97 – Biscuit Factory’s Managing Director, Putting My Foot in The Mouth and Getting Robbed.

The graduating ceremony concluded and there were collective whoops of delight and a sense of accomplishment. Graduation caps were flying everywhere and some were threatening to become deadly missiles. All the teachers including me ducked out of the delightful melee and made a beeline to the watering hole of Bahirdar University – the canteen.

The Canteen had limited seating capacity and most preferred to sit outside, below the majestic trees that towered over.  Peeping from the branches and making noises were Ethiopian Chlorocebus monkeys, languid and serious looking. With reading glasses, on they would uncannily resemble harried professors looking at naughty students.

Padma and I ordered Macato (coffee with milk), Pranav opted for Avocado juice and Sahithi for Mirinda. The drinks were served and the visitors buzzed in! Huge red bees buzzing with excitement.

Pranav, Sahithi and Padma propelled out of their chairs. It was as if they were about to be launched into space! Sahithi gave out an almighty yell. I knew what was happening. I calmly tipped a little Macato into the saucer and all the bees happily zeroed in.

“Listen,” I told my family. “These are semi tame bees and I have not seen them attack anyone, so far. What they want is a little coffee or shai and they would leave you alone” True to my words, the bees continued feasting on the Macato and would buzz around but not bite.

Even though they were harmless, Sahithi was on pins and needles. She wanted to make peace with the bees by offering her Mirinda, but I restrained her. “Little bit of Macato is enough” I told her in my make belief serious voice “They might not like mixing soft drinks with Macato. It might upset their delicate digestive systems”. Sahithi swallowed my banter, hook, line and sinker! Poor girl!

Sun was also out. He was beaming in happiness and was giving off warmth and rays of sunlight were shooting off from the leaves and creating myriad shadows dancing on the floor. It was an idyllic scene – right out of paradise.

Sitting next and observing us was a gentle, suited Ethiopian. He got up, came across, greeted us and sat down with us. He was the Managing Director of a biscuit manufacturing company from Addis Ababa and was one of the invitees for the graduation ceremony. At the mention of the brand name both Pranav’s and Sahithi’s antennae were up!!!. That brand of biscuit was their favourite.

In a country where bland crackers (we called them dog biscuits in disdain) ruled the roost, this brand of biscuit was unique. It was a cream biscuit and the obvious sweetness of the cream was something that my kids loved.

I took off. “Sir” I said “Your biscuits are good, but your quality control leaves lot to desire”. The MD was all ears “Tell me, sir, what is wrong?” The teacher in me was in full flow, “You see; the taste of the biscuits is great. But I have observed that in many cases the rough part of the biscuit is on the inside and the smooth part that should be on the inside is reversed. Aesthetically not very appealing. It reflects poorly on the production process”. I glibly added, “May be your Quality control in-charge needs training or needs better inputs about inspections and rejection procedures” I was gloating. I was like the Cheshire cat that had a bowl full of rich cream and was purring in contentment.

The MD’s face broke out in a cherubic smile. If I had a mobile phone, I would have taken a snap and titled it as the smiling Buddha of Ethiopia. “Most certainly Sir”, he said, “I assure you that your feedback will be taken seriously. We were aware of this problem and recruited a year ago, a senior most quality control expert from” He inhaled a deep breath, looked at me straight in the eyes and delivered the sucker punch “India!!!!!” he concluded dramatically.

My face ashened and I gaped at him like a goldfish sucks in air, when it is abruptly thrown out of the aquarium. It was as if someone pole axed me. I was out for the count.           

After that I was quite subdued. When we started our trek back home the skies opened up and the rain started pelting down. It was like someone hitting us with very small yet sharp stones. By the time we reached home, we were drenched to the skin. Padma hung all our clothes, including the socks and shoes in the verandah.

We retired early and the rain raged on and on and finally stopped by midnight. Next day morning, I was rudely awakened “Anil,” Padma’s voice was trembling in anxiety, “We have been robbed” “Robbed!!!???” I shot off the bed. It was true. Our entire set of clothes, shoes and all other Knick knacks kept in the verandah were gone.

The robbers took the clothes line too. We were shaken by their sheer audacity. The rickety main gate was a push over. The general agreement of the kable was that we should report the crime. I requested my Ethiopian colleague, the English faculty from BDU to accompany me to the local police station. The dye was cast, we needed to report the crime.

The local police station was housed in a ramshackle building. It did not look like a police station at all. It had a mud packed boundary wall. Inside the police station we gave a complaint and the cop in charge said that he would come along with his superiors. Apparently robberies in expatriate houses were taken seriously and the wheels of Ethiopian police machinery started to move ponderously.