Injera and The Match, then, How Much Does it Cost to Learn a Lesson Again, then, Matched!

This is a day late. I wrote it yesterday, but am still working on publishing it via Blogger. Ethiopian internet is not astounding in funcitonality. Anyway...

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Greetings from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. I would say it in Amharic, but I have no idea how. Even the word for thank you is about 5 syllables long and rather difficult. I’m writing from an internet café atop a hillside, hidden behind a clothing vendor, in the Piazza district of Addis Ababa. I would never have found it myself, but some nice Rastafarians gentlemen whom I somehow picked up on the street were kind enough to show me.

So basically two big things have happened/will soon happen in my life. First, I’m in Ethiopia. Why – you may ask? Well – one can only eat eggs and French Fries for so many meals…

I kid, but the food was a strong draw. I love Ethiopian food. No one with a tongue loves Kenyan food. Also, I’ve heard nothing but great things about Addis. Also, the women are spectacularly beautiful. Also, did I mention the food? It’s amazing how much your quality of life improves when you enjoy what you’re eating. I’m staying with a nice gentleman named Solomon from Couchsurfing.com and thoroughly enjoying every injera based meal he whips up.

The second big thing is The Match. From when I began to write this entry, I have 4 hours until I find out where I’ve matched, which is to say where I will live, work, train--maybe even sleep--for the next 4 years. I found out on Monday, in Nairobi, that I matched somewhere, though they do not initially tell you where. I figured a change of scenery for the big news was appropriate.

First impressions of Ethiopia -- they drive on the right side of the road, and not all crazy-like. The people are spectacularly friendly. I think that Ernie (my ex-roomie) could pass for an Ethiopian guy -- so long as he didn't speak.

Look out for a Match update in a few hours… Wish me luck…
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Addendum -- so what's happened between 4pm and 6pm?

I would title this entry, if it were separate:

How much does it cost to learn a lesson.
Or
How much does it cost to learn a lesson again.

This afternoon, the answer was 400birr, or roughly 36 dollars. As I was wandering around town, a nice gentleman suggested that, because today was a holiday, if I went to a certain place, I could see traditional dancing. I thought: okay. I went.

Along the way, I got directions from another gentleman -- more than directions, he was walking in the same direction, so he came with me as my guide. He led me to a door in a sheet metal wall which was a bit more sketchy than I would have imagined. I hedged. I slowed. I looked both ways.

When I went through the doors I was greeted by many young 20-something Ethiopians who begged me to come watch them perform traditional Ethiopian dance. Sounds sketchy, right?

Well. I got the back story. They were Ethiopian students, on break from college, and they came to the city on their break to perform traditional dance. Still sounds sketchy, right?

So I ask from outside the door -- How much does it cost? Free. I ask again. Free.

Okay, I come in.

My guide and I sit on couches, while the girls start to perform some wholly unimpressive traditional Ethiopian dancing. Picture fairly normal dancing, but with more shoulder movement. I'm sure the experts are excellent, but experts these were not.

One of the girls sits with me on the couch and I try to get the story, since it still doesn't make sense. So she says that they're brought in by the church (which is huge in Ethiopia) on their vacation, and they do these dances, and if you buy a drink or get a coffee ceremony or whatever, the proceeds go to the church for orphanages (or something). I think -- okay -- overpriced drinks. I can deal with that.

I order a coke. My guide orders something that is yellow and comes in a large unmarked bottle (Tej, traditional Honey Wine). We watch rather uninspired dancing, and different girls come and sit and introduce themselves. They each have fairly convincing back stories -- one studies Marketing. One is a med student. They each name a different home town around Ethiopia. Etc...

Then one says to me -- would you like to buy us some drinks? I think -- okay -- this is gonna be it. I ask -- how much are the sodas? She says, oh -- 10 or 15birr. The conversion is 11birr to the dollar. This means they're way overpriced sodas. Okay. For the church. I can live with it.

