by R E Kearney
For the first time, since they arrived in Addis, Robert sees Komfort smile. “So it’s settled then, tomorrow morning we go shopping. But now, we need to go eating. Do you, by any chance, know of any good restaurants?”
“Oh, Mugavus, again you are teasing me.” Amesha pats his bulging belly. “Does this tell you I am starving for good food? Of course. You know I know all of the good restaurants. Tonight, we eat real food. Tonight, we dine at Kategna!”
“When? I’m starving.” Robert has never eaten Ethiopian food, but his empty stomach is growling angrily and he desperately craves something other than baked bugs.
“Now, my friend. Now. There is no reason to delay your savoring of these delicious delicacies.” Amesha motions with his hand, as he walks toward the hallway from which he first appeared. “Follow me, my friends.”
Robert and Komfort dutifully trail Amesha out the back of the building, into his Mercedes, and ten minutes later into the Kategna restaurant, just off Gabon Street and five minutes from Bole International Airport. Returning this close to the airport concerns Komfort, but she knows the food at Kategna has no rival, so she willingly risks it.
From the moment they walk in the door, Robert discerns that Kategna is a restaurant where he can expect delicious food. The scent of berbere hits him like a wave of perfume, as the Ethiopian spice blend mixture’s fragrance pours out of the kitchen. For several moments, he stands just inside the restaurant’s doorway, so he can soak in the sights, sounds and smells. Primarily, the seductive smells.
Obviously well known to the staff, several servers greet Amesha with a joyous, hello. Returning their greetings with a wave and a beaming smile, he leads them to what he explains is his favorite table. He informs them that it is his favorite table, because it is large enough to support all of the food and drink he plans to order and consume. As the server seats them, Robert mistakenly requests a menu.
“You insult me. You break my heart,” Amesha exclaims, smacking his palms against his chest. “Do you not trust me? You are my guests. Please allow me to treat you to a feast.”
"Lead me to the food, Amesha, for as Oliver Wendell Holmes said, ‘The true essentials of a feast are only fun and feed.’ And I’m ready for some fun, too."
Speaking Amharic, Amesha converses with two servers for several minutes. They nod and nod, but never write anything. Later, Robert realizes that they did not need to write anything, because Amesha directed them to bring a bit of everything. Once the food starts flowing, it does not stop and floods across their table.
Amesha identifies each presented dish, but their names disappear into a fantasy of colors, textures, flavors and aromas. First to arrive is the vegetarian beyaynetu, a huge combination platter of injera, a type of flat bread, topped with a variety of vegan stews and curries. After a few bites of beyaynetu, a side dish of chicken stew called doro wat and a bowl of Ethiopian salad appear. There are tibs, kitfo, firfir, and dirkosh, as well as shiro fit-fit, shreds of injera marinated in shiro, or chickpea flour, curry, lemon juice, and spices. Then after midnight, the banquet ends with chechebsa, a common Ethiopian breakfast dish made from torn pieces of unleavened bread marinated in spices and butter and served with yogurt and honey, and also coffee, provided personally to the restaurant by Amesha.
Komfort, Robert and Amesha slowly sip their cups of dark chocolatey Ethiopian coffee named Buna. Benumbed from their bacchanalian celebration, they silently slump in their seats, unable to move and not wanting to speak. Komfort yawns. She sighs and slowly closes her eyes. Satisfaction. Seconds later, she’s asleep. Soon, Robert joins her in slumber.
All too quickly, their dreams are dashed.
“Wake up! Wake up!” an unfamiliar man’s voice shouts.
Reluctantly departing deep, delightful dreams, their minds drift into consciousness and then hurtle directly into nightmares. In front of them stand Dijaineo, Evoil and a third man, who neither knows. In the restaurant’s low light, Robert cannot be certain, but he believes he sees a Russian GSh-18 pistol pressed against Dijaineo’s back by the unidentified man.
“Uh…we have a bit of a problem,” Dijaineo nervously stammers.
“Ah! Glad you found us. I was concerned that my directions from the Atnaf siga bet restaurant to here would confuse you. Very good raw meat at Atnaf siga bet. Did you enjoy it?” Amesha shouts toward the trio, with his usual joie-de-vivre, as he returns from the toilet.
