I knew from the get-go that Yonas could potentially be a problem. Since he was my Ethiopian tour guide, I would need to ignore his megawatt African smile, tight black curls, athletic body, and the fact that he resembled P. Diddy when he wore sunglasses. His role in our relationship was clearly defined and professional; anything more might make him feel uncomfortable, or even worse- leave him unemployed. Plus I was traveling with my dad, who makes for an awkward third wheel on dates in your thirties.
Men in the Pacific Northwest could learn a lot from Yonas: Yonas showered. Yonas shaved. Yonas put on a clean, button-down shirt and slacks every day. Yonas was also a good conversationalist; he could ask me appropriate questions and follow my answers with- wait for it- more appropriate questions!!! He spoke two languages and, as the youngest of nine siblings, was the primary caregiver for his elderly parents. He was not only smokin' hot but also responsible, kind, and intelligent.
The first hint that he might be interested in me came on day #4 of our seven day excursion to southern Ethiopia. He had been completely professional, showing no romantic intentions whatsoever, until my father was away taking photographs. "Do you have a boyfriend?", he asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I think maybe because I am picky. I don't know."
He seemed to thoughtfully consider my response.
"So in all of America, there is not one man that could be your boyfriend?"
Um, yeah, pretty much.
The conversation ended there, and our trip continued. We were running out of time. During the day he was our guide, and at night I shared a hotel room with my father. I wanted to know Yonas better, but I didn't want him to feel an obligation to me, as a paying customer, beyond his guide services. Any invitation to spend time alone would need to come from him.
The request to see me came strategically on his last night as our tour guide. My dad was tired, so Yonas suggested we go to a bar alone at the respectable hour of 8 pm. Five hours and five beers later we had watched a performance at a cultural center, danced to Ethiopian hip hop in an underground club, and urinated in a "traditional toilet" (public alley). We had not kissed, however, and I thought I was friend-zoned.
Then as he was driving me back to the hotel, he made a suggestion:
"You could come back and sleep in my bed. It's a double."
I was excited, but the offer came as a surprise, and with five drinks in me, I had to quickly weigh the pros and cons.
Pros:
1) I wanted to.
2) You know, in the name of cultural exchange and anti-racism.
3) I'd get to put another tack on my "Men I've Fucked" map of the world that includes the USA, Canada, Israel, Guatemala, Zimbabwe, and South Korea, but no Ethiopia.
4) I really did want to.
Cons:
1) I hadn't shaved in two weeks and was self-conscious.
2) The whole sub-Saharan Africa HIV epidemic.
3) While we have no formal commitments to each other, "W___" would be hurt.
4) MY DAD WOULD KNOW I'M NOT A VIRGIN.
"I want to," I said, "but my dad would wake up and see I'm not there and ask a lot of questions."
"Yes, I understand." He didn't pressure me at all.
We drove back to Addis Ababa the next morning, and the following day my father and I flew to northern Ethiopia while Yonas remained at home. We continued to text each other throughout the week and planned to meet during my six hour layover last Saturday, in between my domestic and international flights, but, as often happens in Africa, my domestic flight was delayed without any explanation. One hour passed, then two, then three, and I knew that I would be lucky enough to make my international flight, much less see Yonas.
Before I boarded the domestic flight, I texted him that our original plans wouldn't work out. I would have less than three hours in the airport, and I had to clear security for an international flight. I turned my phone off without waiting for a response.
I landed in Addis an hour later and looked at the new messages coming in:
"R____, I am leaving now to go to the airport."
"R_____, I am in the international terminal parking lot."
"Have you landed yet? I am waiting for you."
I grabbed my huge duffel bag, said goodbye to my dad who was scheduled for a later flight, and ran out of the airport into the parking lot. Yonas was waiting there looking calm as always, wearing cream-colored slacks, a light pink shirt, and those P. Diddy sunglasses. He gave me a big hug. I felt like a giddy Taylor Swift.
"We have a little time," he said. "Go check your bag then come outside and meet me, and we'll go to lunch."
We drove to the closest restaurant, which served pizza. "You don't eat meat, right?"
"Right," I said, "but get whatever you want and I'll pick off the meat."
He said something to the waitress in Amharic, and she came back fifteen minutes later with a vegetable pizza. Yonas proceeded to pick off the vegetables.
"I am so sad you are leaving," he said. "I missed you this week. Do you think you'll come back to Ethiopia?"
"Probably not. I have to start a new job in America. But maybe you can come visit?"
"I would like to, but America is the hardest country for us to get a visa to. I don't know why! I have a car, a bank account, a business here. I want to live in Ethiopia! It is the best country in Africa. I had a visa for Sweden for two months, but I only stayed three weeks because I missed Ethiopia! But the US won't give me a visa because they will think I won't leave their country."
He is right, of course, about the privilege of travel that I take for granted, the privilege that he would likely be denied because of his country of origin.
I thought about him ordering the vegetarian pizza and picking out the vegetables from his slices. These are the men we are fighting to keep out of America?
