Heaven and Hell

If you have money, Adis is amazing. My cousin booked us rooms in a
nice hotel. We have a driver who takes us everywhere. There are
doormen, maids, receptionists and waiters who take care of everything
for us. If you are poor, Adis is not so amazing. The hardest part is
not being able to give money to the people --- it is important to
remember they are people --- who come up asking for help. I gave one
American dollar to a guy who was walking with his hand and scooting
his body across the unpaved, rocky road due to some muscle deformity.
Turns out $1 is 17 birr. In other words, it’s lots of money to have
given him when he might get .25 birr from people if he is lucky. My
cousin told me since I am Somali they would harass other Somalis
thinking they would could the same treatment. I thought I was treating
him like a human being who needed help.

I guess the guy was grateful and told others because this small kid
came to me. My heart broke just looking at him. His shoes were more
gaping holes than plastic, his clothes were dusty and ripped and I
didn’t see any parents around. I was told to not give him money
because he won’t go to school if he knows he can make money begging.
If they had looked away I would have slipped him something. A couple
of dollars is nothing to me but something to that kid. The money in my
pocket felt heavy. I never got a chance to help him out. I really
don’t care if other Somalis are uncomfortable because I gave money to
people who need it. I rather he eat and I sleep well at night.

Adis is like a kid going through puberty. It’s developing quickly in
some places of the city and in other parts it’s still very young.
There is construction everywhere. I think there is a thin layer of
dust in my lungs right now. There are shacks next to huge gated
mansions. The drivers here drive like New Yorkers x 10 and there are
no street lights to manage traffic. Plus, there are jay walkers who are
crazy enough to run in front of speeding cars. Not surprisingly, I
kept my seat belt on the whole time. Most people speak some English and
everything has an English translation. The biggest culture shock,
other than the lack of good infrastructure, is the lack of white
people after living in Georgia my whole life. I can count on my hand
how many I have seen. They stand out. Ironically, my experience of
being “normal” for the first time in my life halfway across the world
has given me perspective in my experiences back in the States. Smiling
and saying hello to people in the streets is apparently a Southern
trait. People just look at me like I’m a crazy woman. Again, just like
New Yorkers. But there is beautiful black people everywhere and
amazing weather so I am not complaining.

I met Somalia's Deputy Prime Minister today. I told him Somalia will
never gain peace or prosperity if it doesn't allow Somali women to
fully engage in government leadership and I would call him when I
graduate from law school in a few years. He laughed, made a joke about
how as a pretty girl it wouldn't be hard for me to find a husband and
asked if I really expected to be a leader in Somalia wearing a hijab.
I set him straight nicely. My parents said not to criticize the
Ethiopian government. They never said anything about Somalia.

What is it about old guys in power trying to crack jokes, making comments about my hijab and talking
about how pretty I am when I question their leadership? It’s not a
successful tactic in avoiding your leadership failures being
questioned.

I’m flying to Dire Dawa (north of Adis) Wednesday afternoon to visit
my cousin’s family. I’m looking forward to meeting his kids but I
really can’t wait until Saturday when I get to finally see my grandma.
Until next time, Love and peace y’all!