oh shit! butterflies? not again!

Tomorrow I am supposed to start a new class for health officers. Actually, it would have been today if Gilgel Gibe II had not come through for me: there was no power and class had to be postponed.

I can’t help but get butterflies every time I am about to start a new class after some time – time in this case could mean a day- off. I am sure I am going to make a mess of it tomorrow.

But fuck it! Who the hell cares? As a matter of fact I do, very much. But I can’t seem to see in myself the improvements I want to see. I so want to be excellent at least at two things – one of them being teaching. As I have tried to point out somewhere somewhen in this blog, I already have two (not three, thank you) white hairs in my beard and my hairline is receding to the notice of everyone; and I have nothing to show for it.

So I am thinking, what would be the perfect song for the moment? Why, of course, this!

That’s some hot Darwinian shit right there!

Lately I’ve been listening to a lot of Nas, Sade, Miles Davies and Herbie Hancock. The first two,  I am starting to dig even more than I used to. And the last two, I hope the grey hairs could at least be interpreted as having come from a “knowledge of various types of music and artists” 😆

One

Pray for me sinners

The morning after

 I think things went well. Now calm descends and various degrees of calm are expected until I am right back at it next week.

You know, I tried to tell that worn out joke of biochemists, the one about death being in accordance with the second law of thermodynamics. I was not able to detect any smiles and I had to settle for a smirk of my own. Maybe they did not get it Or maybe death stops sounding funny after a certain age. I have already mentioned that I have gotten old. But the majority of the class is older than me.

So I get out of class right? And I am on my way to you. This student asks me if I am the civics teacher. I say “sorry, I am not” and get on my way.

How things you should have said and done come to you ten days after the moment has passed! My reply should have been “no I am not. But I know a civics teacher whom as a matter of fact I have been eyeballing a lot lately. Let me get her for you”.  I, then  should have gone to where I suspect where her office is, find her and tell her that … just a crazy thought.

Whatever happened to timihirt bet?

and

migb bet? (in a café and restaurant)

 Please read this from One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez

… They were cousins. They had grown up together in the old village that both of their ancestors, with their work and their good habits, had transformed into one of the finest towns in the province. Although their marriage was predicted from the time they had come into the world, when they expressed their desire to be married their own relatives tried to stop it. They were afraid that those two healthy products of two races that had interbred over the centuries would suffer the shame of breeding iguanas. There had already been a horrible precedent. An aunt of Úrsula’s, married to an uncle of José Arcadio Buendía, had a son who went through life wearing loose, baggy trousers and who bled to death after having lived forty-two years in the purest state of virginity, for he had been born and had grown up with a cartilaginous tail in the shape of a corkscrew and with a small tuft of hair on the tip. A pig’s tail that was never allowed to be seen by any woman and that cost him his life when a butcher friend did him the favor of chopping it off with his cleaver. José Arcadio Buendía, with the whimsy of his nineteen years, resolved the problem with a single phrase: “I don’t care if I have piglets as long as they can talk.”

So they were married amidst a festival of fireworks and a brass band that went on for three days. They would have been happy from then on if Úrsula’s mother had not terrified her with all manner of sinister predictions about their offspring, even to the extreme of advising her to refuse to consummate the marriage. Fearing that her stout and willful husband would rape her while she slept, Úrsula, before going to bed, would put on a rudimentary kind of drawers that her mother had made out of sailcloth and had reinforced with a system of crisscrossed leather straps and that was closed in the front by a thick iron buckle. That was how they lived for several months. During the day he would take care of his fighting cocks and she would do frame embroidery with her mother. At night they would wrestle for several hours in an anguished violence that seemed to be a substitute for the act of love, until popular intuition got a whiff of something irregular and the rumor spread that Úrsula was still a virgin a year after her marriage because her husband was impotent. José Arcadio Buendía was the last one to hear the rumor.

“Look at what people are going around saying, Úrsula,” he told his wife very calmly.

“Let them talk,” she said. “We know that it’s not true.”

So the situation went on the same way for another six months until that tragic Sunday when José Arcadio Buendía won a cockfight from Prudencio Aguilar. Furious, aroused by the blood of his bird, the loser backed away from José Arcadio Buendía so that everyone in the cockpit could hear what he was going to tell him.

“Congratulations!” he shouted. “Maybe that rooster of yours can do your wife a favor.”

José Arcadio Buendía serenely picked up his rooster. “I’ll be right back,” he told everyone. And then to Prudencio Aguilar:

“You go home and get a weapon, because I’m going to kill you.”

