The Right Person on the Wrong Road

I am on Bole road waiting for a taxi to Bole Dildi. The rain just stopped, the sky is grey and cloudy, and it’s freaking cold. I’m shivering, despite a couple of layers of clothes and a scarf. In front of me, across the road, a crowd of people is fighting to catch a taxi; my eyes are fixed. I enjoy watching the pushing, pulling and blocking strategies. People seem to be on a soccer field rather than an asphalt road. 

 

As I was entertaining myself staring at the Gladiator moves, suddenly, I got interrupted by a beautiful girl from the crowd… Winta! Oh my God… W-i-n-t-a! I screamed inwardly. 

Winta is a cute girl I know from elementary school- I used to have a huge crush on her… I was in the same class with her for grades five and six. I remembered her… even then, she had long hair, beautiful eyes and a breathtaking smile. She still has that same beauty, only now, she has dyed her hair brown and gotten taller. Otherwise, she hasn’t changed much.

Despite not seeing her for so many years, all of a sudden I want to cross the road and say hi. I want to know what she had been up to all these years. 

What if she doesn’t remember me? What if… I ignore my thoughts and convinced myself to talk to her.

She’s probably got married… She’s probably given birth… Maybe not, though… I don’t know why but I’m determined to talk to her.

I want to cross the road but then I realize that there’s no zebra crossing. I look left and right; nothing.

I always use zebra crossings; however, I consider the urgency of reaching her before she catches a taxi and am tempted to jump over the median. But the median was filled with sticky mud due to the rain! So started walking upward, looking for a safe place to negotiate the traffic.

I can still see her. She hasn’t got into a taxi yet and she hasn’t seen me; she is busy with her cell phone. A taxi comes. Damn! It’s blocked my view. I can’t see her now. Has she got in? 

Yes! Y-e-e-e-s! She didn’t get in. Thank God she missed this one. I quicken my pace. I am almost running now. I see a zebra crossing now… I’ve arrived! Now to begin dodging the cars… 

Wait a minute- why am I this obsessed about her all of a sudden? Why do I want to talk to her this bad? I don’t know… and why didn’t she get into the first taxi? I don’t want to believe that she was unable to cope with the pushing… maybe God wanted us to meet again. Who knows maybe he wanted to place my childhood crush at my side as he did to Adam. Maybe…

I’m now going down towards her. I’m almost there. Another taxi comes. No! For a moment I want to scream out her name: “Wi…”. But I don’t. That would be lame. 

The crowd is fighting to get into the taxi and I’m blocked again. Where is she? I can’t see her. I’m breathing heavily. I still can’t see her… Wait… I see her! S-h-h-h-h-h-i-t! She got in. Panting like a dog, I stop walking towards her. 

Blaming time, I start calling the names of who I think is responsible:

One- the Ethiopian Roads Authority;

Two-China;

Three- the taxi;

Four- the rain.

I insulted all of them with bitter words…

Even God- why did He make me see her in the first place? Why didn’t he let her go in the first taxi? Why give me hope?

Why didn’t I just yell out her name? Why didn’t I walked faster- or even run!?

Winta: why didn’t she see me? Why did she get in that taxi?

Why? Why? Why?

The Writer’s Nightmare

Why do writers wake up whilst the rest of the world sleeps? Why is the night more artistic than the day? Why do writers prefer to talk in the day and write at night?

Here I go again… Awake! At exactly 2AM, while the rest of the world is down for the count, while the world falls in to the unknown; lifeless. One question always crosses my mind: where are we exactly when we fall asleep? We don’t think, we don’t talk. We are nowhere but in the middle of life and death and are nothing but breathing corpses. Unconscious.

As habit has it, thoughts or questions wake me up; or, should I say I get woken up by thoughts and questions? Great thoughts most of the time! So I open my laptop and play the keyboard like a piano. Words pour out of my fingers like a sweet, gentle melody.

I usually wake up mumbling words and phrases for my writing. However, without any special thought, word, phrase or question in my mind for the first time, I got up, just now. I forced myself to fall asleep because I thought maybe I was awoken by a nightmare but I couldn’t manage to do that. I am still awake. Suddenly, a question comes to mind- or, my mind went questioning- “why did I wake up”? Probably a question one has never asked before.

