109- Arriving at Lalibela, The Ethiopian Jerusalem

 

The night was approaching rapidly and it looked a long haul from Lalibela. The tour group was relaxed; everyone had double the room. 12 of us in a 22 seater bus. Each one of us enjoyed the view from the window seat (a childhood dream). 

The day quickly turned into night and with an almighty groan the bus broke down. It was around 6:30 p.m. The night was eerie and it was pitch dark. Without the backlight from other vehicles and surrounding towns, visibility was near zero. We all got down. The night air was pleasant.

 

We were surrounded by fireflies and almost pin-drop silence. Above us the night sky was spectacular. If our bus had not broken down and if it was a scheduled stop, we could have enjoyed the clarity and the brightness of the stars and the night sky.

 

We were worried, but Daniel was on the job. He and the driver were wrestling with the obstinate bus, which was refusing to start. After a lot of tinkering and back and forth in Amharic, the bus initially coughed like a TB patient and after kicking, grunting, and protesting, reluctantly sprang back to life.

 

The driver knew better. Praying to the almighty he stepped on the gas and took off at supersonic speed (40 Km/hour, for the driver and for the bus it was definitely supersonic). One hour later we saw the beckoning lights of Lalibela town. Finally, we were in the holiest of the holy lands. Lalibela nestles at a height of 2,430 metres! quite an altitude! 

 

Only people who worked in Ethiopia, understand the magnetic pull and aura of Lalibela. Often on my visits to Addis Ababa, the local residents would give me envious looks when they came to know that I resided in Bahirdar. Bahirdar, the quaint neatly laid-out city was the envy of all Ethiopians.

 

It had the biggest lake in the country, hosted the starting point of the mighty Nile river was the gateway to the famed Lake Tana Island monasteries (with some of them having the fame of having had the Ark of the Covenant, the ark that had housed the ten commandments).

 

It was also close to Gondar, the royal city, and to the Jerusalem of Ethiopia, Lalibela. It was thus a lucky posting for us and later when I said that I had visited Lalibela, my Ethiopian friends were delighted.

 

Considered to be the 8^th wonder of the world, Lalibela has some of the most spectacular rock-hewn monolithic (carved out of a single rock) churches in the world, dating back to the 13^th century. At a time when mechanization was not prevalent, it is still a puzzle as to how these churches were built.

 

It is not as if the churches are part of a mountain. All the churches stand apart from each other and the most famous of them all, the Church of Saint Georgia is the most intricate and shaped like a cross. Church Bete Medhane Alem is supposed to be the biggest rock-hewn church in the entire world.

 

If the churches were carved out of rocks and mountains, there should be small mountains of rocks and debris. But we don’t find any hillocks full of debris surrounding Lalibela churches. Where is the debris? No one knows. Ethiopians have a simple answer. The churches have been carved by the gods themselves. A religious belief that has to be respected.   

We were staying at Hotel Helen. It was a bungalow-style hotel with stairs and balconies. It was at best utilitarian but served our purpose.

 

I was tired but went out to experience Lalibela town. What struck me immediately was double storey mud buildings, unique to Lalibela. Most Ethiopian houses are humble structures and are single-storeyed. But I was witnessing double-storeyed houses made of mud and straw. They were not flimsy structures and were solidly built with an excellent staircase.

Walking around Lalibela was a surreal experience. All around us were people moving silently. For many of the visitors, it was a once in a life time experience and the double-storeyed building added to the intrigue and to the ambiance, it was as if we were transported back in time to rural Jerusalem (Lalibela is supposed to be the second Jerusalem and the river flowing through it is called Jordan river!).

 

We were in presence of holy men, chanting silent prayers and counting the prayers on small chains, and holding Ethiopian cross. The Ethiopian cross itself is different from the traditional cross that we are familiar with. Bringing me back to my senses were the Ethiopian Micro-Entrepreneurs – the street urchins.

These street salesmen were peddling different wares. They were selling Ethiopian crosses (quite cheap, 10 Birr, exquisitely carved). “Brass, Brass” they would yell. I bought four of them. The street sellers were also selling coins and currency at a very cheap price.

