is she moving in ?!!!??!

Dear Reader

There is a girl. Met her couple of years ago when I came first to Bahir Dar – got introduced through a mutual friend. One day last year, she says she wants to spend the holiday at my place since I was going home and she wasn’t. I acquiesce to her request and make sure to leave her a clean sheet (I use a single sheet and a blanket or a comforter as the case might be. It is Ba Da after all.)

I come back to find nice changes around the room. Most prominent and creative change of all, she has used the colorful sheet as drapery for the cushioned bench my landlord was kind enough to leave where it was. I say, wow! Had ribosomal RNA been a female, it would have been able to synthesize more proteins from a single transcript of messenger RNA.

Our little ritual continues. I leave her the keys on some weekends; go to work; she comes and kicks it; the bed is always made (how I hate that!); room is always clean; touch ups here and there; she would be gone and dinner would be awaiting me when I come back in the evenings. Picture me, approaching the biret dist with great expectations and never being disappointed. She even takes pains to name the mini teddy bear that I stole from my niece (hey, don’t judge me!) Naming her never crossed my mind. In the mornings I would go: “hey, YOU! Keep an eye out for the mice!”

Getting back to the food part, last week a relative and her friend tried to play the role of the girl, and poorly at that. Half a loaf of bread was what was waiting for me. Of course, they had brought bananas. But bananas and bread -I think I could have handled that just fine!

Especially at this time, when I am dreading and dodging the responsibility of having to cook for myself, when nights would find my friend and I roaming the streets, looking for some place to dine under the pretext that fish is good for the brain, taking care of my stomach would go a very long way to win my heart, and dick. I can feel my stomach running up and down, breathless and out of breath, lobbying the aforementioned organs.

So yesterday, it was one of those days. But when I hit the lights, what I saw scared the shit out of me. Mouth agape; keys dropped on the floor. She has left her notes and her mobile charger -she is going to come back tomorrow!

The notes. Yes, she is a student. Not my student. Anyways, thank you very much; I know the rules regarding extracurricular activity involving female students and male faculty: not allowed unless their sexual union holds great promise for a lasting relationship, as seen through the third eye of the faculty, a.k.a. his dick slit.

But I mean, I never led her on or anything. Just tried to be there when she wanted me to. Tried to keep our friendship Platonic, Aristotelian even.

Or maybe I am just imagining it. Then again, those of a zoological persuasion might say that she has done marked her territory when I tell them that, as per usual, the room was redolent of her perfume.

Yesterday’s dinner, it was more than a dinner. She did not put a love potion in it, if that’s what you are thinking (or is that what I am thinking?” What I meant was that it was enough for dinner and breakfast. Perhaps a way of saying “Now, wouldn’t that be nice? Go on and admit it! You like it!”?


Equipped as I am with the powerful tool of hindsight, dare I surmise that that of the sheet from the second paragraph had the connotation “You have seen what I can do with sheets. Try and imagine what I can do between them!”?

Oooooo weeeeeee!

Maybe the library was closed.

Maybe after her recent bout of malaria, she has realized that life is short and decided to go for it, stand up guy that I am. Stand up guy who does not get a clue/ reads too much into situations.

So dear reader, having divulged to you these happenings in my life, what I ask you is this: is she moving in? Or has she already?

Thank you!

PS She has also left a hair pin behind and I am wracking my brain trying to find out what that means. Is she bent on doing something? Or is my life about to take a u turn?


having trouble deciding…


13 years of report card





an experiment (gone horribly wrong)

Wake up in the morning and send a text to six of my siblings and friends -“the best day ever!”
Their replies: “why?”; “what’s new?”; “are you talking about yesterday or …?”
My replies: can’t remember; they are in the inboxes of the respective people. But they are to the effect of “just because”; “every new day is the best day ever’’; “she is sleeping right next to me, do you want to talk to her? ¡”
One of them even goes  as far as to insinuate “zare qenu des sil bilew endemitsfut aynet mehonu new? ¡”, belittling my little “original” idea.
My response: “Licho!!!!!!!!”
Another one suggests that I am on yeBahir Dar CHat

Then a plate full of my breakfast tumbles over the table. Ever mindful of hygiene, I eat that part of the food which has not touched the ground (microbes hanging on for dear life and shit)
I text the same people again “shit has went down; but it still is the best day ever!”
Them: “sorry, but it does not look that way!”; “dude, slow down!”
Next morning
My glasses get entangled in the straps  of my apron and I am left to rue why I did not take my glasses off before wearing the apron -like I usually do.
The same people are bombarded with a message of the same tone: “my glasses are broken. but it still is the best day ever!”
But my conviction is wavering by then; the letters of my texts are all wavy.
The people: “you on drugs?!”; condolences; taunts; suggestions of optometrists.
No, I am on life, baby!
Checked out the shops, writing this post wearing glasses smeared with Amir.

Spent the day recounting this tale, with special guest appearances from  anecdotes such as,  my unrequited first grade (in both senses of the word) crush on the ninth grader friend of my sister’s; and how it went on to  adversely affect  my love life for years to come; and how I ended up cooking scrambled eggs for myself  (I would like to believe that I am a feminist btw), my uniform breaking my glasses in the process; and how the name of my crush is Mestawot

I just hope that my ordeals have ended, at least for the time being. Assuming bad things (and good things) come in threes, that’s  three mishaps on the trot, counting the shoes on fire.


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