St. Mary’s: The Ethiopian Block Party

Time is flying by and already I find myself celebrating St. Mary’s holiday without knowing it, again.  Last year you’ll recall I drank coffee with my landlord’s family and neighbors on their front porch, only later to find out this is how they celebrate St. Mary’s holiday.  This year I knew it as soon as I saw it, but still didn’t realize the holiday was approaching until the rest of town was well into their celebration.

Unfortunate scheduling had me rushing to an appointment across town yesterday afternoon to tutor a couple of the orphan boys I met last fall.  I hadn’t done much in the physical movement department on my lazy Sunday so I decided to walk, taking the shortcut through back streets instead of the paved main road.  What I didn’t know from my celebration of the holiday last year was that those without front porches instead celebrate with neighbors out in front of their houses or in the yard within their compounds.

It didn’t take me long to realize the holiday was being celebrated, neighbors from every single celebration calling me to join their party.  I kept repeating my excuse, “I have an appointment, but thank you for inviting me! Happy holiday!” while taking a obligatory scoop of nefro in my hand as I walked away.  Nefro is the holiday specialty treat, a mixture of boiled beans, corn, chick peas and barley eaten by the handful.  A few more persistent neighbors wouldn’t accept my excuse and insisted that I at least sit down for a minute to celebrate with them.

After a few blocks of walking it was comical, literally every celebration bringing me a plate of nefro for me to take a handful from.  At any single point of my journey I had nefro in hand, barely finishing one household’s snack before politely taking some from the next.  It figures that about half way to my appointment my landlord’s family calls me, beckoning me to come drink coffee, and, of course, eat nefro.  I knew I had to go; I already missed their big Easter celebration with neighbors and felt horrible.  I debated turning around, retracing my steps back to my house right then, but thought the path of least resistance (without having to explain my sudden return to every celebration along the way) was to continue to where I was going, which was on the main road, and from there I could get a bajaj taxi back to my house.

The second half of my walk turned out to be the same pace as the first half.  Five steps forward, two steps back, one scoop of nefro, repeat.  I was impressed by how many of the celebrations had at least one person who knew my name, meaning there were hardly any “ferengi” calls.  I finally made it to the main road and waved down a bajaj, never making it to my appointment.  Luckily appointments here are easily rescheduled, and hardly ever obligatory.  And I didn’t disappoint my landlord’s family, whom I’ve come to think of as my own family.  I managed to turn a simple walk across town into a joint-celebration with more families than I can count, on a holiday I didn’t know was going on!