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[u][b]June 30th: Addis Ababa[/b][/u]
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The rain came down all morning, rustling trees and pattering against windows and roof tiles. When she woke up, Leyla saw outside and assumed it would last all day. She ate her breakfast with her father. Masri Farid was the grandson of an Egyptian immigrant, but despite this he'd found success in the Ethiopian capital, a situation rare for [i]ferengi[/i]. He'd succeeded partially because his father had married an Amharic woman, and so had he, making his foreign nature less conspicuous. They sat across each other, eating bread and fruit at a table imported from Italy, the image of Leyla's deceased mother smiling at them from a black and white photograph on a six-legged corner table.

"Do you think they will hold the contest though it's raining?" She asked her father. Subconsciously she still carried that assumption of childhood in her heart, that her father held some sort of mystical sway over the universe, and what he spoke would become the truth simply for having passed his lips.

"I don't know, child." 

"Tekwashi Girima is supposed to be there." 

"I don't know who that is."

"Only the best shooter in all Africa."

"Why would he be at try-outs if everyone knows he is the best?"

"He's the judge. He's putting together the team to go to the Olympics with him. I told you all this last night, didn't I?"

Masri smiled warmly, but he looked like care was weighing down his face. "I'm sorry, my child. You know I have difficulties at work."

"I'm sorry, [i]abba[/i]. I only want to make you proud."

"You have, Leyla. If your grandfather could see us now, and know that even his [i]female[/i] descendants are forging a place here, he would be proud to have made a family here." He finished eating and stood up. "I need to go. Do you need anything?" She shook her head. Masri kissed her on the forehead and went out the door. After a second passed, he leaned back in. "The rain has stopped."

"Thank you!" Leyla replied as if he had stopped the rain for her. He left, and she went to get dressed. She'd put on a white [i]habesha kemis[/i] that morning, but now that the rain had moved on, she slipped out of it and replaced it with a brown linen skirt and shirt combo that'd been assigned to her as a uniform by the Shotel. It'd taken a month for her to actually receive it, but now she had it, she wore it proudly. It made her feel like more than just a little girl. It made her feel like a part of her country. Not simply a citizen, but a real active member. Not simply the flesh riding freely on the body, but an arm or a leg. Or at least a finger.

She went outside. The world had a yellow tinge as if reflected through a filter, and the air was misty and cool. Slim streams of rainwater washed through the gutters in the paved road. This block was populated by middle class housing, built in a Mediterranean style, far detached from the trash-built slums that circle Addis Ababa like a ring of dirt around a porcelain sink. Here, in the central neighborhoods of the city, life had an almost western feel to it. There was dependable electricity and running water. The roads were paved, and cars could be seen parked in front of houses. Leyla passed by a wooden police box on the corner. She walked several blocks, houses giving way to shops, until the shops gave way to the roundabout with the statue of Menelik II. The contest was not here, at the Shotel headquarters, but this was the closest place to catch transportation. She hailed a cab and gave directions to the [i]Gebi Entoto[/i]. 

"What is a little girl doing in the great big mountains?" the cab driver said. He was twice her age and had teeth like a camel that had been in one too many street fights. She felt her usual combination of feelings for situations like this: fear, and resilience. A knowledge that this man could be dangerous, and a determination not to be cowed. "I'm a government agent." She said proudly.

"Government agent?" the man looked over her uniform, redressing her with his eyes. "When did the government start hiring little girls?"

"The Emperor needs all of us." she said.

"So he does." The driver lost interest and looked placidly forward. She felt herself become comfortable again. Most didn't want to get in government affairs in anyway whatsoever, and this driver proved no exception. 

The city went by, dwindling into older crumbling buildings, the European fading away and the African qualities of architecture becoming apparent in the heavy use of earthen walls and recycled material. It grew sparse where tree-shaded knolls gave way to ridges, and ridges to the rising Entoto mountains, where evergreen and eucalyptus dripped rainwater onto bright green grass. 

She was dropped off in front of [i]Gebi Entoto[/i], on a hill overlooking the city. The palace, once the home of Emperor Menelik II, was now merely a piece of unused government property, trees and weeds creeping into the compound. Its style represented the time it was built, in an era when Ethiopia was finding itself immersed in the global expansion of Western civilization. The plaster walls, thatched roofs, and spindly wooden supports of the humble buildings was as traditionally Ethiopian as armored nobles and shamma-wrapped priests, but there were architectural flourishes that set the compound apart from a highland village. The residence had a veranda wrapping the second story along its oval hut-like walls, while the hall was fronted with a rounded portico. Nothing moved among the buildings of the palace compound. The contest was a short walk away, and Leyla found it by following the sound of practice gunfire. 