… Why isn’t my mind tired when my body wants to rest? Why do thoughts keep knocking on the ‘write’ part of my mind when I have nothing to put down? Can’t I just sleep like the rest of the world? Why are my fingers still typing? It’s like I am on auto-type, I can’t control myself or my fingers, and they continue to play out a melody on my keyboard. A melody I don’t really understand.

I don’t really know the point of my writing and I don’t even have a title for the thing. Should I call it ‘An Article With No Title’ or ‘A Title-Less Article’? This must be a nightmare! I don’t think I am really awake. For a moment, I wanted to slap my face to check but I have still don’t have control over my hands. I think I am dream writing.

“Excellent”! I jumped in excitement, now I’ve got the title for my article! ‘Dream Writing’... All of a sudden my hands feel crushed and I have a sharp pain on my backbone and I hear a screaming sound I seem to recognize…

“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! It’s a nightmare”! My friend shouts as I fall from the bed.

Zoma Magazine: August 2013

THE LAW OF EMOTION

After having a rough time arguing with her boyfriend, a friend of mine called me for a shoulder to cry on. Her eyes were red, her eyelids swollen like a fresh mourner. As she sobbed we sat in silence for a while; I was trying to find the right words to say and she was waiting for me to break the ice. “What happened”? Slipped out of my mouth, finally.
“R-e-l-a-a-a-a-t-i-o-n-s-h-i-i-i-p-s suck”! She said as she burst into tears.

How often have you felt or said the same? I guess it depends on how healthy your relationship is and how often you argue and fight with your partner. I am not saying relationships are unhealthy just because there are arguments; arguments are inevitable. However, relationships become unhealthy, in my opinion, when you argue on the same topic over and over, day in and day out.

Can a relationship ‘suck’? Surely a relationship is a reflection of the two people who are in it. If there are problems in your relationship, it is because you (collectively) have problems. As the saying goes, it takes two to tango. Accordingly, it takes two to make up a relationship. So the problem must be with one of the two of you.

However offensive the above statement may seem to you, it is a bare fact. Yes! I said it and I’ll say it again: if your relationship sucks, without doubt, you suck.
The universal principle of “what you give is what you get” applies to every aspect of our lives. Also, Newton’s law of motion or, in our case, ‘law of emotion’, states that for every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. So whatever you knowingly or unknowingly do will eventually come back to you. That’s how life works, that’s how it balances itself. Simply put, what we experience in our life is a routine of our actions and reactions. So the hard times we face in our relationship didn't just arise out of nowhere. We created them, knowingly or unknowingly.

The key lies in your hands- if you alter your input, you’ll get an altered output. If your inputs are positive, you will get positive outputs, and vice versa. So our relationships have issues because we are putting our issues into them.

After finally managing to calm my friend down, I convinced her to pick up her phone and send her boyfriend a positive message. I bet that he would definitely send her back a positive response.

So, as per our bet, she picked up her phone but did otherwise and called him. And to my shock, she was not positive at all! She started arguing with him right in front of me. She asked, in fact, begged him, to talk to her in person for only 30 minutes. He insisted that he couldn't because he had a meeting. Their heated argument went on for almost half an hour over the phone. She finally hung up and started crying all over again.

“You heard what he said, right”? She asked me, sobbing once again.

“Yes, but you didn't listened to what I said! I told you to send him a simple, positive message and instead you let your anger get the better of you and aggravated the situation.”

I suggested a change of scenery and we went to our favorite restaurant. “By the way, when someone advises you, it doesn't mean they’re smarter than you, it’s just that they’re in calmer than you emotionally in a better place than you emotionally. So listen to me carefully: what you guys are doing now is silly. You can’t end an argument but you can abandon it. Both of you are playing the ‘I am right game’, which is a never ending argument. I want you to know that the opposite of an argument isn’t agreement; it’s being smart enough to know how to disagree and still maintain mutual respect and love.”

