I nodded dumbly at his perfectly reasonable explanation, and stretched my hand out with as much professional demeanor as I could manage. For someone who had his shoes in his hand and probably epic bed head. “That makes sense. Nice to meet you, Mr. Fikru. Please call me Desta, and thanks for getting me so early.”

He widened his eyes when he heard my name, which only twenty-four hours into my time in Ethiopia was beginning to feel like a compulsory reaction. My first name, Desta, means joy in Amharic, one of the official languages of Ethiopia. And my parents had given me “Joy” in English as a middle name to really hammer in that I would be a happy guy.

Once, when I asked him about my name, my dad told me when I was born, it was the only word he and my mom could think of. They’d been young and in love, with a new little person in their family, and were about to embark on another adventure, so I was double the joy.

My name had always been a source of infinite delight for any Ethiopian person I met, and it seemed like Elias would not be the exception.

“Very nice to meet you, Desta, and please call me Elias.” His face transformed as he gave me a bright smile. “Your name is Joy,” he said with genuine amazement in his voice.

I dipped my head, not sure how bubbly to be about this. “Yes, it is.” His eyes on me were doing things, so I decided to veer from anything that prompted hard staring. “I was told to look out for camels.”

He tipped his chin up in the direction of the road and lifted a hand, waving it back and forth. “Some pastoralist tribes do walk their animals around to find watering holes and pasture this time of year, so we may see camels on the road,” he assured me with another wide grin. “It’s quite a sight, long lines of them walking in perfect order.”

I nodded as he talked, excited for the idea. “That will be cool to see,” I said, tucking my shoes under my arm, ready to get on the road. That’s when Elias finally looked down at my feet and laughed, a deep, rough sound like his voice was still waking up.

He pointed at the ground by my feet. “No time for shoes, huh? Or are you trying to be the American Abebe?” His eyebrows lifted, and I swooned a little. And seriously, what the hell? The man had perfect eyebrows, and why was I even noticing that?

Who gets hot for eyebrows?

Me, apparently.