A couple of months ago, while eating at the little restaurant on the hill, I had to sit somewhere other than my usual seat, because it was previously commandeered by four Asians.  Probably from the large number of Chinese in Addis for the massive road construction.  No problem, no hard feelings, as I moved over one table.  Several times throughout the meal, one of the table thieves, probably the ringleader, would loudly rattle away on his cell phone.  I find it absolutely irritating to endure a phone conversation in any language where the individual has no regard for others.  It’s as if they think talking loud on the phone is a sign of intelligence, or they want everyone to believe they are someone important.

I placed my napkin on my shoulder as a signal for Hywät to come see what I want.  When she arrived I told her:  Hywät, grab his phone away from him and throw it on the floor and stomp on it.  I added some hand and foot gestures to leave no doubt as to what I wanted her to do.  Without having to think, she shook her head and leaned over to me and whispered,  … they know Karate!

I’ve been tempted to ask her, when she signs her name in English if she puts the two little dots above the “a” in her name like my computer does.

On my way to Abuja, Nigeria, earlier this week, I flew in a new Boeing 777, with all the new nifty gadgets like a USB port stuck in the seatback in front of me.  As I started to sit down, I noticed a small stain about ¾ inch on the edge of my seat.  Didn’t think much if it except, I wonder what caused that?  The flight was about four and a half hours and midway through, they served us hungry confined animals our lunch.  It was either beef or fish.  After being in Africa I realized that beef here is usually tough, so I opted for the fish.  Came with some yellow sauce on a bed of couscous. (I swear I grew up not knowing what that was).  Tasting the fish, it was rather bland, so I added some salt.  Still a bit bland, so a little more salt then swirled it around in a sauce that must have had 50 shades of yellow.  Ate a bite with the skinny plastic fork they give and it wasn’t too bad.  Ate another bite, then another.  Somewhere between the 6^th and 9^th bite, a chunk of fish jumped off my fork and landed on the seat.  Right on the stain that was already there.  Like it was made for it!  Well, I now know what caused the stain; the next question is, how many layers are there?

Upon my arrival in Abuja, I got in line for the usual passport shuffle.  When it came my turn, I handed the unsmiling man my passport and said, Hi.  Without smiling, he replied in a run-on sentence: Welcome where are you working?  I told him and he muttered something I didn’t understand, then handed the passport to an equally unsmiling woman in a military uniform sitting in the next booth.  So I stepped sideways to the next window.  I thought, interesting.  It takes two people to look at the passports.  Then the woman asked me how long I would stay?  I said, until the 13^th.  She responded, This is the eleventh!  I replied more succinctly, The 13^th.  Again she appeared baffled, so I said, Wednesday.  She replied, Wednesday?  Yes ma’am, Wednesday.  Then she handed the passport to a big woman also in a uniform, standing outside the passport booth.  She had a sour look on her face like she was suffering from indigestion.  She looked it over and either grunted or burped, then handed it back to her. She then stamped my passport like she was making sure it was dead, then handed it back and gloomy said, welcome.

I find my bag quickly and head for the Customs area to get out of the building.  But some guy in a uniform guided me to a side room full of other military personnel who like to look through people’s bags.

I entered and one guy pulls me aside and beside him is a smiling but unhappy woman also in uniform.  He asked me what I have in my bag while the woman said, Welcome.  When I fly somewhere, I take a small bag of tools with me and almost every time, the Authorities want to see what’s in my bag when it is x-rayed.  I told him clothes and tools.  The conversation went something like this:

Tools?

Yes, tools.

Open bag please.

As I unzipped the bag, the woman again said, Welcome.  When I got it opened, I stood back for them to gaze upon my belongings.  He picked up my little plastic box that I keep my vitamins in.  You know the little plastic boxes that has little compartments, one or two for each day of the week.  All old people use them these days.

He asked me, What is this?

I said, Vitamins and my tools are …

Vitamins, he repeated.  Not as a question.

Yes, Vitamins.

At this point she again said, Welcome.

I tried to continue, Now my tools …

Are they for consumption?

Yes, my consumption.  Now my tools …

You may go welcome.

And she repeated his word, Welcome.

Yeah.  I never felt so welcomed by so many gloomy people in all my life.

Remember all the Nigerian scams on the Internet?  I realize why they are from Nigeria.  From what I see, that country has to be one of the most expensive and most corrupt countries in Africa.  I stayed two nights at the Hilton in Abuja and I had to pay for my room with the local currency, because I was told giving them your credit card info is dangerous.  (This is at a Hilton, mind you)  I had to get 60,000 Nigerian Naira to pay for each night.  That’s about $360 a night.  Nice hotel, but not that nice.  I could have had breakfast there also, but it was an additional $35.

The city had very few beggars but many hawkers in the streets.  There are signs posted saying, No Hawking, but it didn’t matter.  And it’s amazing what you can find with them.  I remember seeing bread, drinks, shirts, women’s undergarments, window shade film, umbrellas, books on writing resumes, soap, toothbrushes, tissues, an electric engraver, bicycle horns, maps, puppies, toilet paper, etc.  I wish I could remember everything.  I’ll add to the list when they come to mind.

Then Wednesday I flew to Lagos.  From what I could tell, not as corrupt as Abuja, but evidently extremely dangerous.  I was picked up in an armored SUV and driven very quickly through the city to the Embassy where I would work.  It reminded me of having to ride in an armed convoy from Kabul, Afghanistan to Bagram Airbase, on terrible roads at a high rate of speed, with armored Humvees ahead and behind.  If anyone had gotten in the way, they would not have stopped – only sped up.

