Addis Ababa-Oslo-Praha-Baghdad-Tijuana-Vientiane
I’m
in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia's capital, and at the same time, I’m in
Oslo, I’m in Praha, I’m in Baghdad, I’m in Tijuana and I’m in
Vientiane, at some kind of night market by the Mekong river. And so,
now, back to Meskel square, in Addis Ababa, a site for public
gatherings and demonstrations, like the Meskel
Festival,
a Christian holiday in the Ethiopian
Orthodox and
Eritrean
Orthodox churches
that commemorates the discovery of the True Cross by the Roman
Empress Helena (Saint Helena) in
the fourth century. And then, I’m in Oslo again, more precisely, at
the Bygdøy
or Bygdø peninsula,
where is situated the Gol
Stave Church,
a church that, in the nightie, suffered various arson attempts by
some black metal fans from bands like Mayhem,
Burzum, Darkthrone, Immortal,
etc. Praha now, more precisely getting out of the Masaryk
railway station,
and at the same time, I’m
going through Firdos square, in Baghdad, the square from where the
Saddam Hussein statue was toppled, years ago, and, just now “they”
turn on the lights of the water fountains, red and green, the colors
of the Iraqi flag, and I, well, as I go through I fell the condensed
smoke from the cars circulating around this big square, mainly
Japanese brands like Kia, Hyundai, Suzuki, Mazda, some of them making
a big noise, which is not usual for Japanese cars. But, let’s see,
2 despite the size of the square, there aren't many people here, just
some children running through the water jets, from one side to the
other, and then, I also see a certain middle aged couple, the father
running after his children and the mother staying here, on the side
of this bench, shouting words I can’t understand, and then, talking
in english, this is, mixing english and arab, and so, as I present
myself, I get to know, they are tourists visiting their own country,
and then, as I sit on this bench on her side, she even begins to tell
me her private story, so, here she goes now “Actually, I escaped
from this city almost twenty years ago… I mean, I was
pregnant during the war time, and that may have helped me with the
asylum claim… this is, on a rainy August day we reached America…
two American men and one Iraqi woman received us in Philadelphia.
They accompanied us to the charity’s office in the city of Camden
and the organization’s director, Mrs Cathy welcomed us there… I
remember. This organization had rented an apartment for us in
Gloucester and paid the rent for the first three months…. plus,
they also provided us with food vouchers. Unfortunately, some of my
new neighbors at that time did not like having Muslim Arabs living
near them… a woman on the ground floor, for example, began to
harass us, and the building’s manager was not able to stop her…
so, when I contacted the police, she told them her husband had fought
in Iraq and as we were Iraqis we should be killed. Just like that…”
And, as I listen this, then, I see myself getting out of the airport
in Tijuana, and so, as I go around the airport complex, I quickly
spot the fence with the United States, two fences actually, around
ten meters high each one, one in the Mexico side and other on the
gringo’s side, a big space in between, and there in the gap, some
patrolling jeeps making some moves, and surveillance cameras set on
the top of huge poles. Thus, here I go, now advancing along the road
just on the side of one of these fences, the Mexican one, and
actually, it can be said, there aren't many cars passing by at this
time of the day, just some dusty vans and from time to time, like
now, a big and robust school bus approaching, and as it goes by, I
can see rednecks with big hats dozing against the windows. And, as it
goes, after some time walking by these fences, at some point, I spot
a patrol car on the gringo's side stealthily following me, this
because, I guess, some meters before I have just touched the fence,
say, I wanted to make sure if it was 3 electrified or not. But now, I
think to myself, why should they bother with that if they have all
the equipment, I mean, they can track me through their surveillance
cameras, hidden radars, satellite rays, etc. Thus, I keep walking,
and let’s say, from ten to ten minutes, I would cross with another
fellow coming in opposite direction, usually someone carrying a small
rucksack on his back and walking fast, not looking to the sides, but,
on the exact moment we would cross each other, this fellow would do
some kind of salute, moving up the head suddenly, and me, answering
the same form, and after this, we would keep our march, no talking.