“So Mister Dijaineo, what is your emergency and why did you need Komfort so desperately in the middle of the night?” Amesha’s smile and delight disappears into silence as he nears the table and notices the expressions on Komfort’s and Robert’s faces.
“Please join us, sir. We need to discuss some things.” The unknown man respectfully and politely instructs.
Scrutinizing the stranger closely, Amesha returns to his seat. Motioning with his left hand, the stranger directs Evoil and Dijaineo to other seats at the table. When they are seated, he then carefully slides into a chair. He places his revolver atop the table.
“Good morning lady and gentlemen, my name is Vredens Dag.” He nods his head toward Komfort. “Now, since time is short, I will be blunt. I am a member of Russia’s Zaslon and, as of now, I am joining you. Because, after minimal, gentle persuasion, Mister Evoil generously informed me that the three of you are pursuing the same venture as I am. But, just so you understand, I was not ordered here to interfere. I was ordered here to stop the attacks on Russia by any and all means necessary. Now, it is my desire that we work together to solve our mutual problem. I think that is wise, don’t you? But, if you oppose me, as Mister Evoil threatens he will, then I will not hesitate to employ force. Because, you see, I do not care if any of you live or die. You are only important to me, if you help me protect Russia. Understand?”
Dag nods his head and repeats his question. “Understand?”
Robert, Komfort, Amesha and Dijaineo nod their heads simultaneously in response. Evoil looks away from Dag and grunts. Dag glances at Evoil and shakes his head in disgust.
“Now, who is actually the leader and in command here?” Dag points at Evoil. “I know it cannot possibly be this pathetic idiot.”
Amesha surreptitiously points toward Komfort. Almost simultaneously, Robert cocks his thumb toward her, as well. Dijaineo, on the other hand, obliviously ignores their conversation while foraging through the remains of their feast still scattered across the table. Komfort grimaces.
Dag scrutinizes Komfort, “So do we have a plan?”
“Yes, I believe…” Evoil swiftly offers.
“Not you. Her,” Dag barks. “I was asking her. I do not want noise from you.”
“We had a plan, but we don’t, now. Now, we just have numerous exigencies and necessities.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I know where we need to go and I think I know what we need to do once we get there, but the rest is very sketchy since you and Evoil entered my equation.”
Dag points toward Amesha. “Sir, do you have any coffee remaining?”
“I believe so or I can brew some more, if you desire.”
“Please, get some hot coffee. Lots of it. We will be working here for several hours.” Dag motions toward Evoil. “And, take him with you. Teach him a trade.”
Chapter 23.
Merkato
Merkato is human stew. Bubbling and boiling and all tumbled together. Much of the Merkato has not changed for decades. Instead of changing, the Merkato adds. It appends new products and tools onto its old methods. It’s a huge hodge-podge of old and new.
Merkato thrives through the free spirited, unrestrained capitalism that Economists call perfect competition. Hundreds of Ethiopia’s small-acreage farmers and small-plot gardeners lug their meager crops to the Merkato to sell for a few Birr. It is never much money, but it keeps them alive. Barely alive, but alive.
For millions of Ethiopians, staying alive by growing a few extra vegetables to sell is becoming
increasingly difficult with rising temperatures and spreading drought. Their harvests grow smaller and smaller leaving them little to eat and next to nothing to sell. They are climate refugees, who cannot migrate to escape. There is nowhere for them to go. Instead, they are drowning beneath the weight of the climate refugees from Sudan, Somalia and Kenya engulfing them.
So, when SPEA buys local produce, it shops the Merkato and insists on paying premium prices. Spreading a few extra Birr across dozens of hungry growers, SPEA considers it a tiny contribution toward peace. The Merkato is not just a hot bed of commerce. It is also a boiling cauldron of increasingly enraged poor. Too crowded and chaotic to control, the Merkato enables discussions and thoughts banned and prosecuted beyond its borders. Seething with despair, they are ripe for revolution and fertile recruiting ground for ARTAS.
Amesha swims through this river of humanity flooding the Merkato’s streets, alleys and aisles. He weaves and snakes and meanders and staggers among the stifling crowd of shoppers, sellers, buyers, porters and lookers. He chugs forward, the engine pulling the train of Komfort, Robert, Dijaineo, Evoil and Dag. In the Merkato, the six of them are unusual oddities. They attract curious gawkers, who stand and stare or video record them. At times, they squeeze between shoppers. Other times, they shove. Always slogging forward.
