ETHIOPIA: The Merkato Redux Part II

As mentioned previously, Meron has helped me with some Amharic words. There are some words and phrases I have picked up on my own and while out at the Merkato she got to hear me use a few of those. She was duly impressed. As were many shopkeepers. This is not to say that I know Amharic. Not by a stretch. But enough to impress, I suppose. Walking into a shop in the Merkato I would greet the employees in Amharic, “Tenastëllën.” Then while looking at something I would ask an employee, “ Sëntë nõ?” (How much?) If I happened to be holding onto an item which I was familiar with I’d ask how much while identifying said item, “Sëntë nõ, agelgil?” Then to top it all off, for negotiating I’d say “Mecherasha,” which means I am asking them to just tell me their best/lowest price? Sometimes, like when using agelgil and mecherasha, Meron wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. “Will you stop laughing at me while I am speaking Amharic?” I had to say more than once. This would result in an Amharic conversation between her and the shopkeeper ending with her telling me they like my Amharic. The downside was that after asking “Sëntë nõ?” I was usually answered in Amharic and had to look at Meron for help. This caused more laughter and Amharic conversation with shopkeepers and employees.

For the young female employees who seemed especially bowled over by my vastly improved Amharic I’d follow up all this with “Sëmësh man nõ?” which is asking their name. This delighted them to no end although it would result in me trying to pronounce a difficult Amharic name. One girl’s name was Honey, which has a certain intrigue to it. This newfound inclination for Amharic garnered me two marriage proposals, one from Honey. Truth be told both times the proposals came after it came out that I was from New York. They really only wanted to marry whatever romantic notions of New York City they have. I have found that Ethiopians are fascinated by New York City. Not only that I live there but that I was born there. I usually say that I was born in Queens but other than one person who said “like ‘The King of Queens?’” no one is quite sure what I mean by that and I just don’t have the patience to get into a five-boro discussion. (In fairness to Ethiopians explaining Queens to some people in the U.S. can also be a chore.) I just agree with their notions about NYC even though any fanciful ideas I once had about my hometown have been long erased by reality. I do find it nice that even with all that George Bush and the Republicans have done in the past 7-8 years to tarnish the good name of America that it still has a hold on the imagination and portends promise and opportunity, as exemplified by New York City, to so many people.

Meron and I leave the Merkato, still attracting attention, and go to another part of Addis, where there are more shops. We look at more traditional stuff and Meron somehow convinces me to buy a cultural shirt despite me repeatedly saying “I’m never going to wear it.” Maybe she would have listened if I learned that phrase in Amharic. Coincidentally, or not, this is the shop where Honey worked. Meron gets her shoes shined and we go to lunch. Somehow we end up eating at a Muslim restaurant. Meron is Ethiopian Orthodox Christian and apparently the dietary laws of these religions do not mesh. It was worse than eating with the vegans. All these rules to just eat. I tried and failed to get a reasonable explanation on why she needed a new bread after I touched a loaf to break off a piece. At least with the vegans I understand the rules. I don’t even know how she knew we were at a Muslim restaurant. The woman at the register was wearing a headscarf but Meron had a conversation with her and it turns out she was Christian. But she still needed to get bread all for herself and separate serving utensils. Maybe she doesn’t know that I’m not Muslim?

My second trip to the Merkato was much more pleasant than the first. I owe that to Meron who was a great guide through the Merkato and then through other parts of Addis. Having someone familiar with the culture and language makes a big difference. Now I believe what they say about the Merkato. If I can almost get married than you really can get anything there.

ETHIOPIA: The Merkato Redux Part I

I went back to the Merkato to meet my friend Meron, who works at the same Center I am interning for the summer. Meron has also been my semi-tutor in Amharic. When I first arrived I asked her to teach me a word a day. This didn’t work out, as I couldn’t learn a word a day. So I would get a word from her, practice it and everyday ask her if I was pronouncing it correctly. This went on until I did get it right. Speaking Amharic takes some time for me.

I arrive at the Merkato at our designated time. Meron is late. It begins to rain. In and of itself the rain isn’t terrible. But it causes me to have to find a place under an awning of the building that was our meeting spot. This is a problem because a white man standing still in the Merkato attracts loads of unwanted attention.* “You!” “You!” In other places around Addis the shoe shine boys, taxi drivers, and occasional beggar call out to you. The Merkato is like a free-for-all. It’s all hassle all the time. Maybe because it is so crowded and transactions are always going on. I don’t know but people take a real familiar stance with each other. Especially toward the farangi. Although I have only been there a few times the Piazza area of Addis is similar to the Merkato in hassle factor.

Eventually, I decide to move. I go to a shop and borrow the phone to call Meron. “Is your friend Ethiopian? You know we are not very punctual.” The shopkeeper told me. “When you meet your friend you come back to my store,” he added. Meron finally shows and insists that she was there at the appropriate time walking around in the rain. I’m not so sure I believe her but that’s fine. She’s here now and I see new and different parts of the Merkato. It is so big. It’s crazy really. There’s no way to get through it in one day. But after walking through with Meron I see its benefit and what it has to offer. We went through the used area where everything is recycled. Just piles of old stuff either being fixed up or made into something entirely different. Old shoes become a new style of shoe. Used keys are ground down and re-keyed. Plastic, tires, metal, you name it. There was a pile of something used with people around it working, molding,shaping, cutting, repairing. Then we went through the traditional area and looked at cultural clothes and baskets and other goods.

Walking through the Merkato with Meron, who is a very attractive young woman, brings its own sort of attention. This time it was because of me but directed at her. The men would just blurt out things to her in Amharic and then start hooting and hollering. Sometimes they would come up to me and shake my hand and pat me on the back. Very familiar. Meron said they were asking if we were together or married or if I was her man. She answered in the affirmative each time and then those reactions occurred. Meron seemed to enjoy all the attention being lavished on her. Meron also has a very familiar relationship with other Ethiopians. When we were done with the Merkato we went to another area of Addis to have lunch. As it was raining that morning the Merkato was awfully muddy and Meron’s shoes were a mess. She stopped for a shoeshine before lunch. While getting her shoes shined she bought some chewing gum from another young boy. This boy promptly walked awaywith a Birr 5 bill Meron had given to purchase the gum. She went after him, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him back to resume her shoeshine, all to the delight of the shoeshine boys gathered around. With one hand on his ear and the other pointing in his face she admonished the little boy. While this was all happening I just stood around and ignored all the demands being made to me by the other shoeshine boys and the beggars in the vicinity.

*Here is an unrelated story of unwanted attention. Last night I was dining at a Chinese restaurant. An elderly Chinese man passed my table while walking with a group of 5-6 other Chinese people. Loudly he points at me and all I get of what he is saying are the words “lefty” and “chopsticks.” This causes everyone in his party plus the other patrons in the restaurant all turn around to gape at me while I eat Chinese food using chopsticks with my left hand. I don’t recall if being left-handed was remarked upon when I visited Hong Kong or Japan.