Leaving the fence now, moving back to the night market by the Mekong
river, in Vientiane, Laos. And, as a start, I may inform that, on the
other side of this river is actually Thailand, and so, from here, we
can catch sight of some Thai lights, but, let’s rather concentrate
on this place, this is, here I go now along this Chao Anouvong
market, watching what is on display at the stalls, this is, to say
some, we have here an array of buddhist-inspired paintings and
chinese made knickknacks. Sunglasses and slippers of all types and
shapes. Beer Lao T-shirts. Fisherman pants and one-size-fits-all
dresses and skirts, all very colorful and clean, things made for the
tourists, but, talking about tourists, here, at this market, I can't
see many, perhaps because, Laos isn’t as touristic as its neighbor
country, Thailand. Even so, many locals passing by, to and fro, a
great bustle, but everything calm at the same time. Then, moving on
to the main road, where the food stalls are. There, people would seat
in small plastic benches around low tables and, between them and the
stalls, metal buckets turned into stoves with scorched grills with
meatballs (pork, duck or fish) on the top, that are then dipped in
various kinds of sauces and served with sticky rice with peanuts,
stir-fried vegetables, papaya salads with soya milk, or roasted
bananas with various sour toppings. And so, as I try some of these
things, someone would take me to see the buddhist temples, the
so-called wats, that are close by. And then, back in Addis Ababa,
back to the Meskel square, where the Meskel festival happens, a
festival that commemorates the discovery of the true
cross.
So, as I got to know, the myth says that queen Eleni, or Helena,
later Saint Helena, had a revelation in a dream, this is, she was
told that she should make a bonfire and the smoke would show her
where the True Cross was buried. So she ordered the people of
Jerusalem to bring wood and make a huge pile, and then, after adding
frank-incense to it, the bonfire was lit and the smoke rose high up
to the sky and returned to the ground, exactly to the spot where the
Cross had been buried. According to local traditions, this
Demera-procession
takes place in the early evening the day before Meskel or on the day
itself. 4 The firewood is decorated with daisies prior to the
celebration. Charcoal from the remains of the fire is afterwards
collected and used by the faithful to mark their foreheads with the
shape of a cross… some believing that it marks “the ultimate act
in the cancellation of sins”, while others hold that the direction
of the smoke and the final collapse of the heap indicate the course
of future events “just as the cloud of smoke the Lord raised over
the Tabernacle offered guidance to the children of Israel” (Exod.
40:34–38). So, Helena, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine the
Great, recovered the True Cross at the Holy Sepulchre in… one
explanation for the high rank of this festival is that, it is
believed that a part of the true Cross has been brought to Ethiopia
from Egypt during the Big
Exodus,
and also, it is said that the cross is being kept at Amba Geshen, a
certain mountain in north Ethiopia. But, back in Oslo, still at the
Bygdøy peninsula where parts of the Lords
of Chaos film
were shot, this is, a biographical horror thriller adapted from a
book with the same name, a book that tells the story of the early
1990s Norwegian black metal scene, told from the perspective of
Øystein Aarseth, co-founder of the black-metal band Mayhem,
better known by his stage name Euronymous, professed to be a theistic
Satanist and known for his extreme misanthropic statements. So, it
happened that, in the summer of 1993, Euronymous was murdered by his
fellow musician and former bandmate Varg Vikernes and so, the film
tells his life story, the story of the band Mayhem and his
involvement with "Black Circle", a cult associated with the
burning of several churches in Norway, during the nighties. For
example, Louis Cachet, born Kristian Vikernes, better known as Varg
Vikernes was convicted of murder and arson, and subsequently served
15 years in prison. After founding Burzum, circa 1981, he also
recorded bass for Mayhem's debut album De
Mysteriis Dom Sathanas
and, he would then stab Mayhem guitarist Euronymous during an
altercation at the latter's apartment, arrested shortly after.
