The Color of Addis

On first impression, Addis Ababa is a bleak city.  That through the lens of an American, who perhaps gets too used to the well kept, manicured perfection that seems to pervade our society.  Set against a neutral gray background, the local color can standout, actually and metaphorically.

The infrastructure is crumbling, everything is poorly maintained.  There is dirt, filth, grime, trash, public urination, and an unbelievable amount of smog, black plumes curling up from way too many poorly maintained diesel vehicles.  It will choke you, cause you to gag and tear up at certain intersections.  I long for clean air, and realize how much I take it for granted.

And there, sitting in a median of any busy, smoggy intersection, is a distraught looking mother crouching on the barren ground, holding an infant, catching your eye and motioning with two fingers to her mouth that she is hungry. This is repeated not just with mothers, but with children, the disabled and ordinary people living on the edge of existence.  The sheer numbers of these poor people is part of the color of this urban fabric.

The noise is deafening at most times of the day - morning noon and night - the din of dogs, arguing couples, cars honking, but also vibrant conversation, kids playing soccer with a handmade ball in the street, seemingly unperturbed at the traffic trying to squeeze by them. The call to prayer over the loudspeaker by any number of mosques around town, seemingly ignored by most of this hive of Ethiopian ants swarming the city. And when the night comes, it is distant music that rises to my room - and pleasantly so, local music and not western music, vibrant, colorful dance music with rhythm like an African version of salsa, hip-hop and rap all mixed together with a heavy reliance on a drumbeat.

The wedding FESTIVE!

Wedding participants

Consider the color and music of the wedding I witnessed yesterday in the Catholic church - loud singing and dancing amid predominantly white and black robes covering a myriad of brightly colored and adorned clothing.  The people, young and old were radiant, happy and beautiful against this grey cityscape.

Or consider ECUSTA, where I am working, the recess of many hundreds of kids of all ages, running, playing, sitting, talking, broad smiles as the boys come to me to shake my hand, and me in my whiteness and height standing out in the pulsing crowd.


The construction landscape is quite grey - everything of concrete, yet not finished, but the newer buildings showing more color and vibrancy, shedding the blocky remnant of the Communist era here. The grey is slowly turning colorful.

The color of the cabbie at the Baro

Even the Police wear bright blue camo uniforms - most carry no weapons, but rather a baton - color in the grey background, watching colorful people go about their business, and in too many cases mischief.  My encounter today with a young man who recognized me from the previous day, and in impeccable English as I walked to ECUSTA this morning, reminded me in a very friendly way that I had bought a country map, but not from him, and why not then buy a City map from him for 250 birra ($12)?  I declined, but ran into him again today, and will likely run into me again tomorrow, and we'll haggle some more.  Or young Joseph, who spotted me again today, a bright eyed, clean street urchin with impeccable English who witnessed the attempted heist of my passport last Friday (and told me the urchin had been hauled off as he did so in front of a policeman), walked with me toward the Baro Pension this evening, told of his desire teach English, had to drop out of school when his mother died in a car crash, has no father.  I don't know if I can believe him, but he was part of the color of the day.  He sleeps at the main market for 10 birra a night, wants to speak English with me, and also wants some birra to cover.  I told him protect my backside on that block, and I gave him 15 birra ($0.71) and a banana, just purchased from the very colorful vegetable stand.

Traffic can be four wheels or four hooves

Every place makes an impression, and what I have learned from San Ramon, Teguscigalpa and now Addis Ababa, is that I need to change my lens, to see the place as the locals might see it, to read the color in the faces, their disposition, their activities, and their wardrobe. It's hard to do - it's hard to ignore the many plea's for help upon this obvious westerner, the plea's to buy a map, buy gum or candy at every intersection, but I must, for the locals largely do as well.  It is the color of this grey city.