Addis Expressions

Thoughts of a (former) Addisababian.

• About

What happened to Birtukan Mideksa? A reflection on the once prominent political figure and the modern existence of Ethiopian Elites.

A freshly brewed cup of coffee being brought out of the kitchen would have been an unremarkable scene in an Ethiopian household except that it was happening at 2:00 am on a Friday morning. The host and his guests, including myself, were hanging out on a beautiful balcony of his home overlooking Addis Ababa. A woman lounging by a swimming pool below had mentioned in passing that she was craving coffee. Some time later the host had arrived with an Ethiopian style coffee, complete with cinis and jebena. As he gently poured the coffee into the traditional cups and passed it around to the group immersed in conversation and drunken laughter, I wondered who was awake, purposefully out of sight, in some corner of the mini-mansion watching over a jebena at 2:00 am in the morning?

Welcome to the life of the modern elites of Addis Ababa who live in a society that is crisscrossed by multiple temporalities; one where the old feudal system of reality persists alongside structures of modern capitalism; where the official king and the nobility are gone, but the hierarchical attitudes and belief systems remain intact, intertwined with the post-revolution Ethiopian elite existence of nihilism and decadence. The kind of existence that eventually consumes anyone within its proximity, even those only some years prior I would have sworn it would never touch. 

Birtukan Mideksa

By 2008 Birtukan had already experienced the life of a prisoner for nearly two years. The intimate details of prison life were not unknown to her. In 2005 after an unprecedented election season that had shook the Ethiopian government and the following demonstrations which resulted in the deaths of over 200 individuals in Addis Ababa, Birtukan along with her fellow opposition leaders of the political party, Kinijit, journalists and civil society workers were charged with treason for allegedly planning to overthrow the government. All were sentenced to life imprisonment. The group was imprisoned in November of 2005 and released in August of 2007 with a lengthy negotiated deal reached between the government and the members of Kinijit. The government agreed to pardon those it considered criminal if they submit an official letter of apology.

At the time, like most people, I followed the election processes through television. Outside of finding some televised debates intriguing given they were unlike anything we had ever seen, I was a somewhat detached observer who followed the election as if it had no direct impact on my life. In those days much of my free time was spent inside the pages of literature books, hanging out with friends in cafes and restaurants primarily preoccupied with the ordeals of my own existence. Political conversations I engaged in were merely an intellectual exercise, political engagement was nonexistent. So, when I first heard about the imprisonment of Kinijit leaders, I had said with an authoritative tone of an ignorant wiseacre, “what else did they expect? To win the election? The audacity.”

But later, it was precisely the audacity that would be awe striking to me. Especially the audacity of a young woman who, I soon after learned, had shown incredible defiance to the then Prime Minister Meles Zenawi when in 2002 she released from prison Siye Abraha, a former defense minister who a year prior, after an intra-TPLF jockeying, was expelled from the party and arrested. Seye was immediately rearrested as soon as he left the courtroom, but Birtukan’s name echoed across the city as an unprecedented jeg’na of her generation. 

…

 “Even when we sent elders to advise her to take back her word of denial, she refused to listen and rectify her error,” A confident Meles Zenawi says to a group of journalists. “She assumed pressure from her supporters and outside powers would secure her release. But she was told repeatedly that this is a wrong assumption. We begged her for a month. Who will benefit from this imprisonment? The government has zero to gain from this.” He continues with an almost mocking attitude and a disdain of a man who has run out of patience for the games of naïve children. “It is advisable,” he continues “that such dreams be discarded. But judging by her track record, I doubt she will learn from her mistakes.”

During a Europe tour in November of 2008 to promote Andenet, the new political party she had formed after leaving prison, Birtukan had told an audience that the pardon she and other opposition leaders signed as a condition for their release from prison was the result of a political process and had no formal legal force. This statement was in direct opposition to the agreement she had signed with the Ethiopian regime.

Birtukan had indeed broken her word. In an article published in the pages of Addis Neger titled Qale (my word), Birtukan described being summoned by the then federal police commissioner Workeneh Gebeyeh and given a direct warning. She either retracts her word or she would head back to the infamous Kaliti and spend her remaining years behind prison walls. She wrote, “lawlessness and arrogance are things that I will never get used to, nor will I cooperate with.” She walked out of the office with her head held high, having given the regime the middle finger ready to accept whatever fate that awaited her.