How many bottles will you get? Oh -- we will share. How many? We will share. I didn't get a number. There were about 10 girls. I figure, a dollar a girl. Okay, fine. After all, they've been performing mediocre dance for me for like 20 minutes now.

So I agree to buy them drinks. Hurrah's all around! Dancing continues! Moments later out comes a tray filled not with cokes, but with the same bottles of Tej that my guides was drinking, and they were immediately opened, rapidly distributed, imbibed, and enjoyed. I made sure to get myself some Tej along with my Coke, too.

Would I like to buy another round?

Well hold on -- how much was this one? I'll go check.

About 15 minutes later the waiter/proprieter/whoever guy comes back -- you want the bill? Yes.

The bill: 900birr. That's about 80 dollars. 1 coke: 10birr. 12 bottles Tej at 75birr a piece.

So crap.

So here's the question -- how much do I argue? How much do I believe the back story? How much is it my fault? How much money do I actually have on me? What will happen if I refuse to pay?

Here's the thing about all scams I've encountered in the developing world: it's not that you couldn't do anything about it. It's not that you couldn't call the police. It's not that you couldn't make a huge scene. But when you start to think about it, and if you're familiar with how level of functionality of local enforcement agencies, you realize that it's just not worth the hassle. You give in. You rationalize. You take the easier way out. Whether it's 10 dollars in Zanzibar at a traffic stop for not wearing your seatbelt (a friend of mine -- I had learned that lesson in Ghana -- check my very first blog entry), or money for overpriced booze and bad dancing.

I let out a sigh that must have been audible above the Ethiopian music and claps of mediocre dancing that continued around me. Capitulation. I made some small show of objecting -- I was told it was this 10 or 15 a bottle. I was not told how many bottles were coming -- I was told a few would be shared. Blah, blah, blah. This was really just to kill time while I decided how much of a fight to put up and how much to cough up.

Their responses were something like -- you should have asked the price before (I did), you should have asked ME (the proprieter), you should have specified the number of bottles. Whatever.

What it came down to, at least as I presented it, was: I don't have this money. That was somewhat true. I had about 470birr.

We also take dollars! Oh -- well that's very nice of you! I, in fact, travel with a 100$ bill hidden inside my wallet, but no one was getting that without a fight. And I'm scrappy.

I had not told them how much money I had. I was still sighing and staring blankly into a mass of mediocre dancing.

In a surprise move, my guide -- really just some random dude from the street, unless this was WAY better orchestrated than I suspect -- coughed up 200birr.

I pulled out my wallet, which contained 400birr (in 100birr notes, from the ATM this morning), making sure to leave the smaller bills loose in my pocket. I keep smaller bills outside the bill clip so that I don't have to constantly pull my wallet out in public. I made a show of giving him everything in my wallet (excepting the hidden 100$, of course).

Didn't I just have a 20$ bill? Nope.

So that was that! He took the 600birr and called it even. He even thanked me, performing the traditional formal handshake (with left hand to right elbow).

I stood to leave.

The girls, who had been paying no attention to these proceedings, continued to dance, and asked if I was leaving? So soon? Please stay! There was still some Tej left! I considered whether I shoudn't drink every available drop before leaving. Probably bad form.

I left with my guide. I looked over my shoulder. Only a sketchy corrugated metal wall. That was that.

So. The answer is: 30-some dollars. That's how much my lesson cost today.

Were the girls really students? I would still buy it. Was it a scam? Yes and no. Certainly it was designed to bilk visitors from more money than intended, but perhaps it could have been avoided with more scrupulous ordering skills. And I believe that I could actually have come and gone and seen mediocre traditional dancing for free if I had not bought anything. Was the money going to the church? Highly unclear.

I walked home. I could have taken a minibus, as I still had the 70 birr, but I had daylight to kill.

I stopped at the same ATM I went to this morning. Another 500birr withdrawal. For me, in reality, it's just a blip. For whomever has my 400birr, hopefully an orphanage, but even a scam artist and some possibly fake students, it's a lot of money.

Alright -- an hour and 15 min to match!
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The Match:

Yale!

Very Exciting!