While we were talking, she received a text message from her boyfriend: “No matter what happens, I will always love you.” I told her to send him a similar response but she was determined to ignore him. I picked up her phone and wrote: “That’s what I would have said if we had met. Sorry for being so hard on you earlier. Have a great evening. I love you”. After a long-winded argument, she agreed to send it.

The reply: “I promise to fix our problem. I love you too, my love.”

Happy New Day!

“Every day is the first day of my life” I read the preceding quote distractedly and recalled what my mentor once had said about time; There are only three days in my time conception;  Yesterday, Tomorrow and Today and explained their meaning.

Yesterday: - I call whatever has passed as ‘yesterday’, even something that had happened five minutes ago it is yesterday- because it has passed… gone. I have no control over it- it’s nothing but a flashback, unalterable memory.

Tomorrow: - tomorrow is the future, the unlived, indeterminate, that I am not certain about.

Today: – today is now, the only moment I am certain about, the moment of life, the only time I have; the instant I guarantee, and the time I can act upon!

Until I read the above quote and recalled my mentor’s definition of time, it has never clearly occurred to me that our life is made up of a single day. That one concrete day we have control of is today. Yesterday is nothing but a flashback and tomorrow is the unknown.

I suppose, we are given a new chance to start over our lives over today. That is why today is a Present. It is a precious gift. When I wake up on a new day, mindful that it in actuality, it is the only day I have, I promise myself to be grateful and present. I feel as if each waking day is my birthday. The day I get reborn, the day I am given a new chance to learn from yesterday’s experience and act upon today so that I may ensure a better tomorrow(perhaps, if I am given another waking chance). Happy New Day, Happy New Year!

Today

Am I old in time?

Or, I old in essence

Aren’t I born just now?

As old as present

What is but yesteryear?

Time that just went by

What is but yesterday?

The day that just gone by

As shadow as image

Bygone, in memory

That I cannot remake

Amend the outcome

So, I say…

“Today is my birthday!”

My first day of life!

My shot to blossom

My chance to flourish,

My day to feel alive!

                                                                               -------//--------

A Book that Changed my Life

My best friend and I were arguing about my habit of reading books. He doesn't like the kind of books I read, “Why do you read self-help and philosophical books? What do you get out of such books except confusions?”

I remembered what my professor used to say whenever he stars his class, “ OK folks! Let’s get confused.” According to my professor confusion is the road to clarity. Confusion is an integral part of life; life would be meaningless if there are no secrets to unfold, confusions to clarify...

I wanted to continue more but I figured I would end up confusing him further. For he hates confusion and complicating life, he doesn't even like an in-depth thought of things. “Things are what they are; what I see is what I want to believe I don’t want to dig deep and complicate my life.” Such is his common argument.

He asked me a simple yet rousing question, “Can you mention a single book that really changed your life?”

Of course! There are books that certainly changed my life. But here is particularly one for my friend’s satisfaction:

How to stop worrying and start living by Dale Carnegie, I read it when I was in one of the public Universities in Ethiopia. I was studding Applied Physics at the university, not by choice but because I was assigned to. That is how the education system works here. Most of the students are randomly assigned to study fields that are not according their choice. The ministry of education randomly assigns you or shall I say chooses for you the kind of field you should study.

Accordingly, I was assigned to study Physics; honestly speaking it was a subject I really hate. And hence, I tried to convince my families to go to a private university so I can study the choice of my field but they insisted I should try it and if not return. So I went to try it.

As I took few of the major classes I figured physics was not my thing and I was not a physics material; but I decided to carry on and just graduate even if I didn't liked the field.

My passion was reading not numbers. It was subjective analysis, not objective inquiry. So I carried on my hobby in the meantime. I go to the library to read philosophy books and some of my favorite author’s fictions.  

In one blessed day I went to the library and as if I was destined to, I randomly picked up the book I mentioned above. I started reading it and couldn't take my eyes of. The book got in to me. I was reading it line by line, word by word.

