Chapter 6
Life in Addis Ababa
Our car has been repaired in two weeks. Ato Tezera, the chief of a workshop I inherited by my car from the German sociologist, would always do a prime work. His workshop has been called "Autosilverio” after the former owner, Ato Silverio.
Anyway, one day that my car spent damaged in the parking at our house, was enough to be seen by my neighbour, another Hungarian expert. Charles, formerly chief architect of our capital at home, was the senior architect in town. Revolution Square, the venue of yearly military celebrations, was nicknamed Polonyi Square after him. He said on sighting the car:
"You are an extremely lucky person. You smash your car in an overturn 200 kilometres from town, and not only nobody is hurt, even the car can come back on its own wheels.”
This break in driving in the near-Christmas weeks was a great luck. Otherwise, we would be going somewhere and having troubles. The family of the French schoolmaster has been attacked by gunmen on the road, and both his wife and elder son killed by the bullets. It was a revenge for the death of a local hit on the road by a white car. Any white car could have been an enemy.
We have made big walks in town through suburbs other whites would detour far.
During the season after our return from the unfortunate excursion, my wife and the child went walking daily. Fruit and basket vendors knew them well, and soon she would earn a status of "hardest customer”. She would bargain every price to the ground. Once a grapefruit vendor threw after her his grapefruits in his anger. She really purchased a lot of locally made handicrafts at their true prices. She has always had a good eye for natural beauty, and it was the very last time she could get such things as rings, bracelets and neckrings made of hairs of giraffe tail.
Her favourites were Ethiopian paintings on leather. Their characteristic style showed historic events, folk habits and different types of people of the country. All are inscribed with their Amharic letters.
My son acquired a good knowledge about topography of the town by these walks.
In our block of apartments, where we lived, only two of us have been from our country. There were locals of the high society – as Charles P., my neighbour once said: "It is a pleasant thing to be privileged in feudalism.” – and Soviet military officers. One of the latter would cause me some troubles yet.
In the apartment just above us lived a local lady, a pianist. She has always entertained us – beside her will – by her play. We were in good relationship with her, my wife even wanted her to teach my son to play the piano. Alas for us, but a good luck to her, she has got a scholarship to Vienna and her flat has been taken by a Bulgarian diplomat.
The block has been guarded by armed men of the district council, as all big houses, against criminals. Guards earned extra money during their duty time by taking up drinking water from the basement into flats in emergency of water supply. We had troubles not only with water. Of the two lifts sometimes both have been out-of-order. It has been the case, when a Sudanese has been looking for a Libyan inhabitant. It happened, when Mr Kaddhafi sent out his men to execute Libyans living abroad. Some months earlier he had sent his message to all of them and ordered them home, to build their own country by their talents instead of foreign lands. Those who would not listen would be executed on the spot.
Well, in our house there had lived a Libyan young man having good contacts with a Sudanese doctor freshly graduated. He took his president seriously and went home. The Sudanese has not found him and, as the lifts were not in order, he was coming down by the stairs. He had graduated in Hungary and he was surprised to hear a Hungarian discussion over the turn. It was my family still waiting for lifts and pressing buttons, when somebody addressed them in their own language. They were very much surprised to see a local man – Sudanese Arabs are looking almost the same as Ethiopians – turn from the stairs. They invited him to our home and waited for me. That day I was busy even after work and, when I got home, the stranger left for North-Yemen.
He had studied in our country, in the town of Pecs and graduated as a doctor that year. He had his fiancee there, a Hungarian girl, with whom he graduated together. Foreign students had to leave after graduation, but they would be able to return for specialization after some time. He went home, but in Khartoum he would not stay. There would be no hope to collect the necessary money for his further studies. He accepted a job in Sanaa. On route he wanted to see his friend, the Libyan. When I got home he was on route to Sanaa.
We did not lose contact with him and, after seven months, he would stop with us on route home. Then he would fly to Hungary to meet his fiancée and look for a place to specialize. They would be the only ones to wait for us at the airport, when we would arrive for holiday.