030 – Special People
The Ethiopian premiere of “Endurance” turned out to be interesting in ways that I didn’t anticipate, but which I think Abiy did. He seemed to have misgivings from the first and it had nothing to do with the 150-birr ticket price as I’d thought. His fears that he did not belong at this event seemed justified right at the first. In fact it was pretty clear that neither of us belonged.
We took a share taxi to a spot just below the Sheraton and walked the rest of the way. As we got closer Abiy made comments like, “Now this is your part of the expedition.” He walked slower and slower the closer we got to the imposing main gates and I started to wonder if perhaps I was out of my depth and there were things at work here I didn’t understand. But what after all could be so difficult about going to see a movie, a movie for which anyone could buy a ticket? (assuming of course you could afford the 150 birr and you could get into places like the Sheraton where tickets were sold – very large assumptions)
Abiy’s worst fears were realized at the gate where we found heavy security and a soldier who wouldn’t let us pass and then ordered us to step back 50 meters or so from the gate. This was only temporary we found out and we were allowed to come forward after a heavily guarded motorcade of about a dozen motorcycles and half a dozen cars zoomed through.
When we approached the gate a second time we were told we couldn’t go in. “It’s a special night at the Sheraton and only special people were allowed inside,” Abiy told me he said.
Abiy immediately demanded to know if he would then refund us the cost of the tickets. It was looking like we weren’t going to get in, but with tickets in hand I was certainly not going to leave quietly. I was prepared to give them a good and noisy fight if that was what it took. Abiy too was not in the mood to back down and spoke rapidly in Amharic. Eventually a second man joined the first security guard and demanded to see our tickets, which I produced. As they examined the tickets I got the impression they hadn’t actually seen tickets to this event and I thought we would now have to prove their validity. But they relented and let us in.
The Sheraton complex was even more impressive at night than in the daytime. The sight of the softly lit water in the swimming pool made me long for a swim. The sound of the dozens of fountains relaxed and surrounded me. However, we didn’t even get this far without more security. We first had to pass through the metal detector at the doors and submit to a thorough body search complete with a hand held metal detector. Nothing on my person went unnoticed including my eyeglass case, small flashlight and of course the endless pockets in my jacket.
Any doubt that Abiy’s presence at this event was suspect was cleared up inside a jewellry store where we went window shopping. Abiy was slightly ahead of me looking at the display cases when a sales girl approached him. Her attitude was suspicious. But then she saw me and asked Abiy, “Are you with him?” indicating me. Without thinking he said yes and she promptly went away. The monstrousness of this insult only sunk in much later when it was too late to do anything about it.
To get into the Lalibella ballroom where the movie was being screened we had to pass through yet another metal detector and submit to another body search. I think it was my 30th body search since arriving in Addis two weeks earlier and I joked to Abiy that it was like a free massage.
The reason for this even greater than normal level of security was written on the program which we were handed only after we’d reached the ballroom itself: the President of Ethiopia was attending. The mystery guest in the motorcade was a mystery guest no longer.
Seating in the ballroom was set up for perhaps 1,000 people and when we arrived very few of the seats were taken. The entire front half was roped off and reserved for the President, his entourage, invited guests, the stars of the movie including Selassie and his family (who played themselves) and various government dignitaries and reps from the film festival who were in an adjoining room having cocktails. They emerged en masse along with a busy photographer when it was time for the speeches and then the film to begin.
Abiy and I sat off to the side feeling deliciously like imposters who had successfully infiltrated the ranks of the rich and beautiful people. The audience was predominantly Ethiopian with a sprinkling of ferenji, which made the “Are you with him?” question even more puzzling. You’d look hard and long before finding someone with gentler and more honest features than Abiy.
The ballroom itself was very richly appointed and very technical with a wide array of lights and sound equipment that could be lowered through panels in the ceiling and withdrawn as needed. The film festival had brought sophisticated portable projectors with them made by a company called “Barco.” These projectors meant that they could take these films on the road and they were going to do just that and show the films (especially “Endurance”) at special free outdoor presentations in towns across Ethiopia.
I enjoyed the film itself immensely mainly for the strange sensation of seeing on film the very scenes that I see around me every day, which are still new and exciting. It had a mirrors within mirrors quality. The audience chuckled at certain personal details that they could relate to, but for the most part it was for them an expression of national pride.
The centre and climax of the film was Gebre’s 10,000 meter race at the 1996 Summer Olympics in Atlanta. For the entire film Gebre was running behind the dreaded powerhouse, the Kenyan team. In the final minutes of the film and the final lap of the race Gebre sprinted into the lead and the audience burst into spontaneous cheers and applause and again when he crossed the finish line and once more when he received the gold medal. The emotion was so powerful and heartfelt you’d swear we were watching a live broadcast and not a movie. When the lights came up Gebre took a bow and was given a standing ovation.
The film made it clear why so many world class runers come from this part of the world. To be the next Haile Gebre Selassie is the dream of tens of thousands, probably hundreds of thousands, of young Ethiopians for whom it is a way out of the village and out of poverty.
The theatre emptied and the audience climbed into their waiting cars with drivers, the special people. Abiy and I walked to the gate. The irony of it all struck me just then. The reason we were not special people, the reason we were nearly turned away was that we did not have a car. We walked to the Sheraton. It was ironic because the film celebrated an Ethiopian hero who was a runner, a runner who as a boy had to run six miles to school and back every day, a boy whose hero was the other great Ethiopian marathoner who ran barefoot.
As we approached the gate we noticed an Ethiopian woman who was obviously also not a special person. She too was on foot and now was looking for a taxi. Ever the gentleman, Abiy offered to escort her down to the main road. As we walked she asked if we had been invited to the event. No, we told her, we had bought tickets and invited ourselves. She asked because she too was nearly turned away at the gate. Her companion for the evening cancelled at the last minute and the guards questioned her closely as to why she was alone, a sin apparently compounded by walking. She was understandably offended and it had left a bad taste in her mouth. She experienced more problems inside when she went to the washroom and her unattended belongings on her chair caused a “security frenzy.”