Ababa dehna nechew?
Is Dad ok?
This young boy, to the right with the white shirt, asked about my father, whom he is used to seeing in the compound that we live (a community of highrise apartments in the "suburbs" of Addis Ababa).
He came with a group of boys for the annual "Buhe," a religious and cultural holiday which precedes the Ethiopian New Year in September. It also signifies, culturally, the end of the rainy season, the kiremt, and that heavy rain, with the resounding thunder that I heard so frequently this kiremt.
To keep him calm, I said that he (my father) was fine.
I will see him soon, again, in the compound. I will tell him.
The photo I took is of the second time a group came (this time different from the first), but the young boy, whose name is Ze-Michael - of the lineage of the archangel Michael) - came along too.
This time he was more subdued. Possibly, his family informed him of my father's death.
I gave him a hug, and thanked him, and blessed him, for asking after my father.
But, I left him alone.
I will find him in the compound, and tell him
Buhe is a joyous, fun (yes fun, and it is kids having fun not the juvenile adult "kids" who love to talk of "fun"), and festive.
There is the traditional song that the young boys sing, clever verses that they add onto with the times, and where their listeners, whom they inform with their loud singing, rhythmic pounding of sticks, their hand clapping, and often a small drum.
They would receive home-baked Buhe bread (or equally delicious store-bought) or dollar coins, which the leader collects and evenly distributes to his orchestra.
I gave them, both times, ten Ethiopian birr, two birr apiece. They will get rich! Or at least they can buy all the candy that they want.
Addendum:
I saw this young boy, Ze-Michael, yesterday afternoon, patrolling the small park around the compound, accompanying young children, and making sure they are OK, leader that he is.
I told him that "Ababa" is now in the hands of God, and that we pray for him every day, and we ask that he pray for us too.
I am sure the boy's family told him, and in his astute and sharp way, he showed a glimmer of knowledge, which he quickly camouflaged with piety.
My mother was with me - we were doing our daily "once round" (her directions) of the garden. The boy recognized her, and immediately fell to his knees, to kiss her feet. This is the tradition of humility toward elders, and especially elders who need our care.
This beautiful boy did everything right.
"Come back and visit us!" I told him. "Just knock on our door."
"It is your home." - Betih new.
We left him then to his twelve-year-old self (I asked! "How old are YOU?").
We have a sure neighbor, and a careful caretaker.