Tekatay and Solomon part the curtain to reveal a dimly lit room where men sit in quiet groups, sipping Ethiopian coffee. This is where they gather to chew the stimulant leaf khat, whiling away the long, rainy, jobless afternoons. Tekatay rolls up a ball of leaves and shows me how to hold it in my cheek. ‘This is a safe place,’ he says, ‘we can talk freely here. First we will chew for half an hour, then we will tell you everything.’ My two friends, young Ethiopians who make an unsteady living as tour guides, have brought me here to air their views on their country’s politics.
The khat-house is fittingly cloak-and-dagger, but there is nothing melodramatic about their choice of location. Tekatay and Solomon are scared. Even here, where they feel secure, they speak to me in hushed voices, using the clatter of rain on the tin roof as cover for our conversation.