As I went further on the book, I read the following phrases that took my attention …if you want to be happy and successful with your life then here is my advice, for every activity in your life there are only two choices you should make. ‘Accept it’ or ‘change it’ do you like your job? Do you like the way you look, do you like your environment, do you like… if your answer is YES then accept it and be good at it and if your answer is NO then change it! These are the only two options in the game of life. To the contrary, most of us use a third option ‘complain’ we never accept or change our life but we simply complain. My friend let me tell you one thing, stop complaining and start being happy, ‘Accept it’ or ‘Change it’…

After reading the above phrases I asked myself ‘do I like my field of study, do I like physics?’ big NO! And at that moment I decided to ‘change it.’ I told my father that I decided to study a field of my interest in a private college and got him convinced to pay for the tuition. I also promised him I that I will win the trophy for an academic excellence and give it to him.  For I was too confident about my decision my dad couldn't refuse. He did as I requested. And I did as I promised. I scored all ‘A’s in all the courses I took and gave him the trophy I have been awarded for an ‘Academic excellence and leadership quality’.

My best friend knows the entire story except for the part that I decided to quit university because of a book. He couldn't argue more; he shook his head with amazement and said, “Now! This is a story to be told.’’  

  

Smoky Dreams

Kero was born in one of the very remote villages in Arba Minch-Ethiopia, out of a poor, small scale farmer’s family. He didn't have the chance to get formal schooling. At the age of 17, he is now looking forward for a better life and work in the town. Currently he is working as a Hookah-Man in one of the Hookah and Chat (Khat) chewing places in the town.

His daily task starts early in the morning. He gets up and barley washes his face, and then start cleaning up the mass chewing rooms that got messed up with sticks and leave of Chat remnants, ashes from charcoal, soft drink spills and other craps that filled each room.   

The cleaning usually lasts until the afternoon, where he would take a break for lunch. 1:00 PM on wards  kero gets ready to welcome his customers with his bright smile and friendly gesture. His usual customers start flocking on their regular times and the room gets filled all at once with all kinds of customers; some students, some business people, and others, random customers from the town. The customers are mostly youngsters aged from 20 to 35.

Aside the sound of the hookah and over-toned chatter from the crowd, the most caching sound you hear is the name ‘Kero’ called by his customers every now and then. They call him for any of their requests, soft drinks, hookah, chat, peanut, and other orders.

He gets busy satisfying the needs of every customer. He makes the hookah, test and start it as needed. He inhales smokes here and there. Every smoke he inhales burns the teenage lung out of him. He doesn't just smoke the hookah; he inhales his desires and exhales it to the fulfillment of his goals at the same time.     

Though you got to be interrupted every minute as he is being called by everyone, his friendly approach makes it easy to chat with him. I have noticed around three waiters in the place but everyone seems to like his name.

He gets a good monthly salary and allowance plus generous tips from his customers. That’s why he chooses this job. I asked him about his saving. For humble he was, he told me how much he saved in a year and half, which in fact is not bad for what it takes to foresee his short term goal.

His short term goal is to save money so he can buy a motorcycle first and then Bajaj, the common transplantation where there is relatively good money in small towns like Arba Minch.

You can read an assuring and decisive sense of passion from his eyes as he speaks about his future plan. Though he is not formally schooled, he seems to be a smart teenager. He sorted out his plan as short term and long term goals. As per his long term goal he wants to open a nice lodge in the town as Arba Minch is one of the most visited tourist destinations in the country …And so and so on, goes his dream with the blowing of the smoke.

At the moment, he is sacrificing what it takes to envision his dream with his energetic, ambitious and kind attitude. And, until the day he achieves his dream, he has to live in the smoke, he has to clean up other’s messes just to make his smoky dreams came true, for until the storm passes and the spring comes.   

Street Phylosophy II: Dinner with a Beggar

Prologue:

A friend of mine read my article "Street Philosophy" in the July issue of Zoma and we started talking about street-people. He thinks most street-people have bizarre stories and shared an intriguing story of an  aged beggar named Gash Beke, what follows is the story as he narrated it:

The Story:

I was having coffee with a friend of mine in the car. All of a sudden an old aged beggar appeared. He came close to my window and asked for money, after a moment of hesitation my friend took out one Birr, gave him and said, “Don't drink with it!” with an orderly tone. The old beggar sarcastically smiled and said, “No, I will buy a house with it” For I was not expecting that coming, I burst with laughter. Then, I rephrased what my friend wanted to say. “He meant buy something to eat” The beggar replied, “I am the one who knows why I'm in need of the money, he didn't asked me why I wanted it in the first place, so why is he telling me what to do now. It's up to me to decide that.” 