Although, no robots mingle among the mammals, an occasional aerodrone hauling small packages passes overhead. On the street, ubiquitous, cheap PCDs cling to every face. Or they wear PCD earrings and necklaces. Their talk never stops. They buzz and bark and bray.
Their constant brain numbing chatter squeezes Robert’s mind like a vise. Stinking stench of the unwashed sweaty bodies squashing him assault his sinuses. His eyes water. Drowning in a sea of clammy, sweat-wet flesh, he begs for a breath of cool air. His head hums, then buzzes, then rings and then bangs onto the pavement. Robert lies at the feet of Dag, passed out. Too much Kategna partying combined with too much heat and not enough sleep smashes him.
“I thought you Canadians were tougher,” Dag smirks as he kneels next to Robert.
Robert’s head swells then shrinks, swells then shrinks. A shadowy, blurred Dag’s face blocks the sun. Robert blinks his aching eyes. Finally, focus finds him.
“I was mugged,” he slurs.
“No, you just decided to take an impromptu nap,” Komfort teases. “Now stop creating a scene. It’s embarrassing.”
With help from Dag and Dijaineo, Robert staggers back to standing. He wobbles. Dijaineo struggles to support him, as he stumbles into a shaded spot next to a shack and out of the traffic.
Robert’s rubbery knees weaken and wobble. Dijaineo lowers him until he sits on the pavement. He drops his pounding head between his knees.
Impatiently, Dag glares at the immobilized Robert and then visually searches the crowd for Amesha and Komfort. For a few seconds, the sea of shoppers part. Several stalls ahead, he spies Amesha bargaining with a vendor. Komfort waits next to him. Meanwhile, Evoil wanders among the peddlers between Dag and Amesha.
“I need to watch those three, so you stay here with him until we come back. He looks sick, so I don’t think you’re going anywhere with him for a while. Do not leave this area!” Dag orders Dijaineo, as he hurries after the Amesha group.
Dijaineo watches the throng swallow him and the others. “Are you ok?” He asks, lightly patting Robert on his shoulder.
“I’m getting a little better,” Robert mumbles from between his knees. “Are they gone?”
“I can’t see them.”
“Ok, good,” Robert continues muttering. “Now, while he’s gone, please explain to me how you and Evoil became Dag’s prisoners. Did he grab you at the airport?”
Dijaineo surveys the area, looking for eavesdroppers before beginning his explanation. “About three hours after you and Komfort left, Evoil began begging me for us to find a restaurant where he could eat some meat. I ignored him for a long time. But, he kept insisting and since I hadn’t eaten either, I reluctantly agreed. My mistake was thinking that since he was pleading to eat meat and claimed to be a big meat eater that he would enjoy trying the Ethiopian delicacy, Kitfo. So I…”
“Kitfo?”
“Yes, Kitfo…raw minced ox meat. You should know. You ate some last night at Kategna.”
“Oooooh,” Robert groans. His stomach flip-flops with a sloshing growl.
“Anyway, so I took him to Atnaf siga bet. It’s a raw meat house in the suburb of Bole. Not too far from the airport.” Dijaineo bends over assessing Robert’s health then he straightens. “Well, I was wrong. When they served the Kitfo, he took one taste and then started yelling that they were trying to poison him. He actually grabbed one of the servers. He made a nasty scene. Very embarrassing.”
“Ok, all that’s interesting, but what about Dag? How does Dag become involved?” Robert growls with a burp.
“Yes. Yes. I’m trying to tell you, but you keep interrupting,” He snaps with aggravation. “So, somebody in the restaurant called the authorities. And as the authorities are dragging him out, he is screaming that they can’t touch him because he’s an American and an SS Deacon. He shouted so loud that people heard him for blocks. A big crowd gathered around the restaurant. Well, one of those people who heard him was Dag or somebody who contacted Dag. After about an hour of questioning, the Ethiopians released Evoil and me. That’s when Dag grabbed us.”
“Now wait. How did Dag and the Russians know we were coming here? Komfort didn’t tell anybody, even me, that we were coming here.”