 

The coins were pennies, cents, and the currency was dollars, Euros, and even rupees. Out of curiosity, I enquired the price of a ten-rupee note, a US Dollar and a Euro. The rate was approximately 1.5 times the official exchange rate. For example, the ten-rupee note was for 3/- birr (officially we could get 2 birr for 10 rupees).

 

“Why are the kids selling them at such a cheap price”, I wondered. Then it dawned upon me. The street sellers were pooling in all the money that was given to them as alms by the foreign tourists and exchanging them for birr. They devised a local money exchange system and it was working perfectly well.

 

Back at Hotel Helen the kitchen army (the ladies of the group) had taken over. They prepared an Indian meal, chapattis, rice, Sambhar and Potato curry and we had a nice hot Indian meal. The day had tired all of us and most were nodding off to sleep by the time they finished their dinner. The hotel kitchen staff hopefully would have benefited from watching us prepare an Indian meal. But it was doubtful whether they could prepare it by themselves.

 

They lacked the most basic equipment, the chapatti rolling pin and the magic masalas that the Indians use. Sangam, the famous Indian restaurant in Addis Ababa is run by Indians and not by Ethiopians. At best hotels in Bahirdar could rustle up watery rice and a basic form of tomato curry but would take inordinate time in preparing them.

 

Hotel Helen embraced us in her broad bosom and tired as we were, we simply crashed and slept!  

108 – Wait, War and Weariness at Wereta, All in a day’s journey!

Picture Courtesy, https://pixabay.com/photos/ethiopia-road-loneliness-3503834/

The next day morning we got ready and started our journey by 5:45 a.m. As discussed in my previous blog posts we were travelling in two vans. Even though we were promised a 22 seater bus, due to a misunderstanding it resulted in a double booking and we had to travel in two vans. 

Luckily for us the bus was available and we had to make a transfer to Wereta. The entire tour plan was like a rough triangle. Bahirdar was one corner, Gondar and Simien mountains were the second corner and Labella was the third corner. Gondar to Woreta was 117 kilometres and from Gondar to Lalibela was 362 kilometres. 

There is no direct route from Gondar to Lalibela and inevitably we had to pass through Wereta on our way to Lalibela. From Wereta we had to travel 245 kilometres to reach Lalibela. So we did not lose in terms of time. By 10:00 am we reached Wereta and expected that our bus would be ready. 

But things don’t work that way, at least in Ethiopia. Mullugeta our guide got off the van and disappeared. Half an hour later he appeared, unflustered and looking fresh. Maybe he must have had a Shai and a cigarette! Who knows?

To our query, he gave a vague answer, “Yes the bus is expected”. “Exactly when” no one knows. “God only knows”, I muttered to myself in an extremely low voice. Did not want to displease any English knowing Ethiopian Gods! 

Wereta is a small dusty town, and foreigners are a rare sighting. Our vans drew crowds just as honey draws bees. The heat was oppressive and most of our tour members got off the vans and started exploring the small town. Some had Shai. 

Shai in Ethiopia is an extreme adventure for the tongue. The tea is served without milk and FULL of Sugar. When I say full, I mean FUUUUUUUULLL. The Indian equivalent would be having to drink Gulab Jamun syrup and that too extremely hot. Just like Kadak Chai in Hyderabad where the spoon had to stand in the sugar! 

For a long time, I didn’t understand why Ethiopians drink their tea with so much sugar. Later a book revealed the mystery. Most Ethiopian peasants are desperately poor and can’t afford breakfast. So a 15 Centimes Shai (around 75 paise) full of sugar gives them enough calories to sustain themselves till lunchtime. 

Picture Courtesy, https://pixabay.com/photos/ethiopia-children-poverty-700601/

But our family was stuck in the van. Pranav and Sahithi were being mercilessly ribbed and teased. The van was surrounded by small urchins. They would laugh, hoot, scream, whistle, open the curtain of the window, make faces, try to pinch. They would say things like hind, YOU, YOU, YOU, Rani (for Rani Mukherjee), Sha Ruk Ka (for Shah Rukh Khan). One youngster put his face inside, leered and said “Ati ka, ati ka, Ati ka”. Initially, we thought that was his name. later we understood what he was trying to say. He was imitating Aamir Khan and saying “AATI KYA” from the song “AATI KYA KHANDALA!” Talk about Bollywood’s influence on Ethiopian kids! 

