I like to read books about adventures and "discoveries", and it usually makes me laugh when I read that the source of the Blue Nile was discovered by James Bruce, or the Victoria Falls by I do not remember who, surely by a European adventurer! It makes me laugh because the Nile and its source have been known to the natives since time immemorial but it was the lowest priority for the GojjamEs of that era to communicate this information to the rest of the world. Unfortunately, that counts for a lot! James Bruce took the honour of a "discoverer" because he was the first to communicate that eternal knowledge to the world!..."YeberEn msgana wesedew feresu, kehualaw tenesto kedmo bemedresu...!"

I am not sure if what I wrote here exactly fits to the theme of this issue. But I would like to communicate my "discovery" of Europe vis-à-vis the issue of communication! Who says that only the Europeans have the right to discover Africa, its nature, its societies, its rituals? Who says that only the Europeans have the right to impose and communicate their culture on Africans? I tried to do the inverse...I "discovered" Europe and its societies (I know I am not original in referring to Europe as a bunch since the Europeans themselves prefer to talk about Africa and Africans as such, irrespective of their innumerable geographical and historical differences), and I tried to communicate Ethiopia to the Europeans and vice versa.... Do you think I should take the honour of "discoverer" of Europe!? At least one thing is sure! I have never come across any such claim so far. Here goes only a very minor part of my story.

As fortunate as I am...hehehe! I had a European prototype as a seat companion during my flight from Addis to the unknown...I had all the allure and courage of a determined adventurer... I was clad with the most expensive product my country could provide (you guess right! It seems that the "Qoda" shops at Piazza are branches of the Immigration office, where you go right after you collect your exit visa!), I had two hand bags (the minimum required for every Ethiopian voyager!) and a book "for the road!"

I kept smiling to my companion as a sign of courtesy every time he glanced at me. I was surprised by his "surprise." It took me a year to understand why he was so surprised! He thought that I was "interested" in him! That was my first discovery, in retrospect! I remembered a paragraph in one of the books of African adventures that says that "when you are in a 'traditional' African society you should be careful to respect the norms of that society." This holds true for the "modern" European society too....As a "normal" male adult, one is not supposed to hug or to smile mischievously at any "Adam," neither is it appreciated to go on a shopping spree with one!...... I already started to miss home!

The plane took off and started hovering over Addis....but not for long! We left Addis with its sporadically gleaming "30-watt" street lamps! My companion started with a question (I wonder if the chromosomes of the Europeans have an extra trait in the shape of a question mark that carries curiosity!?).

"Where are you going?" I immediately understood that we were even in one thing. English was a first language to neither of us.

"To France", I answered frTm biyE.

"You are lucky, it is a very nice place and very romantic," he managed to construct his sentence somehow.

"Not as lucky as you are!" I fixed my eyes at him to observe his reaction. He seemed not to understand my remark.

"Why should I be considered so lucky?"

"Because you had the chance to visit my country, which is equally nice and romantic," I defended. I read the "you are an over-patriotic fool" sign in his eyes but he continued his questions without making any specific remarks.

"What will you do in France?"

"I am going there for my Ph. D.," I answered casually.

"What is that ?" It was my turn to be surprised! I tried to explain but I did not have the impression that he understood or that he believed me. It was another discovery...surely not for me...but I need to communicate this to my country people...Not every "neCh" is "m'hur," and not every "neCh" goes to university!

"Do you speak French?" he continued.

"No, not even a single word!" I answered -- it was a genuine reply!

"So, how do you communicate? How will you conduct your studies?" Finally an interesting question, a question that preoccupied me most.

"I am going to study French the first year and I will start my professional studies afterwards."

"Wow! That will be a hell of a challenge for you!"

"I am an adventurer! That is what an adventurer is supposed to do! I know it is difficult, but I will try my best." I thought it all to myself, but I only shared the last sentence with him.

Then it was mealtime. We were served with the "best" food the air industry could provide, being on board one of the most prestigious carriers in the world. I was not in the mood to eat nor did I have the appetite. Who needs to eat a snack after having been treated with beqmem ib'd yalE qey weT during the farewell gbjja some hours ago? My neighbour started attacking with interest his plate while I kept dreaming about that qey weT. He took my gesture for "ignorance" about how to unfold the aluminium cover of the snack, and he offered to do that job for me. I told him that I had no appetite and thanked him for his generosity. I was surprised by his pre-determined linear way of thinking. Even if "ignorance" were the case, I could have imitated what he was doing. I do not need a Ph. D. to do that!

