91 – Aunty arrives, Grating German and Enduring Ethiopian Customs Officer – Ethiopian Journey.

The dye was cast and I prepared to stay in Addis Ababa. The next day as I was sipping my morning Cuppa (Shai), I was approached by a smart Ethiopian. “Mister” he greeted me cheerfully “You, Teacher!”. It was more than a question. It was an assertion.

“Yes” I said “Teacher from Bahirdar university, Bahirdar”. “Bahardar” he was impressed “You very lucky”. To the uninitiated, Bahardar is one of the holiest places in Ethiopia and is famed as the place of Amhara, the most populous tribe in Ethiopia.

It has many island monasteries and Tiss Abay the highest waterfalls in Ethiopia. He had a wistful look “How I wish; I could visit Bahardar”. He shook himself and said “One day, I visit” and added with a twinkle “would you host me, mister??” and thumped me on my back.

 “Sure, Sure” smarting under his too healthy smack. He told me that he was a taxi driver. He was a cheerful character and he made me promise that I would take his taxi whenever I visited Addis the next time. He also had a very smart way of picking up business.

He would wait patiently at the Bole International Airport and quote slightly less rate for a drop to the city. He would ingratiate himself with the tourists who would take a liking to this jolly, well behaved, English speaking Ethiopian.

He would generously pass information about places to visit and volunteer to help. Within no time he would be ferrying them around Addis Ababa and act as a tourist guide, friend, historian and also give them personal transport at a reasonable cost. The loss he made by offering a drop at a low price was more or less compensated by the day long travel that the tourist would take in his taxi. “How much do you make per day?” I asked him.

He gave a half wink and said “100 birr per day and rarely even 150 birr a day. Sometimes some generous tourists might even give me a tip of 10 - 20 dollars”. I was impressed. He was practicing invitation pricing. The initial offer of a product or a service is at a low price and when the customer samples the product, charge regular rate.

Making 100 -150 birr per day was a great deal in 2003 and that is what I admire about the self-employed of the world. They have no complaints about lack of government jobs. They don’t curse their bad luck. They smile and live their life as it comes. I told him that I would use his services to get dropped to the airport and for intra-city travel. “awo, awo (yes in Amharic sounds like aah, aah)” he said on his way out.

That afternoon, I went to a movie “L. A. Confidential” in Piazza. The movie hall had a primitive look and had hard seats. They were uncomfortable to sit upon and the theatre was not air-conditioned. It had some very old fans which were struggling to work. The movie hall was stuffy and on the top of it neither the audio nor the movie projection was working well. The audience were a mix of young and old and most were quite passive. The movie too was not very interesting and I left within half an hour.

Outside on the pavements, I found some old novels. I picked up two of them at a very reasonable price. I still remember the novels and the authors. 

One of them was “The case of the Velvet Claws” by Erle Stanley Gardner (my favourite author and it was the series featuring the ace criminal lawyer, Perry Mason).  I already had this novel in my collection in Hyderabad, India but Perry Mason is like first love, you can never forget them! You want to revisit the memory again and again.

The second was “ABC Murders” by Ellery Queen. Ellery Queen was a maverick crime novelist. Agatha Christie, the queen of crime, slowly builds up the story and leaves too many clues which are some times ambiguous. One needs to keep guessing about the identity of the murderer.

Ellery Queen’s technique is totally different. He would lay out the entire plot, give the summary of all the clues, sometimes even provide diagrams and pictorial illustrations and say “the entire case is in front of you. There is no intention to confuse or side track. Can you solve the case?. No guessing”, It has to be good old fashioned detective work based on logic and clarity of thinking. Even the most ardent crime fans have not been able to crack an Ellery Queen mystery, the way the author explains it right at the end.

That day evening Padma had good news for me. Aunty’s ECNR clearance work was done in a jiffy and she was flying to Ethiopia two days later. Once the date was known the time passed quickly. Of course Messers Perry Mason and Ellery Queen helped a lot. They were with me in the Tourist hotel. I had so much time that I read both the books twice over. Cover-to-cover. Perry Mason should be made a compulsory read for all aspiring lawyers. They would pick up the nuances of how to fight and present a case and use the law to benefit the innocent.