In Lagos I stayed at an American recreation facility that houses Expats working in the area.  Simple and nice.  The food was American and the bar actually had Coors beer.  Not the watered down stuff, but the original beer.  Traveling between the Embassy and the housing complex was by a high speed boat, because the Embassy is on the shore and the housing is on a large island.  (or maybe the other way around)   In the morning, there is a heavily armed Nigerian soldier riding on the back of the boat.  Probably hanging on for his life.

When I flew out of Lagos on my way home, I had an Expeditor that meets me at the airport to make sure I get out without any problems.  This was the first time I had this on a simple flight out, but after getting into the airport, I realized why.  Expeditors are worth their weight in gold and this young lady led me through the maze(s) only a military government could come up with.  She took me to 4 or 5 little desks that each had to look at my passport.  Which one was the actual Passport Control, I couldn’t tell; but finally she left me on my own at one of the coffee shops and all went well after that.  Well as far as Africa can be.

As I work on this on the flight back to Addis, I’m thinking, if I could make some invention that would cancel out body odors on the planes in Africa, I could become very wealthy.

But, I am now home with my wife, in safe, comfortable Addis Ababa.

 

Under the heading: I’ve Always Hated Book Reports under Page Two, is my thoughts on reading.  And writing.

I have realized when I am in a grumpy mood, I can go up the hill and visit Hywät at the Italian food restaurant, and before long I’m laughing.

I’ve got her trained so that when I put my napkin on my shoulder, she needs to come see what I want.  The first time I did this she probably thought:  What’s with this idiot now?  It works well, only to a point, because she’s still not fully trained.  As soon as I get through eating, she takes away my napkin.  Right off my shoulder.

The other day I reminded her that her birthday is coming up. (March 17^th)  I asked her how old she will be and she stated 20.  I said, I thought you were 26!  She had this ghastly look on her face like she found that offensive.  Gee!  If someone thought I was 26, I’d be elated!

The last time I was there, Terese stayed home.  So to get a conversation going with her, I start asking about her medical schooling.  She dragged a big book from behind the counter and showed it to me.  The cover had a bunch of Ethiopian writing on it (an alphabet with over 200 characters and in existence before 3000 BC).  It was her Pharmaceutical textbook.  I looked it over and there was only one other book I’ve seen in my life that was more confusing, –  a book titled, 20,000 Chinese characters and their usage.  (The only thing in English was the copyright page)

I asked her if she understood all this and with a big smile she replied Yes!  The only pictures in it – something I can relate to – were drawings of tissue cross sections and molecular diagrams.  I said, Hywät, I’m an electrician and I can’t understand any of this because it has no wiring diagrams.  She pointed to some complex molecular structure and said, These are my wires!

She has still yet to deliver her first baby.  Something she has to do to graduate, and she’s dreading it.  I told her when she does, we will give her a gift, because she helped bring a new life into the world.  Then I told her, when she does deliver one, tell the mother to give it my name.  She didn’t react at all, like she’s beginning to know when to ignore me.

In a few weeks, I will have to go into Nigeria to do some work.  I will fly in and out of Lagos.  That airport is one of the most disorganized airports I have been in.  I transited through it last year on my way to Niamey, Niger.  My incoming flight arrived late and there was some character walking though the airport yelling something which made no sense.  He walked right past me, before I realized he was calling my name for the next flight.  I realized years ago, my name does not come out very clear when some people say it.  It comes out as “Wannolt”.

More later.  Kick butt and don’t stop.

Mister Wannolt

 

Another posting under the category, America (with a “C”).  You will find it under Page One on the left.

 

Check it out on the left side under Page One.

I went up the hill to the restaurant the other day.  Hywät was not there, but the same little girl who waited on me the other evening was there.  She was the one who asked, “Where is my husband?”  This time she asked me, “Where is my wife?  Where is she?”  So, she got the husband/wife part correct this time, but didn’t catch the correct pronoun.  I wasn’t going to try to explain it to her, because I had a hard enough time just ordering.

One of the interesting things I’ve discovered in life is how fast kids learn.  Many of the children whose parents work overseas, have a local nanny who will teach them the local language.  One lady I spoke with the other day, said when they lived in Germany, their nanny taught their 3 year old German.  One day he kept saying something which neither parent knew.  Finally they had to call the nanny at home and find out what he’s saying.  She said the little one was hungry.  All this time the parents though he had to potty, so they kept putting him on his little commode when all he wanted was something to eat.  He kept saying, “Nein, Mama!  Nein!”

We visited with Hywät again the other night and she is still going strong with her medical learning stuff.  She told Terese the more she studies the maternity part, the more she loves her mother.  She also told Terese, that when she talks to me it’s a form of training for her.  I’m not sure how to take that.

The monkeys have raised their ugly tails a few times lately, and I’ve had a few battles with them.  This morning I’m off because it’s MLK day.  Enjoying the sun in the back yard, I heard branches snap and rattle causing the fat birds in the tree to flutter away in unison.  I quickly got my slingshot and collection of paintballs, and proceeded with a short battle.  I saw one critter in the tree, and drew back and hit the little sucker right in the butt!  Again, I heard the familiar “Holy Bananas!” as it dropped down out of sight.  So, as it stands now, the score is Dwaine 1 2, Monkeys 31.