“So you worked full time while in school? That’s a lot.”
He shrugged, fiddling with the cutlery the server had brought us. “I went to Addis Ababa University, and their classes are very demanding. I didn’t really work the first three years, but I got this job the last year.” This time he ran his tongue over the little spoon. Oh God.
I nodded, trying hard to focus on what he was saying, but it was a struggle.
“I wanted to do an online master’s degree from a school in the UK right after I finished my B.A., and the embassy jobs pay well. I also had a lot of time to read in between drives,” he said, smiling. “And they helped with school, which is nice. The logistics coordinator position is interesting too.”
There was something in how he said that made me want to ask more questions.
“That’s great.” I knew in a lot of the places I’d worked in, U.S. Embassy positions, even service ones, were coveted because of the pay and benefits. I also knew of colleagues in other countries who took jobs that were completely unrelated to their actual degrees because the pay was better. “What’s your degree in? Did you enroll in the master’s program?” I asked, genuinely interested.
Something in his demeanor changed with my questions, and when he looked at me, it was different. He was really looking at me now. I thought the Elias of the past thirty minutes would be a problem, but this intensity was enough to set my insides on fire. “In psychology, and yes, I did. I finished it this past May. The master’s was in cultural psychology, actually.”
“Oh, that’s great. Tell me about it,” I encouraged as I worked on my breakfast.
He seemed unsure, like he couldn’t quite believe I wanted to hear about his degree, but after a second he conceded. “I’m interested in studying the psychological effects of colonization in Eastern Africa. Particularly masculinity, misogyny, and how that’s impacted our social constructs around gender.”
Whoa.
“What exactly are you looking at?” I asked, my food suspended in the air as I waited for his answer.
“Are you sure you want hear about it?” He cocked his head to the side, again hitting me with a piercing look. He was sizing me up. Figuring out if I was really interested, or just humoring him.
“Absolutely,” I said honestly, and boy, was I unprepared for what happened next.
Elias leaned in, those brown eyes focused on my face, his body primed to unleash all the words he was holding inside. When he spoke, the passion there almost knocked me over.
“Ethiopia was never colonized, although we were occupied by Italy in the 1930s,” he explained before continuing, “and even though East Africa wasn’t impacted by the transatlantic slave trade as West Africa was, the brutalities of colonization were felt far and wide here. It changed the course of our history in so many ways.”
For an instant, I wondered if he was about to get loud and preachy. But instead he grabbed his cup again and spoke in a low but serious voice. “I’d like to look into how that collective trauma has impacted our concept of masculinity, and how it factors into violence against women and children. Along the lines of the work of Frantz Fanon.” He looked at me intensely, clearing his throat, then smiled ruefully. “Sorry, this is not exactly light conversation. It can be heavy.”
“Not at all.” He gave me a look that clearly said yeah, right, but I insisted, “I’m serious. My best friend Lucía is a big fan of Fanon—she gave me The Wretched of the Earth to read in college, and it sort of blew my mind.”
His face brightened at that, but he stood up after sipping the last of his tea. “We can talk more in the car.” This was not a man who let his responsibilities fall by the wayside just to hear himself talk, and of course that only made my infatuation go up a notch. “We should get on the road if we want to get to Awassa by early afternoon. We’ll stop for lunch in Lake Langano. There’s a nice place there. They have good fish—you can’t go to the Rift Valley and not eat Nile perch.”
I stood up after making sure I drank every last drop of my macchiato. “Sounds great. I love fish, and I’m looking forward to seeing the lakes.”
He gave me that grin I noticed came out whenever I showed excitement in the things I wanted to see or do while I was here. I had to be careful not to read into it too much, though. From my own experience with Ethiopian friends, and the hundreds of stories I had heard from my parents, I knew they were immensely proud of their homeland and their history. Maybe that was all this was, not some special thing going on between me and Elias.
Once in the car, we navigated the roads heading out of Addis Ababa, which even at six thirty in the morning were starting to get pretty busy. Driving in Addis was a cacophony of color and sound. There were people everywhere: cars, blue-and-white taxi vans, eighteen-wheelers, SUVs of every make and year imaginable, and motorcycles going in all directions.
Like many a developing country I’d been in, I noticed Ethiopians could get creative with their vehicle passengers. We drove past a motorcycle with three riders, except in between the first and second guy was what looked like a live sheep.
“Nice,” I said, pointing to the threesome. “I’ve seen chickens on motorcycles before, but never a sheep.”
Elias looked at me with amused eyes. “Farenjis are always surprised by that. How
