In the morning, two new teachers come into teach the kids. They work at the American school, and they read Green Eggs and Ham just as they do at home, stopping to ask the kids questions and pointing out pictures. During the lesson, a new girl arrives. She is about three, with a white dress and an explosion of tiny braids at the back of her head. She carries a ziploc bag full of stuff, and watches everything seriously. She doesnt cry, and after a couple of hours, she just walks over to me and leans into my arm, saying nothing.

The other kids are good as well; I sit with one of the little girls in my lap and bounce her around as she cries with laughter. She looks like our friend Emily, and her laughter is a shiny thing. Meanwhile, another little boy plays hand games with T, happy to have some man time.

I finally get a little boy who looks like my cousin Charlie (but with molluscum) to let me hold him, which he does with a smile, and Ms friend Happiness has cheered up enough to blow me kisses when we leave. It is a good day.

We go to the Melting Pot for the African buffet, and the restaurant is packed with people. A table full of African women in brightly colored dresses sits behind us, and suddenly one starts to bash her glass with her fork, calling for the waitress. When the waitress doesnt immediately sprint over, the woman begins to yell WE NEED THE BILL! We watch her, horrified, but secretly pleased that she isnt American.

At night, we get in a series of taxis to go to Charlene and Owens house in the suburbs. Charlene and Owen are missionaries from the West Coast with an Ethiopian son. They have come to Addis for a few years to work at AHOPE, and Charlene teaches the older kids English. On the bus, I am sitting on the back wheel, and I whisper to M that my $15 Malaysian jeans are a little low-cut and that Im worried I am flashing the back row of the bus. As if to confirm my fear, the woman behind me suddenly pulls down my shirt and pats my back. Yup, Im a creepy ferenge flasher.

Owen and Charlenes house is out in the suburbs, where the city is spreading rapidly. There is construction everywhere, and in a few years, the neighborhood will look entirely different. We have dinner with them and their sons family—his beautiful wife and adorable daughter, who is a studious-looking little thing with wire-rimmed glasses. (I am unable to resist children with glasses.) After a long conversation and some delicious homemade Ethiopian food, we go upstairs to see their new porch. We stand on top of their house, with Addis spread out like a blanket and a furiously glowing moon, and I start to worry that I might never want to leave Ethiopia.