With dedication to Estonia from Ethiopia!

I am with my morning coffee and a 0,07 euro stale lentil pasty in a sewer-side cafe. All of male population of Soddo relieves itself in this open sewer ditch without even turning their heads left or right. By the afternoon warm sun has left a specific odour on the streets. Luckily the rain in the night has washed the ditches through and I am eating my pasty with good appetite. The same sewer ditch is the home for the street kids who beg bypassers for bread or birr every chance they get. When in their teens they skillfully offer a luggage carrying service but most of them become cunning pickpockets.

My thoughts stray to those kids whose kip for the night was probably some kind of an alternative cave. After every 20 meters the sewer ditches are covered with 60 cm wide concrete slabs to allow the crossing.
The walls of the cafe are of a ragged sugarbag and rusted tin sheets. For a keen eye with a good imagination it may be assumed that once the tin was a roof. Simply everything that preserves its physical form even a bit is used till the end. At the moment the enormity doesn’t bother me. I don’t even think that eating here might give me some kind of a disease or that I would find a fly in the pastry. Here it doesn’t really matter since to our own experience medical care in case of a gastric disease is more readily available than in Estonia. Even while being in the hospital there has been nothing to complain about.

Everything that usually would disturb my thoughs leaves a dull vague sound in my ears. Faranj, faranj and tens of repetitious hellos like „salamne, danane, salamne…“ do not disturb being alone.
Considering the pace at which buildings pop up, I would never guess it is a developing country. After being away from the capital for a few weeks one can lose their way because buildings up to the size of ten floors have obliviously appeared. Faces of the weary cripples and poor people is a sight which never lets me forget I am in Africa.

Thoughts stray to all friends who have given special merit to being here. Sharing this enormity while being content without complaining. I recall that just a week ago I wept out of an unexplainiable gratitude.
Being able to give is a privilege here and gives you high status. This status is sealed onto white people here regardless how much you have in your pockets.

Unfortunately this giving isn’t voluntary, as we have become accustomed to. It is an obligation and a responsibility. Contrary to our apprehension that giving can only be voluntary and the expression „free will“ are not valid here. The non-stop pestering of the people here demanding for money is ceaseless. Only the gratitude of being born in Estonia can bring us back here time after time!

MERLE