Becoming Eritrean

We’ve been here 17 months now. For me it’s the time when I realise that I’ve taken on, albeit very superficially, a veneer of Eritrean-ness. As in (in no particular order):

It feels wrong to not at least shake hands with someone when we meet, more often than not it’s three kisses and occasionally a shoulder bump (before coming I’d read that this is only for men on meeting, but that’s not true.) This is in addition to the verbal greetings and enquiries into the state of work, health and general condition.

I seem to consume vast amounts of sugar, at least in comparison to before I came here. Always in tea and coffee, on my porridge in the morning, and as for the daily cakes …

Coffee ceremony without popcorn? Unthinkable.

I will always take great pains not to walk through the middle of a conversation, even if the parties involved are taking up the width of the pavement, just step into the road.

With the coming of the high temperatures I’m eagerly awaiting the beles (prickly pear) sellers on every street corner.

I can accept sitting and having a conversation over a bottle of fizzy water.

It no longer seems so important if a meeting doesn’t happen at its planned time, maybe later.

Ful and fatta, two dishes that are always on the menu in cafes are also my favourites.

Getting up at 6.30 every day to blue skies and sun ……….. doesn’t everyone?

A lunch-time siesta is a necessity.

It’s raining? (actually it's not yet) We’d better wait at home and head off to work when it’s stopping.

C