የአልማዝ ቦርሳ: The Small Bag Theory

It was a random night. I’m out, having a drink, relaxed. You know that kind of relaxed where you’re telling yourself,

Tonight I’m not spending money. I’m just here to vibe.

That was the first lie.

I’m sitting there, looking around, minding my business. But Ethiopian minding your business is different. We say we’re minding our business, but our eyes are doing security work. Then these ladies walk in. Boom. Perfume entered before they did. Confidence. Heels. Hair done. Faces beat. The whole place shifted a little. Even the waiter stood up straighter like his manager walked in.

And then I saw the bags. Tiny. I said, “No. No no no.”

Because that wasn’t a bag. That was a decoration. That was an accessory for another accessory. That bag couldn’t hold a charger. It couldn’t even hold regret, and regret is usually very flexible. Nothing is in there except confidence and lip gloss.

That’s when the childhood song hit me.

We used to sing that as kids like it was innocent. Innocent where? That song is dirty. Not dirty dirty, but grown up dirty. Financially dirty. Emotionally dirty. That song is about transportation, empty bags, and a man paying for a ride he was not even invited on.

That is not children’s music. That is a court case. So I came up with a theory. Small bag theory. The smaller the bag, the bigger the plan. A big bag means she came like a normal person. She has tissue. She has lotion. She has wallet. She has charger. She has one random receipt from 2022 that she refuses to throw away. That is a citizen. Medium bag? Fine. Responsible. We can work with that. But a tiny bag? My friend, a tiny bag means she has outsourced her problems.

That bag is not for carrying things. That bag is for announcing, “I did not come here to participate in anything.” And men, we see it and still act surprised. You see a woman walk in with a bag the size of a tea bag, and you still ask,

Of course she needs something. She didn’t bring anything!

Now, I’m not judging. Let me say that before people start calling me insecure. I am not judging. I am analyzing. There is a difference. Judging is rude. Analyzing is when you hold a drink and stare quietly.

And there are exceptions.

If she has a small bag but she’s holding keys, okay. Respect. There is evidence of a return plan. If her card is behind her phone case, okay. Technology. If she drove herself, beautiful. Independent woman. እሺ, no problem. But if the bag is tiny, hands empty, phone at 8 percent, and she’s walking like tomorrow is someone else’s responsibility?

Brother. That is not fashion. That is a trap with a zipper. And the worst part is, you already know. Your spirit knows. Your bank account knows.

She says, “I’m not drinking much tonight.”

Lie number two.

Because “not much” means something different after midnight. Before midnight, “not much” means one drink. After midnight, “not much” means, “Let’s order something for the table.”

For what table? I just met the table! And then it happens. The bill comes. Everybody becomes quiet. Suddenly nobody can read or they become Yirdaw Tenaw. People who were shouting all night become visually impaired.

You look at her tiny bag. You look at the bill. You look at God. And somewhere in your head, the song starts again:

That’s the painful part. The song never says Almaz forced him. It never says she robbed him. It says, “I will pay.” Voluntarily. That means our brother saw the situation, understood the assignment, and still signed up for it.

But Ethiopian kids’ songs, man. We need to revisit them. Because we were too young to understand the lyrics. We were singing economic trauma during recess. Clapping and laughing while learning about bad decisions.

That is not a song. That is a warning from the elders. So next time I’m out and I see a tiny bag, I’m not panicking. I’m not judging. I’m just observing. My brother, protect your ስሙኒ. Because before you know it, she’ll be going by ጋሪ… And you’ll be in the corner singing background vocals.