54 - "My Name is Bond, Dr.Bond" Our Own Poor man's James Bond - Ethiopian Journey - Blog Post 54

The days were slipping by and we got into a daily routine. Wake up in the morning, go to the University, rather walk to the university and take classes. Back in 2002 it was quite normal for faculty members to go back home or do whatever fancies during their free time.

In very clear terms, it meant that once you do your teaching effectively you are left very much to yourself. Most Ethiopian teachers took off and came back to take their classes whenever they had a class to take. But most Indian teachers stayed back in the university. They simply did not have much to do at homes. Many of them were forced bachelors and for all others, sitting all the time at home was quite alien to their work ethic.

Amma and Nannagaru had called. They said that a Telugu faculty member (hence forth called TFM) was coming over to Bahirdar. I was told that Global Placements had given my name as a reference for new contract holders. Nannagaru said that TFM and his wife had called him and asked many questions. They had pried out lot of information from an otherwise reticent Nannagaru. TFM had infact even promised Nannagaru that he will come home and pick up a small package for Pranav and Sahithi (some sweets and chocolates for sweet starved grand-children).

The next day Nannagaru called. He sounded disappointed. TFM told him that he could not come as HE WAS BUSY and that they were already carrying LOT OF WEIGHT! Nannagaru was taken aback. But being a very polite person he wished TFM all the best.

A week later, Padma and me met the illustrious TFM. TFM was a diminutive man. Fair and chubby he and his small framed wife were a sight to behold. TFM greeted me "Anil garu, I heard so much about you, Ela Vunnaru (how are you)?" Not taking a step back I said “Hope you have heard nice things” I added blithely “I am fine”.

Mrs. TFM piped in “Sorry andi, we could not go to your house and collect the package” Padma, a naïve and innocent poor lady was all sympathy “that is all right, I am sure that for places like LB Nagar and Vanashathipuram, Banjara Hills (our locality in Hyderabad) is very far away”.

“Oh No” giggled Mrs. TFM like a teenager “we stayed in Erramanzil (hardly a kilometre away from our house in Banjara Hills). We did not have time”. Padma was stunned. She could not recover for nearly an hour. She was fuming “They had all the time in the world to bother Nannagaru and pester him with doubts and details, but did not have time to go to Banjara Hills.” She said HUU, HUU, HUU gutturally. Her grunts made Sahithi and Pranav erupt into uncontrollable giggles and howls of laughter.

TFM was a freshly minted PhD. Like all new PhDs he was very conscious about his degree. One week into his contract an Ethiopian student appeared in the faculty room. Ethiopian students are quite informal and address their faculty members by name. I believe he went up to TFM and said “TFM?”. TFM gave him a stare and said “not me”. The student was taken aback. He went back to the door, checked the roster (that displays all the faculty names) came back and said “It is written there; you are TFM!”

TFM got up and tried to appear as tall as his Five foot four-inch frame could afford. The Lanky strapping Ethiopian (well over six feet in height) was not impressed. He looked on impassively. TFM thundered “I am not TFM, I am Dr. TFM!”. In his own mind TFM thought he sounded like James Bond who says “My name is Bond, James Bond!”

The student went out and tom tommed this in the entire university and the legend called TFM started to make his presence felt. TFM had a very prominent telugu accent and a very peculiar way of speaking. Once I was rushing to my class. He waylaid me and said nasally “Going to class aa”. I almost fell off the second floor balcony. He spoke in English but it sounded like Telugu. That comment some-how got etched in my mind and I am sure that all my Ethiopian students would have wondered “Why is Anil’s face sporting a permanent silly grin!”

TFM was our scapegoat in the canteen. Once he was being ribbed. He retorted “why are you climbing me up the drumstick tree?”. The telugu teaching faculty members were stunned. He true translated the telugu idiom (meeru nannu Munaga Chettu ekkisthunnaru).

Later during the same conversation, TFM looked at the Injira very critically and remarked “Injira is very fragmented”. Now it was the Ethiopians turn to look confused “Fragmented, what do you mean?”. I climbed into the conversation and said “what he means is ‘Fermented’ and not fragmented”.

