Street Philosophy I: The story of a street, shoeshining teenager

In the paragraphs that follow is a shocking story and cynical philosophy of a shoe shining street teenager that made me doubt philosophy itself.

…I was having my shoes cleaned out around CMC here in Addis. The shoe shining girl is probably at the age of 15 from a rough gesticulation. I started conversing with her basically considering the rare shoe shining girls in our city. I asked if she was from Addis, she responded with her eyebrows stretched and lifted up, to mean yes in facial expression. She seems to be bored and thinking about something big as I guessed.

My senses sort of pushed me to forward another question “where do you live?” she replied again with a body language, pointing at a plastic tent behind me; “a street shoe shining teenager” I whispered to myself and felt terrible for her; but I didn’t want to make her feel bad showing her a pity face.

There was a moment of silence for a while, in the mean time, I couldn’t stop noticing her frequently pressing hard on to her belly. By way of diverting the topic, I asked if she was ok, “why are you squishing your belly?”  She took a moment before answering, and replied “I think… I am… pregnant” with a toned down yet careless manner. Trying to cover up my shock, from her unexpected response, I asked too many questions at once, “how? Do you have a boyfriend? How did you know if you are pregnant…?” With a sarcastic smile, she calmly responded, “I live on the street, perhaps if you noticed; so, sometimes, street boys ask me to sleep with them or do it forcedly. Well… some other times, I myself look for men to sleep with, so I can warmth my body from the cold lonely nights.”

Once again, shocked as I was listening after her calm and casual response, forwarded another question, “So… what are you going to do if you are pregnant?” she quickly replied, “I won’t be pregnant” amused as I was by her confident and quick answer, asked, “How come? Do you take medicines? Are you barren?” my usual, one after another wave of questions. She started feeling relaxed now replaying quickly to my questions, “It usually happens to me but I squish and kill the infant in my stomach by pressing hard and pinching my belly until I see my period back.” This time, she even noticed me shocked.

After taking a while by way of calming myself, I said, “why don’t you take pills or use condom, if you have to do what you are doing, meaning… sex.” Her reply was, “what for?” “…Well, for starters, you won’t be pregnant and more over you prevent yourself from sexually transmitted diseases like HIV/AIDS”, I felt like a health officer having said the above statement. Adding to the point I was trying to make, I asked, “Are you aware of the probability of having HIV from an unprotected sex?” she replied, “who cares if I have HIV, I’m dying anyways”, another shocking phrase, in a slapdash fashion.

Our conversation started to get more shocking and more interesting. In a consolation, I said the next phrase, “well, true, we all die; but, with your status- no medical care and no one to take care of you, you will suffer to die.” Having said the above bold statement, I was expecting she might reconsider her actions and argue with me regretting her past. However, contrary to my assumption, she was even more sarcastic with her replay this time.

“Am I not suffering already? Isn’t life full of misery? Isn’t it full of pain? What is the difference between having a miserable life and a miserable death? They are both the same. I’m suffering in life; yet, it won’t be something new for me to suffer in death. After all, that’s the way life goes, you suffer your whole life and then you will die.”

Another big moment of silence, she had done cleaning my shoes long ago; but, I didn’t want to leave for interested I were in our conversation. Yet, I have nothing to say, I didn’t know what to ask, or didn’t know what to say or suggest. In fact, I wasn’t sure I could have handled anymore of her frightening words (or should I say swords.) for they tore me in to emotional pieces...  

It felt like hours passed by before coming to my full senses, I thought I blacked-out for a while, lost my consciousness; I don’t really remember what I was feeling. Long after I had done calming myself, I wanted to say something at last; but then again, I figured no words of wisdom could change her mind; I bet not any outspoken person would change her mind. I guess her pessimism had been so tough that made me one right then.