My friend interrupted, “let me ask you now, what are you going to do with the money I gave you?” “I will drink with it!” answered the old beggar proudly. Amazed with his honesty and quick replay I asked, “Have you eaten?” “Yes, in the morning” he replied. “It is dinner time now, aren't you hungry? Isn't it better if you eat than drink?” I hinted.  

“You only gave me one Birr, so with such amount of money I prefer taking my sleeping pill, Ouzo.” “Why alcohol over bread?” I asked. “My son you can do both, eat your dinner as well as drink till you get wasted; where as I have to choose either to eat or drink, so I choose to drink and have my joyful, warm sleep on the street.”

I and my friend felt sympathy listening after the old man's straight yet touchy reply. We then looked at each other and agreed to buy him dinner and a couple of beers for we were amazed with his honesty and straightforwardness.    

We asked him to get in the car; however, he refused for he thought he will ruin the car with his dirty clothes. We insisted that he get in, hesitant for a while; he finally got in and sat behind uncomfortably till we reached a nearby restaurant.

Eager to be amazed with more of his conversations, we quickly ordered three meals and asked him the story of his life. He told us everything about himself; that he used to be employed and earn a regular salary until he was unable to walk for months after a hit-and-run car accident. Due to that, he lost his job and small rent house for he has no one to support him. This was what he said, “…with just one unfortunate incident I ended up on the street.”

After we had had our dinner and a couple of beers we offered to give him some money as we were dropping him to his sleeping place, a corner of a street. “Why do I need money now? I have had my dinner and got enough to drink” said the old man calmly. “You might use it for tomorrow.” my friend suggested.

The old beggar smiled wistfully and said, “I have never slept on the streets with money in my pocket. If I have money left after my Ouzo I always give it to other friends. I don't have a house rent to pay, bills to cover or tax to be deducted, so why should I save money for? I have never thought about tomorrow; I may or may not wake up. I only live each day until bed time. Tomorrow is another day; it brings its own fortune. Every day is filled with surprises; we humans are blindfolded animals led by our fate; we don't choose our life, fate chooses for us. We have no will over life. That is exactly what happened to me; one unfortunate night made me the way I am now…”

He opened the door and as he stood leave he said, “If you listen to me, let me tell you one thing at last…” We gave him our ears, “My sons, you may work till you sweat, you may accumulate wealth, but know that there is also fortune in life. You don't know what will happen tomorrow; you don't know your destiny; so live each day like it is your last; be good, do good.” He then opened the car and went to his corner. 

My friend and I felt like we had spent the night with a wise shrink. His views and reflections reminded us of simple and yet great principles of life - simplicity and kindness.

My friend finished his narration and paused for a while until I myself woke up out of a meditative state of mind. I shook my head and said “What a story!”  My friend nodded reflectively.

End-note:

Out of my few encounters and stories I heard about street-people I realized that they are the kind of people whose lives put you in a continuous dilemma. Whatever names you give them- disfranchised, homeless, hobos, bums, street-people, or whatever stereotypes you have about them you don't get to know how humble, entertaining, frank and thoughtful they are until you get closer and chat with them; they will ask you absolutely anything and honestly tell you everything. 

Besides their shocking and surprising stories these people not only need our helping hand but our consideration and affection. Such is how you get to know their real story and hidden philosophic thoughts. 

After Story:

My friend became friends with Gash Beke, the old beggar. He used to visit him sometimes and chat whenever he was down; he thinks his advice helped him a lot... “I enjoy talking to him; he was the best adviser... Friends of Gash Beke on the street used to call me whenever he was sick. They used to think I was his biological son because he used to call me ‘my son’. I heard Gash Beke died on my return from a few months of training abroad. RIP Gash Beke!”

Dedicated to Gash Beke

Photo by Meklit Mersha, Zoma Magazine