We kept chatting about "nothing and everything" until the "one you do not see coming" crept over my neighbour, and he started to animate our part of the plane with funny snores. The plane continued on its way north, my thoughts kept running back south. We arrived at one European airport in the early morning and I said good-bye to my companion who apparently was at home. He wished me all the best and good luck, and I took it for granted! "Communicating pays!" I reminded myself. I boarded the connecting flight to my final destination.

My real discovery started just at my arrival in my would-be "home" for the next five years. I was told to ask for information at the airport upon my arrival to get in contact with the organization that had granted me the scholarship. I went to the airport information desk and asked one of the charming ladies exactly that, in English. She could not understand. I tried to rearrange my pronunciation and I repeated my question, blaming myself for my bad pronunciation. If only I had known! The case was the opposite. My English was too much for her! She murmured something in French. I could not understand anything. She started consulting her colleagues and at the end of one solid minute they came up with a sentence...half English! half French! That was a real surprise to me. There I was in a major European city airport speaking a language the bearers of which boast is the most-widely spoken language in the world, but I was helpless because I could not communicate properly!

"You go à droite...non you go ....merde, j'ai le mot au bout de ma langue! [Shit, I have the word at the tip of my tongue] ...Chantal!" she called her colleague, "Comment dit-on droite en Anglais?" [How do we say right in English?]

"Rrkight" replied Chantal -- she seemed to be very proud of her knowledge!

"Oui, You go at rrkight...après...non, afterrk you go left....you find un Otobus en sortant...You vill see a bus vhen you get out...." She continued to show me the directions with the help of her hands and a map. I believed more her hands and the map than her "Frenglish!"

How amazing - there I was with a CV where I had proudly noted that I am well versed in three languages, but those languages could not serve me to communicate! On the other side of the counter stood a lady who spoke a unique language and my compatriots back home would not ask her if she could speak English! By default, she is an English-speaker! I honestly believed till that day that all Europeans could at least "understand" some English!

As every determined adventurer could have done, I managed to find my way and to contact the organization in question! I discovered it! irgT new! It may have taken me nearly three hours to do that and I may have lost one of my handbags, bihonm, what counts in any adventure is attaining one's objectives!

I spent the weekend in that world-acclaimed, romantic city. At the beginning of the week, I continued my voyage by train to my final destination, at least for the year: the town where the language school was located. My voyage by train was not any less interesting. I had to change the train at the town of "Niort," as had been marked on my boarding ticket. The conductor was announcing the consecutive stations on the microphone. People got off and others boarded the train at each station. Towards the end of the morning, I heard him repeating "prochaine station Niokk" [next station is Niokk], some people started to prepare for the descent. I was attentively waiting for "Niort." When the train finally stopped at the station, I saw "NIORT" written on the platform. I had only a minute to get out of the train but I was there sitting comfortably, my baggage twenty metres away from me. I collected the baggage and got off the train at the speed of light. When I came to my senses, I remembered what a friend had told me and I smiled: there was this Indian guy who could not understand the French language and had said, "These French people are crazy, they write Bombay and they read it Calcutta!" How right he was!!

I finally arrived at my destination. A representative of the school was waiting for me at "la gare." He did a short welcome address for nearly a minute while I stood there exhausted and trying to load my baggage into his car. I could not understand anything but I just sensed what he was saying. I told him politely that I did not understand what he said and I did not understand French at all yet. "Oh...je suis desolé...I am sorrkky!" It took him as long a moment as he spent for his welcome address, to say in English that he was sorry. I understood at that moment that I had over-estimated the power of English. I honestly believed that I could communicate with everyone in Europe in English. I sensed the magnitude of my duty of an adventurer right there and then. If I was supposed to succeed in my adventure....even to survive in this part of the world...I had to drop "English" and take "French" seriously. I should be able to communicate! I understood at that very moment that it was me who should fine-tune my bandwidth....adieu! English.

I started class the next day. I was assigned to the "Beginners" class...where else could it be!? Classes had started two weeks earlier and you could imagine what would happen the first day of my first-ever French class. Besides, I was late. Class was in full-swing. I slipped into the room searching for an empty chair with my eyes.

"Comment vous appelez-vous?" [What is your name!] The teacher caught me off-guard. I tried to reason out that she meant "welcome." It was the moment to make use of the unique French word I learned by then.

