PART I

What you are about to read shortly is a true story. Only the names of the subjects have been changed for obvious reasons.

The story will most likely generate strong reactions from readers, such as anger, sadness, shame and perhaps even denial. Whatever the knee jerk reaction it may cause, I hope, in the least, it will help people realize that this issue is more prevalent than many of us think in our culture and that this story will serve as an example on how to approach the topic and how to help the victims.

My name is “Dinkinesh“. The story I am about to share with you is a painful to me as it is to many nameless and faceless Ethiopian women who have been victims of the same atrocity. An atrocity so cruel, so inhumane, in most corners of Ethiopian society it is seen as not believable, as in something that does not occur in our society, to the point where the victim is portrayed as insane, a crackpot and is even shunned from society. But my story is real and for our supposedly ‘innocent’ and ‘pure’ culture, shocking - hard to believe, not only because it is unfamiliar to many, but because it involves close members of family.

I was born and raised, along with two brothers, in a relatively well to do family in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. My father was an educated man with a well paying job, and like most other families in Ethiopia, he was the breadwinner of the family. My father was also known for his binge drinking and his frequenting the local brothel houses – especially on paydays. On those drinking paydays, my mother went door to door in the neighborhood bars looking for her drunken husband to carry him home. The running joke in the neighborhood about my father, I was told, was “wesha kemis betelebsem aymerem” (he would chase after a female dog, if he saw it wearing a skirt). My mom, a loving and caring woman, had a secretarial job at one of the government agencies for a modest salary. Although she had her own job and did not look for a handout from my father for money, she was, like many wives in Ethiopia, still the submissive wife who was subjugated by her husband.

Growing up, I was a quite and at times aloof child to the point where I was seen as strange by my relatives. But I had a secret that I was keeping inside me no one knew about. A secret too heavy to bear for a young girl my age.

The year was 1979, when political climate in the country was at a boiling point. The youth resistance movement was quite strong and the military dictatorship that ruled the country with iron fist indiscriminately jailed and killed young people. The major opposition party, EPRP (the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Party) was every parent’s nightmare, because it recruited young members at a very high rate. University and high school students were the foot soldiers of the party frequently clashing with government forces and suffering heavy casualties. Revolt against the military dictatorship by the youth was everywhere. If you were a teenager like I was in those days, you had one of two ways to show your rebellious side. You either made every demand and effort to go to America to escape the turmoil, or you joined the EPRP.

I remember it was the rainy season that same year when one day I received a phone call from my cousin “Aberra”. With that one phone call, the events that would change the course of my life forever started to unfold. Aberra was known as a trouble maker in most of the family circle and was also a member of neighborhood EPRP cell. After Aberra unsuccessfully tried to recruit “Zelalem“, another cousin of ours, to the EPRP, we were given strict orders from our parents to stay away from him. That rainy afternoon, Aberra told me that he had something very important to share with me. He also told me that he had asked Zelalem, to join us. The location for the meeting was our grandmother’s house near Shero Meda. The three of us met like we planned and were treated to a nice bekolo tibs (roasted corn) the seasonal snack. After the snack, the three of us, who were all about the same age group, walked out of the house to discuss this grand secret plan Aberra had. As soon as we walked out of the house, I was asked by both men to swear to secrecy about the plan. After assuring them that I would keep the secret, the whole plan was laid out for me in detail.

The plan was to escape the country by crossing the Sudanese border like many young Ethiopians did in those days as a backdoor exit to America. According to Aberra, his best friend’s uncle would be the one to take us as far as the Gondar province. After that, I was told, that it was a matter of walking to the Sudanese border. When the part about the walking to the border was mentioned, I could see Zelalem was uncomfortable with the idea. He looked worried. Trying to ease his anxiety, and trying to appeal to his manly side, I quipped “minew ferahende? Ene enquan setwa minim alferahum” (what’s the matter, are you scared? Even I the girl am not scared). That did not help alleviate his apprehension. He nervously started asking questions like - what if we get caught? Are you sure this is going to work? He finally admitted that he was not sure if he could handle the long walk to the border. He started blabbering something about an I-20 “Gash Hailu”, our uncle in America, had promised him. And if that did not work, he said he preferred going to one of those socialist country universities legally than risk his life. Upon hearing that, Aberra immediately dismissed him by saying “beka wore atabza keferah” (no need to keep blabbering - you are too scared for this). With that, Aberra and I made the decision to go ahead with the escape plan.

