My Village Liquor Store

Dear reader, I will start boring you with a story which is not worth telling but worth reading. Out of forces of nature forcing you to do acts that your mind tells you not to, you sometimes develop habits that you would like to drop as soon as you get started in them.

I had started visiting this village liquor store with a frequency that made my liver complain in two weeks, but I just couldn't quit. Deep in my mind I started developing the assumption that 'drinkers were born, not made'. Up my family tree there was a good number of those who hit the bottle. I had become an addict overnight also thanks to a song Bruno Mars usually sang about liquor stores. But that is not why I share my liquor store experiences. No.

There was this guy whose space was never occupied even if everyone had got information beforehand that he would not come that day. He was the meanest, ugliest, and toughest guy a woman had ever given birth to. He was the most feared man in the little hamlet, only next to God and Lucifer.

It happened that one day, as we were just making merry, tossing for no reason and drinking to every ancestor we imagined we had – and some had quite good imagination, drinking all the way up to Adam and collapsing. Well, it happened that a certain traveller was passing by and was attracted by the noise of the inn and so he had decided to join us. The only unoccupied spot that he could spot was Gui's and so to Gui's spot he took a seat. Even though most of us were too intoxicated, there was still a part of our brains sober enough to advise that stranger that that was a spot where nobody had ever dreamt of sitting on, even in their wildest dreams. He was huge too, about six one, and his biceps were bulging out of his sweater. He had asked us whether the devil himself usually sat there, and we had replied that the devil did not live around that village. Then he had also replied that unless the devil himself sat there, then he would because that was the only man, creature, or whatever race he belonged that he was afraid of. From the tone of the voice he used, people could tell that this man was a match for Gui, and many indeed wished there was a fight so they could enjoy watching.

We got wind that Gui, for Gui was the only name his retarded mother could come up with for her ugly son, had been hit by an auto-rickshaw and that he had bled profusely and gone into a coma. We heard all that on the grapevine and whoever had started it no one really recalls - and so for those who wished for a fight so they could watch only disappointment was seen in their alcohol-beaten countenances. Their disappointment did not last as they drank and forgot about it.

Ashie and myself were drinking a little bit too slowly because both of our livers would cry out every night after the drinks. We both enjoyed the village liquor, served in the village glasses that every lip of every drinking man had kissed. For strange reasons we usually discussed foreign exchange although we had never enough money to buy a single dollar. We stood out from the rest because we had seen the chalkboard and the classroom, as the drunks usually put it. Everybody was deep in conversation by then, most of them too drunk to drink to anyone, and no one noticed the entry of Gui.

Everybody was distracted by the sound of a loud blood-curling scream and when we looked at its origin, we saw a gaping hole in the stranger's scalp with blood all over his face and clothes. Standing next to him was Gui looking as mean as ever. Nobody drank any more. Even those who had drunk to Adam the umpteenth time got on their heels and gave a show that would have been watched with envy by Usain Bolt.

Dear reader, I cannot tell you more than that because I would be forced to lie. From that day I never went back to my village liquor store and in that little village I reside no more. All I hear are rumours that Gui had got arrested and that the rumour about him bleeding and going into a coma had been started by himself and a couple of his friends just to give the drunks a good show. But really if that was his idea of a show, I cannot help but be shocked by how people have got a mean sense of humour.

To Get an Ethiopian Driving Licence if you Have a Foreign One

Guide from Kimani wa Mumbi

If you happen to visit Ethiopia, and you need to drive, you will need your DL changed to the local one. They do not recognise foreign ones or the International DL. Crazy place, isn't it?

I suffered a lot being from Kenya and not living near the capital, I lost a lot of money moving back and forth from Addis to Nazret. 

This is what you do:
First, go to your embassy with your DL, passport, and three photocopies of your DL, and have them write a letter indicating the equivalence of your DL to the Ethiopian one. Make sure they give you the right level. Here they have 5 grades or levels, grade 5 being the highest. Also make sure the people at the embassy indicate the weight of the vehicles you can drive, on whatever grade they give you. (I had to go back to my embassy because the guy there had just indicated the grade and had forgotten to also include the weight). At the Kenya embassy (near the Bulgaria, UK embassies), you can get that letter the same day after paying an equivalent of 10 USD (or 170 Birr).

After that, take your sorry ass to a place called Kasanchez where we have a branch of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Move as fast as you can from your embassy because there is usually a line as long as the Nile (the people at your embassy should give you – if you ask – all the details and directions to the places you need to go). One thing you should know is that at Kasanchez they go for a “tea” break at 11:00 am and only return to work at 1:00 pm. Whether the tea they drink has bones, no one really knows. It is orderly there because we have several cops at the gate. When you get in the people tell you to sit in the waiting lounge or hall, or whatever (so do not drag yourself!) When you go to the counters, or tellers, you will be required to pay 17-20 USD or around 300 Birr. They will look at the photocopies of your DL which have already been stamped at your embassy and the letters from you embassy (two original copies of the same letter), and they will stamp one of the letters, and you will then proceed to go to a place called Kaliti.

If you are new to an area, the best way is to practise what your English teacher taught you: asking directions. I never get lost anywhere as long as I am not dumb at any particular moment – and I have travelled far and wide. Do not be afraid – people in Addis Ababa, including drivers, they speak English! 

And so to Kaliti we are headed. Kaliti is on your way to Nazret and Shashamane, and Moyale, et al. Do not go all the way to the bus station. There is some “institute” for training and testing drivers and mechanics. It is about 600 meters from the bus station so I repeat – do not wait until you reach the bus station at Kaliti. Right after a place called Sarece – read [saris] – you will find a huge roundabout and right after that roundabout is the institute, on your left.

If you are a foreigner, do not be dumb! Always carry your passport whenever you have to deal with local officials. I saw a lady being told to go get her passport after waiting for like two hours. Always have it, and have like three copies of it – they love photocopies, don't they!

O, back to the institute! Ask around for the right office to go, and hurry – here you will also find a multitude! I think it serves the whole country. You might also be guided by looking at where foreigners seem to be going. When you get into that office turn right and spot a small office behind those who might be standing there. Buy a stamp and a form and fill it in with the help of a local – it is all in Greek! Oops – I mean Amharic. After that you will not be too dumb to ask for whom to give it to. And you might pay as much as or half of what you paid at Kasanchez. I guess it all depends on the grade and the period. I guess that helps! Ciao! And drive safe!