Meanwhile, I forced Mullugeta to make a phone call. Grudgingly he took me to a payphone booth and made a call to Ghion hotel. The hotel receptionist (maybe Mullgeta’s blood brother) too appeared unflustered. He coolly informed us that the bus had just started and is expected at any time. 

Picture Courtesy, https://pixabay.com/photos/children-ethiopia-slum-702219/

Things at the van were spiralling out of control and Anasuya aunty could not bear it any longer. She decided to take things into her hands, literally! Armed with an empty two-litre mineral water bottle, she took off after the irritating/infuriating mob. She was muttering her teeth, just like a whirling dentist’s gun! She was a woman scorned and was fighting for her grandchildren’s dignity. Padma watched her mother go with a wide-open mouth. “Never saw Amma becoming so angry. She looks like Rani Jhansi Lakshmi Bai” 

The mob (average age around 8-10 years) was delighted. They danced just in front of aunty and scooted away. Aunty was no match for the agile Ethiopian kids. She gave the chase up after a distance of around 100 metres. 

The minute she turned her back the howling pack was at her heels, “give money, give pen, Aund Birr (One birr)”.  The baying was unrelenting and can be quite unnerving! We were used to it but Anasuya aunty found it very irritating. One enterprising youngster thrusts something in her hand. She recoiled! 

The smooth youngster gave her an oily smile, “Chigri Yelem, Chigri Yelam (No problem), Visiting card, visiting card!!”. Anasuya aunty looked down and saw a torn grubby cigarette packet. Torn unevenly and scribbled in a pencil were the child’s name and a payphone number! The enterprising kid has seen foreigners use visiting cards and created his own version!    

Finally the bus arrived at 12:30 p.m. and thanking all the gods (Indian and Ethiopian) we piled in! The bus was spacious and it was a 22 seater. Mullugeta took our leave and we were quite sorry to see him go. He was a nice guy. Replacing him was Daniel. 

The bus was big and spacious but the driver was driving cautiously. When I say cautiously, I mean cautiously. He would drive at 25 KM/hour. The bus would purr along like a contented cat. The minute the speedometer shot up to 26 KM/hour our driver would recoil in horror and slow down to 25 KM/hour. 

To lighten the mood, I cracked a joke, “You know this driver is the cousin of a goods train driver in India. The goods train was travelling slowly and the driver took pity of an old lady walking beside the train. He halted the train, hailed the lady and said, “Madam, hop in, I will give you a lift”. The Old lady looked up, sighed, visibly brightened and said, “thank you Beta for the offer, but I need to go HOME QUICKLY”!

https://pixabay.com/photos/trees-forest-woods-landscape-561575/

Such was our fate. But the only silver lining was that the bus was moving so slowly that we could take in the magnificent scenery, rather we could saviour it to the full, just like the Darjeeling express in India where one can get off the train, take some snaps and hop in. The journey was slow, measured and methodical. Later we came to know that the bus had mechanical problems and the driver was coaxing and cajoling the bus to behave itself!  - 1066

107 – A day in God’s own playground, Simien Mountains, Ethiopia.

 

 

Picture Credit: httpspixabay.comphotosethiopia-simien-mountain-gelada-4371441

Simien mountains are known for Gelada baboons or weeping heart monkeys. These territorial baboons have a red heart-shaped patch of hair on their chests. Even though they appear to be cute they can cause deadly damage with their razor-sharp teeth.

Luckily for us, they were quite shy and escaped scrambling up small hillocks the minute they saw us. Alex, the Russian teacher proved to be a worthy chaser. He took off after them and clicked some worthwhile keepsake snaps.   

 

Tasleem was quite disappointed that she could not snap the Gelada Baboons. Someone remarked, “Those are monkeys, and they are our distinct cousins. They need to show respect by waiting to be clicked by their Jaat Bhais (Cousins in Hindi)”.

 

Not to be outdone Kuldeep replied, “Arrey bhai log, they are Ethiopian monkeys and not Indian. So they are not aware of our Reethi and Riwaaz (our culture and customs)”. The entire group roared in laughter and our real Bhai (Ethiopian guard with the AK -47) was nonplussed, but smiled politely!

