Death in the house and Playing cards - Ethiopian Journey - Post no – 49.

It was a regular Saturday and as usual things were moving at a snail pace at Bahirdar. I was planning to go the market to post letters to India and USA. Padma wrote very elaborate letters and it was my duty to mail them. I would Xerox the bulky letter and send the photocopy to India and the original to USA. Postal rates to send letters to India were less expensive than sending letters to USA. It costed us 8-10 birr to send a letter to India and around 15-20 birr to send it to USA. The post office was near POLY, next to Ethiostar.

There was a sudden commotion. I opened the main compound wall and cautiously peeped outside. I could see people rushing into the opposite house and the noise levels increased. I could not understand what was happening. Luckily for me, my friend the English professor arrived. He went in the house and came out after some time.

His face was ashen. He was troubled “I have some bad news. The owner’s aged father just passed away”. I went inside the house to offer my condolences. The old man was laid down on the floor and there were grieving relatives all around. I offered my condolence to the teary eyed neighbour. 

Then something strange happened. After some time, there was pin drop silence. A small make shift tent was erected right on the road itself and people started arriving. Most of The visitors had wrapped themselves in long white cloth called shamma. They could arrive silently and it looked as if they were floating their way into the house!

They would go inside offer their condolences. The men would come outside and sit in the make shift tent. Small talk was made but in a very hush hush manner. It was very mysterious. Then they all started playing cards!

At this time, I called Padma. We watched the scene unfolding in front of our eyes with utter disbelief. Death and they are all playing cards! “Look, Look!” Padma exclaimed “They have just finished a game and money is being offered to the winner”.

The drama continued for the entire night. People came and went but the card playing continued. Some played for long and some played for a short duration but the card playing binge went on the entire night.

It was very intriguing! The next day I went up to Addis Gedefaw and explained what happened. Addis unraveled the mystery to me “what you have seen is something that happens very commonly in Ethiopia. It is so common that it is not even seen as anything strange. But as you have come from a different culture, you are not able to decipher what happened”.

Taking a deep breath she added “they are not playing cards. They are paying their respect to the departed soul. As you are aware, Ethiopia is a very poor country and most bereaved families do not even have money to spend for a decent funeral. And when they are grieving, it is difficult to talk about money or even to think of borrowing it from friends and relatives.

So the mourners who play cards are playing to support the family. The entire earnings of the card playing marathon are given to the bereaved family to help them give a decent burial to the departed soul”.

I was deeply struck by the simplicity of the situation. People have come and have given their 1,2,5 or 10 birr and it was not charity. It looked as if they were enjoying themselves! Slowly but surely I have started to scratch the surface of one of the oldest civilizations of the world – Ethiopia, the place from where the human race started and proliferated itself throughout the world.    

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! 

Shayi (Tea) - "Thanks"............ "No thanks" - Cultural Faux Pas - Ethiopian Journey - Blog Post - 47.

The team was quite puzzled by the colourful and artistic muggulu (rangoli) that adorned the entire portico. The only lady in the inspection team bent down and traced the lines. She was visibly impressed (5% expression!). 

She asked for the details and was astonished when Padma told her that they were handmade and that no machine or instruments were used. She was astonished to know that the entire set of muggulu took Padma hardly two or three hours to draw.

This was a big crowd. They all entered the house. There was very limited seating space. Some of them including the Vice President (VP) sat and some were left standing. It was definitely embarrassing!

The officials started peeping inside the rooms and started making a silent appraisal of the things. This frightened Sahithi. She was intimidated by the cops. She hid herself behind her mother and peeped out apprehensively. She was most tense when they looked at her toys. Pranav as usual was very stoic and looked on impassively.

I pulled aside the VP’s personal assistant and asked, “Do you think that we could offer some snacks?”. He pulled at his beard before answering, “Most of us are fasting today and we would not eat anything!”. Seeing my disappointment, he added, “We would not mind having Shayi (tea)”.

