His name is Eyasu. In his native tongue of Amharic this translates to “God rescues.” I heard his voice before I ever saw his face. I was parking my car behind my apartment when I heard a resonant lullaby echoing from inside a garage. The melody was soft and soothing with words that sounded African. The accompanying percussive rhythm sounded like a marimba or xylophone.
When the garage door opened, a short man with loose dreads and coal black skin stepped into the alley. He wore a white dashiki, linen pants and bright yellow shoes. He regarded me with a smile and lit a cigarette.