You know the strangest little thing about memory? remembering those most irksome little bothers in life with unrelenting fondness. nostalgia …isn’t it the weirdest thing about memory?

It was in Ginbot, very close to the national exams,

the time - mid afternoon-ish
when dusty dry particles billow out from pavements
surrounding, adding noise to vision…
little flakes …pricking below the lids.

walking against a dust cloud…

skipped classes for tastier ventures
crashing day parties
gripping the trilling lures of adulteration
lethargic on cafe chairs
see …be seen…
whom, what…
clarity, enclosed in a whooshing sound as
foggy teenage distractions revolve around
the mind
that’s another strange thing about memory
fog….but this Ginbot had no fog
au contraire mon amie!
the horizon was so bright the sky was sparkling.
a piercing white sun shone down like BouZA lights.
specks of dust as they rose from the ground
chocking up airy volume
chipped blue and white paint of taxis
smeared with flakes of brownness. dust.
mirrored by: cloud, blue sky, dust…

the innocence? of school girls in uniforms.
prancing along the pavement,
flimsy thoughts floating- of social swank and swagger.
chatter on details of so-and-so, cliquesy clique qlink…
gossipy chitchat;

joyous giggles surrounded by dust cloud.
slinking words. talks of aspirations, pop pop culture…

air rumbling before a storm.
pensive. big exam. big stuff…big decisions.
whether …she’s going to be going
….the hair salon once every 2 weeks and full on primping for cafe lethargic,
or an alternate existence…in foreign space…
hmmm, days stomping addis streets chasing lifestyle treats….