Embassy Road

In an impromptu decision to make the most of my long layover in Egypt, I decided to explore Cairo for the afternoon. As the airport bank teller flipped through every page in my passport to find a clear spot to place my transit visa, it was apparent that I needed to get more passport pages.

Within a week of my arrival, I mustered enough courage and spatial understanding of the city to venture out to the US Embassy. Early in the afternoon, I found myself crossing the main road, which was entirely under construction, towards the ever-elusive bus stop. As I dodged construction trucks and climbed over the mountains of torn up cement, dirt and rusted pipes, I carefully made my way towards the detoured traffic. As I patiently waited on the side of the road inhaling the billowing exhaust and dust as young men hung out of the windows shouting out their destinations. After a couple of attempts, I climbed into the back of a rusted out minibus with a dozen other passengers.

Three detours and one fuel pit stop later, reaching the last stop in the crowded downtown area, we all piled out of the van. I hastily moved through the crowds of people trying to find the next minibus. Scanning the crowd, I saw a well-dressed priest, looking as out of place as I felt. He donned a crisp long black robe with gold and silver embroidering. Drawn to his presence, a bearded homeless with dead eyes was immediately intrigued. Weighed down from layers of mud-caked clothing, he laboriously shuffled toward the priest clutching a log in his right hand.  He gestured for priest to kiss the log. Bewildered, the priest waved the jilted man away. Not to be cast aside, the man threatened to strike the priest with his log instead. As I watched the scene escalate, I created more distance from the deranged man.

Despite my subtle maneuvering, he caught a glimpse and bee lined it for me. He sidled up next to me and unabashedly gawked at me. I tried to dodge him by deftly cutting through the constant stream of traffic. I was fast, but he would not be discouraged. He was staring so hard at me that I could feel his eyes crawl all over my body. With opposite goals in minds, we jockeyed for better positions while I continued to look for the minibus that would whisk me away from this uncomfortable situation.

Frustrated by the constant repositioning, he reached out and violently clutched my hand. Squeezing my fingers and pointing to my ring, he slurred something. Forcing me to a stop, I wrenched my hand free, yelling my indignation with my limited language abilities. In no mood to prolong this experience, I walked away quickly, looking for an attendant to ask for directions. Seeing the homeless man still following me, a fellow commuter hissed a few threatening words that stopped my bearded stalker in his tracks. He slinked away and was swallowed up by the mass of constantly moving cars and people.

Safely on my next minibus, we trudged up a lengthy hill heading towards the Entoto Mountains. From the spacious front seat, I watched the city disappear behind me. Oversized ministry buildings passed on both sides and the masses of people dissipated.  Farther up the hill, passing the National Museum and Addis Ababa University, the cascades of people reappeared. Shops and cafes line the street to meet the demand of students and tourists.

Even farther still, we climbed. Again, the people disappeared. We were nearly out of the city when I saw a large sterile building surrounded by security on my right. Daring to be noticed, the embassy sits on a large campus with a massive steel building as its centerpiece. Sorely out of place, I wondered what Ethiopians think of this over-the-top edifice. Distracted by its commanding presence, I hadn’t noticed that we stopped. The driver nudged me, indicating that this was my stop. I hopped out of the bus and walked towards the main entrance. Feeling immediately underdressed and self-conscious, I wondered if they would let me inside. Over an hour since I started this journey, a sigh of relief swept over me as I opened the heavy metal doors. Greeted by multiple security guards, one of them said, “Sorry, we have closed”.

Feeling defeated and exhausted, I slowly made my way back down the hill trying to accept this as a lesson in patience and managing expectations. My western philosophy has deceived me into thinking that I can control my surroundings. However, I also moved here with the full understanding that I would be leaving my American comforts behind. This journey was a reminder that everything will happen in its own time despite our schedules. Next week, I will try again.