ETHIOPIA: Leo Monkey Pants

Early Saturday morning I once again took a trip to the Mercato. After explaining my previous, unpleasant outing there to a young woman at the office she offered to show me around. I took her up on her offer. I jump on the Mercato bound minibus. It had just started to rain (have I mentioned that it is the rainy season?) and the minibus was already crowded. As I sat down I thought the man sitting across the aisle looked at me askance. This reminded me of what two German girls staying at the Cozy Place said recently. They take the minibus everyday and have claimed that Ethiopians have refused to get on the bus with them onboard and have otherwise suffered hostility. I told them that they were nuts. But now was I sensing some hostility? Could it be that in the past I never noticed it? I scan the other faces around me. No hostility. Just the usual early morning despondency of commuters everywhere. Good, the German girls are nuts. That guy wasn’t directing any hostility towards me. I’m not some snooty bourgeois slumming on the minibus as part of some sociological experiment. I am down with the people. With this thought I settle into my normal commuting obliviousness.

This particular minibus was more of a pick-up truck with a housing set on the back bed. In the housing there are two benches that face each other. You can squeeze in 10-12 people along these benches while the money-taker sits on a small improvised seat on the entry door at the back of the truck. The driver is up front and you can fit two more passengers next to him. There were speakers set up in the back housing and Amharic music was being pumped in. One Amharic song blends into the next. All of a sudden I realize that the Amharic music has stopped and I hear a female sing-song voice. The lyrics are in English and seem familiar. She is singing about five little monkeys who jump on a bed. One by one each monkey falls and hits his head. Every time this happens the mommy calls the doctor and the doctor, in a very doctorly way, orders the mommy that under no circumstances should the monkeys be jumping on the bed. Monkeys being monkeys they continue to jump on the bed and continue to knock their heads. What begins as five little monkeys becomes four little monkeys and so on. This was the exact same monkey song that my brother Tom would sing to his son Leo. The book the song was written down in also came with five small monkey figurines that Tommy would use for dramatic purposes in acting out the song. Tommy’s version was decidedly more exciting (and out-of-tune) than the one I was listening to now. A small smile crept onto my face as I thought of Leo laughing at the monkeys jumping on the bed. I wondered what was the possibility that as I was listening to this monkey song in a minibus in Ethiopia Tommy and Leo were acting it out at the same time. Actually, it is very doubtful that this could have occurred. It was around 1:00 AM New York time. Also, Leo was enjoying this monkey song a few months ago. I’m sure he finds it passé now and has moved on to newer monkey songs.

I just don’t see how can people be hostile when the five little monkeys song is played in a minibus.