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“Where shall we go for recreation?” I asked eagerly,
expecting that my friend would propose a place where
we could be relieved from the polluted air
surrounding our neighborhood by taking a break in
one of the outskirts of the metropolis. I envisaged
breathing in some good, clean air and lying back in
deep relaxation while listening to the tantalizing
sound of soft music.
“You know what? Addis lacks public parks and
recreation centres. The new mayor ought to thing
about that seriously. I thing developing parks and
resort areas in and around the capital should be
given priority in an endeavour to change the face of
Addis Abeba, bearing in mind that the city is graded
as the sixth dirtiest city in the world.
Constructing high-rise apartment buildings and
developing residential communities was a plausible
attempt by the visionary provisional Mayor, Arkebe
Equbay, to improve the capital. His transfer remains
a myth to many observers. It is a pity that there
was no rallying for governorship of the city.” My
friend was carried away by his thoughts and seemed
to be talking to himself.
I felt like gulping down some cold beer and asked
him to join me. He agreed. We went down town where
they brew draft beer and serve it in jugs of various
sizes and shapes. When we arrived there. It was
getting dark and customers had begun crowding the
place. The snacks were delicious and there were
tasty burgers made from fresh, roasted beef. The
beer was cold and mildly bitter, much to our taste.
“What do you think about the handing over of the key
to Addis, or its implications?”
His question was so sudden that it threw me off
balance. I didn’t have anything to say. I simply
shrugged and lifted the heavy jug of beer and
quipped, ‘Cheers!” This toast was for the health of
Addis and its new boss. My friend responded
likewise.
“You know, ‘Deressa’ is an Oromo word meaning
‘make it long, or elongate. After the CUD members’
boycott, the city was without a governor. The
government couldn’t sit back and leave the city in a
limbo. The gap had to be filled in, Arkebe’s rein
had to be extended until such time that an elected
Mayor would take over. The son of ‘Deressa’
was consequently appointed as a Caretaker City
Administration Executive, living up to his surname,
so to speak.”
He continued jokingly, “To be replaced by the son
of ‘Demeksa’, which means to enlighten, or
make aware. It can’t be any more appropriate than
that.” He seemed to be enjoying his own creative pun
with words and semantics.
The group sitting around the next table was chatting
loudly, and, as if joining in our conversation
started chatting about the UEFA Champions League Cup
Final played between Manchester United and Chelsea
at Zuzhiniki Stadium in Moscow.
“Football has become global and common to all, black
or white, rich or poor young or old, male or female…
In short, it has become a remedial activity for all
those who feel sick when politics are discussed.” My
friend shifted his topic to sports, carried away by
eavesdropping. I was listening attentively.
“People need something to cheer them up, they need
some kind of entertaining drama, even if it happens
to be political fiction or make believe. They can
enjoy the creativity if they set their minds to
appreciating the ability of both the author and the
actor. Football is a nice and timely prescription in
our day.”
I intervened to augment on the monetary aspect of
football that has of late attracted even Russian
tycoons like Abramnich, not to mention the American
billionaires who have acquired Liverpool, much to
the dismay of conservative Britons.
“Have you watched the match on TV?” He asked me. I
said no. I couldn’t convince myself to stay late
into the middle of the night and watch the match at
the expense of deep slumber.
“To be frank, it was Avram Grantis’ team that played
much better, especially after the second half. The
players attacked well and created many chances for
goals. Manu’s Ronaldo scored the first goal 26
minutes into the game. Chelsea’s Lampard equalized a
minute into the first half of extra time, it was
Edwin Van der Sar who saved the day for the ‘Red
Devils’ when he saved the seventh spat-kick by
Nicolas Anelka who was substituted, perhaps
unwisely, during the second-half. Ronaldo, who
scored first, was the one who missed the penalty
kick.” My friend’s narration included specifics.
We didn’t know how much beer we had consumed, it was
not necessary to count. The waiters were there for
such trivial matters. We were still discussing the
aftermath of the dramatic match between the two
English teams when a man appeared before us, begging
to be pardoned for his intrusion. He was decently
dressed, wore specs and had a bushy beard on his
cheeks. He had on a leather jacket. A half empty
bottle of whisky protruded from his large pocket. He
couldn’t stand steady and could hardly open his
eyes. Judging by the whiff of his breath, it was
evident that he had been drinking alcohol, possibly
whisky.
The fellow introduced himself as a man who was 46
years old and had just come back from abroad after
staying there for over 20 years. He was a member of
the Diaspora. He belched over and over again,
continually asking for pardon every time he did so.
He took a cigarette out of a pocket and, with great
difficulty, inserted it into his mouth. He couldn’t
light his cigarette as he was unable to maintain his
balance. I was disgusted and left my friend there as
I walked out.
Although I could not watch the game on TV, I tried
to listen to the FM 102.1 sport’s report on it. Just
before I dozed off, a reporter was telling us that
the match was almost a disaster as blood was shed
and bones were broken. There was some tussle that
started as a teasing feat and ended up with the
controversial Drogba being given a red card and
being sent off the field. I pitied the reporter for
single-handedly providing a commentary on the match
for more than two hours, till his voice was left
cracking and hoarse.
At midnight, fans of Manchester United coming back
from Dish Houses were singing and making noise
during the dead hours of the night. They were
chanting songs and shouting at the top of their
voice to express their joy.
I find it hard to imagine how much the Ethiopian
youth has been drowned into European football at the
expense of the National Football League.
If EPRDF wants to win over the youth, the least it
could do is sponsor the broadcast of the English
Premier League. I know my comments will cost me a
lot in the light of other serious matters of concern
that need to be addressed.
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