Thereon, in May 1994, he was convicted of first-degree murder, church
arson and possession of explosives. Vikernes said the killing was
self-defense and unsuccessfully argued for the charge to be reduced
to voluntary manslaughter. He was sentenced to 21 years in prison,
the maximum penalty under Norwegian law. During his incarceration,
Vikernes launched the Norwegian Heathen Front, two books were
published, and five years later, in 2009, he would be released on
parole, after which he moved to France with his wife and children.
Back to Praha, now passing in front of the Hybernia Theatre, where
also is the Prašná
brána or
Powder Tower or Powder Gate, a Gothic tower that used to separate the
Old Town from the New Town. But,
let’s jump 5 into Baghdad again, this is, at this point, we already
left the Firdos square, and so, we are now walking just on the side
of the famous Tigris river, but, by we I mean, me, Mona, her husband,
a mustached American guy named Jim, and their children, two young
girls and a demi-teenage boy named Musa. And so, as we advance
through this gardens just on the side of the Tigris, at some point we
come to a statue of a man, half-sitting half-lying over a marble
bench-table, and a woman standing on his front, with open arms,
wearing a reduced kind of dress with stony ruffles that go from her
waist to the sleeves, this is, the Aboû Nouwâs memorial, I get to
know, and while the children play around this kind of statue, she
explains, “Aboû was a poet from the eighteenth century, of Bedouin
inspiration, highlighting a bacchanalian kind of love… excerpts of
his poetry appear in various parts of the classic widely spread in
the west A
thousand and one nights'',
and as she says this things her two daughters are already jumping
over the statue of the man, trying to pull him out of the bench. And,
then, as we leave this place, we get to the Al
Jumhuriya bridge,
or Republic
bridge,
this is, here we take a taxi on the Liberation square and then we go
in the direction of the Martyr Monument, “the Nusb Alshahid, or the
broken egg”, as people call it”, she says “a monument from the
Saddam Hussein's era”. Then we pass the Al-Madina International
Stadium, we turn left on Hamza square, we turn right on Fellah street
and we are now in Sadr city, a neighborhood that was extremely
dangerous during the war times, they tell me. “Before the war had
started, the US Army established one of their squadrons here, at an
abandoned cigarette factory located on the eastern side of Sadr City,
they called it Camp Marlboro'' says the taxi driver. And as the taxi
man explains that, I’m already advancing through the suburbs of
Tijuana, this is, as I advance, I see the first shops, the first
small supermarkets, the first refresquerias (juice houses), the first
pulquerias (taverns), and, in between all of those shops, some
improvised
car garages, etc. And I go til the top of the hill and then, as I
look around, on my right side, I can see all the wave of roofs, all
the ups and downs of this suburban area, and, on my left side, I
actually see a dry river/sewage kind of thing, and there on the back,
some colorful and tall buildings, this is, not very tall, but visibly
dusty. And then, when I ask directions to the city center, someone
answers me with all the details and possible ways of getting there
and even the buses’ I can get, etc. Thus, I ended up following the
motorway by the sewage and then, under a bridge, I see a particular
kind of graffiti that is calling my attention, this is, a graffiti
depicting a group of guys pulling shopping trolleys full of trash,
and in front of this same wall where this graffitis are made,
actually, there 6 are some real shopping trolleys full of trash
abruptly parked down here, thus, there you go, a plastic reality and
the real reality so near, side by side, it looks some kind of trap,
but, then, there I go, already digging through the garbage jammed
inside these trolleys. And so, back in Vientiane now, as I said
before, someone took me to see the Buddhist temples, the so-called
wats, that are pyramidal and golden-roofed buildings, and, while I
wander through this area, a revelation, that is, dozens of young
girls crossing the adjacent gardens, and going on its reach, or
hidden in the back of some trees, I spot some, but not a few, western
tourists, this is, paunchy white men running after some of these
girls, but, let them go. Back in Addis Ababa, not far from Meskel