Ten minutes later he returned with the notched spear that had belonged to his grandfather. At the door to the cockpit, where half the town had gathered, Prudencio Aguilar was waiting for him. There was no time to defend himself. José Arcadio Buendía’s spear, thrown with the strength of a bull and with the same good aim with which the first Aureliano Buendía had exterminated the jaguars in the region, pierced his throat.

That night, as they held a wake over the corpse in the cockpit, José Arcadio Buendía went into the bedroom as his wife was putting on her chastity pants. Pointing the spear at her he ordered: “Take them off.” Úrsula had no doubt about her husband’s decision. “You’ll be responsible for what happens,” she murmured. José Arcadio Buendía stuck the spear into the dirt floor.

“If you bear iguanas, we’ll raise iguanas,” he said. “But there’ll be no more killings in this town because of you.” …

I am proud to be a Christian

I believe in God, I am a Christian, and it’s the best thing that happened to me.

etc

and the remices:

  • In Ba Da, fithat is held on the streets. I am not sure if it is carried out in addition to the traditional yebet wisT fithat or if it is a replacement. One bright morning last week, our bajaj passed through two such events. I thought about taking pictures in case you did not believe me. But it would have been in bad taste if I did that and moreover, the pictures I usually take are not that good as is evidenced by the picture below:

That is my soy sauce (say hi). I am finally beginning to figure out which kinds of food it works best with (instead of daring/tricking everyone into having a taste and exclaiming how salty it is). Soooooo, like I said, that is my soy sauce. What about it? Let’s have a closer look:

Okay, I know you cannot see the fine print so let me read it for you. Under ingredients it has: extract of soy beans, wheat flour, salt and etc. ETC! So when you buy this stuff, it is understood that it may contain whatever and should one die having consumed it, one’s relatives could not bring up charges on the manufacturer because the manufacturer had already told the deceased (may he/she rest in peace) that the product could contain anything – and I mean anything ranging from nuclear to industrial to agricultural wastes.

Lower on the label it says consume before and then no date. I am not sweating that too much though, because the idea is the product is best before so and so month and year, right? And that is a long way before turning worst; I mean we have better, good, bad, and worse. I am not going to balk at something because it is better or good. And if it is bad, I would not want to push my luck because it could get worse. And if it worse,… you know where I am going with this

  • I have a packet of salt with the name woff and the picture of a butterfly ❓
  • saw this commercial on TV where some brat is playing video games with his brat pal, the visiting  brat spills something on the clothes of  the resident brat, and he goes to his mom who is washing clothes outside and shows her the clothes and she adds them to the pile with 60 watts of smile on her face.

Bullshit!

Don’t you hate the kinds of soap commercials that seem to imply that learning could be achieved only through dirtying yourself in the process? Okay, that may be so. But tell me which mother would take lightly the case of a child who has dirtied his clothes – which by the way she may have washed the day before – doing this and that “educational” shit? For all we know, the mother in the commercial was thinking to herself “meche yihen libs cherishe woT mesrat bejemerku” before her son pops up to wreck the day. That ain’t nothing to smile about. In fact that just may be the last straw on the mother and she is more likely to stop the washing and break down and cry.

And I hate to see mothers cry.

Here are two scenarios which I think would be more real

one – kid comes and shows his mother the clothes and she slaps him on the face giving out sparks. And the voice over would go “spark:  for justified washing”. The mother would now have real smiles on her face all the while threatening her son – which she now has by the ear – “endalchemirilih!”

two – kid comes and shows his mother the clothes and she takes him by the head gives him a nice dip in the safa. Deep is dope!

One

Remember those nights when you had to stay up late cramming while the rest of the family is sound asleep, and feeling like the most unfortunate person in the world? Well, I do. Putting this situation in terms of bigger matters, there are people in dire straits while I am feeling fine or even rotten by my own standards.

I try to keep my prayers simple and focused on the basics. And more often than not, I forget the basics are others.

So here is a sort of resolution. From now on, at any given time of the day, should I be in the prayer mode, I will try to ask the Lord to remember people who happen to be struggling, whoever they may be and wherever they may be on the planet earth at that moment.

Berbere

It’s been a while since I run out on this powder potion. Thanks to my mom, I got one today.

It was delivered to my office. It’s good to see “ye etopia” package among piles of stuff when you least expect anything remotely related to Ethiopia … leave alone something big and hard core with big Amharic letters. To be exact, Geez script.

First thing after coming home, unpacking.

And put some in a used Nescafe bottle

Bilugn bilugn ayilm? So I warmed up two kita’s,

spread some Anchor butter,

and grated cheese over it

are you still reading? Sorry, I no longer have pictures of it. But the ending is good (not from the kita’s side of course).

Right. Now I need to stop telling people I have lots of berbere.

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