“Sile Mariammmmm, sile Giorgisssssssssssss,” they chant one at a time. Funny, I’ve never heard “sile allah or sile Mohammed.” Mothers with babies nestled in the crook of their arms – at times tugging on a visibly malnourished breast – sometimes the babies are dolls covered in netela.. “Sile ayne birhannnn,”- the blind, grasped at the wrist and led by a human walking stick. “chinkkk kechinkk kechinkk” flip about and sing the dull amst ena aser santim lying on his palms. The walker, as always, dons his nonchalant look silently coaxing you to cough up that coin and let them be on their way.

The monokses shrouded in their orange garb sit in a row inside the gates of Bole Medhanialem. “Mtssss, lijée” they drawl, waving their half closed palms up and down in that reversely hypnotic movement. “Mtssssss, enatéeee,” I want to sing back and then run to knock my forehead and kiss the betechristian gedgeda in that exact order – if I do three of those, I might be forgiven completely for mocking them. But they’ve already captured my heart. The really young and old ones always do! Continue reading ‘Begging Performances’