Oh In-GEER-lund, why do you do it to us? Why do you build our hopes up with stories of “Fabio can” only to brutally destroy them, our dreams left convulsing on the ground like the cockroach in the family bathroom this morning which I sprayed with insect killer, as it tired to flee down the plug hole.
Along with Darwit, the head of the family I’m living with in suburban-Addis Ababa, I went to my local bira bet (a pub of sorts) to watch England beat Germany. I had spent the day at the Institute for Ethiopian Studies, which if you ever get the chance, is well worth the visit. A large part of the Institute is dedicated to pictures of the martyrdom of St George (K’dus Georgais), who is the patron-saint of Ethiopia, as well as England. To further heighten any symbolism, I ensured I drank the (excellent) local beer, K’dus Georgais.
I confidently strolled into the bar. I had my Birr 100 note in my pocket (£5), enough to buy 25 pints. My plan was that on the final whistle and England’s inevitable victory over its arch-rival, I would walk up to the bar, slap my Birr 100 note onto the counter and order everyone in the pub a pint. What a jolly good Englishman I was planning on being, winning hearts and minds left, right and centre (where Gerrard should have played).
As the anthems ended, I explained to Darwit, in my broken Amharic, that we deserved to win. Bringing home the World Cup, or at the very least beating Germany, would have been a decent tribute for our brave lads in Helmand. And what a better way of softening the cuts and tax rises about to hit us all, than a bit of World Cup gold to balance the books. I talked to a few of the local “lads” about England, saying how this was going to be Rooney’s match (he’s called “Ronny” out here). They agreed, and showed me photos of their kids as further proof of their convergence.
And suddenly the rain came. Not any old rain, but true Ethiopia rainy season rain. Lightening, thunder, floods and hail - big football sized hailstones (well sort of). I sat there, in the middle of Africa, shivering, wearing my thick Hoxton hoodie, in AFRICA, shivering! At one point, it go so bad that I thought the pub’s mud/thatch roof was going to full in. Oddly enough, the lights went out by the TV stayed on.
I had literally only just finished explaining to Darwit that Shakespeare often used rain as a symbol of trouble ahead, when Upson failed to communicate with James and Germany scored a ridiculous first goal. And you don’t need me to tell you that things only got worse. I remember thinking that even with only 10 minutes left, England will fight back in true St. George style. And I remembered St. George later on in the evening when I put my (untouched) Birr 100 note, neatly back into my money envelope in my bedroom.
In fairness to the Ethiopians, they were a good crowd. Even despite the odd stares, they seemed to like the fact that I, a franji (foreigner/westerner/white guy), had come to their bar and was trying to speak a bit of Amharic. When England scored, they shouted and screamed (generally, screamed) as loud as they did the four times Germany scored. And they were as appalled as me at the Lampard refereeing decision, that had I asked them to break (the already broken) plastic chairs in hooligan rage, I’m sure they would have done.
Of course it doesn’t matter. I’m out here, with the opportunity of a life time, and no piss-poor England team (please, can we ask some fundamental questions about the nature of English football, rather than just sack the manager) is going to take that away from me. It doesn’t matter for the mosques and orthodox churches, which I grumpily passed on my way home, peacefully taking in people of a non-football faith. It doesn’t matter for my neighborhood's underfed horses, dragging heavy carts and bouncing and thudding along the pot-holed road. And it certainly doesn’t matter for the three sheets of ripped, muddy tarpaulin, sprawled out next to a puddle, covering two agonizingly boney legs which I almost walked on. Yes, of course the Match doesn’t matter. But it does not stop the hurt.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
Saturday, 26 June 2010
Moving in with the Family
After my week’s induction, today I moved in with the family who I’ll be staying with for my immersion training. The plan is that I live and breath Amharic solidly for three weeks: Four hours of Amharic lessons a day at Addis Ababa university, afternoons spent talking to Ethiopians in the street and market, and then evenings with my family. A hell of an experience and a great opportunity to learn about the country and language.