"Merci"! [Thank you!] I understood my error when the little Chinese and Japanese lady- students had a laugh-festival. At least I tried my best to speak French! The teacher smiled and allowed me to take a seat. She started to explain...at least it seems like that to me ...for some minutes and she asked me again.

"C'est quoi votre prénom? [What is your first name?] Ah, that was the question!? It was my turn to smile. I recognised "nom" and I equated it to "name"

"Asfawossen" I said. It was too complicated for her and she repeated her question:

"Non, votre prénom?" I could not understand what she wanted to know.

I repeated "Asfawossen". She went into some more explanation and she asked me the same question. [What she said was that "Asfawossen" was probably my family name and she wanted to know my first name. "Asfawossen" was too complicated to be a first name!]

"Asrat" I said, maybe she wanted to know my father's name. She was happy this time and said "Voila! Asrrkat, c'est ça!" [That's it!] I was not in any position to explain to her that that was my father's name and in my culture we do not have family names...it is just name, father's name and so on...(But I explained that to her some months later in her own language!). I was renamed and was known by "Asrrkat" during my stay at the language school. It had been a great pleasure to me, though.

The next day, I met two compatriots who had arrived some weeks earlier and were in another class. I could not have been happier ...at least that was what I felt at that moment. It was a great pleasure to be able to communicate spontaneously, without thinking back, without any extra effort to communicate one's ideas! And I realized that life would have been much more difficult if one was always obliged to "think" a language instead of simply using it!...We formed a band of "Three Musketeers" and started our adventure and discovery.....

It did not take us long to discover that our town was in fact a village with less than twenty thousand habitants, ninety percent of whom were senior citizens. I easily recognised in them the "Simam Arogitoch" of GashE Sibhat in his novel "Tikusat"! Chances were high that we were the first "blacks" most of them had ever encountered. I could never forget the fearful eyes of one kid in a supermarket who tried to hide away, gripping the hem of his mother's skirt when I passed by him...But it was a perfect place to learn French. If you were lost in town and you did not speak French, you were really lost! So you learned French not only as a means of communication but also as a means of survival! ...and fortunately, we survived.

As weeks passed by, I started to understand some French. I liked the challenge of learning the language. I liked my adventure. It became more interesting when I was able to communicate my ideas to the instructor and the students. I liked it because every one of us was given the chance to communicate our culture in French, and I used this opportunity to the maximum.

One day we were discussing "Time." The teacher asked me what time it was. It was in the morning. "Four o'clock!" I said in the most natural way. Everybody looked at me, amazed.

"Are you still sleeping, Asrrkat?!"

"Oh sorry, I meant ten o'clock," I said, but I did not stop there. I explained the system for telling time in my country and said that was why I confused the hours.

"It is interesting! Well, in which year are we?" she continued.

"1998" I said and I continued "But if you are interested to know, it is only 1990 according to the Ethiopian Calendar!" Everybody started to look at me as if I were some extra-terrestrial being!

"Why are you so late?!" asked one European student sarcastically!

"No, we are not late but we use a different calendar from yours!" I answered. "Moreover, our new year starts in September, not in January, our calendar has thirteen months, twelve months with thirty days and the thirteenth with five or six days!" I added. "It's unique because it is the official state Calendar" I explained more.

My "Asian" friends started to explain their respective calendars, too...and from that day on, every body was curious to know what this or that looked like in the "Ethiopian" culture. Bingo! That was the goal of my adventure!

I tried to communicate my culture in this manner at every session. I was very glad to inform my "European" and "Asian" counter-parts that there existed somewhere another civilization, an undiluted African patrimony...in a place called Ethiopia! My compatriots in the other class were not less "over-patriotic fools". One day, they were practicing the phrase "who or what is your favourite...?"

"Who is your favourite singer?" asked the teacher.

"Tilahun Gessesse," replied one. The teacher made no remark. He was sure that it was some sort of a "Rapper!" What else could a "black" have as a favourite singer!

"Who is your favourite actor?"

"Debebe Eshetu," replied the other. This time the teacher started to be angry. He used to boast in class that he had seen every film...and knew every actor by heart.

"What is your favourite flower?"

"Adey Abeba!" ....

At the end of the year, we were marked as the "Bizarres!" We liked our group nick-name, though, because the real meaning of the word is "peculiar or different!" We respected and tried to integrate into the European culture, but we also tried to transmit the "word" of our "bizzare-ness," our difference and our peculiarity, at the same time!....and we had some "European" and "Asian" converts at that...converts that believed that there exist other civilizations than "western" and "eastern".... but that is another story!