On Tuesday, my cold has kicked in full swing and I spend the morning lying in bed, moaning whenever T comes in the room. The rest of the time, I try to sleep but end up reading David Sedaris instead. Later, as I am walking alone, a little girl asks me for money and I say no. When I come out of the supermarket, she is still there, waiting for me, so I give her a birr. She runs away happily, but soon enough, I hear her shoes scraping on the pavement behind me. When she catches up to me, she tells me thank you in English and I ask her name in Amharic. Her name is Desta, she tells me, and then she asks for some more money for clothes. I tell her no, and when she runs away, I notice she is running back to her mother. CRAP! This is why I never give money to kids! As I continue my way home, she catches up to me again and chatters away in Amharic. I have no idea what shes saying for the most part, but I know shes asking for money or food. When we get back to the house, I ask Eyob whether I should give her some bread. He shakes his head no, but stands in the gate for a while, speaking to her.

In the afternoon, we have our first class with the kindergarteners, and it runs the gamut between excitement and complete pandemonium. A new child has arrived, and he is devastated to the point that his cries stop the game right in the middle. Everyone in the room turns and stares at him, and some of the kids crawl over to his chair, where one of them tries to kiss him to make it better. After a while, he calms down and sits quietly, holding a picture of a lion drawn on construction paper. Afterwards, we walk over to the older kids compound, where four boys try to braid my hair at once as we play two truths and a lie. I tell Sneaky 2 that I have five husbands, and he crosses himself dramatically, and then tells me he has seven wives. They tell me they have hundreds of parents, dozens of wives and children, and that they were born in America.

We move inside when it starts to rain, and T and I play thumb wars with the boys and call them names. We have just learned the word for crazy, and I tell Smiley that he is Crazy 1. He laughs and laughs with his glorious toothy smile, telling me I am Crazy 1, and then sits down to spaghetti. He calls my name repeatedly and when I look over, he holds up a giant spoonful of pasta and gives me a thumbs up, looking as though he should be in some kind of cheesy Mentos commercial.

After dinner, T tells the story of the Emperors New Clothes, and before he does, Abebe warns him to speak slowly so that he can translate. M and I laugh as T enunciates better than he ever has in his life, and as he speaks, the Braider plaits my hair into eight tiny braids. I try to keep my head still as I tickle the boys backs and they try to tickle my arms in response. I wonder how much money I would need to make to adopt 80 Ethiopian children.