Nefs Yimar  

By Ketsela  

Well readers, death has to come when it has to come anyways. Death as we know it is the ultimate end of one's existence. Many times preachers and the elderly equate death with birth and marriage as the third major event in human life. Let me lay down the paradox of these events. Birth and marriage are choices made but death, depending on what school of thought one believes in, is predetermined or a natural occurrence to all living things. Acceptance or fear are not the choices. Many of us are sure it's nothing to do with us until it knocks on our door. Do you know the unspoken statement made by many of us who attend funeral services? "I am glad it was so and so than me".

The strange thing about death is the gnawing distress arising from a sense of feeling our own guilt for the dearly beloved. It is common to hear during eulogies "...he was finally going to visit Ethiopia after 20 years..." or  " ... Had it not been for the untimely death he/she was going to get married in August of this year.." Really!? Are you thinking of the dead person or are you speaking about yourself?

Imagine if I died? No children, no wife! "He was so kind..." Shut up and just celebrate my life!! So what is the big deal? A person was born to die and that is it! These and the many other reasons are echoed in many of the funeral gatherings.

Then during the mourning period, we all pay our respects to the dead and share the sorrow by visiting the family. That is actually the only asset we have as Ethiopians among ourselves. Nothing else. The most therapeutic occasion for death and dying is our united effort to share the sorrow with the family. Here is where many strange things happen. The loud sobbing and crying of the guests, in some cases not for the person whose service we are attending, but of their own relative who died 10 or more years ago, or about their own unsuccessful or miserable life in foreign country.  Then the constant questioning to the deceased family,"... how did it happen?",  "...when did it happen?",  "...did he/she know about the illness?",  "... God gave it God took it away!" Come on, give me a break! Who in his/her right mind would face and/or challenge death without having taken the necessary precautions? I remember, once Woody Allen was asked if he was afraid of death. His response, "I am not afraid of death but I do not want to be there when it comes"

Oh! Then there are these rituals mostly by the Northern Ethiopians; they walk in, bow to the mourners and start with musical tone or what young men and women call "funeral rapping". They continuously and loudly cry for a period of about five minutes or less until they are begged to stop and yet you come to observe not a drop of tear is found on their cheeks. You also find those who are just there, as they have no idea who the deceased is or who the relatives are. I believe this is an appeal or serving notice to others to "Please attend mine too". Many times in these gatherings there is a long silence until someone walks in and does some theatrical gesture like holding the forehead with both hands until attention is directed at them. I loved the latest one that I attended where an older gentleman entered the door and started: 

Apparently the older brother of the deceased died two years ago and the reference is that they are now being united. And of course the famous contribution collectors are always found sitting right by the entrance door. And for some strange reasons it is always the same individuals, and they make sure to seat you right in front of the many guests and bring that book for your contribution.

To this day, I have no idea why people choose to sit on the floor or take the entertainment center and the TV out of the living room. Can someone please help me resolve this tradition? A very common trend I also observed is that men wear overcoats regardless how hot the place is and women wear netella covering their mouth as if many of us men don't know its purpose. Ladies! Please wear your make ups, you look terrible without it.

And in America? Why? The funeral service we knew back home was that the person died, casket was prepared, funeral procession led by the women followed by men, aslekash is hired, a Priest or Imam is called and from the time the pronouncement of death to the 6-feet-under ceremony, it is no more than three hours. Now? Three, four, or five days! This is all in America, particularly in the Orthodox and Pentee (I apologize for being politically incorrect in using this term and if being ‘offensive') churches, the services are really, really long. Sometimes I feel the pastor is punishing every one for coming to church only on Sundays while he or she is bored and idled to death the other six days. I am neither a member of these churches nor enjoy going through all the processes. So then, why should I be sitting for hours and hours only to bid "rest in peace" to a former friend or acquaintance?

Finally, the services here in America. Come on people, don't tell me it is never boring. Of all the common things many of funeral services have is a way of picking the most boring speaker for eulogy. Boooooooooring! I don't know why they start out with "The deceased was born from his/her father Mr. X and his mother Ms. Y". Isn't it biologically obvious for the purpose of re-production to have a Mr. and Ms? And for some strange reason, the common birth date of January 1 has got to be mentioned. But this boring individual goes on to say something about the parents who died 30 years ago! Boooooorring again!! One good thing is that usually the deceased did not have any heroic achievements or otherwise we would be in for a long afternoon in addition to the four hours we were subjected to. The worst type of funeral for me is when the deceased is in the age bracket of 65 to 80. The deceased probably was hiding during the Italian invasion or was titled by the Italians for being a banda but his relatives always claim him a ‘hero' who fought the enemy bravely.

People, change can only come if we start to forego the old feudal culture. I care less about the deceased parents, they either died a long time ago or are living happily back home. We need to start celebrating the life of the deceased, how happy, kind, and friendly the person was. If none of these things exist, then bury the person and let us go and take care of our businesses. When I die, please make sure every one who attends the service sings, dances, and drinks Bud (cold one too). But I hope that won't be anytime soon.