“I asked him that same question. He said once the Russian military learned that Komfort had left Venus and was possibly traveling to Pion, agents were dispatched to every country where SPEA operates to find her. So, he was sent here just in case we came here. I suspect he had been prowling around the city searching for her and just stumbled upon Evoil and me. Because when he questioned us, he was only interested in learning if we knew Komfort’s location. All he did was threaten Evoil with his revolver and Evoil immediately started babbling that you went to the Embassy. Then, he simply had his Ambassador contact Amesha, and a few minutes later we’re reuniting with you in Kategna.”
“Well, to tell you the truth, so far I’m happy he joined us,” Robert offers, as he rests his aching, swirling head atop his knees. “He’s restraining Evoil and he’s supporting Mugavus. In fact, I almost trust Dag more than I trust Evoil. But, I’m not planning to place my life in either one’s hands.”
Bored tending Robert, Dijaineo scans the meandering shoppers. During his survey, he spots two men eyeing them from a vendor’s stall. As soon as his eyes meet theirs, they turn away and pretend to shop. A few seconds later, they peek over their shoulders at Robert and Dijaineo.
“I’m afraid that we may have bigger problems.” Kneeling in front of Robert, Dijaineo whispers, “Raise your head slowly and look over my left shoulder at the two men standing together at the basket stall.”
The two men are shifting uncomfortably between pretending to shop and surveilling Dijaineo and Robert. When they notice Robert raising his head, they speak for a second and then split. One man stays at his current location, while the other man walks away.
“At least they’re not more Russians. Anyway, I don’t think they are.” Dijaineo mutters.
“No, they don’t look Russian, but they don’t appear to be curious, friendly Ethiopians, either. I hope I’m wrong, but they could be ARTAS. Understand ARTAS is operating here.”
“ARTAS is everywhere.” Dijaineo rubs his throat with his left hand. “Are they still whacking off the heads of their prisoners?”
“Yes, but you’ll have at least six months of life left, if they grab you. First they’ll kidnap you. Then they’ll ransom you for months. They’ll only cut off your head when they can’t sell you and after they have tortured you.” Robert struggles to his feet. “I think we need to find the rest of our group. Safety in numbers, you know. So, stay where there’s a crowd.”
> Robert and Dijaineo edge through the throng in pursuit of Komfort’s group. Stopping at a cheap sunglass vendor’s stall, Robert feigns selecting a pair of glasses. In the vendor’s mirror, he detects the two men, together again and not far behind him. He returns the sunglasses and hurriedly resumes his quest for the others.
As the two men close the gap, Dijaineo panics. He shoves an older woman aside and dashes ahead. In and out and around, he darts and flits.
Robert struggles to stay with him. Simultaneously attempting to watch both Dijaineo and their two followers, Robert blindly crashes into a woman carrying two live chickens. He hits the ground first. Ooof! The woman slams onto his chest. Wildly flapping their wings and cackling deafeningly, the woman’s chickens batter Robert’s face. One chicken spurs his shoulder. With his remaining strength, he shoves the woman off. Rolling onto the street, she screams insults at him.
Onlookers crowding around him join her in shouting insults while simultaneously disseminating videos of his plight around the world. Instantaneously, Robert is internationally infamous. His plan to keep his presence in Ethiopia quiet disappears across the Internet in a cyber second.
On his hands and knees, Robert scuffles to break through the cursing crowd. A knee slams into his ribs. A fist smashes into his back. He battles forward, finally breaking into an opening. He straightens and limps into a painful jog. His assailants continue screaming insults at him, but do not follow. They are too busy video tracking him.
After he distances himself from the chicken fight, Robert stops and surveys his surroundings. He is lost. Abandoned by Dijaineo and separated from the rest, he suddenly realizes that he has no idea where he is. His only familiar sight is of the two men continuing to follow him. They stand twenty feet away staring at him while he stares at them. Too tired, sick and battered to run, he watches and waits.
“In trouble again Robert? You’re becoming quite a problem, you know,” the voice of Komfort sounds from above his head.
Briefly glancing upward, Robert discovers a PCD temporarily attached to a borrowed Ethiopian trader’s delivery aerodrone hovering above him.