Magical Collision - Part One

Two very different occasions serendipitously occurred on the same night this year and I had the chance to take part in them: the start of Ramadan and the celebration of the Ethiopian new year.

I met LemLem's sister, ie the sister of my Ethiopian family in Seattle. After meeting on a random corner in Maadi, I was whisked off to a celebration the dawning of the year 2000 in Ethiopia year with hugs and touches and mutterings of "thanks god". LemLem's sister Sefrework, though she's actually one year older, looks like a younger more vibrant version of her, wearing her hair in lovely curls and dressing in tight jeans and a cute t-shirt. I guess that's the difference that three kids and living in a refugee camp will make.

I've never seen so many gorgeous looking women -- all with their hair in curls, some wearing their hair with two small braids drawn tightly across their forehead and draped with small gold chains or cowry shells. I kick myself for not bringing a camera.

We sat watching people celebrate the new year (in their calendar, the year is now 2000...some delayed Y2K scares...) on the Ethiopian channel until it stopped broadcasting at 11 pm Ethiopian time, and then tucked in to a wonderful meal complete with injera and a variety of different spicy meaty sauces. Afterwards I showed people pictures of LemLem and the girls on my iPod and had pictures taken of me and LemLem's sister.

We hopped on a series of microbuses going from Maadi to Dokki, each time crossing a busy intersection with Sefrework holding onto my arm to protect me. Chatting with her sister, it becomes apparent that she does not know why her sister left Ethiopia in the first place – that she went to be with Tesfaye who is now her husband, that he left because he was in the military of the previous government and his life was threatened. I was telling her some things, but wondered if LemLem didn’t have her reasons for keeping some of this information secret.

We arrived at her house in Dokki and up the stairs we went to their house, "let's do some sport", she said.

She lives in a house with three other women who all clean houses in Cairo. The apartment is decked out in Jesus paraphernalia, from a life-size poster of Jesus covered in flashing Christmas lights to small framed pictures of Jesus, to black Jesus.

We sat forcing down bread after the wonderful feast we had before and then they had the brilliant idea to dress me up in the white Ethiopian Christmas/New Years/Easter wear, complete with white high heels and take turns posing with me in front of life-size Jesus as well as the pouring Ethiopian coffee. I remember vividly walking into LemLem’s apartment and finding her squatting on the living floor roasting coffee beans on a single burner, smoke everywhere, the fire alarm covered with a plastic bag.

”You want to call LemLem?”

I haven’t talked to LemLem in over a year. When I left for Jordan she was crying and upset that I was leaving and her two girls, then 4 and 7, did not understand that when I left their apartment that day, it meant I would not see them for quite some time. We went to the public library to set up a gmail account, logging in over and over again and sending emails to my account that said “hi annika. This is lemlem”. But once I got to Jordan, nothing.

I hear her voice on the phone, sounding so quiet and small. So young sounding, for a brief second I thought it was her 7 year old daughter. “Annika, I love you Annika. The girls are asking about you. It was Bathlehem’s birthday on the 4^th of July and she kept asking where you were”.

We talked for a while longer about her baby who needs heart surgery in a few months and her own health conditions which does not sound good. She had a surgery after giving birth two months ago and has not been the same since.

I sat on the couch after hanging up the phone laden with heavy knowledge. I thought about why I hadn’t tried harder to contact them while I was in Jordan or Cairo, why I hadn’t visited them when I went home for a week in February. About why I’m the worst godmother ever to Achille & Magdelene’s baby in Cameroon. I’ve been carrying this feeling of guilt around all morning.

The clock strikes midnight and I’m back to normal me. Ethiopian dress comes off, heels come off and there I go, on my way to celebrate Suhoor, the last meal before fasting begins for Ramadan…