Two days later (29-07-2003) at 10.30 p.m. I found myself waiting outside the arrival gate of Bole International Airport. I was an hour early and there I was hanging onto the entry gate. Facing me was a menacing Ethiopian army person. After glaring at me for half an hour, he said “Asitemarie? (teacher)” “Asitemarie, Asitamarie” I said “Mother, mother, coming from India”. His face broke into a smile “Inati, Inati” he said “Hind, Hind”. What he said was “mother, mother from India”.

After a long wait, I could finally see the travelers emerge from the immigration and come on to the customs clearance area. The line was long and moving at an excruciatingly slow pace. I saw many young Ethiopians and Indians come out first. I knew the reason, the able bodied and the agile must have raced through and made it first to the que lines. Aunty would be coming in slowly.

Then I saw her walking her way to the customs area. FINALLY SHE WAS IN ADDIS ABABA!!! In front of her was a huge man (later Aunty told me that he was a German). In front of the German was an Ethiopian lady with her two children and the customs officer was dealing with them and the process was taking some time.

Even from the distance of atleast 100 feet, I saw it coming. The German first said something and then said something else quite loudly. Aunty later told me that he made some snide comment about the speed (or lack of it) of customs check and said something obnoxious about Africa and its airports.

The customs officer was upset but chose not to speak. He quietly went through the Ethiopian Lady’s belongings, let the lady go and gave his full attention to the German.

And oh boy, he gave the German full attention!!!!! He looked at the German’s passport very carefully, put it through the computer and checked it many times to find out if it was genuine or not. Then he very politely opened each and every item that the German had and went through it with maddening thoroughness. This really got to the German. He was seething with anger but there was nothing he could do about it. The customs officer was simply doing his job.

Finally, the customs officer was satisfied. By this time the customs officer’s counter looked as if a cyclone had hit it. It was cluttered with the German’s belongings. The customs officer looked at the German, stamped his passport and said “Okay, you can go”

This left the poor German with a herculean ask. Whenever we pack a suitcase at home, we have the luxury of packing leisurely and with a plan. A suitcase packed at home, can never be packed the same way once it is opened at the airport, especially by an irate customs officer who unfolded all the shirts and trousers and made a heap of them. Aunty had finished her own customs check pretty quickly and I went forward to pick her up. I am sure that the German would have spent the next 30 minutes to repack. He had learnt a lesson of his life – You don’t mess with Customs officers!

Aunty and me stayed in the airport and early in the morning took the first flight to Bahirdar. The flight landed in Bahirdar and Aunty was surprised to see, Padma, Pranav and Sahithi at the airport. They all hugged each other and we were all relieved that Aunty finally made it safe to Bahirdar without any problems. It was second time lucky for her. We also thanked Dr. Kuldeep Singh for accompanying Padma and the kids to the Ginbot Haya Airport, Bahirdar.

Bel-Air Hotel, Bucket and Mug, Titanic Struggle - Ethiopian journey, Blog Post no - 81.

The day was mildly sunny and Bahirdar's  Ginbot Haya Airport was getting basked in it. The surly and suspicious looking guards let us in. We were in for a shock of our life. We had not noticed at the time of our arrival in November 2002, the Airport was eeriecally quiet.

Ginbot Haya would get the first prize among the quietest Airports of the world. Two reasons for the quietness, it was a Sunday and very few flights landed and took off.

It looked just like a typical African airport. Functional yet rudimentary. We had experience of the bustling and ever busy Hyderabad and Mumbai Airports and it was quite strange to wait in an Airport like Ginbot Haya with very few fellow passengers.

The Airport staff was multi skilled and performed multiple activities. The personnel who gave us the boarding passes, doubled as boarding pass checkers at the aeroplane boarding point. One of them became the purser of the flight.

Pranav and Sahithi had a ball playing in the almost deserted Airport. Sahithi got a small injury and got herself a medal – a tiny weeny Johnson and Johnson band aid strip that she proudly adorned. She was as happy as a soldier who poses off his war time injuries! 

The flight to Addis was uneventful and the flight landed at Bole Airport. In November 2002 we landed at the old Airport. The old Airport was a Haile Selassie era Airport. Old and dated. 

The new airport or Bole International Airport was swank and ultra-modern. Glass fronted with attractive Ethiopian motifs, paintings and long flowing, colourful and artistic cloth draped from the ceiling, it was a sight to behold! We were astonished. It was a grand looking airport that could be pitted against any other airport in the looks and the grandeur department.

