"...ONLY IN AMERICA"  

The following article is not intended as a political statement, a racist or prejudiced slander, or as an insult to any particular race, ethnic group, or nationality. So, please do not take it too seriously. But then again, “Many a truth is spoken in jest”.

DISCLAIMER: What follows is a real life account of an incident that took place at a Minneapolis Minnesota restaurant. To protect the innocent the names and identities of the subjects involved in the incident have been concealed.

It was around one O'clock on a June gloomy Minneapolis Monday afternoon when a fairly sophisticated young Ethiopian man walked into what appeared to be an Ethiopian restaurant. Being a stranger to the city, the young man saw this as the perfect opportunity to meet a local habsha, and maybe with a little bit of luck, a young Ethiopian lady companion, in addition to enjoying a delicious plate of Ethiopian plate he had been craving for while. After all, Minneapolis Mn, is a step up, though not by much, to rural Kentucky where he had been the last few years and where the biggest excitement was generated during the annual county fair. So, it was more than just a trip for a quick lunch. It was, what you might say, a mission of some sort to acclimate himself with the local Ethiopian community. So, our friend enters the restaurant with a ferocious appetite and eagerness to converse with fellow Ethiopians. Slightly dismayed at the absence of a gorgeous young Ethiopian lady to sit him at a table like he had seen in other Ethiopian restaurants, he nonetheless sat himself at the bar. He was promptly handed the menu by the male Caucasian bar tender. A white bar tender at an Ethiopian restaurant, he thought. Hmmm. Weeeyyyyll, nothing too extraordinarily unusual about that. After all this is America, he rationalized to himself, and perhaps the majority of the restaurant's clientele might be of the Caucasian persuasion and this could be the management's way of catering to them. Well, not so fast.  It was upon a quick perusal at the menu that our friend learned this was not your ordinary Ethiopian restaurant. To begin with, not a word in the menu was written in Amharic. Well, this is not so bizarre, he thought to himself again, he is after all is in America and it is understandable to have menu composed of English only. So, he started to read the menu looking for a familiar Ethiopian dish. But wait a minute, there was something strange about the whole thing. He could not make out any of the words written on the menu. Am I that hungry that I am starting to hallucinate, he thought? Or was it someone’s idea of a joke? He looked around the place to see if someone would pop out from behind one of the chairs and say, ‘surprise!’ Nope, no such thing. He looked the menu up and down again hoping at least a familiar word would jump out at him. No chance. He kept starring at the menu. How does he order the food? Sure there is an English translation just below each bolded entrée on how it was prepared, but since when did habesha men in America start getting curious on how doro wot or minchet abish is prepared? Are you kidding me? Just bring us the plate and get out of our ways!!! We are like true wild animals that way. They should add a level in the Food Chain just for Ethiopian men between herbivores and carnivores, not quite helpless, but not very self-sufficient either.

Getting back to our friend, what to do was his dilemma. Here’s an Ethiopian man, at an Ethiopian restaurant wanting to order food he is familiar with and … he couldn’t do it!!! He did not know what to order. It can be quite embarrassing, to say the least. Who can he turn to for help? The only person around was the bar tender who is as white as the shirt he was wearing. Asking him would be like a pilot asking his passengers how to fly the plane. Maybe he can get someone for me who can read the menu, he thought. So the young man asked the bartender if he could get him some help. The bar tender asked what the problem was and our fiend, reluctantly and a little bit embarrassed, replied by saying he wanted to order some Ethiopian food. The bar tender then promptly replied, ‘It’s all Ethiopian food, but you must speak Oromigna to be able to read it.’ Well, no kidding Sherlock, thought our friend, tell me something I don’t know!! The bar tender then continued, ‘What did you want?’ Our friend then explained to the bartender that his choice was the 'Tibs’. Reading the body language and the rolling of his eyeballs, the bartender might as well have said ‘duh!’ as he pointed at one of the entrées. With the swiftness not seen on the most experienced waitress at an Ethiopian restaurant, he said ‘It’s this one!’. Oh well, thought our friend, silly me, of course it is. Yeah, go ahead twist that knife a little more, won't you? 

The bartender then turned towards the kitchen where a young man of Hispanic descent was standing, and with a loud confident voice, barked "IIoolaa Akaawii". Before the young customer finished marveling at the bartender’s familiarity with the menu and his Anglo/Oromo accent, he saw a young man of Hispanic descent in the kitchen area. No he thought, that couldn’t be... he thought. Is that the cook? Sure enough, the Hispanic man, without showing a hint of hesitation walked to the stove and started on the young man’s order.

Isn’t "Globalization" wonderful?