 

We found huge berry-like fruits, hundreds of them. Jeevan sir cracked one open. It was not pulpy but had many black seeds. We were pondering whether to taste them. “Tewe (STOP) !!!!!” said the guard snatching the fruit from Jeevan sir’s hand.

 

None of us could understand Amharic, but his mime was chilling. He was telling us that the fruit and the seeds were poisonous. That the seeds were ground to make poison used as a dip for the arrows. The final rubbing into the wound.  “The fruit is so poisonous that even the Galada baboons would not touch them. Someone whispered from the back, “Oh my god, he is insinuating that the baboons are better than us. At least common sense wise!”

 

Somebody else said, “At least he is better at mime and acting than most of our film stars”. I could not agree more!

 

Finally, we reached the mountain’s table-top. The air was cold and brisk. Even though taking a breath was slightly difficult due to the rarefied atmosphere, we could still enjoy the vistas, the low that came in quickly and played truant with us all the time. It was as if we were floating in the clouds.

 

We had limited time at hand. Our drivers gave us an ultimatum. “One hour” they said. We were in unison with them. The drive up was scary and we were sure that the climb down would be equally hard and scary.

 

Even If one of our vans broke down, we were done for the night. Simien mountains were not home to dangerous animals like tigers and Lions but the nights can become cold. We were wearing woollens but they would not be adequate for spending a night in one of the coldest places in Ethiopia! Night temperatures could fall to as much as -10 degrees centigrade.

 

The guide informed us that we were very near a hot spring source. We were all excited as hot springs are supposed to be elixirs for health. We tried approaching the hot springs but were stopped dead by the stench! The approach to the hot springs had an obnoxious smell.

 

Undeterred Kuldeep and I approached the hot springs. The hot springs were a huge disappointment. It was a shallow place and the government had fitted some taps for people to use the hot water. But the locals and the tourists were using it as a free toilet and the stench was unbearable. We bet a quick retreat!

 

Away from the hot springs we sat down and had our humble lunch. We invited the drivers and our guard but they declined. They were not very keen on our chapattis, curry and rice menu. They had meagre lunch, Injera, some chilli powder and onion. Once their lunch was done, some quick chewing of the Khat leaves and they were ready to move again!

Surrounding us and greedily looking on were a group of blackbirds. Menacing and quite big. So big that forget Pranav and Sahithi, even the elderly were scared!

Listening to the whispering the Zoologist in me woke up (after all, my basic degree was in B.Z.C! Botany Zoology and Chemistry). “not to worry, not to worry” I Cooed like a smug Pigeon, “That is not an eagle or a vulture, it is a Raven”.

 

This scared the group even further as most did not know what a raven was, “Raven is a sort of a crow, big crow”. The showman in me could not take it any longer, “raven is the bird that was featured in Damien (Omen 2). In the movie the raven plucks a lady’s eyes out of their sockets” I glibly explained.

 

Now the entire group was dead scared. Head down they munched on the food, never for a second looking at the innocent Ravens. The magnificent ravens were not bothered. They were harmless and were quite happy with the bits of the chapattis and the tiger rice (Pulihora) flung in their direction. They were majestic birds, totally black and completely harmless!

 

Lunch done we climbed down and reached Gondar back without any hitch or accident. I told the group, “maybe we were blessed by the Ravens” Giving me scornful looks they all disappeared into the rooms. Wanting to rest their aching bones!

 

Padma, Aunty, Pranav, Sahithi and me went around the beautiful Gondar city. We bought ten Kgs of precious Sona Masoori rice. At 10 birr/Kilo (around 50 rupees) it was a steal. We bought Semiya too! Gondar is a bigger city than Bahirdar and has many ice-cream centres, unlike Bahirdar.

