“The Newcomer” (or “Why I will Never Walk Around the Main Road of Fitche Wearing Headphones EVER Again!”)

I would not generally describe myself as a complacent person when it comes to my surroundings. In fact, most times I could be described as a pessimist at worst (though I prefer pragmatist) or cautiously optimistic at best. But let’s just face it; after you’ve given conventional wisdom the proverbial finger hundreds of times without incident, even the most pessimistic pragmatists may find themselves throwing all caution to the wind. After all, would you generally consider it advisable to obliviously stroll around blasting your headphones on a busy main road in the Horn of Africa frequented by people who are probably the craziest drivers in the world and accompanied by rural farmers with Ak-47s who have never seen you before? A year ago, my answer would have been no; however, as I said before, I have done this hundreds of times by now. 

I was walking over on the main road, known here as “Commando Road,” which is one of two places in town that has an ATM and ketchup. It was around 9:00 in the morning and a market day. Most times I would avoid this side of town on market days, as it is full of strangers coming from the rural areas who are there to sell their wares, and on the occasions that I walk by, shout “MONEY, MONEY” or “CHINA, CHINA!” It happens to everyone, and wouldn’t you believe that even after a year it still pisses me off? Anyway, that’s what headphones are for.

I had just finished my shopping, and I had my headphones on as I was walking up the main road to my favorite shortcut that allows me to bypass all of the usual market day harassment. Everything seemed normal as I passed all of the shops and the gas station to my left, only this time, as I looked towards the gas station, I saw a man frantically gesturing at me. This still isn’t all that unusual as strangers often do this to one of Fitche’s five known white people in town (me). However, it got a little weirder as suddenly three other guys across the street started gesturing at me, followed by two more, then three, and finally five more. However, there I am, this oblivious dumbass with more headphones than sense just walking along.

After giving it another moment of thought I finally felt compelled to turn around where I was greeted by a sight that had certainly found a wormhole out of my worst nightmares and made its way into my reality just 6 feet behind me.  I am not sure what’s scarier, the fact that she was charging at me with a knife, or the fact that she looked like an extra from “The Walking Dead” with her flushed, white eyes, saggy skin and long, frizzy hair, not to mention the deranged look on her face. I mean, really, I don’t want to be chased by anyone with a knife, but I especially don’t want to be chased by anyone with a knife that looks like THAT!

I feel like now is as good a time as any to mention that as this unfolded I was listening to Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly With Me.” You know how movie directors sometimes lay ironic and inappropriate music over a tense scene in a film? This was kind of like that only this was ACTUALLY HAPPENING!

Even as I ascertained that she had a knife and was coming right for me, I didn’t immediately start running. I am a fast walker, and this time I was already walking particularly fast before I noticed her. Even with my heart pounding out of my chest and the utter disbelief that I felt, I was reasonably satisfied that she couldn’t even out-walk me and just continued walking fast while looking behind me. I was also afraid that running might provoke her into a real chase. And if I had seen this character chasing me for real, I think I might have logged Peace Corps Ethiopia’s first accident in the pants that couldn’t be treated with antibiotics.

After about 10 seconds when I was certain that I wasn’t in any more danger than my ignorance had already put me in, my pure and utter terror turned into rage.  At this point I got the gumption to stop in my tracks, remove my sunglasses and stare her down. I then proceeded to point at her, and to my surprise she also stopped dead in her tracks. She then hissed at me, yes, hissed, picked up a rock and threw it at me (missing of course), turned around and walked away. I should have felt very accomplished that I had repelled this abhorrent apparition, but actually I was literally shaking afterwards.

I have since described this situation to a few colleagues who frequent this side of town, both of which have said that they had seen her before walking around with an umbrella at night and shouting at random people.  The explanation that I got was that some people from the rural areas probably dropped her off on Commando Road, as is often done to crazy people whose families don’t want to deal with them anymore.  Today, when I went into the bank to pick up my new ATM card, I told the guys that I was avoiding the bank on Commando from now on due to the latest drama, to which that man replied “Ahh, yes I know of her, she is a newcomer in Fitche.”

-Donovan