End of the Holidays and the Ultimate Bourgeois Ex-Pat African Experience

It’s the end of the hols. For the first time since my arrival back to Addis, time has sped by. How the Hell did that happen? I’ve been here some 70 days (which feels like years) and i’ve only managed to avoid school for four of those days. Bonkers i know, but that’s OCD for you.

It’s a shock to my parents to hear me described as a workaholic by Frank at Heathrow Airport. They only know me as a bone-idol primary and secondary student who blagged his way through the the UK state education system achieving the bare minimum of C grades. But i am a passionate and dedicated educator with a love of quality teaching and learning and i can’t stop myself.

It isn’t a healthy balance of work-life and leisure i know, so i’ve vowed to spend a whopping Birr 3,000 and sign up for a year membership at the Old Legation Golf Club in the compound of the British Embassy. The intention is to get at least 2 sessions in a week. And it should be do-able; it’s only about a 15 minute drive from school or 20 from my apartment in favourable traffic.

Frank has been very keen to initiate me and we’ve completed three session and two score-cards to “verify” an official handicap.  Not sure how i’ll qualify for the minimum 24, not least due to my 11 on the par four 14^th on Friday.

It’s an interesting mix of blacks and whites, and through Frank, i’ve been introduced to a few of them. They’re an assortment of expats of varying ages from a huge variety of NGO personnel  and African Union diplomats. It’s all very polite and congenial (so far anyway) but with a few “Golf Knobs” who tell Frank off for picking a ball up from the water-logged hole with his club face.

With the start of the regular competitions, conditions on the course have improved somewhat, with greens now looking green and rolled rather than dry fairways. Frank is insistent i cut my teeth in Saturday’s first competition - Muller Real Estate Trophy. I’m pooping my pants – i’m used to hacking about with friends and family in a rather ad hoc fashion when i’m visiting England.

Fortunately, it’s a Stapleford tournament and the computer scorer won’t recognise anything above a 7. Even better, i’m drawn in a two ball with Frank. There are fifty four registered players for the day, and i’m on a maximum 24 handicap with Frank playing off 16. However, with my handicap still to verified i’ve no chance of being officially ranked. We’re booked in early in the morning, whilst others are down for an afternoon tee-off.

My game is aided somewhat with the employment of ball spotters strategically placed along fairways, so i save myself several shots from the start. My game is surprisingly consistent scoring a noble 36 points.

I turn down the opportunity to meet up for drinkies and dinner in the evening, where Frank informs me i am given “Special Commendation” for my 36 gave me forth spot on the leadership board.  I’ll probably be resting on my laurels until it is the turn of my school to host Competition Day - an annual event apparently. Respec’!  

I miss my driver back in London and so wish i had brought more low tees. Pa is already on the matter and will try and link up with Boss when she is next in UK to pass on to me.

Despite living in Hong Kong pre-1997 or my four year stint in Colombia i have never lived the ex-pat lifestyle. It may sound like i’m getting more bourgeois, conservative and colonial in my maturing years, but i’d like to thinks it’s just coz it’s Ethiopia and i like golf a lot.