The family live some way out of town, in what seems to be a fairly nice neighborhood - at least by Addis standards. There are loads of street stalls and shops, and on the main road, a good selection of bars. I even walked passed a dry cleaners. The family live off a main room, down a street that has so many potholes in that I thought our tax was going to sink when we got stuck in one. Apparently taxis don’t go down this road, horse and cart is the better option (no joke - I went in one).
The family are wonderful. The head of the family is the dad, Dawit. He teaches Amharic in many Embassies across Addis. He’s a real gent and seems really keen for me to learn. He and his wife have twins, who are awesomely cute. They run around the living room all the time, falling over and never crying. And the little boy keeps farting, to my (and his family’s) amusement. There is also a grandmother, sister, aunt, brother and three cousins here. It’s a big house, but I feel uncomfortable: While they are sharing rooms, and even beds, me, the big western demander, has a double bed in my own private en-suite bedroom. There isn’t any hot water so I guess it’s not quite the Ritz, but still, they are really looking after me. My first impression is that the family, like in many cultures, seem to take great pride in looking after quests.
I sneaked out this afternoon to find a pub to watch the South Korea-Urangry match. I ended up befriending a group of Ethiopians lads, who seemed to be pretty impressed with my Amharic. I felt pretty chuffed - we had a proper conversation about English football and why Liverpool are a spent force. Heading back there tomorrow for the all important England-Germany game. I’ve promised that I’ll buy beers for everyone in the bar if England win tomorrow. It won’t be expensive, a pint (“jumbo”) is 20 pence. Roll on the good times.
After the match, had bolognese with the family. Damm nice. And then the hour long coffee ceremony where coffee is roasted in front of you (I never knew coffee beans were actually green). Ethiopian coffee tastes so good, real bitter-sweet stuff. Just I know that, lying here on my big double bed, listening to the dogs, mosques and mosquitos of semi-rural Addis Ababa, I’m not going to be sleeping for a few hours.
26 June 2010
The family live some way out of town, in what seems to be a fairly nice neighborhood - at least by Addis standards. There are loads of street stalls and shops, and on the main road, a good selection of bars. I even walked passed a dry cleaners. The family live off a main room, down a street that has so many potholes in that I thought our tax was going to sink when we got stuck in one. Apparently taxis don’t go down this road, horse and cart is the better option (no joke - I went in one).
The family are wonderful. The head of the family is the dad, Dawit. He teaches Amharic in many Embassies across Addis. He’s a real gent and seems really keen for me to learn. He and his wife have twins, who are awesomely cute. They run around the living room all the time, falling over and never crying. And the little boy keeps farting, to my (and his family’s) amusement. There is also a grandmother, sister, aunt, brother and three cousins here. It’s a big house, but I feel uncomfortable: While they are sharing rooms, and even beds, me, the big western demander, has a double bed in my own private en-suite bedroom. There isn’t any hot water so I guess it’s not quite the Ritz, but still, they are really looking after me. My first impression is that the family, like in many cultures, seem to take great pride in looking after quests.
I sneaked out this afternoon to find a pub to watch the South Korea-Urangry match. I ended up befriending a group of Ethiopians lads, who seemed to be pretty impressed with my Amharic. I felt pretty chuffed - we had a proper conversation about English football and why Liverpool are a spent force. Heading back there tomorrow for the all important England-Germany game. I’ve promised that I’ll buy beers for everyone in the bar if England win tomorrow. It won’t be expensive, a pint (“jumbo”) is 20 pence. Roll on the good times.
After the match, had bolognese with the family. Damm nice. And then the hour long coffee ceremony where coffee is roasted in front of you (I never knew coffee beans were actually green). Ethiopian coffee tastes so good, real bitter-sweet stuff. Just I know that, lying here on my big double bed, listening to the dogs, mosques and mosquitos of semi-rural Addis Ababa, I’m not going to be sleeping for a few hours.
26 June 2010
Sunday, 20 June 2010
Arrival
16 hours of travel, and not a drop of sleep. What an idiot I am. The result is that I’ve been on the roller coaster of emotions today - flying high and diving low. I’ve been excited, confused, relieved, happy, and now I’m scared. I’m sitting in the restaurant of my hotel, the only person here, feeling very lonely and just hoping that I made the right decision. There isn’t butterflies in my stomach, rather a flock of birds. I’ve been here for not only 24 hours, and I’m already missing home. There is a big part of me that would love to be back in Brixton right now.
