Washington Dessie

What’s up with the neighborhood?

Did I already recount the story of my first visa application to the US some thirty years ago? It went something like this…I drove thru the wide-open gates of the embassy, parked my old Opel clunker, cartwheeled on the green lawn, and scored a US entry visa in less than 20 minutes…and without losing my shirt. Not a believable story, is it? Maybe you were not born yet.
At any rate, I recall the US embassy gates were always wide open. As a teenager, I used to drive thru the gates often without the security guard batting an eye in my direction. My American classmate at St. Joseph, Adam Zsabo would want to play tennis or just hangout with a can of ice-cold Coca Cola. A Marine Corporal in dress uniform would occasionally stroll by to keep an eye on stuff, from a distance.
I once had the pleasure of being kicked out of the embassy grounds by such an impeccably dressed soldier for abusing my privilege. I exceeded the speed limit. His voice still rings in my ear. “I never want to see that noisy thing in here again, you understand me?!” he barked. But I could always walk in. It was a civilized arrangement; it was only my car that was banned.
But the day of my first visa application, two days after graduation, I simply drove in. My car muffler was fixed and my black Opel was almost invisible at five miles an hour.
These days I am willing to bet that not even the flies are invisible to the security gamut.
When I walked in a couple of months ago to collect a check, I experienced the embassy as it was for a split second, from the southern corner of that huge embassy. Immaculately manicured green lawns, white lines and traffic signs and lots of tall eucalyptus trees for shade.
At the cashiers counter, there is an orderly line of people waiting to get paid. The few scattered chairs are empty, but the white bulletin board is busy announcing administrative regulations and a couple of job openings. If you did not know that you are still in town, you’d think that you were in some government office in downtown Washington Dessie. The only thing missing is the Lincoln Monument.
Not so quick, first you have to pass thru a series of security screenings. You are identified, tagged, scanned, searched and escorted to wherever you are going, in my case the cashier’s cage. On the way out you simply follow the traffic rules, retrieve your ID and you are out the door. No Marine in sight. The exit…now there is where you see complete transformation of the whole neighborhood, that is, if you haven’t noticed it on the way in.
To the right of the main gate there is a green covered area full of people anxiously waiting for admission. You can almost hear the theme song, “I want to go to America…I want to go to America… everyone wants to go to Amerriicaaaa…”
Uniformed and plain-clothe security is buzzing all over, making you feel like a terrorist. The era of pretty embassy gates thru which you can peer on the rare days they are closed, is gone forever. It is now a heavy-duty volt-gate. What has security done to this place, this whole neighborhood?
The embassy has erected a giant shield facing the street. Huge blocks of cement line the outer wall owning the sidewalk and a chunk of the road to boot. In between the cement blocks and the embassy wall maybe a dozen containers line the street, end to end, presumably to absorb any explosion. An assortment of menacing assault rifles from the not so obvious Federal Police mounted on a white Jeep.
A few years ago, if you had an invitation, you could still drive in the embassy grounds after a thorough security check at the gate…you drive into sort of a car trap and turn your engine off and get out for a physical. Uniformed security poke under your hood, trunk and car seat inch by inch as time comes to a halt. You lose your appetite for the reception. Your mobile phone is taken prisoner and you get a receipt. That was not bad considering the times. The last invite to a July 4th celebration did not include a drive in.
Invited guests and embassy employees can park across the street on the sidewalk forcing pedestrians to walk single line. If you are there on business, you get to park half way up shiro meda. From up that hill, the US embassy looks as if a raggedy container train is permanently parked in front of it. It is a sad sight, but I guess better ugly than dead.

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