Oliver Benjamin
Roy did not know how to reply. “Sorry,” he said.
“All the money in the world can’t change the fact that Africa is at
nature’s mercy,” he said.
“She’s a stubborn one,” Roy said, examining an ancient-looking
military shield on the wall. Like the roof of the place, it too boasted a
massive brown nipple protruding from its center, fashioned from
hippopotamus hide. Roy fingered the thick skin. The Ethiopian
mother goddess sure was one bad mother. Beside it on the wall hung
a rusty spear.
“They were used in the battle of Adowa,” the dabtara said, “Not
far from here. Ethiopia beat the Italians with spears and shields and
guns better suited for throwing at the enemy than shooting.”
“That works sometimes,” Roy said, still marveling at the
belligerent nipple, an unlikely collision of Venus and Mars.
The dabtara allowed himself a smile. “The great mother may be
a tyrant, but she is gracious when it suits her.”
“Where did you learn to speak such perfect English?” Roy asked.
His faraway eyes traveled backwards over a great distance. “I was
a diplomat once. I used to be one of Selassie’s right-hand men, back
in Addis,” he said, “Up until he was deposed in ’74.”
“You worked for the Emperor? That must have been exciting,”
Roy guessed. They all came over to sit with him.
“Extremely exciting. Consequently, we were a very nervous
bunch. If our master ever suspected us of disloyalty, or even
disagreement, he would ruin us. Some were even killed. But I learned
how to play the game. I was a diplomat in more ways than one, and
managed to live comfortably while it lasted. Then Mengistu came
into power and I was ruined anyway. I suppose one cannot get too
comfortable in Ethiopia.”
“And then you started working for God,” Webele said.
“Yes, but as God’s powers seem quite incomplete here, I decided
to become a dabtara. Now I am a diplomat of an altogether different
sort.”
“What sort is that?” Roy asked.
“Why, my friend, an ambassador between heaven and the earth!”
Webele clapped his hands together. He said, “Then perhaps you
can tell us if there exists a divine coffee in Ethiopia. A magic coffee.
The fruit from the tree of life in the Garden of Eden.” He loved to say
that last sentence over and over again. It sounded so hysterically
earnest.
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