We talked about how we were going to get the travelling money. The plan was to wait until pay day and steal all available cash from my father’s pocket as well as raid our mothers’ jewelry boxes, which would be pawned for cash on our way. After several hours of intense planning and discussion, we walked back to our grandmother’s house. In two weeks time, our escape plan was finalized.

We left Addis for Gondar on a bus (Leonchina). To my surprise, there were two more guys who joined us on the trip. They were both friends of Aberra. I thought it was odd that Aberra did not mention them during our discussion. Our arrival at Gondar was the beginning of the tumultuous episode in my life. After spending a couple of nights in Gondar, we started our foot journey towards the border. As you can imagine, the trip was very difficult and trying for anyone, let alone for a young girl like me who has been sheltered all her life. The physical pain was sometimes unbearable. Walking in that equator sun was pure torture. As if that was not enough, I was soon confronted with another arduous and difficult challenge. One of Aberra’s friends started to make unwanted sexual advances at me. Some of these advances were very obvious and in the open for everyone to see. I resisted as much as I could, wondering why Aberra was not doing anything to stop it. When his friend saw that I was not budging, he went to the next hideous of acts a man can commit. He raped me! Not once, but several times. I felt helpless. I could not turn to anyone for help. To this day, I believe that Aberra was aware of his friend’s action, but he did nothing. He allowed his friend to take advantage of me. Aberra, a close relative, whom I counted on to protect me from everything on this trip, did nothing to stop his friend. I was devastated. I could not believe what was happening to me. The only thing I could ask myself was, if it this was worth leaving my home and my country. Was this the price I had to pay for causing the obvious misery I caused my parents, especially my mother, by just disappearing on them?

For part II of this story, please go to the new home of this blog at

http://lelatensae.wordpress.com/

WHY?

By Ketsela

The world has come to close for comfort. War is not a heroic deed anymore except when it involves decision taken unilaterally by one country over the other. But when colleges and universities experience brutal murder, then and there the underlying reason for the cause is hard to find. I remember a professor who used to say “after the fact even fools have give reason as to why it happened. I feel sad and dismayed to the recent event at V-tech. Certainly I am not in any position to blame neither the university administration nor the young man who caused this anguish to the deceased. University campuses must be free of all the evils of the world and should remain academically free of exercising freedom of speech and the freedom to be what one wanted to be. Assertiveness is what is taught as a prerequisite to being a university student. In the current situation it should be a time to mourn, not to point fingers at the sole young man Mr. Cho Seung-hui. The court system alone gives room to the accused of his/her status of being temporarily insane. That is the greatness of the American law. Then again the same court upholds the right to bear arms to the citizens. The later was written over 200 years ago during the British rule. It is old and need to be amended by all means. The right to bear arms; give me a break! A tank is also considered to be an arm. Should I then buy one and put it in front of my apartment. No! Of all the places in the world there should be two places where there should not be a law but must be accepted by all involved that guns, rifles or any tools that endanger another human must not be carried are school and house of prayers.

A reader to Star Tribune wrote:

Here we go again! Back on the couch, Nation, for our next mass analysis session. Just as we were getting up from the Don Imus situation comes the Virginia Tech shootings! As long as most of the analysis will be “smoke blowing,” here is some more; America’s history is replete with shooting people __ from wild west to wars _ as a problem solving method. For the latest example, see Iraq ___where we are shooting people in order to free them.  Check out your own children’s games, watch an evening of main stream TV or go to a popular movie. Which dots can you connect?

