Today I Am Ethiopian

Malaku gave me a lift into Kampala today, which despite his scary driving is better that sitting cramped in a matatu taxi.  He is Ethiopian.  While he is checking into his hotel I sit in the fanciest cafe I have been to in Uganda.  I ordered a black coffee whilst I waited and it was the most disgusting thing I have ever had.  Malaku tasted it when he came down and he too was horrified, I can’t actually believe he paid for it, I refused.  He couldn’t stop laughing as I told the staff it was undrinkable and they should improve their standards.  My rant about the coffee was probably due to the fact that I hadn’t had one all day so to taste that vile poison was disappointing and had obtained my ire.   Malaku invited me for a real Ethiopian coffee in the Ethiopian Village.  It was strange for me to be in Uganda but feeling like I was in Ethiopia.  The coffee was strong and bitter but with a bit of sugar was sensational.  And the people were so welcoming, the owner of the cafe invited me back for lunch anytime, I will definitely be taking him up on that offer as the smells were so inviting, the spices filled my nostrils and made my stomach grumble and groan.   It didn’t take much for Malaku to convince me to join him for lunch at his friends place.  For cultural Ethiopian food he said.  Sold I thought.  So I cancelled my other plans and drove with him through Kabalagala to a house in the suburbs.

There was about twenty small children playing out front and they were excited to see a mzungu as they shook my hands with affection and stared at me wide eyed with fascination that only small children have.  The matriarch of the household greeted me warmly and implored me to feel at home, she is a large, heavy-set woman with a beautiful aura of warmth and love.  Even as she yelled at the small girl sitting on me she still radiated a lovely nature that I have not come across before.  Malaku had taken his car to be washed and left me in my new home with a smell of incense and spices.  That smell again, the spices, it made my stomach ache with hunger, my tastebuds were dancing with anticipation as I awaited the arrival of Abel and Malaku and of course food!  Oh glorious food, my tummy was reminding me that I had not eaten since the night before and it is now almost 1 o’clock in the afternoon.  The night prior I had eaten at a local cafe with John and Comfort, traditional Ugandan food of course.  Beef boil and sweet potatoes...one of my favourite Ugandan dishes.  I live for sweet potatoes, which unfortunately are scarce in my village and have become a bit of a treat for me.  Oh when will the people and the food arrive, I am meeting a friend at 2.30pm and I think I could start eating my own hand if I put some of those spices on it.  Some more Ethiopians arrived and I greeted them all and within about two seconds I forgot their (for me) difficult names.  We proceeded with the traditional “where are you from?  Wow that is a long way away” conversation.  Most Ethiopians unlike most Ugandans do not confuse Australia with Austria.  So the usual “no I am not European” conversation did not occur.  Malaku and Abel have arrived and people began to sit at the table, my stomach began praying food would arrive soon.  Yes, this story is about my stomach.  The prospect of eating was controlling my every thought, my every movement was fuelled by the smells permeating the air.  I was trying to move as little as possible to conserve energy and I kept thinking oh please don’t let me make a fool of myself by stuffing myself in front of these nice people.  When the food came out I thought I was about to have a mild stroke, hmmmm.....raw meat.  I forgot that this was traditional Ethiopian fare.  The men started eating first and encouraged me to try some, I tentatively took a small bite forgetting that eating with your left hand was inappropriate and garnered some strange looks.  I suppose because I’m foreign I am forgiven and I continue to scoop the injera made from rice flour and the raw meat with lots of chilli powder together and eat with the gusto of someone who hasn’t seen food for a long time.  To my surprise the raw meat was actually pretty tasty.  Really tasty.  Was this my desperate stomach in love or was it actually fantastic?  Then came the cooked goat meat drowning in chilli.  I haven’t eaten better food in a very long time as I text my friend and change our meeting time once again.  After eating we take a coke and I sit quietly as the men converse in an Ethiopian language that I naturally do not understand.  But I was enjoying myself and the reprieve from conversation was very welcome as I silently reminded myself to head to the chemist and buy some de-worming pills when I eventually left.  Time now for the boona!  The Ethiopian traditional coffee or boona feels like a sacred rite into which I am warmly invited to attend.  We entered another room with mattresses lining the floor around the walls and pine needle leaves strewn all around the floor.  After removing our shoes and entering the room our ever friendly host brings in a big incense burning thing-a-ma-jig and the room is filled with a pungent sandlewood aroma.  She then poured the strong, sweet coffee into small cups and we drink whilst chewing on miraa (a natural stimulant, leaves of the miraa bush) and chew on ground nuts to disguise the bitter taste.  It is coming to three o’clock and I am light headed from the miraa and coffee.  I really had to go and meet Maria...