Getting a Bed

Last week, just over a month after arriving in Fincha, my bed frame was finally completed! It was a lesson in patience, and a perfect example of why patience and a sense of humor are so emphasized as necessary character traits for PCVs:

Two weeks after arriving, I showed my drawing of the bed frame I wanted to the carpenter, and we agreed that because the new year was coming up, he could take two weeks to get it made.  

Two weeks later, the day we’d agreed it’d be done, I went to pick it up and discovered that they hadn’t sawn a single board for it. After some heated arguments between the carpenter and my counterpart, they promised it would be finished by the next Thursday, five days later. So I went up there that Thursday, and it of course wasn’t finished, as I’d by now learned to expect. Thank goodness I went though, because the drawers I’d asked for were on the wrong side. We got that straightened out, and they said to come at 10am sharp the next day. So I dutifully went up at 10am the next day, and of course they weren’t finished, but they were getting close, so I sat on a bench and watched them finish for about an hour.

I enjoyed that thoroughly, watching them do their work. A guy was welding metal in front of me, so one of the guys came over and told me in Oromiffa + gestures not to look at it. His concern made me smile for sure. The best part was when they finished; they called me over to inspect it, and while I was looking it over, one of the under-carpenters asked me if the bed was for one or two. It’s the size of a small twin bed, so I of course answered that my bed was for one person. He said, “In Ethiopia, bed is for two.” (Lies, you slightly creepy man). I said, “But abba mana hinqabu.” (I don’t have a husband), and the whole crowd of them cracked up. He then asked, “Why not? Do you have a problem?” (Excuse me?!) I said that no, I don’t have a problem; I’m just too young to get married. Luckily, he thought that was legitimate. Score!

Finally we were ready to transport the bed. I live at the bottom of the hill, and the carpenter is at the top of the hill, so to get the bed home, the carpenter found two men, and they carried the bed on their shoulders/necks – one in front, and one in back - the whole way down the hill. Ouch! I felt for them. You should now be picturing a bed being walked down the main street of town, with me walking next to it, in which literally the entire town gets to see that I bought a bed, and exactly what it looks like. Proof that it didn’t go unnoticed? That afternoon I went to the baker on the side street to buy some bread, and he asked me, “sire bite?” (bed you bought?). He’s on the side street, so word had to have traveled to him for him to know that! I laughed out loud; I couldn’t help it.

Once they got the bed onto the compound, they tipped the bed on its side and tried to bring it straight in, saw that it was still too wide to fit in the doorway, and set it down, apparently at wits end.  So with enormous repeated gestures, terrible fragments of Amharic, and a little manhandling, I directed them to bring it in on a curve to get the headboard through the door. I was a little exasperated at that point – patience does eventually run out - but maybe they’ll remember that technique for next time. So I now have a bed frame, and a memory to last a lifetime, which I can pull out to retell the next time someone complains about moving in the U.S. …

As a side note, the other notable part of that day occurred early in the morning. I went out to dump my dish water, and my landlord’s wife asked me, “sire hinfinne?” (Your bed isn’t finished?) And I responded confidently, “sire nyaadhe” (I ate my bed).

Oops! The ladies on the compound were in stitches at that one, and it took a while before I got a straight answer about what I’d done: in Oromiffa, “sire” (pronounced sir-ay) means bed, and “cire” (pronounced cheer-ay) means breakfast. Once I was clued in on the joke, I definitely joined in!

The finished product