Ode To Andrew Simmons

Andrew waited above in the dining hall. This I knew upon waking, for I was already late to our 8:00 am meeting. I was not altogether perturbed, for the time changed has left me bereft of sleep. And Oh what a change the extra hours make.

We ate our usual fare of coffee, papya juice, avocado juice and a strange spicy thing with the texture of squid and flavor of pasta. We clarified goals, made powerpoint presentations and met with a colleague to discuss his proposed publication. The colleague, Ohmhalu, is a young associate professor with Jimma University. As opposed to his countrymen, his hair is loosely curled but he demonstrates the usual friendliness. He has thus far managed to teach my terribly tied tongue the Amharic words for “How do you say….<pointing to item>” pronounced “Yhe Min Ybalal…”, “Your welcome” “Ekabelalu” and “Restaurant Bill”, “Hisab”.

Andrew and I did not tarry in taking advantage of our afternoon freedom. After lunch we immediately trotted North in search of a barber. Descending to the abutted shops, we elected to enter a repurposed shipping container. Within, two men quickly started their work, utterly perplexed by our straight locks. I soon closed my eyes, enjoying the attention, the pampering and the soft scratching along the back of my neck. When they opened again, half-a-dozen men stood in the glassless window, drawn by the spectacle of these two white men. Andrew was charged three times more than I. His sparse arrangement of hair certainly did not merit the surcharge.  

Two doors down, we descended once again for a cup of Buna. The freshly roasted coffee resembled the most artisan roasters, acidic yet fruity and sweet. The purveyor tossed incense to the fire, actually just the actual bark of a tree, and dropped a tiny herb that wafted a spectacular scent. We rose and continued. During our stroll, certain people greeted us with exuberance: a small child ran to give us both “five” before running back to her mother; another child shouted “you, you, you”, then another, and then another shouted the same farther along; a tall woman told Andrew, in a very deliberate manner, “You are beautiful”. She did not stop and passed without saying more.

In the final moments of our walk, we saw a group of monkeys. White faced and nimble, they traversed the sketch of unfinished buildings. I have seen far too many documentaries, been to far too many zoos, and have lived far too many years to have been excited. Yet, against my will, excitement childishly welled within me. Pure wonderment, or even awe, besotted me and I bubbled over. Poor Andrew had to endure this for the rest of the evening, and the pure exuberance has yet to subside.