From Dislike to Longing: Dire Dawa’s Unforgettable Months

1. It’s funny how places sneak up on you. When I first landed in Dire Dawa, I couldn’t wait to leave—too hot, too chaotic, too far from the “easy” parts of Ethiopia I’d grown used to. I grumbled through the first week, counting days till my stay ended. Now? Three months later, I’m sitting with a suitcase I can’t bring myself to zip, staring at the street outside and wondering how I’ll ever say proper goodbye. Dire Dawa didn’t just change my plans—it rewired how I see home. 😒❤️🕰️ 2. There’s Biftu, for starters—my “Ethiopian mom,” as I started calling her. She runs the small guesthouse where I stayed, and within days, she’d figured out I hated spicy food (a crime here, I know). One evening, she showed up at my door with a bowl of *shiro*—mild, creamy, just like she’d seen my own mom make over video calls. “You look sad,” she said, no questions. Then there’s Eden, her 10-year-old daughter, who taught me to braid hair (badly) and dragged me to watch sunset by the river every Friday. Last night, Eden pressed a rock she’d painted—my name, in wobbly letters—into my hand. “So you don’t forget,” she said. As if I could. 👩👧🎨 3. Then there are the colleagues—the ones who started as strangers, then became the reason I laughed till my cheeks hurt. We bickered over coffee (they said mine was “too weak,” I said theirs could “power a rocket”), teased each other about mispronouncing Amharic words, and once spent an entire lunch break debating whether pineapple belongs on pizza (I lost, badly). They’d call me out for being “too serious” and drag me to local football games, even when I had no clue what was happening. “You’ll get used to it,” they’d say. Turns out, they were right. Now, I’ll miss the way we’d crowd around a single phone to watch silly videos, or how someone always saved me a seat at the office lunch table. 👥😂⚽ 4. And let’s not forget the cafeteria uncle—Mr. Kebede, though he’d wave off the “mister.” Every day at noon, he’d spot me in line and wink, then pile my plate so high with *tibs* (spiced beef) that the veggies almost disappeared. “You’re too thin!” he’d scold, even as I insisted I was full. Once, I mentioned I was craving pancakes (a rare find here), and the next morning, he showed up with a stack—lopsided, sweet, and perfect—made with flour he’d “borrowed” from his wife’s kitchen. “Don’t tell her,” he whispered, grinning. I never did. Now, I’ll think of him every time I eat beef, and probably laugh at how he’d pretend to手抖 when serving others—then load my plate like it was his mission. 👨🍳🍖🤫 5. Dire Dawa didn’t charm me with pretty views or fancy cafes. It won me over with people—people who fed me when I was lonely, laughed with me when I was stressed, and made a foreign city feel like family. What started as “I can’t wait to leave” turned into “I don’t want to go.” So today, I’ll say goodbye to Biftu’s hugs, Eden’s chatter, my colleagues’ teasing, and Mr. Kebede’s overstuffed plates. But it won’t be forever. Places like this—places that wrap themselves around your heart—you don’t just leave. You promise to come back. 🌟🤍👋 #DireDawaStories #EthiopiaHeart #FromHateToLove #TravelMemories #GoodbyesAreHard