 

Wonder of wonders we found and bought Cadbury chocolates much to Pranav and Sahithi’s delight. They also had avocado juice. Avocado juice in Ethiopia is the 8^th wonder of the world. Juices in Ethiopia at least at that time had to be eaten and not drunk.

https://pixabay.com/photos/coffee-beans-ethiopia-549647/

Served with a spoon, even an eight-year-old Pranav could not finish a full glass, He had to share it with Sahithi! Aunty, Padma and me had sissy drinks, Macatho (Coffee with milk)! Something that the Ethiopians simply abhorred (hated). For a blue-blooded Ethiopian coffee had to be black and strong, and many cups of it in a day! (1040)

Goodbye 1 and 5 birr notes, You will be missed solely - A loving friend of Ethiopia

"On September 14, 2020, Ethiopia announced the introduction of new banknotes of 10, 50, 100, and 200 birrs, with the latter being issued into circulation to meet the needs of issuing a high denomination note to tackle inflation. ... Companies and individuals can cash only up to 1.5 million birrs ($41,000)".

Feeling very nostalgic. When we were in Ethiopia, for one dollar we got 8.33 birrs and now we get 33.33 birrs. That means the Ethiopian birr has been devalued by 400%. Very high level of inflation.

At the same time in 2002, for Rs 43.50 (one dollar we got 8.33 birr, which means one birr was Rs 5.22. The magic calculation was 1 birr meant 5 rupees.

Now for 73.51 rupees (one dollar), we get 33.33 birr that means for one birr we will get 2.20 rupees. Now Ethiopian birr = 2 Indian rupees.

We have seen the solid strength of birr. One kg of rice was 2 birr. 5 eggs for 2 birr, 15 centimes for a shai. 3 birr for a bayenethu, 15 birrs for dorovat and injera, 60 centimes for injera, 250 birr airfare from Addis to Bahirdar for Ethiopians and R.P holders, and 650 birrs for foreigners. 15 to 20 birr cab fare from Tinbot Haya airport to Kable 7 in Bahirdar. Travel from Bahirdar to Addis Ababa by Toyota Land Cruiser was only 100 birr!

To put things in perspective airfare from Addis to Bahirdar is now Rs 9000/- or 4,500 birrs! That is a jump of nearly 20 times in airfare! In contrast, Indian fares have more or less remained the same in the last 15 years without inflation adjustments (before the corona pandemic) for domestic flights.

Goodbye dear One birr, five birrs you will be missed solely. You will always be a smiling boy in my pocket. Go in peace, my little friends!

Of course, I will miss 5, 10, 25 and 50 centimes too. Life moves on and the only constant in the world is change. 

99 - Taking Extension Classes at BDU, Bahirdar University, Ethiopian Journey

Indians, especially expatriate Indians who venture out of India tend to be on the lookout to make as much money as possible.  The only legitimate way of earning some extra money was to take extension classes. Getting an assignment to take extension classes was not an easy task and getting them was totally dependent upon the whims and fancies of the HOD concerned.

For the uninitiated extension classes, are sessions that are held on Saturday and Sunday in Ethiopian Universities.  They are called open university classes in India which too are held on Saturday and Sunday.  Mostly from Monday to Friday, sessions are held for regular students.

Extension classes are for part time students and employees who cannot afford to take regular classes. Most of the extension classes are handled by Ethiopian faculty as their salaries at that time were almost one tenth of the salary that was paid to expatriate teachers.

When there was a shortage of faculty or when there was a lack of expertise in teaching a particular subject, the expat Indian teachers too, were roped in to handle extension classes.  

For taking extension classes 800 Birr was paid for each credit hour.  For a three credit hour course the faculty was paid 2,400 Birr which amounted to 12,000 Indian rupees. Decent, it took care of our two months’ expenditure.

I was lucky to get extension classes in all the semesters during my stint at Bahirdar University for which I should be thankful to all my HODs.  One of the most peculiar things about Ethiopian universities was the administrative structure of the academic departments. Most of the Indian teachers had a minimum ten to fifteen years of teaching experience. At the same time their reporting HODs were very young. Many of them were 21 or 22-year-old university graduates.

Sometimes Indian Faculty had to face prickly situations. The student whom they had taught in the previous semester suddenly becomes their HOD. This was quite a situation as one’s student who was a meek and submissive suddenly becomes your boss!! She/he starts monitoring your work, is responsible for the appraisal and yes will even sit on the committee which will decide on the recommendation of the renewal of the contract!!!