It was evident even the Prime Minister did not want to imprison Birtukan. But her stubbornness could not tolerate even the most reasonable of arguments. Who indeed would benefit from this imprisonment? At this point in time, Kinijit was all but dead. There no longer was a political goal to pursue, there was no personal gain to be had. 

When we fail to understand something through reason, we’re forced to dig for something more, to imagine beyond strategies, tactics, and political maneuverings. It seems there was something deeper to her reasoning, a stubbornness to stand on one’s principle, a kind of moral clarity and conviction which chooses a lifetime of imprisonment than to cower to a man and regime who continuously choke any hopes of freedom, liberty and justice that dared spring up under its watch. I have asked myself multiple times why any person would choose this. Maybe an answer could be found in her own writings. In a letter she had penned while in prison, she describes Kinijit to be not just a political party that it had been before the 2005 elections but had transformed to “being the spirit of resistance against tyranny”. It was this tyranny she despised, this tyranny that she could not accommodate in the slightest. The letter had shamed my former self, a self who fancied itself primarily reasonable and rational, a self that thought entertaining romantic notions of freedom, emotion, and living life to the hilt as a game of the childish, of those who haven’t grasped the harsh realities of adult life.

Birtukan spent the succeeding 21 months in Kaliti prison. There are limited reports about her time spent in prison, a significant amount of which was spent in solitary confinement. But it is widely known she suffered intense physical and psychological trauma. Meles Zenawi was never in the habit of putting individuals in prison and throwing away the key. He would continue to extend the offer to reinstate the pardon if she would do the same with her initial words of apology. Birtukan was implored by friends, family, and supporters that this round of prison indeed served no purpose and had no tangible goal. “Think of your innocent child and mother” would have been a successful enough argument. Why endure meaningless suffering? She finally relented. In October of 2008 she submitted a pardon plea, and walked out of prison a free woman, a heroine who had stared the devil in the eye and never blinked. But the decision to choose imprisonment would come at a steep cost, the results of which might help partially explain the Birtukan of Abiy Ahmed’s season.

In 2011, eight months after celebrating her release from prison, Birtukan, no longer able to live in the country under the constant watchful eyes of her tormentors, boarded a plane to the United States to start a new life. Not much detail is known about her life in the US. She lived a mostly private life in Washington, DC raising her daughter. While in the US, according to Wikipedia, she was able to work and study at various institutions including at NED, The National Endowment for Democracy and the Harvard Kennedy School.

After her departure from Ethiopia, pertinent political issues persisted unaddressed. Crackdowns and imprisonment of anti-government activists continued as well. The Oromo Protests which lasted for about 2 years finally succeeded in shaking the regime enough to deliver a power reshuffling; the TPLF lead EPRDF had turned into the one man led Prosperity Party. 

…

In 2018, Birtukan boarded another flight. This time would be different. She was now crossing the Atlantic back to her homeland to become the head of NEBE, the National Election Board of Ethiopia. The new Prime Minister of Ethiopia, Abiy Ahmed, who had  risen to the helm of state power had personally asked her to head the board to guarantee a free and fair election, something he had proudly promised to his people. For most people, the Prime Minister’s idea to choose Birtukan was more than a practical decision, it was a symbolic one. A woman who was forced out of her country by a seemingly indestructible tyranny was given a chance to overlook a process that would do its utmost to guarantee that such tyrannical force would never again grasp state power. For those who had followed Birtukan since her Seye years, witnessing her being sworn in at the Parliament in 2018 was akin to watching a rebirth of the nation itself.

Of course, it turned out this hope was only part of a collective childish dream. Ethiopians were so drunk on the sweet words of Abiy Ahmed, it was forgotten that he was a solid part of the very regime that had broken and buried any forms of resistance along with Birtukan herself. But we are human and our lives are short. How can one blame a people who attempt to fit in as much hope as possible in one life, even when so irrational? It is clear now what Abiy Ahmed saw in Birtukan was not a courageous woman with integrity or a competent one who had clenched a second degree from Harvard while raising a daughter. To him she was, like all the professional elites he has surrounded himself with, an effective tool to be used to swoon Ethiopians and his Western backers into thinking he was a man more interested in democracy than power, a man ready to bring real change. It, soon after, also became apparent that what Ethiopians mostly hoped for was not democracy or justice for themselves but for the destruction and subjugation of their previous rulers who were at the helm of power, including the Tigrayan society they hailed from. 