Hence, I gave up the last talk thought. After all, who am I to suggest or advice? Who am I to say stuffs for I know nothing of what she had been through. Only she had felt the real pain, only she had lived the misery. I have devastated listening after her story only, let alone living it; no wonder where she got this glumness…

Looking at my watch, I figured it was time for me to go; thus, I left leaving her a fat tip. In my way back home, I couldn’t take her out of my mind. “What a philosophy!” I somehow regretted for not making that last speech;

…I wish I could have given her hope, I wish I could have said some of the wisdom words I knew, “You can choose either to be a victim of the world or an adventurer in search of a treasure. It’s all a question of how you view your life.” - Paulo Coelho; or “Our life is what our thoughts make it” - Marcus Arulies, may be life isn’t as awful as you had pictured it… tomorrow will be a better day… etcetera, etcetera  

But then, it would have been nothing but an obvious shallow advise; specially for a bold, sarcastic girl like her. Plus, I wouldn’t have made an excellent last speech for I didn’t have that emotional strength to have her make up her mind so she could change her philosophy.

...It felt like my mind recorded all the conversation and played it repeatedly. I was impulsively shaking my head as I was going my long walk home. “…What a philosophy!”

Experts in the field categorize such kind of philosophy as Philosophical Skepticism. It is a kind of philosophy that is based on ambiguity and doubt ranging to disbelief to the reality of the external world. People with low socio-economic status and desperation tend to follow skepticism because it is the kind of philosophy that gives such people the uncertainty about facts and reality.

I remembered what the Ethiopian Awramba’s Society leader Zumra Nuru once said about philosophy, “one’s philosophy about life is neither gained from formal schooling nor lost from lack of it.” And he was right, despite our educational, economic, or other status we all ask different questions about life in general and the specifics in it. And so, we tend to follow the kind of philosophy that seems to temporarily answer our question.

And so, after listening to this awe-inspiring story I now, truly believe that, “Everyone is a philosopher” for life is full of questions from everywhere; mostly, from the streets.

           

Dedicated to the shoe shining teenager and others who are living in desperate situations by justifying their actions with philosophical skepticism /a philosophy based on rejecting the ‘reality’ of the world/. What is ‘reality’ anyways? I don’t know… another big issue in philosophy.

The moped-up city, Awasa

Is art something blessedly given for artists? Does someone need to be showered with a skill of putting beautiful words together to be a writer? Well, the wisdom to answer such debated questions can be found in dazzling places like Awasa that shine the light of emotional consciousness and create the natural intelligence and freshness within you.  

Gazing at the graceful Awasa Lake, the way I am doing, you will be forced to pour your feelings, in words, characters or whatever art you used to think that you are not endowed with for that matter. You feel supreme freshness; you sense boundless energy, considering your long-warm journey. It is the kind of place that creates a feeling of compassionate and enjoyable process of self exploration. You start to believe that life is more than amazing when you get to find your self in such a place of calmness and unbounded distance of horizon. I would say, it’s a natural rehab, if you are struggling with boredom and depression.

Located 270Kms south of Addis at an altitude of 1,708m, Awassa or Hawassa is the capital of the Southern Nations Nationalities and Peoples (SNNP) region. It is remarkably one of the fastest growing cities in Ethiopia.

Aside the natural beauty, the city is architecturally attractive. The major streets and few of the sub-ways I walked around are too clean that seemed to be moped-up (with a bit exaggeration). Speaking of the mopped streets, I was chatting with a friend of mine who visited Awasa the same time I did and asked her if she observed the cleanness of the streets (with my moped-up exaggeration of course) she told me that it was a remarkable experience for her too; in fact, she told me, the “moppers’ start mopping at 5:30 in the morning as she witnessed in her own eyes. 

 

The morning in Awasa is the most stunning experience worth waking for; Even if you have no reason to wake up early, the color of the morning sun rise gives you all the meaning to your day.