Most Indians including me adapted quite well to this scenario. Some expats including Indians who could not adjust were either given marching orders or were allowed to finish the contract and their contracts were not renewed. It was the Ethiopian way of saying “it is my way or the highway”.

I was in for a big shock when I went to take the extension classes for the first time. A classroom which usually holds up to 60 students, had 90 to 100 eager beaver students sitting choc-o-block, Literally cheek-to-cheek!!

It was an amazing sight. The distance from the black board to the first row of students would be 4 feet!  I was paralyzed with apprehension and felt claustrophobic. Most of the students sitting in the front row were young women and they would follow my movements like the spectators following a tennis ball in a stadium. I found the entire experience to be quite nerve whacking.

The worst was yet to come. There was too much dust in the duster and I stepped out of the classroom to clear it. I had a quite peculiar feeling. It was as if someone was drilling into my back. I suddenly whipped around and the sight almost made me drop dead. The entire 90 -100 students had turned left and were solemnly looking at me hitting the duster on the wall just like chicks watching their mother foraging for insects. I did not know what to make of it!

The young women would fidget and they were within touching distance. The teacher can’t make any sweeping comments (pun unintended) or swoosh his arms around. For a faculty like me who likes to walk around and make gestures, it was like being chained to a post. And the collective “Ishh” the sound that the Ethiopian students make to show their consent sounded like leaves rustling in the garden.

I realized the hunger that the students had for education. It dawned on me; the students were neither adept at speaking in English nor were interactive but they were quite brilliant and their hunger for knowledge made them delightful students. The students were paying hefty fees (by Ethiopian standards), sometimes up to 30 to 40% of their annual pay so that they could climb up the social ladder and get better jobs and make their families more secure. I was humbled.

There were fringe benefits of taking extension classes. Padma later remarked that we were getting better services, better prices and quality products in Bahirdar markets.  Most of the people who were working in the restaurants, in the fruit shops, retail outlets and the taxi drivers, maids, many of the non-teaching staff including Ms. Mahider our management department’s typist/secretary were my extension students.

Padma would look piercingly at girls who gave me ravishing smiles and ask, “Are they your Extension students?”. I would nod my head slowly in predicament. There were give or take around 40 – 50 women in a class and many a time I would be handling two to three extension classes. How do I remember faces of 150 young women, whom I see only twice in a week, that too only for two hours?

And to make matters worse their work place attire and the attire that they wore at the university differed. Luckily for me, I could get away talking with a ravishing Ethiopian beauty in Bahirdar. Padma would immediately assume that she was my student!!!

The friendly banter (teasing) that was directed at Indian teachers by the locals too got reduced considerably, for me at least. The rabble rousers were now scared! The tables were turned and the shoe was on the other foot. Their subject evaluation and grades were in my hand. Even Pranav was less targeted. Because of extension classes, I had students all over Bahirdar city. It is a matter of pride that we Indians touched the lives of so many Ethiopians in our own small way.

98 – Police Interrogation – The Case of the Stolen Clothes – Ethiopian Journey

The next day as we were having a leisurely breakfast, there were loud thuds and heavy banging on the front door. I walked out and opened the door and was shell shocked. There was a cobra (Toyota land Cruiser) parked in front of my house and a bunch of cops.

There were at least four to five young cops (may be our constable cadre, any how it was a herculean task to ask their ranks as my Amharic and their English would be at the same level – rudimentary, to say the least). And two or three senior cops. They were all wielding heavy artillery, (pistols and AK – 47s).

A sneaky doubt was forming in my mind. Did something go wrong in the university? Did any of my students complain about the grades awarded? My imagination was running wild.

Seeing my bewildered expression, the senior most cop opened up, “You, Anil??!!” It was more than a question; it was an accusation. “Me, Anil”, I responded sounding as meek as possible.

“Enquiry” he announced in a pompous voice. The realization dawned. Oh Oh, they were here to enquire about the robbery!!! (“but why the excessive force both human and weapons wise?” I asked myself. But who am I in the bigger scheme of things, especially in the matter of Ethiopian law and order).

To protect myself from being the laughing stock of the kable, I invited them in. They reluctantly followed.

