept receiving calls as he drove until Smiffy threatened to get out unless he stopped.
It was very hot, and the lack of air conditioning in the car didn’t help. The traffic was so heavy that by the time we hit a beautiful expressway, it was already an hour later.
Even as we drove, I was struggling to adjust and feel comfortable. In Ethiopia, drivers sit on the left and drive on the right side of the road. Each time, I imagined the car in front smashing into us. We eventually left the expressway and branched off into a small town on the right.
It was still very hot, and what immediately caught my attention was how places were named. For example, a hospital would be written as “Hoospiitaali,” a school as “Skoool,” and a hotel as “Hooteeelii.” It sounded funny. If I were from this place, my name would be spelt Mwaaaliiimuu Aandreewu!
After getting lost several times, we finally arrived at our school, called Faana Boolaee Skuuli. We were warmly welcomed. To welcome us, a lady was sent to bring us coffee. Pius asked for water. I wished I had chosen water. The coffee was strong and served in very small cups, which I finished in just two sips.
When Pius asked for the head of the school, he wasn’t around. Addisu spoke to the headteacher in a language I assumed was Amharic, while Pius listened, visibly confused.
“But it’s almost 3pm now,” Pius said, frowning.
“No, right now is 9am, Ethiopian Time. If you wanted to be here at 3am you should have been here in the morning. The headteacher waited for us and then left,” Addisu added.
Pius was visibly upset. “What about the school in Addis where we were supposed to meet at 8pm today?” he asked.
“That’s supposed to be at 2pm. We are already late,” replied Addisu.
“But Addisu, you are the one who prepared this schedule. How did this confusion happen?”
“I indicated the correct time for the meetings: 3am local time for the first school in Debre Zeit and 8am local time for the second one in Addis. You’re the one who changed it to the English time of 3pm and 8pm. I also got confused.”
“Please note that in Ethiopia, it is currently 2017. I don’t know what year it is in your countries,” added Addisu.
No one responded to him. Pius was visibly hungry and said, “Where can we get some quick lunch?”
“I don’t know. I’m fasting,” Addisu replied.
“I don’t care if you’re fasting,” Pius snapped. “Just take us somewhere to eat. You don’t have to eat.”
Eventually, Addisu offered, “I can take you to a butchery now if you’re too hungry.”
“I don’t want a butchery,” Pius replied, “I want a hotel.”
“No, a restaurant will do,” said Smiffy.
“Only butcheries have good meat,” Addisu explained as he drove us to one. He offered to take us there but wouldn’t eat himself.
The place was very busy. People were everywhere, talking loudly and drinking beer from long mugs. Addisu helped us order. Our food was served—sizzling, appetising nyama choma in clay pots and bread. I quickly went to wash my hands.
As I walked back, something happened that totally killed my appetite. The patrons at the table next to us were eating raw meat—fresh, raw meat. When I looked around, I noticed that almost everyone was eating copious amounts of raw meat. Watching them eat nearly made me throw up. I couldn’t eat, but Pius and Smiffy ate very well.
It was only much later at the hotel that my appetite returned. Addisu was fired that same day and from the subsequent meetings, we had to calculate and recalculate to get time right.