Technology and culture are two things that are dynamics. They come and go. I am not going to compare my college days to the today ones. I remember students used to call bomb threat merely because they might have one too many beers. But the current Ipod student populations in many ways are far better but seemed to be loneliest to their surroundings. Maybe I embarked into the wrong conclusion but it is my feeling. The young man had on many occasions directly or indirectly showed who was but human nature can not make determination if anything was wrong with him. America has so many cultures and traditions and one can never whole-heartedly say Mr. X is nuts. Lawyers and advocates will raise their voices against such statement. The end result of this incident will most likely take part of the academic freedom of the student population. Maybe, I rather prefer the old Haile Selassie University Academic policy “Students have academic right to discuss and practice except religion and politics.” 

LOVE - then…

By Chereka

Love, probably the most powerful word in the English language, or any other for that matter. In Amharic, it is fikir, and still packs that powerful punch. It’s a word with so many definitions, one can get lost in it more than just symbolically. Far be it from me to even suggest that I am an expert in the subject, but sometimes, one can’t help but muse upon the word when faced with something provocative. It could be a song, a poem, a painting, anything at all, that wakes up every nerve in you. It shakes the very core of your feelings that you just can’t help respond to it in some form or fashion. You may cry, smile, laugh, ponder, get mad, or just sit there - like a log.

Below is a glimpse into the lives of two men of somewhat the same era and similar backgrounds, ideals and ambitions. Two men with convictions so strong, that they were willing to sacrifice what was dearest to them. Two men who were worlds apart, but shared the same aspirations of seeing their country united and guarded from internal enemies.

Even beyond that, there was something else that these two men had in common - the great love they had for their wives. Love that was so powerful that the only other thing that transcended it was their love to their country. Below is the expression of the love these men had for their wives, each in his own way.

Sullivan Ballou was a  Union Army soldier during  The American Civil War who dedicated his brief adult life to public service in his home state of Rhode Island where he was elected as a clerk to the R.I. House of Representatives. As an extension to this public service, he joined the military in the spring of 1861 to fight and preserve the Union against the Southern separatists. In July of 1861, he wrote the following letter to his wife, while waiting for orders to head for battle.

July 14th, 1861

Washington D.C.

My dear Sarah.

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days — perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure — and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing — perfectly willing — to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows — when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children — is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death — and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles have often advocated before the people and “the name of honor that I love more than I fear death” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me — perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar — that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night — amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours — always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

One week later, Sullivan was killed at The Battle of Bull Run. In a twist of irony, the letter was never mailed, but was made public later. Sarah never re-married and died at the age of 80. She was buried next to her husband at Swan Point Cemetery in Providence, RI.

….

And then there was Kassa Hailu (Atse Theodros), The Lion of Quara, Gondar - a Northern province of Ethiopia. Like Sullivan, Kassa came from a humble background, but there was no humility when it came to the issue of uniting his country. Known in some circles as “The Black Napoleon” for his brutality, he was a fierce warrior, and a very skillful leader in the battlefield.

Atse Theodros was married to the love of his life Weyzero Tewabech, a great wife and an ardent supporter. After her death from a short and sudden illness, Atse Theodros composed the hymn below, as a tribute to his beloved departed wife. This was taken from the book “Aand Lenatu”  by Abe Gubegna.

… and Now

By Mimi

It is Valentine’s Day! Time for the marketing divisions of Hallmark, 1-800-FLOWERS and Godiva chocolates to mandate Love.

These savvy corporations have made everyone believe in this fairy day, that people feel obligated to spend money in order to express their affection. They have somehow convinced everyone that Love has a price tag and it is to be proven by purchasing a gift on Valentine’s Day. Hence, the stress to shower one’s darling with love - in the form of a fabulous romantic gift. A day that is supposed to be all about love ends up being be a day to stress over the exponentially hiked price of flowers, restaurants and hotel rooms. A day that is supposed to be about appreciating your lover ends up being about guilt, depression and resentment about purchasing gifts.

