Who rules Ethiopia? Bet you don’t know. Even I’m not sure and I live here, but it’s easy to think Meles Zenawi is still in power. His image appears in all sorts of places. There’s a huge one, faded and rather bluer than he should really look, a few minutes drive down the ring road. He appears near major road works, or close to the railway construction. Hand extended, appealing look, always engaging. However he’s dead.

Putting aside conspiracy theories, here’s a picture of his tomb in the grounds of Holy Trinity Cathedral (which is also where Haile Selassie and his wife, along with Sylvia Pankhurst are buried). He ruled Ethiopia from the fall of the communist government until 2012 when he died on a trip to Europe. Exactly two years to the day since his death I decided to do an apparently simple task – go to a computer shop near the airport to get a device (of which more later). I drove off at lunchtime, and went past a small demonstration in remembrance of Meles. A group of people were gathering, holding up a large plastic sheet with his image on, and some other banners in Amharic. Down Churchill; fork left; traffic jam. I sit for ages in the middle lane of a wide but fully congested road, and notice police ahead stopping traffic going through the lights – I need to go through there. The lane to my right (the inside or “slow” lane – we drive on the right here) mysteriously clears, and the now much larger demonstration,  headed by Meles in large plastic sheet image form and accompanied by much singing walks down past me and spills out into the junction ahead. The police immediately shepherd them down the road I need, close it and completely ignoring the traffic lights beckon me down a different route. “Popping” to the shops just never works here, but this is the first time I’ve been held up by a dead prime minister.

When the toner ran out in our laser printer Chris and I set off one rainy Saturday morning to the area near the airport where I knew there were a number of computer shops. Aware that fake refills are often sold as genuine,  I was determined to be on my guard. We parked next to “Pro-Tech” – a small but inviting shop with piles of kit and a counter display containing ink and toner cartridges. I told the white-coated shop assistant (who resembled a lab technician) what I needed, he popped out the back, and produced a boxed, new cartridge. It was horribly expensive, but even the hologram seal looked genuine so I negotiated the price down slightly and off we went. Sure enough, it was fake – the printer has grumbled ever since but I can persuade it to print and the quality is OK. The give-away is the box – check the spelling carefully. HP are more “professional” than that! I determined never to go there again. How dare he sell me a fake!

You’ll have to take my word for this, but it is impossible to maintain a database of medical records using software from the 1980s if power cuts happen several times a day. The database gets damaged. And recently there have been numerous power cuts, both at the school and at my HQ clinic. Scattered around the HQ buildings are a number of battery backup devices  (“uninterruptable power supplies”, or “UPS”s) that kick in to keep a computer going during a short power cut. I needed a good one. I needed one like I’d used in my practice in the UK – one that could smoothly shut down the database and switch the computer off and preserve my medical records from damage. And I knew where I could get one. As Lab Coat Man in “Pro-Tech” was selling me a fake toner cartridge I had noticed a pile of them in the corner and he had offered me one which I had declined, not realising I actually needed it. Not wanting to patronise “Pro-Tech” again I decided other shops in the area must sell UPSs, as shops that sell the same thing always cluster together in Addis. (There are over 20 shoe shops just outside the Bingham gate).

So that’s what I was after the day the deceased Meles held me up. I eventually arrived at the shopping centre, but ironically the only parking space was right outside “Pro-Tech”. A shop to which I returned after exploring numerous others that all had UPSs but not the right model. Reluctantly I went in and faced Lab Coat Man (who’s name turned out to be Fikre) with the fact he had sold me a fake cartridge. “It was fake!” I accused, self-righteousness oozing from every pore. “No it wasn’t it was sealed!” he replied. “But the printer says it’s fake!” I retorted. “Oh, you wanted a red stripe one” he explained, mysteriously. I gave up. “I need a UPS” I announced, pointing at the pile that was still there; “Are they genuine?” “Of course!” said Fikre looking indignant; “Factory sealed!”. “Show me” I demanded, and he hauled one off the top that had a seriously battered box. “No, that one” I said as I pointed at the one underneath in better condition. Fikre pulled it out. I stared at the box, the manufacturer’s seal obviously having been opened and resealed with poor quality sticky tape. “The seal’s broken” I said. “No it isn’t!” said Fikre, “Look, it’s sealed!”. “That’s sticky tape over the original seal!” I blustered. “Well I have to open them to show foreigners like you that they're genuine” he pleaded. I was clearly going nowhere with this discussion. Fikre had a distinct advantage – I needed this UPS and he had the only one I could find. I pulled the device out and checked it was the correct model. It was. “How much is it?” I asked. “8000 birr” said Fikre. “When you sold me that fake cartridge you offered me one for 7500 birr” I pointed out rather less gently than I should. “It’s gone up – my boss says so” explained Fikre, unconvincingly. We agree on 7800 birr (roughly £250) , I take his phone number, check it really works, get a “guarantee” which he assures me I can use if the UPS doesn’t work properly (I’m aware this isn’t worth the paper its written on and it was extremely cheap paper) load all 30 Kg of it into the boot and set off back to HQ. As I drove back the only sign of Meles Zenawi was his image blithely gazing down on me from billboards above – no more demonstrations.

In the first 10 days of having the UPS in action it recorded 17 power cuts, but it’s protected my database which hasn’t had an error since. So I now preside over possibly the only UPS-protected comprehensive electronic database of patient medical records in Ethiopia. And so far the UPS hasn’t let me down – but I still have Fikre’s number…