This threw us off gear. We did not have enough milk. Padma with Sahithi tagging along went to our local milk-man. It was a difficult ten-minute wait. The VP was chatting with me and all the time, I was desperate to see Padma returning. She arrived breathless. I could see that she did manage to get milk.

Meanwhile the inspection was in full swing. I told the team that we did not have a dining table. And that there were no racks or a platform in the kitchen and that we were not provided with an electric oven. All what I said was noted.

The Superintendent of Police was all smiles. He assured us through an interpreter that we were safe and that he would take any complaint, very seriously. We were impressed. He asked us not to put anything outside. He told us that Ethiopians are good climbers and that our compound wall was a pushover for intruders. Our house owner assured him that he would soon build a concrete wall.

Meanwhile the war was ragging in the kitchen. The Shayi was getting prepared. Padma made Pranav to go to Chidambaram’s house and get some cups and saucers. Even they had very little cutlery. Somehow Shayi was prepared on our kerosene stove.

The Shayi was served. Every one including the VP took a double take. The VP’s secretary drew me aside, “What did you do? What did you do?”. There was a sense of urgency and desperation in his voice. “What did I do?” I asked. I was perplexed.

“You served us this” he pointed an assuring finger at the cup. I peeped inside. There was nothing even remotely harmful. All I could see was innocent looking and tasty smelling tea!

“You want us to break our fast” he was wailing. The VP was all smiles. I am sure that he was well travelled and understood the situation more easily than his more tradition bound secretary.

“Not to worry” he assured me, “It’s a minor irritant only. We Ethiopians consider anything that comes out of the body of an animal as animal food and you served us Shayi with milk and Orthodox Christians while fasting do not consume any item that has animal content including milk and dairy products”.

So innocently Padma and I almost broke their fasting regime! I quickly apologized and offered milk less Shayi (black tea for Indians). “Dr. Aneel, we will come some other time and sample your hospitality” the VP said with a huge smile.

Needless to say we passed the inspection with a straight A+. Of course I gave A+ to the university for providing us with a house and excellent facilities. What did we do with all that offensive tea with milk? Your guess is as good as mine. A human mind tends to remember the incident and skip the details. I guess I should have maintained a more meticulous diary. The devil is always in detail. 

House Inspection - The experience that aged me by an year - Ethiopian Journey - Blog Post - 46

I was in the faculty room when a frantic colleague from the administration department approached me. He was definitely out of his zone of comfort. “Dr. Aneel” he beseeched “We need to go to your house”. "Is everything all right?” I enquired anxiously. “Oh, yes! Everything is fine. But your house is selected for the inspection”.  

I was frankly stumped. ‘What inspection, why me?’. Seeing my bewildered face one of my Ethiopian colleague, Abraham came to my rescue. A rapid fire Amharic conversation followed. It had a feel of an interrogation. Abraham was asking questions which were being answered in bursts of Amharic with lots of hand waving. The admin guy left. He conveyed what he had to convey. The rest was left to Abraham and the ferenji!

Abraham turned to me, gave a wide grin and said “Dr. Aneel, Chigiri Yelemi (no problem, pronounced Chigri Yellam). I was told that all foreigners who get free accommodation have to get their houses inspected. The university wants to know if the house is comfortable and if whatever is promised is delivered or not and if you are happy with the arrangements made. And today is your turn”. He was enjoying himself.

“Oh” I said and started browsing the internet again. It was my daily slot and if I miss my slot, I would not get to browse the net for the entire day!

Abraham game me a speculative look and pondered for a minute. He was fighting a mini battle with himself. Clearing his throat, he asked “why are you still here?”. Seeing my puzzled expression, Abraham said “Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, I forgot to tell you. The inspection team would start any time now. The admin guy was only checking if you are in the department or if you are at home”. I jumped! It was a shock of a life time.