Anyway, initial impressions of Addis: Wet (lots of heavy rain today); green; great coffee shops; relaxed; good tarmac; friendly; hugh amount of construction work. Whenever I have spoken Amharic, Ethiopians have giggled (politely) at me. But the few that I have spoken to - the waiters in the restaurant - have been charming and friendly.
It‘s going to be a long but great three years.
Anyway, initial impressions of Addis: Wet (lots of heavy rain today); green; great coffee shops; relaxed; good tarmac; friendly; hugh amount of construction work. Whenever I have spoken Amharic, Ethiopians have giggled (politely) at me. But the few that I have spoken to - the waiters in the restaurant - have been charming and friendly.
It‘s going to be a long but great three years.
Saturday, 19 June 2010
Leaving the UK
Saying Goodbye
I knew that it has been a fantastic leaving “period” when I squeezed into my jeans this morning. “Period” because my leaving parties, drinks, dinners and meetings have stretched on for three weeks. It started with a wonderfully happy family leaving party at my parents’ house. Everyone was there, even my brother Justin, his wife Alex and his handsome nephew Xavier, who had come all the way from Australia. A week later, Margot and I had our leaving party with our friends (although my parents cheated and were at both). Equally fun, but a lot more drunken, the evening involved me walking into a lamp-post and being put into an industrial bin. In between these two great parties, there has been many excellent restaurants, drinks and meals. Even a 30km walk. It’s just been great.
I’m now sat here, an hour before I leave for the airport and say goodbye to the UK. I’m excited. I know that if I work hard, I’ve got a real chance to learn, build new skills and maybe help make a bit of a difference to the UK and Ethiopia. It’s going to be a great experience for Margot and me, no question. We both can’t wait to get to know the Country, make some friends and travel everywhere. I just hope that I can really seize the opportunity in front of me.
I’d add that I’m so glad that Margot is coming with me. Sounds cheesy, but she is really the best. I don’t want to think what it would be like without her.
But I’m also sad. If I’ve learnt anything in the last three weeks (between the food and beer), is that I am damm lucky to have such great family and friends. There has been moments over the last three weeks when I stopped in my tracks, and said to myself, ‘Ben, you’ve lucked out with your excellent friends and family.‘ The next three years is going to be great and tough. But I know that whatever happens, thanks to my friends and family, the UK will always be my home.
I knew that it has been a fantastic leaving “period” when I squeezed into my jeans this morning. “Period” because my leaving parties, drinks, dinners and meetings have stretched on for three weeks. It started with a wonderfully happy family leaving party at my parents’ house. Everyone was there, even my brother Justin, his wife Alex and his handsome nephew Xavier, who had come all the way from Australia. A week later, Margot and I had our leaving party with our friends (although my parents cheated and were at both). Equally fun, but a lot more drunken, the evening involved me walking into a lamp-post and being put into an industrial bin. In between these two great parties, there has been many excellent restaurants, drinks and meals. Even a 30km walk. It’s just been great.
I’m now sat here, an hour before I leave for the airport and say goodbye to the UK. I’m excited. I know that if I work hard, I’ve got a real chance to learn, build new skills and maybe help make a bit of a difference to the UK and Ethiopia. It’s going to be a great experience for Margot and me, no question. We both can’t wait to get to know the Country, make some friends and travel everywhere. I just hope that I can really seize the opportunity in front of me.
I’d add that I’m so glad that Margot is coming with me. Sounds cheesy, but she is really the best. I don’t want to think what it would be like without her.
But I’m also sad. If I’ve learnt anything in the last three weeks (between the food and beer), is that I am damm lucky to have such great family and friends. There has been moments over the last three weeks when I stopped in my tracks, and said to myself, ‘Ben, you’ve lucked out with your excellent friends and family.‘ The next three years is going to be great and tough. But I know that whatever happens, thanks to my friends and family, the UK will always be my home.
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