Love on this overly commercialized holiday seems so forced, almost black mail level kind at that. But true show of Love comes from the Heart, not the wallet.

May your Love be as beautiful, as intense, and heart felt as Kassas’ & Ballou’s. 

TO: “YESTERDAY,TODAY AND TOMORROW”

By Yesterday

“Yesterday is but today’s memory and tomorrow is today’s dream.”

Khalil Gibran

My beloved invention,

I have this habit of quoting The Poets in my letters. Yes, it was that Lebanese poet who said it: that I am but a memory and that Tomorrow is only a dream. I am elated that you have not forgotten me yet. You wouldn’t believe your ears if I told you how many of them have forgotten me already. How painful! The day I invented you, I saw everything and said, “Behold, everything is good!” Didn’t that Jewish scribe tell you? But now I see imperfection everywhere; they have forgotten me. Perhaps you are the only invention I should have had.

My dear, I cannot say you have wronged me but you have made quite a few presumptions about me that are wrong. However, that is not more than a mother can bear. But it just calls for another chance of mentoring you and hence this letter.

My dearest of inventions, you are the sum of all that have been your yesterdays. The scars I have impressed on you, all those memories - both sweet and sour - the mistakes you made and the wrongs you righted, all the yesterdays you have had so far, know you not that those are you? Yesterday is your progenitor, your mother! And “Mother” should have been the sweetest word on your lips! (Isn’t that what the poet said?) How can you call me cruel and mean? Do you not know that fighting with your Yesterday is being at war with your own self? Besides, I can see that remorse and regrets, scores of “I should haves” and “I shouldn’t haves” are consuming you. Take heed child! Yesterday is what has dictated your Today; even the phantom Tomorrow, if it ever comes, depends on me. That is how I, in my infinite wisdom, have willed it to be. Accept your Yesterday, call me “my dear Yesterday,” and you will appease Today, and you shall love and be loved. (Isn’t that your wish anyway?)

I always say, “Tomorrow is but a phantom,” for one never knows if it shall come. Poor child, it pains me to see that you have rested all your hopes on a phantom that is Tomorrow. “Sweet Tomorrow,” you call it, and I believe you have even made a messiah out of it. Never can a phantom be your deliverer, son, for it is never promised. Have you not heard the cliché that Tomorrow is never promised?

My beloved, you have asked me this, “Why didn’t you say something so I could have taken care of all the good things that happen and transferred to today?” I could have done that but I refrained from it for your own good. What would you have been doing in your Today if I told you the slightest something? Wouldn’t your life have been a two-and-two-makes-four affair? Wouldn’t you have been like that mathematical table - everything of yours figured out and nothing left for you to invent? Wouldn’t you already have died of boredom if you had that kind of predetermined life? What would you have been without the challenges and all that makes life colorful? I have, in stead, given you the playing dough of life so that you can shape it, reshape it and make whatever kind of life you want out of it. Remember what Sartre said, “Everything has been figured out, except how to live.” Yes! Everything except how to live! And that is because I, in my infinite wisdom, considered it the best way for you. Figure out how you should live your Today; invent, create, don’t just sit there and wonder what you will do Tomorrow, if it ever comes. You can long for Tomorrow, though, while you remember me and make your Today, just like that Lebanese poet said - “Let Today embrace the past with remembrance and the future with longing.” That is the hallmark of harmony; that is what I call life. Remember this, by not telling you the slightest hint I have given you life.