TFM was getting fed up. He got up in a huff and announced “I am a big bore. I would like to leave now”. There was a pin drop silence. Even the Ethiopians got the joke now. One of them said “Yes Dr. you are; why don’t you go home”. TFM made a grand exit. All us were laughing like mad men. TFM meant that he was getting bored in a big way but he managed to convey the exact feeling of all the other people around him. I thank my stars for giving us TFM who made our days lighter and merrier with his butler English, Butler Telugu and later even Butler Amharic!  

Holding the bags - Ethiopian Journey - Blog post - No 48

The entire row of opposite houses had Ethiopian families living in them. Most Ethiopian men and women would only smile and nod their heads. It was very difficult to talk to them as they would not speak English and we could not speak Amharic.

But one of the houses had a bubbly Ethiopian English faculty member from BDU. He could speak very fluent clipped English. He told me that he did his masters in English from a university in United Kingdom. He stopped me one day and said in mock anger, “I have a complaint against your Indian community”. This was a common threat for all NRIs. Any stray incident by a person becomes an incident committed by the entire community.

“Guilty as charged!”, I smilingly answered. He slapped me on my back and roared in laughter “I Like you, I like you. You have accepted your crime so easily”. “But sir” I responded, “What did we do?”.

“The matter is very serious” he said solemnly, “You have rubbed our Ethiopian women on the wrong side”. It was my turn to be solemn now. Rubbing the Ethiopian women on the wrong side? I was clue less!

Seeing my question mark face, The English professor responded “Fine, Fine. I will reveal the crime. It has been observed that Indians go to the market, do all the shopping and it is the men who carry the bags and the women are sauntering behind them, enjoying the scenery. But in Ethiopia it is the women who carry all the load”.

He added with a twinkle in his eyes, “The men folk walk behind grandly, taking in the grandeur and chatting among themselves”. He looked at my astonished face and said in all seriousness, “Now our wives are demanding that we follow the Indian men and start carrying the bags. What a bother!”. He left in a huff and I was left holding the bag for all the Indian community. I felt so sorry for myself!

Ethiopian parenting was strict yet relaxed. Most Ethiopian children would call their parents by name and it was quite a shock to the traditional Indians. Ethiopians have three names. Their own name, their father’s name and the name of the grandfather. Most Ethiopians shorten their names to their own and their father’s like Addis Gedefaw, but in the official register, three names would be mentioned. It was quite a shock to be asked about your grandfather’s name.

There was trouble brewing for me. The administrative department of Bahirdar University made Malleboyina my name, Anil became my father’s name and Ramesh became my grandfather’s name. I patiently explained to them that Malleboyina was my family name and that Anil and Ramesh are my own names.

The administrative guy exploded “what is this family name, and how is that you have two names?”. So in Ethiopia, I became ANIL RAMESH OBAIAH. Strictly I should have become Malleboyina Anil Ramesh Chinna Anjaneyulu Obaiah. Even by Indian standards the name would be very long. The only people who would be delighted with such a long name would be the Ethiopian screen printer’s community.

One thing that struck me was Ethiopians way of dealing with Alcohol. In India it is very common to see people drink. But that is the strange thing! In India people drink to get sozzled. They drink, not only to get a high or a kick, but to do all the antics associated with binge drinking. Drinkers puke, roam on the roads, tease others and generally make a nuisance of themselves. They frankly are a menace to the civilized society.

But in Bahirdar things were very different. Most Bahirdar citizens drank for fun. It was mostly social drinking and beer was quite common and was even available in the Bahirdar University canteen! It was quite common to see both men and women students drink beer in the BDU canteen itself.

Beer was consumed almost like a soft-drink. It was available in a 330 ml bottle and costed a mere 3.50 birr, (Seventeen rupees and fifty paisa)! Quite cheap. Dashen beer was the most common brand consumed.

The only time I saw some sozzled Ethiopians, was immediately after the lent. During the Easter celebrations the hitherto strict Orthodox Christians would loosen their strict diet regime and ate and drank merrily. But drunk, sozzled, wavering and foul speaking drunkards were rare in Bahirdar, Ethiopia!