Pt 2: The World of Addis Ababa

Now What Will You Do With Your Luck?

In December of 2023 I embarked on a 20 day trip to Ethiopia after not being back for 25 years. The revelations that followed suit have arrested me. This is Part 2 of a series dissecting my identity as an Ethiopian-American called “Now What Will You Do With Your Luck?”

Click here to read Part 1 -

It’s hard for me to explain to you everything. Some moments explode with so much life you can only start by picking up a few pieces. These are the pieces I was able to scavenge. I hope it’s enough for you to understand how it has changed me.

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Addis Ababa, Ethiopia (2023)

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We touched down at Bole International Airport and all was calm. It was 6:30 am and the airport was dreamlike and quiet. Nearly empty outside of our plane’s passengers spilling through the halls. The sky a waning pink growing into the gold daylight of morning. We exited outside and into pure serenity.

As we waited for our hotel shuttle amidst chatting taxi drivers, I watched the Ethiopian Airlines flight attendants file out briskly from the airport. Dressed in forest green skirt suits, dark sunglasses, and furious red lipstick — they were icons. They carried the air of a time before. A type of yesteryear. I ogled at them wondering where they were heading.

As we waited, my ear hazily pulled me in different directions. Instinctively looking around as if to respond to my parents speaking in Amharic. But it wasn’t my parents. It was everyone else. The language was everywhere.

Our shuttle arrived and as we packed our insane number of bags into the car, I eagerly awaited what it would be like to descend into the city.

Immediately we entered it all.

Even at 7am the city was packed. Droves of people walking. Cars swerving lawlessly through rush hour traffic. The city was alive and bright. We passed immense, modern buildings smashed together with dilapidated shack like entities. There was barely an ounce of free space. I was thrilled. I loved bustling cities. It reminded me of how it felt to be in New York. How I could feel the energy of all the people. It made me excited. I didn’t expect Addis to have this much movement.

It felt like a raucous dream.

As I awoke later that night and inspected myself in the mirror, I noticed something might have changed. Perhaps, something clicked into place. My skin felt perfect. My hair felt moisturized. I felt innately designed for this climate. I grew excited for whatever soft realizations this trip had for me.

Yet, through each passing day it dawned on me, Addis Ababa is not a soft city.

✴

Addis Ababa is a city that places you inside its mouth. You lay on its wet tongue, stare at its pointy, glistening teeth, and hope it won’t chomp. But it doesn’t. It keeps its mouth ajar.

I learned during these days to sit in the mouth of Addis.

The sheer amount of people in the city stunned me. Just absolutely floored me. Everywhere there were people traveling by foot. Or stuffed into buses and small vans. Everywhere people sprawling. Five million people live in Addis and I felt like I could see all of them. My parents were even in awe. In astonishment of how many more people now lived in the city. They said back then it wasn’t like this.

On one corner you would see all walks of life. A mother breastfeeding her child on the ground. Three teenagers without shoes sharing a plate of food. A serious businessman man taking a call. Young women dancing the eskista. Salesmen waving mops at car windows motioning to buy their cleaning supplies. And everywhere, just everywhere, the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen.

It was like stepping back in time. Different points of human history revealing depending on where you glanced. Some glances might have been from 400 years ago. Wild animals grazing, simple churches risen from the land, and elders hauling branches on their backs. There we reached humanity at its root. Its purest essence: nature, spirituality, and community.

Through the city center it was more modern and cosmopolitan. Luxury hotels barricaded by guards, ornate parks, and business centers. Yet, still, this feeling of being in yesteryear.

For the most part, it felt like we were somewhere in the 90s or just after. The cars, due to import regulations were from nearly a decade ago or longer. Sparkling brand new cars were jostled in but were not the majority. Thick black smoke would excrete from older cars filling the air with smog. Little rickshaws known as “Bajajs” scurried around. Each a bright azure blue splashed with their own unique collages. Some featured imagery of Lionel Messi, Jesus Christ or Mickey Mouse. Each gave the energy of a teen decorating their locker.

The insanity of the driving was spectacular. In the midst of the road were horses, wild dogs, donkeys, cars driving in the opposite direction, people tapping on your windows to sell you sunglasses, or t-shirts, or ask for money. We even saw one man lying down on the side of a highway onramp. His body mere inches away from revolving tires. Multiple times I saw young men texting while directing workhorse carriages. A mosh of eras.

The traffic was mind-bending. Leave the house at the wrong time and you’d find yourself in a standstill for nearly hours. And the roundabouts, my god. If you could even call them that. During intense traffic they would oscillate into a misshapen whirlpool of vehicular madness. I’d take a deep, solemn breath in anticipation as our driver made his way in. As cars sandwiched in all around us. It was so unreal I entered hypnotic shock. I had no idea how our driver would get us across. Yet, he did it every time. Always keeping conversation with us. Not a sweat broken. Meanwhile, I was near passing out in the backseat.

Traffic laws were just virtually non-existent. Stoplights were even a rarity. Only certain parts of town were blessed with that infrastructure. Yet, for the insanity of the driving, the road rage was quite mild. People didn’t scream out of their windows and honks weren’t so blaring. The city, in all of its chaos, was quite calm. It kind of reminded me of myself.

When the traffic was less fraught, I actually enjoyed being in the car. It allowed me a certain distance to be able to really take everything in. I used that time survey the world around me.

✴

When you’re finally in a place where everyone looks like you, you would think it would feel astonishing. Stirring. Ecstatic. But it didn’t. My DNA felt used to it.

It’s the being in a place where very few people look like me that's unfamiliar. That causes my thought patterns to disrupt and arm itself with self-protection. Racism is the state which is not normal to me. It shockingly felt quite normal to have everyone look like we were related. Even though I had hardly experienced a feeling to this scale before.

I thought of all the ways my life would have been different if I was born in Ethiopia.