As explained previously, the road I live down is less a road, and more a collection of pot holes. With all the (heavy) rain there is here at the moment, the pot holes fill up very quickly. One is so large that some (read, many!) logs have been put around the edge to allow people to get past the puddle. But with so much rain, the logs have turned into a mud slide. At least for me. The Ethiopians seem to gently camper over the logs no problem. This includes the drunks, loonies, flip flop wearers, blind people, lovers holding hands, and about everyone else with an Ethiopian passport. Things for me aren't so easy.
I step up, looking a little queesy. I stumble to the left, and fall to the right. I always seem to find the logs that have the most and least dry mud. On my right is a large mud bank. And on my left is the brown puddle of death. I've not yet fallen in, but I've come very close. And I am far from graceful. This seems to be the big amusement for all the Ethiopians in the street. Come 8am or 7pm, they all seem to be standing around, waiting (maybe hoping?) that I take the wrong log. Girls giggle, and boys laugh. It turned into such a spectacle that yesterday, someone even clapped me when I (safely) got across.
I let you know if I fall in....
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