Addis Ababa Noir by Maaza Mengiste

Author:Maaza Mengiste
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Akashic Books
Published: 2020-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

Of the Poet and the Café

by Girma T. Fantaye

Beherawi Theater

There wasn’t a single day Woubshet didn’t wake up at dawn grumpy. His neighbors to the left and right of his rented room were like law-appointed alarm clocks: the loud prayers of the woman who just recently converted from Orthodox Christianity to Pente, and the ear-piercing music blasted by the banker who sang along in hopes of drowning the woman’s prayers, woke Woubshet up each morning. On top of everything, the landlord’s cow also contributed to the cacophony by making strange loud sounds: either it was protesting being milked or declaring a longing for its calf.

But today, he awoke to the sounds of a fire truck, the I am coming for you declaration passing through the area. He sat up on the edge of his bed, trying to open his eyes. He sent his legs to the floor in search of his slippers. He couldn’t find them. He couldn’t remember where he had thrown them the previous night.

He knew he had slept in. How could he have slept this much on this day? On this special day! Angry with himself, he made his way to his shelf in search of his watch. It read 9:30. As he had feared, he was late. He dressed quickly, and hurried his way up Africa Avenue toward Abyot Square. His rushed movements made it look like he was being chased by an angry ostrich.

His long legs felt the strains of fatigue, and couldn’t satisfy his heart’s desire to travel faster, but his long strides sufficed in swallowing up the road quickly enough. After passing the Flamingo restaurant, he paused briefly, looking at churchgoers dressed in white, walking up and down the stairs of St. Estifanos Church.

He bent his head in the direction of the church, crossed himself, said, “Help me spend a good day, hold back my enemies, my Father,” to St. Estifanos, and then went on his way. He walked by Addis Ababa Stadium toward Churchill Avenue.

He slowed his pace. He realized that he was sweating when he got to Ras Hotel from Churchill Avenue. From the left pocket of his wide coat, he took out a blue handkerchief and smiled to himself as he dabbed the perspiration from his face. He could sense it was going to be a good day—Roha Café would be filled with excitement. He couldn’t even remember the last time a poetry night was held at Roha Café. It must have been over ten years ago. Renowned and esteemed poets, homegrown critics, journalists scouting for gossip, actors whom he saw daily enjoying the morning sun at Beherawi Theater would all come.

From Ras Hotel, he started moving at an even slower pace. He put his hands on his shirt to check that his collar was placed properly under his sweater. He then glanced down at his shoes and noticed that they weren’t clean. He called out to the listero boys sitting in the sun across the main road. A listero in his midteens came sprinting toward him.

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