 

If you go out to see the main places in the city you find a common ever busy street to both Addis and Awasa, which is Piassa/Piazza. The streets of Piassa are crowded with the rushing Bajajs, motor Bikes and bicycles not to mention the relatively few cars.  You see a variety of transportations in the streets of Awasa; from carriages using donkeys and Horses to motor bicycles, bicycles, Bajajs and mini Bus.

 

  For travelers and tourists, who would want to enjoy Lake Awasa at standard and cozy level, you find a couple of uplifting resorts like Lewi and Haile, built at the very age of the beautiful Lake. 

 

By way of concluding, if you are sick and tired of the loud and crazy city, I would say, go out from your city-spinned routine, just to shine the light of emotional consciousness and feel the natural novelty within you. I assure you, once you are in Awasa you will start to embark on a painful path of self criticism, “why didn’t I ever consider going out of the crowded and restless city just to give time to my self and relax?”

The diary of a hopelessly depressed man

October12 13… What is the day today? I don’t know! Does it matter? What difference does it make? I have lived thirty something years and all my life I have been counting October, November, December… Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… nothing but a thirty something years of October, November…yet nothing seems to change. At least the days are not changed, the months are not changed…boring. Life is nothing but a tedious 7 days a week and 12 months a year routine.

Morning-evening, day-night… where does the adventure of life lies? Aren’t we bound to these depressing routines? Why do we fool ourselves? Why do we cheat ourselves by saying each day is a new day? Is each day a new day? Is it? If so, what’s new about it? Eating three or whatever times a day, going out, coming in, falling asleep, waking up in the morning again…boring.

October13 14…The next day

Saturday, weekend, the day started as usual; lazy morning on bed, no appetite, yet I tried forcedly feeding myself with a home-made lunch, and tried to figure out what to do next or where to go; should I meet my friends? Or should I just lie on my couch and read my newly bought book? Or should I watch a movie…Finally, after a long lasted monologue I decided to stay home and read my book. This is one of my preferred routines, especially when I don’t feel like going out or meet people. I read books to forget about the ‘real’ world and to feel good about myself. I prefer reading philosophy books because they are not scenery of the ‘real’ life; they are the kind of books that give answers to the kind of life I am living. I have exhausted most Skeptic philosophy books because they give me reason to deny this ‘real’ world.

…Any ways, I lit my Marlboro light and inhaled the smoke deeply as I fall back on my couch. Considering my laziness, I gathered some of the stuffs I needed to make them handier- ashtray, the remote control to my stereo, some cookies, a couple of beers…

Going off the regular, is the title of the book I bought. I opened the first few pages, dedication- “This book is dedicated to you” I randomly said “ok!” as I went through my reading I paused on reading a phrase again and again “life is a test. It is only a test had it been a real life you would be instructed where to go and what to do.”It seems like I found an answer to my common doubt about the reality of the life we live.

The book continues on saying, “life is a series of tests, you fail, you pass, you study and learn from your mistakes, you improve, you may fail again as your level increases, you acquire more knowledge and experience... it’s an inevitable path, a route of life. The adventure of life however lays on which line you follow, the common and the usual or off the regular. That’s the freshness of life; each route has its own unique answers and visions to your life. Go out and experiment on your life, take the test and never work on it just to participate but to go beyond, to exceed…”

I couldn’t take my eyes of the book; even for a slightest moment, I was in to it, line by line. The book literally spoke to me with the exact words I needed to hear. Have you ever get stuffed with words? Have you ever felt like throwing out after having too much of a thing? I felt likewise after nearly reading the entire book within a day. Hence, I snatched the book of my eyes and started to meditate on what I read; I started reviewing my past life. I have been limiting my perspectives; I have been subduing my potential out of cynicism and doubt. I was living in my own little depressed world.

I somehow felt positive energies inside.“...maybe I am being too pessimist about everything; maybe it’s time to change my perspective, I should see the world from a different angle…” suddenly I wanted to go out and do adventures; I wanted to go off the regular… till I realized the day already got old, bed time.

