Sometimes, I feel bored and restless. For my boredom, I usually choose walking or writing as a solution.
Today, that restlessness hit me suddenly, so I took myself out of the campus and headed towards Ferensay Legasion (a district name in Yeka Sub-City, Addis Ababa). Usually, when I travel from neighborhood to neighborhood in Addis Ababa, I don’t use transport. Using a taxi is not only a waste of money, but it also deprives me of the many benefits I get from walking. As I was walking briskly, a very lovely little girl caught my eye. Sometimes, I enjoy approaching children I like, greeting them, asking them questions, and telling them things I know. To me, children are better than the youth of this era. They are better than the adults who lose themselves in a world of madness - changing their clothes and personalities without changing their inner thoughts - who sell their sense of shame and buy clothes and habits that only reflect Western culture.
I slowed my pace and reached out my hand toward the car she was leaning against. “How are you, little one?” I said, offering a greeting.
Confused and with a look of fear because she didn’t know me, she stammered, “I… I’m fine.”
Before I could ask, “Are you afraid of me?”, a voice from behind startled me: “Who are you!?” I turned around to see a man in his forties, looking at me with eyes full of fire.
I was shocked. “Do you know this girl? What are you to her?”
I felt like he was about to kill me. “Forgive me, I just wanted to say hello, I don’t know her,” I said, trembling and jumping back a step.
“What! Who do you think you are to say hello to a child you don’t know? You idiot!”
Although I had much to explain, I feared his anger might lead to physical harm, so I started to retreat, saying, “Okay, I’m very sorry.” But he moved closer and said, “Where are you going? Who sent you? Were you told to steal her?”
Fear gripped me tightly. I didn’t know what to answer. In the middle of this, I heard two voices: “Is there a problem?” They were police officers.
“I caught him red-handed trying to steal my child; he’s a thief!” the man shouted.
I don’t remember much of what happened next. I only remember finding myself in front of the Ferensay Abune Gebre Menfes Kidus Church. Though the details weren’t clear to me, I knew I had run away and escaped from the police and the child’s father.
I prayed at the church. After thanking my Creator for snatching me from the teeth of trouble, I turned toward my destination.
There is no need for more evidence of how humans have started looking at each other like wild animals. In the place where I grew up, I used to greet every child I met on the street, kiss them, and if they were doing something wrong, I would advise them before moving on. Regardless of who the family is, greeting a human being shouldn’t be a shame or a crime. The direction this generation is heading is scary. If we raise children isolated from society, seeing no one as their community except their immediate family, I think it will be difficult to tell them tomorrow to “respect your culture and your people.”
After spending some relaxing time with family, I had to return to the campus, so I walked through the evening. On the way, I craved tea as a remedy for both the cold and the sleepiness, so I stepped into a humble tea house - a very narrow roadside shop.
“Is there tea?” I asked first.
“Yes, sit down,” a woman with a Gojjam accent replied. She was wearing trousers that were so tight they looked sewn onto her body, and a T-shirt so short that every time she leaned over, it exposed her waist. I ordered tea and bread. Just as injera isn’t right without wot (stew), tea isn’t pleasant without something to go with it, even though I knew eating bread with tea wouldn’t really fill me up.
She served me and began looking out at the street. A question kept pestering my mind: Why couldn’t she change her style of dress?
Alongside my food and drink, I began an internal argument with myself about her clothing. “Ideally, a person giving customer service shouldn’t wear trousers,” I said to myself. “And if they do, why must they be this tight? Why couldn’t she wear a dress?”
Another part of my heart countered: “Who are you to interfere in someone’s choice? Just because you like dresses, does everyone have to wear them? Are you trying to say ‘My way or the highway’? Even if a person walks naked, as long as they don’t bother you, it’s their right.”
“Does our culture allow it? Or our religion?” I argued back. “At the very least, is it appropriate for a woman’s body to be exposed to everyone’s eyes? Wouldn’t it be better if they wore a dress or something else that covers them?”
The opposing side of my heart replied: “Don’t talk about ‘culture.’ People do what they are used to. Your family might not let a girl wear trousers, but another family might raise their daughter wearing them. So how can you tell that girl her clothing is wrong? Trousers are all she knows. In fact, for a woman raised in trousers since infancy, the mistake would be ‘hiding’ her body in a dress.”
I had no answer for that.
Because her clothing made me uncomfortable, I canceled my plan to eat two pieces of bread. I finished quickly, wishing I hadn’t eaten or drunk at all.
“How much is the bill?” I asked, pulling three ten-birr notes from my pocket.
“Twenty-five.”
I gave her the thirty birr and was waiting for my five birr change when she asked: “Is this all you have?”
Confused, I tried to figure out what she meant. She handed one of the ten-birr notes back to me and said: “If this is all the money you have, twenty birr is enough for me.”
“Oh, I have more!” I said, surprised.
“Do you really have more money?” she asked again.
“Yes, I do.”
I took my five birr change and left.
God will show you a hasty, insulting, and mean person, and then, just as you are criticizing “humanity,” He will show you an extremely kind, thoughtful person who understands others’ problems. He teaches you that below God, hope for a human being is another human being.
Glory to God!