The Five Senses of My People

It's the sound of Ethiopians, and it starts in the parking lots. The sound of many familiar Ethiopian dialects heard as you step out of your car. It's the Amharic, the Tigrigna, the Oromigna, the Guragigna and of course English - that Ethio-English, which only we Ethiopians can enunciate in our unique way. And as you approach the stadium, it's that familiar sound of Ethiopian beat blaring from the speakers placed by the kiosks. Teddy Afro, Aster Awoke, Tilahun Gessesse, the Tigrigna, Guragigna, Oromigna. It's that familiar Ethiopian beat that wakes up the last sleeping musical nerve in your brain. It's the sound of beautiful children laughing and adults exchanging heartfelt pleasantries with long lost friends and relatives.

It's the sight of the green, yellow, and red flag everywhere you look that is used to decorate everything around it. The sight of beautiful women, children, men and seniors with beautiful smiles - smiles so sincere, so natural with no motives no agenda - a rare expression of pure and unadulterated bliss. It's the sight of young Ethiopian men and women, dressed in their hip hop attire, showing off their iskista skills, snapping and rolling their shoulders like lions and lioness after a successful kill, as they strut to a classic Amharic tune, without missing a beat as if they had heard it all their lives. It's the sight of smiling worry-free parents, watching their children giggle and get lost in the crowd, with no fear that they might be snatched by someone for, although among strangers, they know they are still surrounded by a family of strangers.

It's the smell of Ethiopia, like the distinct powerful smell of kibe (Ethiopian butter), the main ingredient of the many delicious Ethiopian dishes, as the rue is to Gumbo and the grape is to wine. The sensuous smell of kibe, a careful and patient concoction of the many unique spices, so symbolic of Ethiopia's children themselves, smooth and spicy. It's the smell of roasting real Ethiopian coffee, not from Java but Kaffa. It's the smell of the Ethiopian women, that sweet intoxicating smell of perfume laced sweat induced by that sweltering July heat emanating from the many beautiful eumelanin skins. And yes, as one sitcom character put it, 'speaking as a man with an unblemished record of staunch heterosexuality' (not that there's anything wrong with it) I dare say, the manly smell of the many handsome men and their colognes as well.

It's the taste of the many different Ethiopian dishes, the injera, the kitfo, the tibs, the firfir, the doro wot, the alecha, the kinche, the shiro, the misir. It's the taste of the sambusa, dabo kollo, the real coffee, the hot tea spiked in cinnamon and cardamom. It's the taste of the habesha dabo (bread) and the taste of the spices in almost everything you put in your mouth that sends a tingling sensation throughout your body.

It's the touch and feel of my people, that warm embrace with an old friend or a relative, the gentle re-assuring touch and caress of a friend, a loved one, or a lover. It's the warm feel of rubbing elbows and shoulders as you chart your way through a sea of gorgeous faces and huggable bodies, relaxed and not too guarded but not clumsily rude either. It's a touch and feel of brotherhood, sisterhood, fatherhood, motherhood and lasting friendships.

These were the 5 senses of my people from last week's gatherings in LA - feelings that were rejuvenating, reenergizing, rediscovering, reassuring, refueling, reloading, and ‘re-loving'... until we meet next time, whenever wherever it is, be safe. May you stay as charming and as beautiful as ever.

Chereka

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised -

well, not on US TV's anyway

It is widely known that the US has been beating the war drum against not just Iran, but Venezuela as well. Why? Well, why are they in Iraq? Let's see, it starts with the letter 'O'. Yes, Venezuela is the 4^th largest oil exporting country in the world. For years the US has been huge critic of Hugo Chavez, the democratically elected, popular, and charismatic leader of Venezuela. There has even been an open call for his assassination by the well-known evangelical Christian Pat Robertson, a close friend of G W Bush. How so Christian of Mr Roberts! Among Chavez’s 'sins':

• Being elected democratically, by the people of Venezuela - twice .
• Being demanded back to power by the people after the a failed coup attempt by the CIA.
• His refusal to kowtow to the rich and powerful oil greased US backed elite in the Venezuela.
• Nationalizing the country’s natural resource to re-distribute wealth to the poor.
• Offering to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina with fuel and other humanitarian aid.
• Offering to sell heating oil at a very affordable price in the poor areas like Bronx NY, Boston and other low income US neighborhoods during the 2005 winter season to alleviate some of the shortage in oil.
• Offering to sell crude oil at $50 a barrel to the US which would have helped reduce the gas price at the pump. Unfortunately, he was turned down by the Bush administration because he refused to re-invest the oil revenue in the US by purchasing US bonds, like the Middle Eastern oil exporting Arab coutries do.

Below is a remarkable video of the Venezuela coup attempt by the CIA and the Bush administration in 2002 and the subsequent spontaneous revolution that took place. A few lessons we can learn from this event:

1. Grassroots revolution will most likely succeed even if it is as spontaneous and as disorganized as this one.
2. The will of the majority will always triumph over any dictator no matter how powerful.
3. The US, despite its lip service about spreading democracy around the world, will do anything to advance its selfish interest including suppressing popular voices.
4. False propaganda is just that. It will only work temporarily.
5. The job of a true military or police is to protect and serve the people and uphold a country's constitution, not to be a tool for the elite few.

FILM INFO

Running Time = 1 Hour and 15 minutes - So, go get some popcorn.

Rated NFTS = Not For The Squeamish - Some violent and graphic scenes.

Educational Value I = For Immense

Enjoy!!

VIDEO