St. Gabriel’s Day was celebrated at Kulubi near Dire Dawa recently. Surprisingly, and to the satisfaction of everyone no traffic accident occurred. Each year, it is customary for some kind of car accidents to take place due to various reasons mainly the precipice along the highway leading to the church. In the 1970s, when I was a young man, I went to the church to live up to a vow for a promise fulfilled. I was accompanying my mother and a group of relatives who perhaps had made similar pledges of monetary offers, if their wishes came to fruition.
After the church ceremony apparently ended at noon, we mounted a truck that immediately started to literally fly down the slope on the road to Dire Dewa, regardless of the majestic view to the church on top of a hill on the horizon found beyond us. Droplets of rain suddenly fell on the asphalted road with became slippery preventing the driver to move at full speed. He applied the brakes of the vehicle and it turned upwards looking at the church as if St.Gabriel had given it orders to turn back because we rushed to the town before the church service was completed.
All of us on the truck could have been killed as the place overlooked a gorge not far away known as Dengego. We thanked St.Gabriel for coming to our rescue and we arrived in Addis Ababa by train the next day. Several pilgrims were not lucky as we. The pilgrimage is often fraught with danger, and it is easy to lose one’s life in a dense traffic from Kulubi to Dire Dawa where rules, generally that of speed, are rarely observed. I did not forget St.Gabriel last week as I made it a point to give alms to a beggar in the street when she said that she was begging not because she could not support herself, but because her daughter who, she claimed, was sick in bed.
The coin I gave her did not please her. However, a number of young passersby volunteered to offer her paper money so that her mood changed for the better. Nevertheless, not happy myself with what I gave her, I changed a higher denomination to balance my supposedly good gesture. In did not go far before I lost track of her and the money went to another woman the next day. I could not say to myself that she (the beggar) was sitting on the roadside to beg. She did not look like a beggar. It seemed she was tired of walking and wished to take some rest.
“Why are you sitting here alone,” I asked “I am begging,” she said. I looked at her back and it seemed she was carrying a bundle of cloth similar to a baby. “Are you carrying a baby on your back?” I asked. Babies are sometimes used by beggars as a cover-up to arouse sympathy. “No,” she said. Then, I told her the story of the previous day and when I finished, she said,” I beg for myself.”
“This is what I owe to the other woman,” I said, reminding her that I would have given her any money if that woman had not left the scene early. It was a one –birr coin, but the woman regarded it as a 100-birr note. I said, “Happy (Merry) Christmas!” “Happy Christmas,” she replied. I was thinking deeply about what I can buy with a one-Birr coin, when I was confronted with another incident.
Two very young girls asked me the location of the National Lottery Administration Office as I waited to cross the street near St. George Church. One was dressed like a Muslim and the other in an ordinary school-girl costume. They must be friends “Why did you ask me that question?” “Did you get a lottery?” “Yes” said one of them. “How much?” I asked “Six hundred birr,” she said. “Do you see the high-storey building over there?” They saw the Arada Building from afar.
I wonder whether they had seen it before. Once upon a time, there was a cinema hall beneath it. As a ‘Kid’, I used to watch “movies.’ There with my friend the whole afternoon on week-ends by paying only 0.50 cents, i.e half a birr. One of the heroes on the screen was “Superman” If my guess is right the screenplay was written by Mario Puzo, author of “The Godfather.”In so far as sound is concerned,”Puzo” is similar to “Pizza”, the other name for “Arada” I told the girls to go to the big building and ask anyone about the office they were looking for.
They may or may not have known of either Arada or Piaza. They may or may not receive their 600-birr prize. They innocently kissed me goodbye on my left and right cheeks in a traditional way and made me think of my own children with Ethiopian Christmas just only a few days away. (I thank St. Paul’s Millennium medical college for the treatment given to me in helping me restore my capacity to write this article. The author of this piece was a former staff of Ethiopian Herald)
Herald January 13/2019
BY BERHANU TIBEBU ZEWOLDE
