On Friday, the kids are grumpy. Seriously grumpy. Borderline bratty. In Ethiopia, when kids are pissed off, they shrug one shoulder, stick their bottom lips out and stare at the ground. We are getting a lot of shoulder throwing. It is not that cute.

A couple from Kate’s adoption program shows up to bring some donations, and they end up staying for the going away party for the little girl going to America. They’re named Amanda and Matt, are from the Midwest, and are young. Younger than us, but older than M, which makes them just the right age for us all to hang out with. They come to dinner with Kate and we all talk about AHOPE. Kate’s heard that we make the children eat off the floor and that they are all mistreated, which we find hilarious, if totally inaccurate.

When Matt and Amanda go home, we go out with Kate. We go to her guest house, which is a few blocks away and is full of glamorous golden couches, and drink beers on the roof. Then we call Kate’s taxi driver, Gonchu, to take us to a club called Harlem Jazz. Gonchu is older, and lives with his mother and sister. He also drives at a snails pace, weaving all over the road. At one point, a taxi flies past us, and Gonchu tells us that the driver has had too much to drink, because he is driving so fast. I consider giving Gonchu a vodka shot so that he will drive fast enough to get us to the club in the same day.

When we get to Harlem Jazz, its packed with people. Kate, being 22, starts dancing immediately as T and I sit awkwardly with our drinks, feeling exceptionally old and white. At one point, there is a dude doing the Gurage dance, making the hand chopping motion with one hand as he clutches an entire bottle of gin in the other. When the music stops, he tells us he is a tour guide and offers us a ride home. Thanks, dude. We’re all set.

On Saturday, Kate invites us to go to the Crown Hotel with Matt and Amanda and the one adoptive mother in town. They have a buffet dinner and some excellent dancing, including T’s favorite, the booty dance. The booty dance involves a hot woman shaking her badonk at a man, who sits on the ground and scoots either forward or away from her. In a nutshell, it is the greatest dance ever.

On Sunday, we go to Little AHOPE to paint the kids nails. It’s total pandemonium, and the kids go crazy for the polish. A bunch of them have us paint their fingers, and then they run away and remove it, coming back with the little bottles, and when we say no, they throw the shoulder.

The one exception is Sweet Girl, a kindergartener I don’t know very well. She sits next to me quietly as I paint her fingers and toes, and she is so good that I decide to try out my I love you in Amharic. I tell her awadashalo, and when I do, she lights right up. She moves closer to me and tells me she loves me repeatedly, and I know we are going to be good friends.

One little girl, Six, has just had surgery to remove one of the tiny sixth fingers on her hands. I ask to see it, and when I point to the hand that is now missing the finger, she grins at me and points to the other hand, which still has the extra finger, as if to say, Stupid ferenge, there’s still one on this hand! Then she holds out the remaining six-fingered hand so I can paint each nail.

Amanda and Matt come over for the finger painting, and when they arrive, a bunch of the kids immediately start wooing them. The reader starts doing calisthenics around the salon, Princess starts doing her adorable little princess routine, and New Girl cozies right up to Amanda. Their plan works, to some degree. A few days later, Amanda starts talking about adopting from AHOPE.