I understand your frustrations with Today and that may be why you told me to “get the hell” out of your life. I sure am “the hell” out of your life for I am no longer there. But remember, my footprints remain; and the legacy I have bestowed upon you is still lingering. Never mind the other curses you threw at me; I am your mother and I can bear it, son. Today knows you are unhappy and says, “Be happy while I am still around.” - Just that. Finally, I should like to tell you that Today cannot wait for darkness to come, for that is the time Yesterday and Today shall be married and become one.

With Love,

Yesterday.

PS: Tomorrow is a phantom and cannot hear you; so let me answer your questions. By Tomorrow, if Tomorrow ever comes, Weather shall be the sum of what you have done to Earth when Yesterday was there and what you are doing to Earth while Today is around. Today and I are the authorities over Tomorrow and we cannot promise you friendship of him for Tomorrow may never come.

PS: As usual, I haven’t forgotten the last quotation for your edification. Today I have Marcus Aurelius for you. By the way, I am proud that you are reading the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. (Even though he is an Antonine king, Marcus Aurelius is usually known by Aurelius and not by Antonius.) Beloved invention, remember this:

“To live each day as though one’s last, never flustered, never apathetic, never attitudinizing - here is the perfection of character.”

Marcus Aurelius

YESTERDAY,TODAY AND TOMORROW

 By Ketsela 

This is our life on this earth. The only thing that is common for conversation in every language and culture, what is it in these three days that we see and hope for? I guess all we see is good, bad and the ugly- not in this order but in the order of events that take place.

Who cares about yesterday? Shakespeare put it best “All our yesterdays are lighted fool”. It is gone and it is not coming again, or is it? It, however, comes in another form to fool us all. Do you readers know, if asked, what happened yesterday?  Many of us do not remember the exact time and place. Winners celebrated and bragged about their achievement, but today their good news or their heroic deeds are history. It is not even written in the books to remind them. And if it did, it will all be full of the remorse.  What all yesterdays reminded you is your failure and agonies that passed you and the scar you still carry from it.  You all gambled your life yesterday. Yes, so did I. There is no ifs and buts, as to the blunders you made.  Or as to the investment you should have thought about. Ah! Yesterday. You were a very cruel day. Why didn’t you say something so I could have taken care of all the good things that happen and transferred to today? You are mean and you will never be my friend. All that is left for me is regrets about everything that went by. I should have done this and that. I should have been a little careful. Why didn’t I say this and that? You inconsiderate, irresponsible and inconsistent day, get the hell out of my life. Ah! That sure feels better.

I am now here, Today. Why do I feel so careful in everything I do? You have a tendency to slow down when we are down. You have a desire to always put me in hallucination or into dreams that I will never get into. Are you sure you are not in this world to only make me think of what I will be doing ten years from now? OK, I am at that age where I am thinking only in a five-year plan. You communist! That was always your desire, to limit me within one digit number! Don’t forget, like yesterday, you will disappear from the face of the world. Thanks for the darkness you will also be covered with your filthy things along with yesterday. Then again, you purposely rush to darken the day and leave me with plans to do this and that for tomorrow.

“Never let the future disturb you. You will meet it, if you have to, with the same weapons of reason which today arm you against the present.”

So, Tomorrow, do you want to be my friend?

RAISON D’ETRE

By Ketsela 

“I am a man: I regard nothing that concerns man as foreign to my interest”

A Latin proverb  

On many occasions I feel we Ethiopians are in the west with one purpose in mind, to some day return. However, there seemed no time limit for our actions to date. It has never crossed our mind as to what? When? And How? I do not know about many of you but I always feel that it was only yesterday I left the country. Time continues to travel faster than the speed of light. What happen to it? When I was back in Ethiopia the day kept lingering slowly; forget about the week and the month. Then there are so many things that do not equate with the reality of life. Am I really the owner of the house I just bought? Or am I that much secured in my career and employment? Or do I really have an Ethiopian friend whom I met here in the U.S. All these and other positions or combination of circumstances at this moment brought me to only one question; what are we?

This is my side of observation. I seriously believe we have a long-standing belief that we are afraid of changes. It will never sink in us that one day the change is for the betterment of all of us. Think about it.

