“One thing I truly admire about my friend is that before he eats, he always makes the sign of the cross three times. If he’s in the mood, he recites the Lord’s Prayer (Our Father) in Ge’ez, and other times in Amharic. Only then does he start his meal.”
I usually don’t like going to the university café with others. There are two main reasons for this, though I can’t say there aren’t other minor ones.
Since childhood, I’ve had a habit of feeling self-conscious or “disgusted” by eating while looking at someone else. Even though there are other diners around, I prefer to go alone so I can find a secluded corner to eat in peace.
My eating speed has increased to an alarming rate. Because I struggle with a sense of “shame” (yiluñta), I can’t bring myself to face others when I finish my food in just a few minutes, making them feel awkward or observant of me.
However, some days it just happens that I end up going with my friends.
Most often, I go to the café with a friend whose name I shouldn’t mention. This guy has an unforgettable, almost obsessive love for Zerfor (a specific meat dish served at the university). On Zerfor days, you can see him hovering around the café starting from 11:00 AM or 4:00 PM. He is so restless that he can’t do any work until 11:30 or 4:30 (when it opens), so he waits at the door an hour early.
To anyone watching his love and greed for meat, it looks like he’s tasting meat for the first time in his life.
I don’t know if I caught it from him, but I too have become secretly obsessed with waiting for 11:30/4:30. To tell the truth, before I entered university, I didn’t even eat beef. Even with mutton, I would only eat it if it was fresh - I wouldn’t touch it if it was a day old. Even after coming here, on days when they served meat stew, I used to skip the stew. But after a few days, I don’t know what happened to me, but I became someone who longed for Zerfor day. I even started judging the servers by the amount of meat they gave me. If they didn’t put enough meat, I would curse them in my heart.
Even though I was embarrassed by it, on meat days, I would sneak out of the dorm or library and head to the café an hour before it opened.
One Sunday afternoon, I went to the library at 12:00. By 4:00, I suddenly remembered the café food, and an unplanned hunger hit me. The annoying thing is that on Sundays, the café doesn’t open for dinner until 5:00 PM. I tried to stay in the library until 4:30, but I couldn’t. I stopped reading and tried to distract myself with a video on my phone, but it didn’t work. Finally, I left the library and stood far enough from the café so people wouldn’t judge me, scrolling through my phone while waiting for the exact moment to pounce.
Minutes later, I saw that same friend who usually goes with me coming from the main gate. His walk was just short of a run. To an observer, he looked like someone who had just heard bad news or was rushing to save a life - not like someone rushing for his stomach.
I knew exactly where he was headed. Since I was on the path to the café, he saw me and smiled.
“Hey, Soba (Esubalew), shall we go?” he asked.
“What? It’s only 4:25,” I said, looking at my phone.
“Well, it opens at 4:30. There’s only 5 minutes left…” he said, with a look that suggested, “If you’re coming, come; if not, stay back.”
“Man, it’s Sunday!” I said, laughing.
It hit him like a thunderbolt. “Oh man, I totally forgot!” he said, and sat down with me.
One thing I admire about him is that he always prays before eating. I’m the same way; I wouldn’t eat without saying: “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name… lead us not into temptation…”
We waited, the time came, and we entered the café. Since we were early, there weren’t many students yet. I watched as my friend, who was ahead of me, was served massive chunks of meat. Not to exaggerate, but there was hardly any stew - just a mountain of meat.
I was behind him, so I didn’t see the smile he gave the server. I realized he was dazed by the amount of meat when he walked toward our usual table without picking up a cup of water. I followed him with two cups of water and saw him make the sign of the cross as he walked. Since he had slowed his pace and lowered his head while walking, I was moving faster, so I passed him and sat down. He arrived immediately after, sat across from me, and started eating.
“Wow, this meat… he skipped the prayer,” I thought to myself, assuming the meat made him forget or neglect the Lord’s Prayer.
As I pushed the water toward him, he said, “Oh, man! I forgot the water.”
Then I remembered him crossing himself and walking with his head down as he carried his food. I asked him: “Why did you cross yourself while coming over here? What did you see?”
He took a bite or two of the meat and said… “Oh, I didn’t see anything. I just figured instead of wasting time sitting here, I’d say ‘Our Father’ on the way! I walked slowly so that by the time I sat down, I had finished the prayer!”
I don’t think I’ll ever laugh as hard as I did that day.