October 14, Morning

Do we open our eyes first or do we just wake up? I don’t know. Whichever works for you; I woke up with a smile on my face for the first time in years. I couldn’t wait to go out and see the world again, I am feeling energies inside, and I am feeling alive.

Normalizing our norms

I was out of Addis for a work visit over the weekend to a nearby rural town called DebreBirhan120 kilometers north east of Addis Ababa.The town is somehow assuming its inevitable progress to modernization; and yet, you see the beautiful flavor of the country taste in it. The music you listen to are of the past 20 years, the local people greeting you with a sense of hospitality and genuine friendly approach, farmers still plaguing with oxen, fresh and organic milk as you saw it milked…

Given the altitude of the town and the low temperature, DebreBirhan is said to be the birth place offermented homemade alcohol drink called AREKE, which is now a common Ethiopian local alcohol drink. I waschatting with two new friends I met on the bus until we pass by these AREKE houses and got them convinced to try a couple of shots to heat up ourselves from the cold weather. As per my convincement we went to one of the AREKE houses and sat on the long wooden benches inside the small but crowded room/local bar;an old woman with traditional tattoosall over her neck, dressed with a cotton hand woven dress came out of a room behind a curtain with a bottle of AREKE and pour three glasses of it for me and two of my new friends. 

While we were talking seeping our second glass of AREKE, an old man with a hut and a traditional handmade woolen outfit called GABI came in; he took my attention (or should I say ‘they took my attention’ as in to refer to an elderly in our culture; out of showing respect we don’t call an old person as ‘he’ or ‘she’ we use a term which for westerners could be a term for plural ‘they’) …anyways, the old man took my attention because all the customers in the AREKE house stood up by way of showing respect. Until this moment I didn’t realized the difference in these local alcohol bars and the ones in Addis or any other ‘modernized cities’ for that matter; except for the qualities of the places and the materials within or the music you listen to. You get to meet new people in both places, you get to have fun and drunk (you even get drunk soonerhere for two reasons; primarily, the strength of the alcohol/AREKE and second, the cheap price of it).Coming back to my point, I was stunned by the scene; I was reminded of what we lost in time, what we evaded, the respect, the hospitality, the sincerity… 

I remember, I my self was from the generation where it was common to use ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in most of the conversations. Standing up for the elders is the kind of norm I was raised in as a kid. we stood up and say ‘NOR’ whenever elders show up. I don’t really know the exact meaning of the term but it’s to show respect and a sense of welcominggesture to those elderly people. In return the elderly respond ‘BE EGZER’ roughly interpreted to mean in the name of Lord,please be seated.

If I am not bold enough, I would say this tradition has faded away from the so called modernized cities like Addis. We no more stand up for older people in buses or other places to give them seats as we see them standing while we are seated. Many of us are led to believe modernization made us pursue a good way of life;it did, to the most part.Yet, it isripping of our cherished norms. That’s why the scene in that small town bar made me retell this noble norm we had and seem to be fading away to be nothing but a cultural story to be told for our children… as I am doing it right now. To wrap up my point, I would say, it is time to give our good values a thought and halt normalizing our virtuous norms.

Making sense out of life

When life doesn't make sense, ...make some

Bertolomiyos… he is a questioner, he poses questions, he asks those questions and tries to find answers for them. His life has been all about the search for uncountable serious of questions unanswered;questions about life generally and the specifics in it. He tries not to live ‘the life’ but understand it. Hisefforts are not to live the life as we know it- ‘the, learn, work and get rich’ one. He always seeks meanings out of the life he lives; he tries to make sense out of it. He doesn’t want his life to be predetermined and never goes to live under those limited components of ‘learn, work and get rich’ routine. He is even curious to understand the meaning behind all that.