I rushed home. I was breathless by the time I reached home (at that time I did not buy the helicopter, oops a bicycle for the uninitiated). I flung open the door. I rushed inside and made a grand announcement “They are coming; they are coming”! Padma was frankly getting very irritated.

“Who……… the army?” she enquired sarcastically. I gasped, it was as if somebody socked me in the solar plexus. “What army?”, it was my turn to be bewildered. I was irritated too. “seeing your panic, I thought that the Ethiopian army was coming”.

I let it go. Who in the world has won an argument with a wife! Adroitly side stepping the tricky army issue, I said “Bahirdar University officials are coming for a visit’’. “What for?” she enquired calmly.

I told her the purpose of the visit. She asked a logical query that all homemakers ask “how many?”. I did not enquire about the size of the inspection team. “Oh, around three to four” I airily replied praying all the time. Padma was relaxed. Hospitality for three or four is easily offered. Some ready-made snacks like murrukulu were already available. A quickly made upma and a hot cup of tea could be offered.

Half an hour later, there was banging on the door. Heavy banging of the compound wall gate was the Ethiopian calling bell of choice. I opened the compound wall gate. I literally jumped out of my skin! It was a scene out of the movie ‘gods must be crazy’. Right in front of the crowd were the pesky, ever available local urchins whose entire aim in life was to giggle loudly and make as much noise as possible. They had helpfully guided the inspection team to my house.

Behind them were the local cops, four of them. One of them sported a cap and I guessed he was somebody senior in the police hierarchy (later it was told to me that he was a SP rank officer). And behind him, beaming at me was our Vice President (the Vice Chancellor) of Bahirdar University. All around him were many university officials. In all around a dozen officials had come for the inspection! One of them was the house owner, a professor from mathematics department.

I must have stared at them for a few seconds. My mind was in a whirl. It was unable to process what was happening. I was in a stupor. The Vice President gave a huge smile “Dr. Aneel” he said “how are you?”. “Fine sir, fine, come in” I said.

I remembered what I read in the books. The Show must go on. I ushered them inside, seeing to it that the pesky local kids don’t come inside along with the Inspection team. The kids did not like it a wee bit. Did they not help me by showing the inspection team the way to my house! They showed their dissent by banging the compound wall door continuously for the next five minutes. It was a tiring experience.

The inspection team entered the house. They looked at the garden. Their unscrutinisable Ethiopian faces showed no expression at all. Their faces were serene and calm (calm before the storm, I wondered). One of the officials gave 1% emotion when he looked at our rock mountain.    He appeared happy at the work done. He gave the rock mount a stare. “who did this?” he enquired. “My wife” I answered. “My wife!” he responded. I let it go. Readers who want to know the reason need to go to my blog No – 35 to know, as to why I did not respond. 

Bahirdar - Every market visit was an adventure in itself - Ethiopian Journey - Blog Post - 45

Selling hens, Bahirdar, Ethiopia 

Pranav found Ethiopian chicken dishes to be a big pain. Being an analyst and a great observer, he went up to his mother and said “Amma, there is something peculiar with Ethiopian hens. They seem to have only bones and do not seem to have much meat on them”. 

Poultry Broilers, 7 weeks old 

In a way he was correct. Pranav has been consuming Indian poultry broilers which are hardly four to seven weeks old. No wonder Indian chicken is so tender and the bones so soft and edible. 

Free Range Hens, Ethiopia 

But the Ethiopian hens were free range hens brought up the natural way. They most probably were layers and may be two to three year old before they are brought to the market. That is why the meat was tough and the meat lean. 

Ethiopia was a haven for non-vegetarians who liked meat products. Goats and sheep were available. They were costing around 250-300 birrs and would yield around 12–15 kgs meat. The same rule applied. We had to buy live goat or a sheep and take them home. Seeing the lengthy process of slaughtering and getting the meat, we never brought even one goat or sheep in the entire four year stay at Bahirdar. 

