Day ends, and I am bone tired.  Dani took me to meet his aunt Welansa and I instantly fall into her and her very enaging friend who recently moved back to Ethiopia. They are a duo of fun, and I once again find myself wanting to stay here forever.

I feel like I fit here….my humor is understood, I dance every day, my visual senses are fed. I miss my family and friends at home, and I wish I could somehow bridge the two. Perhaps there is a way….

I find myself wanting to be silent – watch everything go down in front of me.  Mix mash of people, classes, tribes and various forms of transportation and languages. A sashay of Amharic and Oromic interplay, here, there, everywhere.  Music, click click of high heels on sidewalks, people running everywhere, fast. Rhythm. Everything has rhythm here.

Out of the chaos, a small boy tugs my sleeve.  I look down, and see Miki, hair church-ready slicked back and torn shirt haphazardly tucked into his frayed pants. I see a lot of street kids here, box of gum in hand, showing a persistency that any CEO would envy. But Miki seems different. There is something about him that makes me want to engage with him. Yet, experience warns my heart, and I pass by, finding a seat at the nearby coffee shop.

I see that Dani offers Miki one birr ($.05) for gum.  Miki’s face lights up and he asks Dani to choose what flavor he would like. Dani waves at him and says it is ok, he doesn’t need gum today, sell it to someone else. Miki instantly begins to cry, deflated that Dani was not taking his gum. He pleads with Dani, saying that it is not right to take money without giving Dani what he bought. With integrity front and center, he stands firm until Dani relents and takes a piece of gum.

Miki works the same corner, in front of Friendship Mall in Addis Ababa, every day. He was born on this busy street, and remains at the same spot, living with his mother and trying to make a few cents each day in the most fair manner.

Ethiopia, I am so honored to be here and learn from your people.