What I learned from the shoe-shine boy and thank you, lord, for cobbled roads.

Lately I’ve been suffering a mild depression. Don’t worry, I’m keeping close tabs. Among other things, I’ve been dwelling on the fact that my Amharic sucks and I’m losing most of what I learned during pre-service training at an alarming rate. Or, so I thought.

I’d just filled my belly with Foul (pronounced “Fool”) and coffee  and was walking back down the hill, eyeing the many shoe shine boys thinking I should get my poor shoes polished as they looked a mess but thinking I’d pass if I didn’t see one that looked honest (run on sentence, anyone?). As I passed, one of them beckoned me to come. He must have been alarmed at the extent of my shoe neglect. “Don’t judge me.” I thought, “I live on a dirt road and have walked in miles of mud.” I paused, looked down at my feet, and decided to go for it, so I sat down on the bench and watched him get to work on my Mary Janes.

As expected, being a giant white lady sitting at the side of the main road, I caught folks’ attention and became the topic of conversation. I listened for bits and pieces of conversation that I actually understood. One of them cracked a joke about serving a foreigner. I laughed with them. They looked to me with amused astonishment, their minds visibly being blown at the fact that I understood their banter. A fellow who was obviously friends with the kid shining my shoes sat down on the bench next to me and started asking me the generic questions habisha (locals) ask when they discover I speak Amharic.

“You speak Amharic?”

“How do you find Ethiopia?”

“How do you find Assella?”

“What is your country?”

 “What is your work?”

“Where do you work?”

“Do you know Oromifa?”

“Do you have a mobile phone?”

“Can I have your phone number?”

And all of these, to my surprise, I was able to answer in broken, but adequate, Amharic. I sat there, quite pleased with myself, a silly grin on my face. The conversation turned to what was happening at my feet, and still, I was able to follow, understand, and discuss. I was actually having a real conversation. I am bad-ass! Thank you shoe shine boy, for calling me forth and re-acquainting me with some of the confidence I feared had been lost forever.

With my beautifully polished shoes I paid the boy 3 more Birr than was owed him, and told him that he was very clever and that my shoes were beautiful (all in Amharic, mind you), and started back down the hill.

Now that my shoes were beautified I started fretting the fact that I have to walk up a dirt road covered with red, volcanic, dusty, dirt.

“Crap!” I thought, “Why does god hate shiny shoes?” I succumb to the inevitable re-dirtying of my shoes. But, wait! Look! Only half my road is dirt now! The road workers have been hard at work cobbling my street! Oh, beautiful cobbles! I love you! I will marry you and have little cobble babies!

I tread lightly until I reach the cobbled bit of road and proudly step up onto the cobbles. I admire it, and inside I thank the cobble layers for working so quickly. My whole street will be cobbled in no time. I can tread proudly along the cobbled road with my shiny shoes without fear of mud or dust. Thank you, powers that be, for the invention of the cobble!

On an unrelated note, I’ve been sneezing a lot today and I fear I will be consumed by a cold before the day is through. I have boogers. Not that you need to know that.

I wonder how you’d say that in Amharic.