Mansoor and Azaz Ahmed bought them for religious purposes and got them slaughtered using the halal tradition. Even the skin of the dead animal fetched them around 20-30 birrs. So it costed 240 birrs for 12 kgs of meat and it was a great deal. It worked out to 20 birrs or 100 rupees a kg. That was definitely very cheap! 

Dressed Fish

Two kgs of fully dressed fish was also available for around 15-20 birrs. These were fish caught in Lake Tana and sold by the Lake Tana Cooperative Society. The fish was like Indian korrameenu. The fish was easy to prepare and tasty to eat. This was one meat product that we enjoyed, but there was a huge demand and the dressed fish was not readily available. 

The big attraction was freshly baked bread. Locally called Daboo, they were very tasty and incredibly cheap. In 2002, we could get 2-3 daboo for a birr!

Seeing that we had a garden, I was on the lookout for a garden bench. And one day I found out what I wanted in the market. The three seater bench that I found looked strong and sturdy. I was sure that it was expensive. But the bargain hunter in me took over. I slided up to the seller and whispered a conspirational yet tentative “sintenum” in his ears. 

The young boy gave me a strange look and said “Asira Amistiti (pronounced Asara Amist) birrs” or 15 birrs (75 Indian rupees). I almost fainted. Overcome by shock, I sat down heavily on the bench as if to test its strength. It was a throw away price. Those bamboo benches would retail at Rs 1000/- in 2002 and would not cost less than Rs 5000/- in today’s market. I bought two of them. 

I had a problem, how to take them home? Seeing the kids milling around me, I asked “sintenum?” One very thin boy said “Asira Amistiti santim”. This was the second shock. He was asking 75 paisa! He very solemnly walked the entire distance of more than one kilometre carrying both the bamboo benches on his spindle thin shoulders.

Anil in Kable - 7, garden, Bahirdar 

Impressed at his work ethic, I offered to carry one of them! He was horrified and almost started running with the benches. Finally I gave him one birr, a banana and two chapattis. His happiness in receiving them made my day and I wondered why there are so many inequalities between haves and have-nots. Here we have people asking for more and more and there in Bahirdar were small kids getting satisfied and beaming in delight at small mercies of life. 

Mercato – The Market Place – Ethiopian Journey – Blog Post no - 44

The big shock was the market place. It was the market of all markets. The market was quite primitive and had very few vegetables to offer. We had the choice of only four vegetables namely potato, tomato, cabbage, carrot and onion.  The greens that we could buy were very large mustard leaves and a green vegetable that resembled palak and the size of the leaves were quite large.

Addis Ababa being the capital had a great range of vegetables available but the huge distance between Addis and Bahirdar, a one day journey on roads that take heavy toll on vehicles and on people as the roads were rugged and the route had very steep climbs and entailed crossing the Nile Gorge meant that other vegetables like Brinjal, Okra, Beans were a rare treat.  Indians visiting Addis would bring in limited quantities as most Indians used flights to travel between Bahirdar and Addis and vice-versa. We treasured and used them sparingly.

Bananas, Guavas, Papayas and Mangoes were available but the mango had a very peculiar taste. It was fibrous and not very sweet. Being spoiled on bangenappali and rasalu, the Ethiopian mango was a tough fruit to crack. Also available were Ochollini (peanuts). Ochollini available in Bahirdar were giant sized. Roasted, peeled and salted, these Ochollini made a tasty and delectable snack.

I also learned to use limited Amharic words, useful in the market place. The most important word was “Sintenum (how much in Amharic)” and “ORRORO” said in a disapproving and guttural voice when someone quotes an exorbitant price. Usage of Amharic words surprised the vendors who would first be zapped but would later break into shy giggles!  

We quickly learnt that we need to have our own kitchen garden. Padma sowed rajma seeds and in no time we were getting the Rajma beans that were used like normal beans. We also started growing ridge gourd. Suresh, our friend from POLY, gave us totakura and he generously gifted the same to the entire Indian community.

