New Flower

The streets of Addis Ababa are alive with the sound of music, chatter, and buna breaks. The jungle of correlated tin looks like it was hastily thrown together in an afternoon, a way to claim your small space in this crowded city of millions, though it's probably been constructed longer than you've been alive.

The small shops only an arms span square hold livelihood. Fruit vendors proudly show their piles of bananas, mangos, oranges, pinapples to those who walk by, trying to convince you that you do indeed need a dozen oranges. You keep walking. If fruit isn't what you need, there is usually a spiral of chut for you to choose from. Marajuana is legal here, so go ahead, escape for a bit. No one on the streets will notice, there's too much going on.

The bright tin of the next store catches your eye, drawn to the general store with shelves of shampoo and toothpaste lined up. She stands behind the counter and fetches what you ask for, confusion arising as pointing seems to be the best option for communicating. Piles of left shoes are stacked on platforms next door, no organization visible to you, but there must be a system of some sort. Clothes are hung on mannequins from steel beams, western style jeans and tops besides traditional Ethiopian dresses. Scarves tempt you, having notice the many ways women here wear them, envious you hadn't thought of some of them yourself.

The streets and sidewalks alternate from dirt to sand to cobble stone to concrete, making your stroll a bit more precarious than before. Following the people in front of you, the path is clearer as you pass body shops and buna shops and basket weavers. A shepherd leads his herd down the street, seeing you and calling out, "Sheep! Buy!" You chuckle -- what would you do with a sheep?

You are approached by an elderly woman with her head wrapped in white cloth; she holds out her hand. You know if you give to her, more will appear. Though your heart is broken, you keep walking. Breifly you consider getting a shoe shine, but your shoes are beyond shinning at this point. You keep walking, small children gaze your direction; your white skin brings amazement. You smile and wave, they suddenly become bashful and run to their mother. Groups of young men call out to you and wave, though you din't know what they are saying. It may be better that way.

You get lost in the street, just going where you feet take you. The people around you smile and nod, watching you as you pass. Never have you felt so conspicouous, so noticed. It is a good experience for you. One last nod to the guard at the gate, leaving the street of Addis Ababa behind locked bars.

The city is called New Flower, and though everything about the city is not new, you are seeing the world with new eyes.