By: Yilkal Abate Kassa

Time is running out, the argument is raging...
"John, please cut my..."
"Are we renting a car or are we chilling in a limo?" he interrupts.
"Cut my hair first, John, and no, I don't want to go bald!... Oh, flip!.."

The front door bell of the boys' cottage rings and Kourish is here with his prospect (means hair cut has to be delayed and we have to behave ourselves while she is there).

When she is not looking, the gestures for tonight's plans rage on. As minutes pass, gestures are obviously not doing enough and talking…or rather, fist throwing and barking, seem necessary. About five minutes later Kourish and the lady go to the main building for convenience.

John discloses that he's reached his overdraft limit and his card wouldn't be accepted to make the deposit for the car…I feel myself twitch; and for a brief moment I hear my parents say, "Fall to no temptation…Education first, second, third, fourth and fifth. The rest follows." Or was I just uncomfortable with leaving my card tied to those thugs who would send 500 pounds from my account down the Bermuda triangle at the slightest scratch on the car's paint, let alone a dent on the body.

All indications from earlier experience are that the chances of me nose-diving into more red from the likely commitment are not negligible, to put it mildly. So I figure if we get a limo... the driver can scratch and bump the hell he likes out of the car, we won't be responsible and no deposit will be required...Yilkal is happy. John is thrilled at the suggestion and a deal seems to have been struck, finally. He agrees, as promised, to pay the bulk for the excursion.

"John, let's do this hair thing..."

I still have not gotten used to the idea of having my hair cut by a stranger in a shop. Maybe I am still put off by the sanitation or the lack thereof of the barber shops in Debre Zeit; plus my mother always did a wonderful job, although it sometimes came with a 'complimentary' kurkum for refusing to sit still.

After much moaning my hair is cut...and we are making a call to the limousine company. (Brief mixture of feelings including "Wei QibTet".) They tell us that the payment has to be made by card in advance -- a sum of £400 for 4 hours of service. Hell! It's down to my card again, but John agrees to refund the bulk...and it's getting too late. We take the deal.

Fierce mid-term exams have just passed, it's time to impress the birds again (...or was it time to hope). The Annual International Night of the University and its dire expenses has arrived in Spring '98.

Not only have you got to dress-to-kill that night, but you also have to turn up in a Car, not the tube nor the bus (that is a die-hard situation). You see, it is a 'Representation' thing at the International Night celebrations of the most expensive university in Europe. For me, and surely some others, the carnival has appalling consequences on our pockets afterwards... but hey, the time to sulk is not as the driver holds the door of the 12-seater for us right outside my room. I sink in my first-ever red limousine seat - delight! Who would have thought I could be chilling in a limo two years ago? Temesgen new, I mutter although John doesn't understand.

The cool-white stretch comes with a TV, CD and tape player controllable from your arm rest, champagne glasses in a fine cupboard, an empty bottle and a cooler, power-controlled tinted windows, lots of space, air conditioning, a telephone we can't use, breathtaking interior design, a mike by our seat to tell the driver where to go…above all, it has the desired effect when we come out at the Hippodrome.

On the way, John indulges in a bottle of expensive champagne with the money he's supposed to put in my account!! I put in initial resistance but give in to his argument of having a 'complete' picture for the babes.

Entrance fee of International Night celebration: another £20 each. (Millionaire subscribers of SELEDA, please read £20 in the context of students hit by Tebsh). At the entrance, guests are treated to an amateur show by students. We couldn't care less. We are orchestrating our moves on pretty girls.

Our self-destructive expenditures go well into the night and we stay in the spotlight. At times the attention from the girls on the dance floor is torrential. Whatever we ask for, we get. Whether that's because of the Limo, us, us and the Limo, them, the music, the weather, the building, the air… I don't know for sure. But I have my suspicions.

~ " ~

I woke up the next day knocked out of balance but happy for having had sex the previous night. For the rest of that semester I languished in the debt of the celebration and wondered about the issue of over-spending for a 'relationship'. I could not find anybody else to blame for the consequences of that night.

I would not want to spend another such night in College and I cannot deny the eluding nature of the equilibrium between cost, studies and 'relationship'.

'How much does having money help you in getting the girl you like?' I suspect quite a bit.

'How much does shortage of money stop you from getting the girl you like?' It doesn't make it impossible.

Our whole lives are but a point in time. So, I choose to enjoy it while it lasts, and not self-destruct with it.

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