As sure as the sunrise

If driving or walking isn't a viable option when getting about Addis, three alternatives present themselves. You can hire a relatively expensive—by Ethiopian standards—blue and white contract taxi; you can take the inexpensive big orange public bus; or you can take a blue and white mini bus, which is less expensive than a taxi and slightly more convenient than a bus. There are a number of major minibus stops through out Addis; Saris, Stadium, Mexico, Bole, Piaza, Maganenya to name a few. The mini buses are small vans with a capacity of 10 to 12 people. They travel between a few major stops and can be flagged down enroute.

One of the familiar but difficult to describe sounds heard in Addis is the chorus of wayella at all the major mini bus stops. On board the mini bus there is, of course, a driver. Along with the driver rides a young boy, a wayella, who collects the money. More importantly, the wayella hangs, literally, out the window of the mini bus constantly calling out the destination of his particular mini bus. By the way, wayella is a mildly pejorative term, but there are no alternatives to wayella, so use it cautiously.

At the major mini bus stops one hears the seemingly single voice of the many arriving and departing wayella. It begins roughly at sun up, and ends roughly at sun down. I wouldn't call this burbling lilting appeal for business a cacophony, it isn't that harsh. It has a particular cadence, a particular tone, and is limited to a vocabulary of the next destination. It has its own unique sound, its edge perhaps smoothed by the youth of those calling.

Mexico square is right below our seventh floor hotel room. Every morning we look out to a knot of blue and white vans tying and untying themselves into and out of Mexico square. The little blue and white vans are in varying stages of decrepitude, but their sound is always the same; many voices as one continuous voice, sunrise to sunset, everyday without fail. I'm sure I'll miss it.