home

I’ve always determined ‘home’ by the forever familiar route required to get there. Our little house in Kera is home in that sense as determined by the dusty, sketchy path leading here. Sometimes I travel by car (a la boyfriend) or sometimes I take a blue devil (aka minibus taxi). The (often stinky) taxi helper guy (i.e., not the driver, but the guy who takes the money) will yell out “Kera Kera, Mexico”. And I think “Kera, that’s me”. Kera has a bad reputation – mostly known for thieves (leba) and the smell of rot and burning that, if the wind blows in the wrong direction, we can detect on occasion from the local huge stock yard. I find it interesting that the big bone piles always remain the same size, no matter the amount of traffic entering or the size of the oxen, thanks to the ever swarming vultures. When we drive directly passed it, I always enter the dilemma of breathing through my nose (but then I smell it) or breathing through my mouth (no smell but then those stinky particles are in my mouth).

Once I’m home, as I turn the key, I wonder what awaits me – could be a flood of some sort (not unwarranted considering the plumbing problems we’ve had), all our things are just gone (not unwarranted – I mentioned the leba, yes?) or …nope, those are the big two. I’m always mildly surprised when everything is fine. First thing I want to do, depending on footwear, is wash my feet if I’ve been trudging around in flip flops. While not the most practical shoes, I lo-oove my flip flops considering they’ve lasted this long all the way over in Aaaaafrica. Then once the feet are washed, it’s all craziness. Or as crazy as you can get without a TV.

So, Addis and our little place are home. It’s not easy livin’ but I’m used to it. My brain is still somehow my brain no matter where I am although sometimes in alternating forms.