square I found the "Red Terror" Martyrs' Memorial Museum, a
memorial to those who died during the so-called Red
Terror under
the Derg government. Red terror, Qey Shibir or Kay Shibbir, was a
violent political repression campaign of the Derg against other
competing Marxist-Leninist groups in Ethiopia and present-day Eritrea
from 1976 to 1978. The Qey Shibir was an attempt to consolidate Derg
rule during the political instability after the overthrow of Emperor
Haile Selassie in 1974 and the subsequent Ethiopian Civil War. It is
estimated that one hundred thousand people were killed and many
others tortured over the course of the Qey Shibir. I didn’t go
inside, but the people around told me that this museum has displays
of torture instruments, coffins full of bones, bloody clothes and
photographs of victims. And then, I’m back in Oslo, now at the
Pipervika ('the piping bay'). About this name, the first element is
assumed to refer to the brigade music's pipers (flutists) who were
located in the area, the last element is the finite form of vik
for 'bay, inlet'. But the Norse name of the bay was Gyljandi,
and this name is derived from the verb gylja
that means 'howl, huut', probably referring to the windy conditions
in the bay, as the verb pipe
in Scandinavian in often used to describe the sound of strong wind,
someone tells me, and as this someone tells me that, I’m back to
Praha, now going through the Celetná,
a narrow cobbled street named after the plaited bread rolls they used
to eat here, this is, on both sides, there are a densely-packed array
of shops, some selling antiques, and so, I get in one of those,
looking over the piles of trinkets stacked to the ceiling, and then,
as I look at the shopkeeper, a man with small eyes and a frank smile,
without further ado I ask him his name, and “Jakob” he says. And
then we would begin some kind of conversation about Israel. And then,
as I’m actually making my way out of this shop, I’m already
entering the house of Mona’s parents in Sadr city, Baghdad. More to
say that the father and the mother of Mona haven’t seen the
daughter for about twenty years, 7 and so, they have never seen their
grandchildren also, just in photos. And thus, at this point, there is
some kind of commotion going on, some crying, some laughing, and as
this is happening, I say to myself, what
am I doing here!
But then, they hug me too and pamper me too, as if I were the one
responsible for this reencounter. And, as it goes, this is, as the
young ones go around to “explore” the house, I get to know, the
old man's name is Hadid, which means "iron", and the old
lady is named Centola, which means “light of knowledge”, upa-upa.
And so, in a while, they also ask what my name means, but, “no
meaning” I say to them, and, after this answer there is some
silence in the air, but, the presence of the grandchildren does not
allow the silence to last and so, at some point, they are even
beginning some kind of conversation about America that will continue
for a long time, but, I can see, there are mixed feelings about this
topic… anyway, after the big talking, we cook together, I learn the
name of certain vegetables in arab language, and then, they tell me,
if I wanna eat I have to sing the name of this and that ingredients
and the girls laugh on me and the time passes and the meals get ready
and actually we end up eating dishes consisting of fried aubergine
with tahini, lettuce and sumac, toasted pita bread, salads with
bulgur, chopped parsley, mint, tomato, scallion, lemon juice, olives,
cinnamon and a Pomegranate soup, called shorbat
rumman.
And then, after the dinner, something happens, this is, their son,
Musa, has just disappeared, and quickly, Jim, the American father,
goes outside after him, but, he wouldn’t come back so quickly. And
then, as I go through “avenida de la revolucion” in Tijuana, I
watch the showcases of some handicraft shops with colorful skulls on
display, hamburgueserías decorated with the imaginary of the
gringos, a funky bait, but strangely, I haven’t seen one American
in all this main street. So, as it goes, I get curious and, I decide
to ask someone about the gringos, where are they after all, and this
someone straight away nod in the direction of some house/nightclub
while saying “ai se meten todos, por las muchachas” (they all
stick there, for the ladies). Yes, indeed, the fuckers, the only
place you could find them would be inside a whorehouse, what a jerks.