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 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.

VIDEO

Chereka

The Two Mirrors

 By Wegat

It is a well known fact that we all see ourselves in a completely different light than how others see us. However there are some that leave us with the question of, exactly what type of mirror do you look into or what voices do you hear in your head when you speak?

Like most things, it started with very good intentions and high hopes. I was told by my well meaning younger sister,

“I have given your email to someone so make sure you don’t respond saying, you got the wrong gal, like I know you would.”

I asked all the questions of course, what is his name, where does he live, how do you know him and so forth……

A few days later the email arrived. So our story begins.

We emailed back and forth a few times before we exchanged numbers and started talking. We had hours and hours worth of conversation and were amazed on how similar our interests and thoughts were on many subjects. Early on we had decided not to exchange pictures. However we had attempted to describe ourselves to each other verbally. Hmmm……. This is where it gets interesting.

One thing I have to say is if we ladies see ourselves in half the light our male counterparts see themselves in, boy the world would have been a totally different place.

Anyway to get back to the story, the time came to meet in person so I made the travel to his residential city. He asked, “How would you recognize me at the airport?” I answered, “You have my heart don’t you, how could I not?” So I flew after making all the necessary preparation to meet my dream man. For the ladies, you know how it goes; the hair, toes, finger nails, eye brow and so forth all have to be done to perfection. For the gents, all I have to say is, you have no idea what we go thru.

I saw him from afar and the first thought that came to my mind was “My friend certainly thinks very highly of himself.” And then I convinced myself how that could be a positive attribute in this competitive world today. So I approached him and called him by his name hesitantly. He added a big smile to his face as he put together the name and voice to the face and body that is standing before him. We said our greetings and set our way to his car with a nervous silence as the third wheel.

I gave us a couple of hours to go past the nervousness and start enjoying each other. Unfortunately that moment never arrived. My charming, talkative, confident friend I made over the phone seized to exist. I was not only misinformed about his physical appearance but was fooled by the person he projected to be. All the things he enjoyed doing in theory seemed to no longer interest him in practice.

Well, maybe it will get better tomorrow. NOT. It got worse. Based on conversations we have had, I had an idea of what we will be doing the next day. Which I assumed my new friend will also enjoy. He came to pick me up looking like he was going to a club. I asked if he going to be comfortable in his attire and he stated this is how he dresses on the weekend. OK then. One thing we never discussed was our income level. So I thought, maybe my new friend is loaded and I don’t know it yet. A pair of $150 dollar jeans to walk around town and chill is a little to high maintenance for me. But what do I know I am just an Ethiopian girl trying to live the best life she can muster. So we went.

He looked like he was putting too much effort into everything we were doing. When I made comments or enquiries about the area or an object he got very defensive. He claimed he did not have time to do the things he likes to do, so for the most part this is the first time he himself is experiencing some of the things we were doing. So I said no problem it will be a great memory for both of us. But I thought that is not what you said over the phone.

After lunch, I claimed I was tired and would like to go back to the hotel room and rest. Once I got there, the first thing I did was changed my flight from evening to morning. And then I called my ride and let her know that I will be arriving about six hours early.

I gave some lousy excuse for my early departure at dinner and he still offered a ride and refused to let me take a cab to the airport. What a gentleman (sincerely). So Sunday morning me, my guilt and my luggage got a ride from my new friend to the airport and as we were saying our goodbyes he handed me a gift box. I thanked him for his hospitality and generosity put the box in my bag with the assumption of it being candy and boarded the plane with a sigh of relief.

I had forgotten about the box until that evening when I was unpacking. I walked toward my friends to share some chocolate as I unwrapped the box. In it there was no chocolate but what looked like an engagement ring. Nothing fancy but still an engagement ring. All I can say is “What was he thinking?” or “Am I that good of an actress?”

You be the judge. Go easy on me please.