Today there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find Aselef, Souwnet, and Genet. They hand me a bottle of cold coke and proceed to rattle off a lengthy dialogue. This is the extent to what I understand: “coke…take it…gift….ato getachew wants… party…afternoon…many people…come”. I don’t get the impression that there is any urgency associated with this message and therefore I internally translate it into the following: Ato Getachew is throwing a party this afternoon and many people will be coming. Please take this coke. It is a gift from him. I graciously take the coke (still a bit mystified) and because there is no gesture indicating I should follow I thank them and resume what I am doing. Fifteen minutes later there is another knock on my door. This time it is Genet and Abi. Abi I can understand. In his 2-year old vocabulary he says, “come” and gestures appropriately. Now why can’t everyone communicate like this?!
I now understand that I have been invited to the party. I race inside to change---I’m wearing jeans and that wouldn’t be culturally appropriate. I then follow Genet and Abi out back. Genet enters the “kitchen” and I begin to follow, but am ushered to the other room. I enter a room and come face to face with 7 Ethiopian men and Getachew (my landlord). I’m told to sit. I’m given a very large glass of tella (a locally brewed drink that has the appearance of dirty-water and a taste to match) and told to “chawata” (literally this means “to play”, but they use it to mean “chat/talk”). Mind you, I still have no idea what is going on. I also have no idea why I am the only woman in the room. I’ll be honest; I’m just a touch uncomfortable. Getachew is a man of few words and when it becomes apparent that he is not going to come to my rescue, I decide to chalk this up as yet another adventure and proceed to dive into the experience.
For 45 minutes I razzle and dazzle them with my Amharic repertoire. I ask questions about their families, occupation, age, and try to find out what in the world this event is that I’m participating in. At this point a late addition arrives. Thinking that this would be an opportune time to make my exit, I begin to stand only to be told to sit back down. I’m told to repeat my litany of questions for the latecomer! For whatever reason, they are thoroughly enjoying my company. I, on the other hand, am completely exhausted and feel like a sideshow at the circus. After an hour, Getachew indicates that I may leave if I want, but the other men insist that I stay for the ceremony and feast. It is now that one gentleman begins speaking in English….really good English. These are the times when I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I know he kept silent because this is the only way I’m going to learn this language, but carrying a conversation for an hour with 8 native speakers is downright intimidating!
Anyways…once I knew that he spoke English I was at least able to ask the question (and more importantly understand the answer) regarding the significance of this event. As it turns out, there is a celebration on the 23rd day of each month to honor St. Georgies. It is an event that only men attend. Each man in this group of 8 takes turns hosting the celebration and a collection is taken at the end of each event to help offset the costs for the next celebration. They gather to socialize, eat, have a short prayer ceremony, and drink bunna. Mystery solved!
What’s really funny about this day is that I’ve been invited to be the 9th member of the group. My attendance is not requested, but rather expected at the next “men only” St. Georgies’ Day Celebration. What have I gotten myself into??