We stepped out and the bracing Addis Ababa air hit us right in the face. We remembered “Addis Ababa is the 4^th highest capital in the world”. Unlike Hyderabad and Mumbai, where cab drivers scoop down on passengers like vultures scooping down on unsuspecting rabbits, Addis Ababa cab drivers were mostly placid and laid back.

We walked up to the taxi stand and negotiated with the taxi driver. Our destination, Bel-Air hotel. The driver was smart and could converse in English. We agreed for a price of 80 birr (Rs 400/-) and off we went.

Bel Air was on the queen Elizabeth road and it was on a hillock. The scenery was breath taking. The view could have been out of any well-known hill station from India. We were given a double room and we paid 70 birr (Rs 350/-). It was a fair deal. It was bang next to the Indian Embassy. Our chests swelled in pride seeing the Indian tricolour fluttering away in the bracing Addis Ababa weather.

The door had a lock that would not close. The room was big but the bathroom was bigger. Pranav’s mouth opened by a foot “why such a big bath room?” “I don’t know” I replied. Even though the bath room was big there was no bucket or a mug. Buckets and mugs, it seemed were not on as far as Ethiopian hotels were concerned. I went down to the reception and asked for a bucket and a mug.

I was given the LOOK. The Ethiopian look is the look that they give the foreigners when they don’t understand or comprehend.  It is the look that only the sufferers like us understand. “BUCKET???” the lady at the reception parroted.

She looked at me like a school teacher looks at a dim-witted student. “What is a bucket?”

I was desperate. I knew only the word bucket and no other synonyms. I tried telling and even drew the picture. She studied the picture with the utmost concentration. “1/5” she must have muttered to herself at my drawing skills. She looked at the picture of the bucket and gave a nod. It was hopeless, she could not comprehend.

I was at my wits end. A helpful Ethiopian came to my rescue. After what looked like an interrogation, the friendly Ethiopian’s face lit up. He said something in Amharic to the receptionist.

The lady at the reception gave me a withering look that would have burned lesser mortals. “So you were looking for a Balidi!! “why can’t you simply say so?” she said incredulously.  

After 10 minutes of anxious waiting a quite beaten up bucket arrived. “Eureka” I mentally shouted and grabbed it. I was clinging on to it just like a frightened mountain climber clings on to a tree wine for survival. The bucket was the most important thing as far as we were concerned. Inspite of our best efforts none could understand the concept of a mug. A two litre mineral water bottle was cut at the neck and that became our mug!!! 

We went out in the evening and bought kerosene (we had brought the kerosene stove from Bahirdar), rice, red gram, cooking oil, sugar, salt, candles, match box and washing soap. We returned to Bel-Air. The telephone in the room chimed. “A call for Mr. Aneel” the clipped voice announced. I had to go to the reception area to take the call. Padma wanted to shut the door and lock it. The bolt would not shut. With a herculean effort and great Indian jugaad Padma managed to close the door and bolt it.

The call was from Pradeep, our colleague from Bahirdar. He was enquiring about our next day’s programme. I returned back to the room and to my horror the main door would not open. The door was having a last laugh. It was shut as the doors of the proverbial Fort Knox. No human force in the world was enough to open it.

I rushed back to the reception. Now there were four or five able bodied men struggling with the smug door. The door stayed put. It was not budging for anything. One of the hotel attender leaped through the adjacent window, cat style into the room. He landed safely and another followed. Now it was two inside and two outside. It appeared funny now, but it was serious at that time. 

The four of them were waging a battle with the grim door. After a titanic struggle the door simply gave up. Once the door’s resistance was worn down the bolt was broken and the door opened with an almighty creak. We were all relieved. It was quite stressful.

The next day morning, presented a new challenge. There was no hot water facility. “10 birr extra for a room with hot water” was the dour announcement from the reception clerk. “chigrey illam (no problem)” I glibly remarked. We repacked and moved to the room with hot water facility.

This new room was a colonial style room. It had a cute veranda and a very decent bathroom with hot water facility. Pranav was clutching onto to the bucket that he carried with him from the earlier room. 

"Smart guy" I intoned trying my best imitation of Lion, Ajit the iconic hindi actor, who would say "Smart guy " whenever his henchmen did a clever thing.