“Esta ciudad ha sido escenario de muchos motines entre los carteles
de la droga” (This city has been the stage of many riots between
the drug cartels) he says, “so they are not coming so much here as
before, say, they are afraid of Tijuana now” the man informs. Then
we keep a conversation in Spanish, and he tells me that he’s
originally from Sonora province and actually, he’s here on
business, trying to arrange a contract to export meat from his
providers in Sonora to the small restaurants here in downtown
Tijuana. “Aquí les gusta más la carne 8 del desierto - Here they
like desert meat better”. Then, understanding that I’m a
foreigner, he even invites me to come inside and have a pulque with
him, which I accept. And so, this would be my first pulque, I mean, I
had never heard about this drink actually. “Nevermind the Tequila''
he says, “this is way better”, and it is true what he just said,
tequila tastes like pure alcohol, like vodka, but this drink is
creamy and fruity. So, then, we sit at a table with other local men
and one woman. And as the conversations go on, I understand, all of
them have been on the other side; I mean the ''Alta California''
side. “That was our land, they stole it from us, but our relatives
still live there, and they will never leave it” one says. “I
worked there in a fucking factory for almost two years, my work was
to throw dead chicken into hot water, but, I got tired of that shit
and just came back” one other says. And then, a younger one
continues, “I have just come from San Francisco… deported by the
new migration laws”. And then, a middle-age woman with fleshy lips
also says “I have worked almost half of my life there, in a Motel,
as a waiter, as a cook and as a receptionist, I have done a bit of
everything, I mean, I’m just here on holidays…” she confides.
And then, “Su marido es un puto Americano” someone on the side
says, and “Do you love him?” I ask. “I love my children,” she
says. And then, as it goes, they ask me a lot of questions about my
identity, things like, what I may be doing here, from where I came,
and, to this questions, I lied as I could, I mean, I said I was half
Chinese half Spanish half I don’t know what, and I had come on a
secret mission, to visit some cousins and... even so, they were not
satisfied with my justifications, they wanted to know more but, it
was time, I wanted to go to the beach, and, there was a mission to be
carried out… so, I arranged a way to say farewell to these people
as cordially as I could… and then, I would turn the page and
directly go to Vientiane, this is, here I’m, still at the night
markets drinking some Lao-Lao, a rice whisky drink produced in Laos.
About the etymology of this word, we can say, the name Lao-Lao
is not the same word repeated twice, but two different words
pronounced with different tones: the first, meaning "alcohol"
should be pronounced with a low-falling tone, while the second, means
Laotian and should be pronounced with a high(rising) tone, someone
explains me. And then, this same “someone” also tells me that
“various flavors can be added to this drink, like herbs, honey and
scorpions, and despite this being a buddhist country, it is
traditional to serve two glasses of lao-Lao on ceremonies, feasts and
other comparable situations”, the round-faced man informs me. And
now, back in Addis Ababa, more precisely, by the Lion of Judah
Statue, I mean, the “monument” is located in the square of the
Addis Ababa 9 railway station and marks the end of Winston Churchill
Avenue, one of the main arteries of the city, and so, the sculpture
of the Lion of Judah, in gilded bronze, is placed on a black granite
pedestal decorated with relief portraits of emperors Menelik II and
Haile Selassie, Empress Zewditu, and Ras
Makonnen Wolde Mikael. I read somewhere that, this work was made by
some French sculptor and, was installed on the occasion of the
coronation of Emperor Haile Selassie. And then, I also get to know,
that, after the revolution in the seventies, the Derg regime thought
of removing the monument, that was a symbol of the monarchy, but, an
association of Arbegnoch veterans claimed that it was a memory of
Ethiopian antifascist resistance and a symbol of Ethiopia. Therefore,
the regime agreed to leave the monument. And
as it goes, I’m Oslo
again, still at the Pipervika, waiting for the ferry to get out of
here, coz I’m freezing. And then, I’m in Praha again, now getting
to the Staroměstské
náměstí,
this is, the Old Town Square, where there is also the Gothic Church
of Our Lady before
Týn, the
St.
Nicholas Church,
and the Prague
Orloj, a
medieval astronomical clock representing the position of the Sun and
Moon in the sky and displaying various astronomical details; statues
of various saints on either side of the clock, and other sculptures,
notably a figure of a skeleton striking the time.
