My Memoir: Learn your language bareddoo

It was like 1:36am when we stepped out of the airport into the thundering sky. It was a full moon, and I remember looking at it in awe. I was imagining all the amazing shots I could get here that I wouldn't find in Abu Dhabi. Without a second thought, I find myself pulling out my DSLR camera to snap, what would have been an amazing shot but not before having all eyes snap towards me...more like my "expensive" camera. Suddenly, I'm faced with a frantic mom.

"maal goda jirtaa! Cameraka dabisi...daffi!!" 

Our eyes locked, and when I shook my head, she sighed. "Put the goddamn camera away" she whispers loudly. "Why?" I say starting to snap the moon. "Tasnim, put the camera away", this time her voice was serious, straight to the point. I put it away without asking questions.

We finally reach the place we are staying. It was a huge three story house, for real, it was bigger than our home in Abu Dhabi, the bit of anger that I had from the camera incident was overshadowed by the excitement I have for staying in this house for the next month, did I mention it had a jacuzzi... cuz yup, it does. 

The first few weeks went smoothly, and I'm glad to say that I took more photos than my SD card could hold. It was almost a week after we arrived when I heard someone yell,

"Faranjiii, Faranjiii, Farangiitu ufaniii" 

Looking around I see multiple eyes pointed in my direction, as they yell in what I know is Oromo, but what I hear as gibberish. I had no idea what the hell they were freaking out about. So I did what any idiotic person would do when practically a mob is shouting at them. I ran. I ran hella fast. I didn't even know I could run that fast. For the record, I run pretty fast tbh.
I rang the bell and rang the bell and I swear it took the cleaner 2 hours to get to the damn door. Once I was sure I was safe from the "mob", I went to my mom, to ask her my burning question.

"farangii, farangii, something ofanii". 

She stared at me. "Who came?" She asked.
Obviously, we are both completely confused here.
"No, What does it mean, cuz I swear to god there was a goddamn mob yelling that at me. I just ran like 100kpm to the house"
Her face did something weird, and I knew that she got what I was trying to say. I was not gonna let this go. I persisted, and then I wished I didn't when I heard what she had to say.

"Whites, Whites, a white is here"

I stared at her. My mind went everywhere. It was then I realized how I was perceived amongst my own people. How I was perceived as an outsider even with the same blood running through my veins. I looked like them. I had their dark skin, their curly hair, their eyes, nose, and their lips. I had their customs and traditions, and I had their stories and folktales; but still, that wasn't enough. When they heard the language of the foreign thieves come out of my mouth, they knew I wasn't really one of them. I had it all, but I didn't have their prize possession.

I was hurt and deflated and felt like complete shit, seeing how I was not welcome in my own country. I then realized why my mom made me put the camera away when we first landed. Thank God I listened.

I then felt only hate and resentment towards my country, towards the people that did not accept me. It was exactly two days before we were leaving when I met the old man living next to our house. He was cleaning out the front of his house when he said hello. I spun so fast I legit almost broke my neck. Someone that wasn't my family, was speaking in English. I had the biggest smile on my face and walked up to him. Immediately he pulled me into a hug; take note, I have never seen this guy in my life, but I still hugged him back. After introducing himself, and asking about me, he asked what I was doing here in Ethiopia.
"To teach English to children" was my response.
He replied by saying something that would then stay with me for the remainder of the trip and most probably for the rest of my life.

"We want youth like you. You help your...our country. So many Ethiopian children that live in the west, never come and help. We need help."

I could not help but smile the biggest smile. He was the cutest old man, and I instantly fell in love with him, not like that...God. Then he asked,

 "Can you speak Oromo?" 

My smile slowly faded, and I didn't know what to say. He waited patiently. Not having the heart to say no to him, I shook my head. He looked disappointed and I felt as I had just crushed his spirit. My stomach dropped, all the way through my body and hitting the ground, making it shake; and all I wanted to do was to bawl my eyes out. He grabbed my hand and told me.

"learn your language bareddoo". 

 It was then I realized why I was called "faranjii",

 because I was.