There were dozens of men from Ethiopia's military. Most came from units stationed in and around Addis, but they came from several branches, here to try their luck in front of Tekwashi Girima. They were all men except for her. She felt out of place, eyes judging her, making her feel like a fraud. She tried to ignore those thoughts, but it was hard. She trudged forward to Tekwashi, feeling like she was swimming against the current of the entire universe. 

Tekwashi wasn't hard to spot. He had an infamous visage, that of an African Quasimodo, his back hunched, his limbs mismatched, and his face scrambled underneath a dirty mop of dreadlocks. He leaned his hyena-like body against a rifle and watched her curiously as she walked across the damp field surrounded by hostile eyes. 

"There is no well out here, young girl." a man in full uniform said, standing next to Tekwashi. "What are you looking for?"

"I am here to shoot." Leyla said. She felt subconscious that her voice was child-like, and her face heated up. 

"The [i]Shotel[/i] girl." Tekwashi growled. His malformation made his face hard to read. "You don't have a gun?"

"I haven't been assigned one." 

Tekwashi seemed to shrug. He grabbed a handgun from a nearby table and slammed a magazine into it. It was the only thing he looked natural doing. He handed it to her, the weight of it making her feel as if there was no turning back, and that was a soothing feeling. She founded a place under the shade of a Eucalyptus tree where should could prepare her mind, and adjust to the weapon in her hands. She hated looking up, knowing she'd find mean eyes in most corners of the field, so when she did look up she looked straight at the range. It was a simple thing, stringed off with twine, paper targets hung from steel poles on the far end.

Tekwashi started to list names. Each name accompanied a shooter, who walked up to meet the gorilla of a man near the range. Only half of them were called. The other half watched as the contest started. 

Each man lined up, armed with a pistol, preparing their stances in the pale rain-season sunlight as Tekwashi grimaced at them with binoculars in hand. 

"Aim." Tekwashi shouted. When the shooters steadied their stance, he shouted again. "Fire." A volley shouted out across the hills. Leyla looked down at the city below and was sure they'd all heard it as clear as she did. This was the most guns she'd heard fire at one time, and the sound of it rang in her ears.

"Petros two o'clock bullseye." he yelled out, "Jafar, 1 off. Man Defrot, Bullseye dead center..." and so he rattled off names until nobody but the man jotting scores in his notebook was completely paying attention. As he did this, boys dressed in the ragged robes of hill Sheppard ran barefoot onto the range and changed the target. The first group was given another chance. A volley rang out. The scores were recorded, and the first set of contestants were sent back. Some look defeated, knowing they'd lost their chance. Others went off proudly, having past the first test.

The second group called to the targets included Leyla. She was in the moment now, and paid no attention to the others. Her world was the target straight ahead of her. She took a deep breath, pointed the weapon down range, and took it off safety.

"Aim."

She held her breath.

"Fire."

Gunfire exploded all around, so close it felt like solid sound had smacked her eardrums like a gong. She felt her heart leap when she saw that the bullseye in front of her was disturbed. Tekwashi rambled names, but she didn't pay attention to the others, waiting instead to hear her own.

"Leyla, Bullseye, center." 

She felt like jumping, but she held it in, still consciously trying to fit in. 

They took a break, but she couldn't think of anything but the contest now. The losers ambled off, leaving a small handful of finalists including herself. Tekwashi stood under the shade of a Eucalyptus tree and eyed them all, looking like a suspicious ghoul. "Line up." he called out several minutes later. It was time for the final contest. She replaced the magazine and walked calmly to her place.

Fresh targets had been put out for them. Tekwashi didn't give them as much time, calling out "Aim" almost as soon as they arrived in their spot, and "Fire" soon afterwards. Leyla sucked in her breath real quick, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The roar of gunfire was uneven this time. When Tekwashi called out scores, he added their status to it. "Man Defrot, Bullseye dead center. You stay. Ruga, Bullseye 6 o'clock. You're out. Markos, Bullseye center. You stay..." each time Tekwashi finished a name, Leyla felt anxiety well up. When it wasn't her name called, that anxiety rolled away for the few seconds it took the master shooter to finish that score, so that she was riding on cresting waves of anxiety. "Leyla, Bullseye 1 o'clock. You're out."

Her heart sunk. That was it. She returned her gun to the table as the next round of finalists were given a break. She went to go, but was startled when Tekwashi stopped her.

"You did better than we expected."

"I lost." she said.

The corner of Tekwashi's mouth curled up in what looked like a grin. "Some of those men you beat are snipers. You have a natural talent. I'm going to recommend the Shotel promote you."

"Really?" She was surprised.

"I don't believe in wasting talent." he said, "Now run off. There is a bus waiting to take the rest of you to town."