And
thus, as I look at it, I’m back in Baghdad, this is, back at the
house of Mona's parents, an so, Mona is no more here, nor her mother,
only her father and his grandchildren, the girls, this is, by now,
the big man takes this opportunity to entertain the girls with an old
tale from the babylonian times, and so, I’m also curious about it,
and, as it goes, he explain “the is a story about Amine and Safie,
this is, Amine, the younger, marries a rich oldman and goes with him
on an excursion onto some western lands, but on the way, he loses
everything, and so, Anime gets lost… whereas, Safie, stays at home,
raising silkworms,
alone”
And
as we listen this, still thinking about worms, there I go, walking
through the suburbs of Tijuana again, and so, here, on both sides of
this road, there are mounds of churned earth, almost no vegetation,
and then, over there, I see, the illuminated statues of Santa Morte,
Virgen Guadalupe and San Judas Tadeu, and a fig tree on their back.
And there I go, now analyzing these statues from a closer angle,
while eating some figs and then, as I look down into this
inhospitable valley, I see a certain figure walking slowly in the
middle of the high weeds, and, as it gets closer and closer, then, I
understand that this figure is actually a man carrying a tray on his
head and two buckets, one in each hands. And so, in an instant he
reaches the mound where I’m now, and then, as he passes by he
produces a sound like “ohue” and there he goes, following now
through a narrow serpentine path, and so, now I understand, he’s
probably a peddler coming home after a long day of work, and, I also
think to myself “at least he has a home to reach…” and then,
further, as I look back at it, down there, I could still see his head
and the tray over it, all the 10 same thing now, and in a while,
becoming just a shadow on the top of the weeds. And, then, I put
myself on march too, I mean, following in the opposite direction.
This is, about twenty minutes later I would reach some villas
surrounded by high walls with broken glass stuck on its top. And
then, at the roundabout, I would turn right, stalking the sound of
the sea, and, as I go through, I would pass some bars, noisier than
the ones from the city center, but, I wouldn’t stop, I would just
watch the people coming in and out of it and more and less five
minutes later I would finally reach the so desired beach and so, here
I’m now, smelling the sea while hearing some trumpet sounds coming
from down there, from the mounds of sand, this is, as I approach it,
now, I get to a small amphitheater installed in the middle those
so-said mounds of sand, and thus, now I see that, beside the trumpet
players, there is also a big set of percussion, blasting, and also,
some guitarists dressed with lines of decorative bottoms spreading
through their jackets and pants, but actually, it's impossible to
hear what they are playing coz they have no amplification. And then,
a guy would pass the microphone to the public, this is, to the ones
standing around, and so, anyone could sing. No shame. And then,
middle-aged couples would dance, spreading around the stage, or
better, half in the amphitheater half in the sand, this is, jumping
between both territories. And then, as I get hit by some of these
dancers, we laugh together, and, as it goes, after hitting some
percussion instruments, I would run away. And then, further, in the
plenaries of sand close by, I watch some people gathering around
small fires and so, there I go, walking towards some of these
assemblies. And once there, people are already looking at me through
the flames, studying my face, but, no questions, and so, as it goes,
I notice that actually the wood is being paid, I mean, some guys are
constantly coming and leaving with special carts full of roots dug up
on the beach, and, I see some people giving coins to them, thus, me
too, I would give them some change, as others did. And then, there
would be games, this is, some teens even asked me if I could throw a
piece of my hair onto the fire on our front. And, “Why not.” I
say, while doing it. And, as it burns, they say that now I should ask
for a wish, and then, promptly, “What is it?”, they are already
asking. “I wish, I wish…” I say, and they laugh a bit, “I
wish this fire turns into stars and these stars turn into hands that
will point us the way”, and then, as I say this, I actually see
some of these youngs looking at the sky, and then, as they look up,
there I go, running to towards the sea, and as I’m about to reach
it, I see myself back in Vientiane, now aboard some kind of boat,
going across the Mekong
river.
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