Twice in the last month or so I have tried to write a particular entry. Continuously I have failed to be satisfied with what came out. It was sparked by a couple things. First was an email from a friend Tammy. She asked what I missed from home, later she clarified her intention. She wanted to be able to notice things she overlooked. A while later I got another email. Roz and I were bragging on one of my coworkers. I realized part of what makes her so incredible is that she is always attentive to the positive. So now I'll try the entry from a different direction.
One of my coworkers puts me to shame. She has a love for this people and this place that I have yet to completely take hold of. She has wonderful relationships with nationals. They love her...not just because she is white (a.k.a. rich), but because she offers them herself completely. She has a way of seeing the positive in the midst of so many other things. I notice the frustrations, the difficulties; she notices the potential, the beauty.
I have to be honest and say I live in a beautifully ugly city. I'm not sure what else to call it. It is amazing and beautiful; it is desperate and ugly. I am working harder to notice the beauty more than the ugliness.
This afternoon I rode a minibus from one side of the city to the other. I broke a cultural rule and opened the window. The truth is the guy next to me asked me to open it more than the crack I had put in it. When he left, I left it open. I rested my elbow on the frame and my chin on my elbow. I listened and watched and smelled the city.
The money collector on the taxi thought he was funny. He knew enough English to be obnoxious. I laughed with him as he tried to tease me.
We drove through the gigantic Merkato (not sure how to transliterate). It is blocks and blocks of stuff. There are people selling spices; baskets; metal; wood; you name it, it is probably there...somewhere. I quickly noticed a smell. It smelt like kitfo, a national food. It is ground beef in lots of butter...they eat it raw. I had just had it for lunch. I smelt my hands to make sure it wasn't me. Then I smelt the national spice. It is a very hot red spice that smells similar to chilis. Texans would love it!
Around the next corner was a man sitting in front of his metal shop. He was trying to encourage me to come visit. I just sat and smiled and said, "I don't want." Shortly after, we passed a guy driving a taxi car (contract taxi). He yelled something as we drove past and I smiled.
There was a fruit stand. It is a green tent, like army duffle bags. Hanging everywhere was bananas. Oranges and maybe mangos were stacked in high piles. A young girl sat behind the pile hoping to make a profit.
Then came one of the highlights. These taxis run a particular route. When they lose people they stop and wait to fill up again. We were nearly empty; only three of us were left. I made a friend. He was outside the taxi. He was only about three feet tall and probably five or six years old. He wore a bright yellow v-neck sweater with a white shirt underneath. His pants were dark.
He saw me and noticed I saw him. He waved; I waved back and smiled. He stopped looking at me and was playing with his face. He was squeezing his cheeks together pooching his lips out. When he looked by make direction I made the same face towards him...he laughed so hard the young man he was with looked to find me. Then an old man standing near looked to find me too.
My friend and I continued to make faces. We squeezed our cheeks; we dropped our jaw and opened our eyes wide as if we were shocked; we pulled at our ears; we squinted our eyes and pooched out our lips. For several minutes we copied one another. He laughed hysterically...I laughed with him.
The taxi filled; we waved goodbye. At the top of the next hill I saw a park I had never seen before. It was so pretty. How do I miss those things? Why do the beggars tend to stand out more than the beautiful children do? Why do the stinks stand out more than the wonderful odors? Why does the decrepit building stand out more than the blooms on the trees or the beautiful park?
I'm tired of missing out on the joys of this place. I see some of them; I miss many of them. Tomorrow morning I am heading to a mountaintop just outside the city. I want to go and watch and admire the beauty of the country I live in. The most beautiful thing...despite the occasional difficulties, are the wonderful people. They are so incredible!
Not sure you care. Saw an Olympian today or maybe two. There is a movie about this place that gives you great insight into the culture. It is about a guy who grew up in the countryside and eventually became a gold medalist. I was working out today (three times this week...yuck) at the gym he owns. He was there talking to friends. I think another lady may have been an Olympic runner too. I know she was putting this fat white guy to shame. It was kind of neat. (The Olympians, not getting up to shame on the treadmill.)
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Occasional Meanderings of a man Pursuing the Pursuer
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