His favorite quote ever read is Marcus Aurelius’s “our life is what our thoughts make it” whatever is in our thoughts, we live it. He believes it to be the best sensible quote ever said. As to him, life is as dynamic and meaningful to each one of us.Its dynamism could stretch to making quite different senses to each and every one.  Therefore, by way of making sense out of the above quote his life is explained as a life based on seeking answers to his own questions in his own convenient way, not in a generally accepted or regarded way. Those ways are set by others through their own query in way of making sense to their lives. His quires are different for unto them he should find answers- may be similar or quite different answers. He chose to live this way, because that was in his thought. Has it been, the ‘learn, work and get rich’ life he was looking for (which he could easily be successful at with his smartness) he would have lived it that way. Accordingly, he makes his living earning enough money for his prior needs, no extra savings but enough for his survival.   

Sharon… she is a beautiful, smart, funny and sociable girl he met. One thing led to another and got to like her, perhaps loved her; Loved her for the way she accepted him for who he is, at least that’s what he thought so at first. As he kept on seeing her, he started contemplating all the things she would say. That is the thing about Bertolomiyos he doesn’t hear people, he listens to them; he tries to listen to what they are trying to make sense out of what they say.

Among the many conversations he and Sharon had, something constantly started to bother him. Something he had highlighted and passed as a must revised topic. In most of their conversations she use to associate her life as one filled with all ‘perfect’ ‘happily ever after’ one. At one instant, he was having tea with her and two other friends of his in a quiet and breathy lounge, she randomly saw her cousin and started to tell them about her – “she has one of the best families ever, her husband owns his own construction company and he is making a beach house… he bought her mom a beautiful house… he bought his wife a nice brand new car… he… I wish I could marry him” he didn’t believe the last phrase coming out of her or at least he didn’t want to accept the very fact she spoke out loud those words. With a bit of embarrassment he felt and awkward look from his friends he tried to change the topic and forget making sense out of what she said so as not to start an argument; for, the day was her birth day.

The next day he called her so as he could have a chat with her and explained all the things he sensed – “look Sharon, you are a beautiful, smart, and fun to be with girl, I hope you may have your projection to the kind of life you would want to have in the future and I sensed that from our conversation yesterday and most other times all the beach house and the description of the kind of guy you would like to marry… honestly speaking I’m not that kind of guy, I don’t see any sense out of all that… rich is never my concern in life but happiness and meaning behind all I do… so, I think I’m not the right guy for you…”

He couldn’t believe those words finally came out of his mouth (as he dashed out and started to slowly disappear from her eyes), but they did. He is always a man of making sense out of his life.He measures things not by their communal acceptance or popular vote but by their worth or meaning to him.

Lots of memories flashed back to his mind, he ones bought her a shoes she liked for an amount he could not normally afford for a shoes and asked her a question “consider a rich man buys his wife an expensible dress to his wife and also a guy with an average income does the same which gift do you think will have much worth or meaning?” she replied “I think the man’s with the average earning”

Interrupting her there, he continued on speaking. “Yes, the things we do, really matter to others when they really matter to us, this guy with an average income could have bought the same dress to his mother that day but he can’t afford to buy two as the rich guy could so; he has to choose which one toplease first.” He remembered she doesn’t really got what he wanted to make sense out of his analogy. He repeated out his first sentence as he keeps on walking “‘the things we do, really matter to others when they matter to us’ our actions are meaningful when they are worthy of us, worthy of our time, worthy of our thoughts, worthy of… that’s when life makes sense to me… that’s what pleases me most… making sense out of life.”

Forgiven

This poem was written to tribute Nelson Mandela, the statute of forgiveness, an earthly saint.

no more description, enjoy the poem:

  Forgiven

How deep my sorrow

How bitter my loss

How broken I am

How empty I feel

How betrayed I am

How ashamed I could be

I won’t curse   

Opt, revenge

Contained is my rage

Forgiven, all you are

Forgiven!

All my rampant acts

My anguish, agony

 Bitter stiff vengeance

Are gone against you

I learn to let it go

I learn to let you live

Leave, not to see me despair

I leave you, to live you

The you, you will resent

The you ,you will regret

BINI - July 18, 2011