We learnt to share whatever little garden bounty that we had with the Indian community and that gave us great pleasure to give a little part of India to our fellow Indians living so far away from homeland.

We could get 3 Inkulalas (eggs) for 2 birrs. The eggs were country eggs, small and tasty. 

We could also get hens for 10-15 birrs, but the chickens were country hens and we had to buy them live. It was quite a messy job to slaughter and clean them. Seeing all this process Padma, a vegetarian was not at all keen on buying. We bought hens only on very rare occasions and got them slaughtered by maids for parties hosted by us.

Party hosting for a mixed group of Indians and Ethiopians threw up a peculiar challenge. We had to prepare three types of cuisines, Indian vegetarian, Non vegetarian halal meat dishes for Indian and Ethiopian Muslims and Jhatka meat dishes for Ethiopian Christians. Muslims would not eat Jhatka meat and correspondingly the Ethiopian Christians would not consume the halal meat.

All the dishes have to be marked separately and in a place where we had limited cutlery, it was a huge logistical nightmare. In the end Padma gave up and concentrated in hosting parties where we served purely Indian vegetarian dishes. 

HID and HIJ, trying to be an Abesha - Ethiopian Journey - Blog Post No - 43

Circa December 2002. We were slowly getting into a routine and Hyderabad and India were becoming a distant memory. Aiding the process of forgetting was the complete lack of information and news about India. In 2002 sending mail itself was a herculean task and news was very jaded by the time it reached us. Someone glibly said “by the time a film star’s marriage news reaches Bahirdar, that film star would have had his first baby!”. But it was a blessing in disguise, as it helped us assimilate into the rich surroundings and immerse ourselves into the Ethiopian experience.

Early mornings were a shocker. It was quite chilly and going outside was an experience in itself. There would be dew and water drops everywhere and the omnipresent cats (semi domesticated) would mingle around our legs, rub themselves and mew loudly, hoping to get some milk from us. 

And then the birds! There were so many of them that it was a riot of colours. 

We could see hornbills which in India could only be seen in wild life sanctuaries. Also marking their attendance would be a platoon of parrots, mynas and many other birds. 

The naughtiest and exasperating of them all was the leaf cutter. This extremely audacious bird would land on our trees and cut the leaves as if they were being cut with a scissors!

Finally, after lots of pressure, we got our kitchen from Mulugeta’s family. Padma was happy and arranged her kitchen the way she liked. But there was a problem. There was no platform and she was forced to cook everything at the ground level. Not that she was worried about cooking sitting down. Padma was more worried about the walking, clinging, time bomb that would come and suddenly attach itself to her – Sahithi. Padma was very scared that Sahithi would end up in the hot pan.

Sahithi ensured that Padma did not miss her mother-in-law. She would glare at Padma and say in a crisp voice “amma, you better wear your chunni (dupatta)”. All the time she would be grating her teeth in annoyance. Padma would have been wearing a sweater but it would not cut any ice with Sahithi. She had to wear a chunni. Exasperated and worn out Padma christened her “Naa Attagaru (my mother-in-law)”.

The next event, I would wait for would be the arrival of the Ethiopian priests. The Ethiopian priests were among the most solemn holy people. They would slowly walk in the kable and would not pause even for second at any house. It is up to the people to run up to them and offer them alms or food. The priest would accept the offerings without a change of expression and place the holy cross on the top of the head of the devotee and keep walking. I found the entire spectacle deeply moving and spiritual too!

We learnt two words very critical for survival in Bahirdar, HID and HIJ which meant GO AWAY in Amharic. For boisterous boys you say loudly HID and for Giggly girls it is HIJ in a loud sonorous voice. Not that it mattered. The thick skinned youngsters would continue what they were doing inspite of any number of HIDs and HIJs. Only the very small kids would stop for a second or two. They would recover and prodded by their elder brothers and sisters’ break into an endless chorus of You, You, You……….