Padma and the kids were shocked at the cavalcade. The police force stopped in the verandah. “Here?” was the cryptic question. By now, I was familiar with the Ethiopian short gun version of talking in English. Fire, but fire short…. precise bullets. Talk using as few English words as possible.

I nodded a silent affirmative. The senior cop took over. We watched them open mouthed as he walked up and down the verandah. Padma pointed out the nails from which the clothes line was hung. The Police chief went and peered through the rickety green boundary wall between our house and Chidambaram’s. He was quite annoyed. His annoyance was further enhanced when he looked at our front door. He muttered something to himself in Amharic.

He plonked himself in our bamboo sofa and Padma and I, sat in front of him. “What you lose?” Padma started off, “Anil’s shirt and his favourite pant” “PANT!!??” was the anguished yelp. “Yes” Padma was on a confident wicket, “His favourite pant, this pant was special. It is the pant that he wore on our marriage reception. He had been wearing it for the past 12 years’. She was laying it as thick as possible.

“Favourite pant, wearing it for 12 years!!!” The top cop was wailing. He was nonplussed. “OH MY GOD” I muttered to myself “there is a cultural issue raging on”. “Trouser sir, Trouser” I responded quickly dousing the flames of cultural misunderstanding. I threw an almighty glare at Padma gesturing her to be silent.

Pants for Ethiopians are under garments (underwear) and the district SP would have been shocked that this mad Indian had worn the same under garment for twelve years and that too proudly claiming that it was his wedding pant. “Trouser Sir” I said again “Trouser”.

“Trouser” said the relieved SP. He was clutching at proverbial straws. He made a very dramatic recovery. “Umhh, he said, “What colour?”. “Slate” Padma replied. “Slate? What Slate?!!” “Greyish black” I said in a consolatory voice. “BLACK” he said as light dawned on him.

He quickly made an inventory of lost items. It was a herculean task to describe the clothes. Necessity, the mother of invention took over. Padma brought out similar clothing and showed it to him. The SP very solemnly and quite laboriously scribbled all our lost clothing in a note book. He had the exasperating habit of asking us the brand names of the clothes that we lost.

He frankly did not understand the concept of getting clothes stitched by a tailor and expected us to remember brand names of the clothes. The SP asked Pranav to come. Pranav who was speechless at the sight of the guns came forward. “You” the SP pointed out “You lose anything?” Pranav responded, almost in tears, “My suspenders”. “Suspenders??!!”, the SP queried. 

Presto, Padma ran inside and brought out another of Pranav’s suspenders and showed him. “Anything else?”, “Yes” replied duty conscious Pranav and he noticeably brightened “My Strap Shoes”. “What Strap shoes and what brand?”. This was wearing us down.

We were not able to fathom which was worst: losing our clothes or being interrogated for a long time. Sahithi was scared out of her skin. She kept hiding herself behind her mother. Her worst fears had come true. She was not at all perturbed about the lost clothes. She was petrified at the sight of the tough looking policemen.

“Mitu (Cute baby in Amharic)” said the SP. “You……….”. Before he could finish his sentence, Sahithi burst into tears. She was inconsolable. It took Padma quite some time to cajole her. Later over hot cups of Shai, the SP counselled us.

“You need to be careful. This is Bahirdar and people are very poor. Never hang anything outside in the open. Infact do not even keep anything in the verandah. Keeping or hanging things out is an invitation for the poor kids to come over and steal. You are asking for trouble”. He assured us that he would try his best and promised that one of his team members would keep visiting us in the future too. He said with obvious pride, “You are our guests and are here to teach us and make our country more literate and help us in development. We will take full care of you”.

Saying that, the police party left our house and we let out a collective sigh of relief. It was an ordeal by fire. To cut a long story short, we never again saw the light of our belongings. They were gone forever. But something very significant emerged out of the enquiry. The SP made scathing comments in his enquiry report about the very poor boundary wall between our house and Chidambaram’s and also about our woebegone ‘look at me with a frown and I will topple over’ front gate.

This prompted our house owner to build a solid nine-foot-tall concrete wall between ours and Chidambaram’s and also constructed a thick concrete front wall and fixed a solid metal door with a calling bell and a very secure locking system by the starting of our next contract. Talk about small mercies of life!!!.

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.