…

Sometime in early 2022 as I mindlessly scrolled through social media, I came across some TV program featuring Lady liberty, as she was affectionately known. While having followed Birtukan for the preceding two years, this new version left me both amused and bewildered. The show is a sort of a-day-in-the -life of prominent people of Addis, and ‘prominent’ she had once again become. To be fair there was no reason for me to be befuddled. By this time, I knew the old Birtukan was long gone. I had spent the preceding two years watching almost every Ethiopian support Abiy Ahmed in his genocidal war against Tigrayans, which eventually took the lives of an estimated eight hundred thousand people. I had watched most regions of the country descend to near anarchy. During this same period Birtukan was orchestrating the postponement of the 2020 Ethiopian election which conveniently helped Abiy clench full power. I had watched her conduct a demonstrably sham election and hail it as democratic. So, I knew the young Birtukan who had captivated and inspired Ethiopians with words like democracy, justice, freedom adorning her lips was long gone.

But I knew only in the mere sense of having information, not in the sort of knowing that involves grasping deeper meanings, subtle emotions, and sinking-to-the-gut kind of knowing. So, I watched in amazement at the new woman inside my computer screen. There was something surreal about watching her in her villa in the center of Bole surrounded by security guards, chit chatting about the difficulty of keeping a work-life balance and sipping on macchiato while reminiscing about an old boyfriend. Where did the defiant, passionate Ferensay Legacion ya’rada lij in flip flops and tight ponytails go? It seemed she had been rebirthed into something else, something I was too familiar with; a careerist elite who hangouts in hotels with a wine glass in hand complaining about Addis traffic while raving about gated recreational parks and shiny streetlights. 

…

For the elite of Addis Ababa, Abiy Ahmed was an unexpected Godsent. Somewhat influential but underpaid, unrecognized and underappreciated academics who were barely scraping up a lower middle-class existence were now being invited to cocktail parties at Arat Kilo and offered government positions that provided access to free housing, cars and cash. Ambitious lawyers, economists, and professionals of every ilk who may have found academic and/or professional success abroad in the past but with neither influence nor visibility were now securing jobs at home with impressive international standard pay and the bonus of having house maids, nannies, and drivers. Not to mention the overflow of eager and available beautiful women who are only a DM and a Skylight dinner away. Entrepreneurs in crisp suits and middle-class sensibilities with newfound opportunity to hobnob with key government officials were getting contracts they could have only dreamed of just a few years prior catapulting them to Blue Label Whiskey drinkers practically overnight. The professional elite currently upholding and benefiting from the Abiy government are no different from your average stereotypical rich Merkato trader. Their primary value lies in the zealous accumulation of capital and status. The only difference is they have the educated sense of doing so under the guise of giving back to their beloved country.

So, why would a woman who had once fought with her life for vital human ideals sink, seemingly easily, into such an existence of moral nothingness? Birtukan is, of course, painfully trite in her move from passionate advocate of individual rights to tyrant enabler. The current Minister of Justice Gedion Timotheos, a highly respected constitutional law scholar who passionately lectured and wrote about the rule of law, has turned into an errand boy to a Prime Minister who comes up and implements laws which primarily guarantee his continuation in power. Minister of Education, Birhanu Nega, a developmental economist, spends his current days oohing and aahing at the Prime Minister’s city decorations. Specific examples here serve only amusement purposes given the two years war exposed the fascistic instinct of almost all the elites. But it requires a serious level of cynicism to dismiss the former Birtukan as just another power hungry individual with a willingness to sell herself to the highest bidder. 

Talk to anyone who knows her personally and they will tell you stories that will leave you with deep admiration. “She really was different,” Birtukan’s old friend said to me when I asked if she was as big a deal as the media portrayed her to be. “Seye’s case was only one of the many courageous actions she took during her judgeship, ” he told me passionately. “You know, she had led a criminal procedural reform preventing police from requesting and being granted unjustified remands that kept individuals in prison, at times, for years.” Apparently this reform had infuriated the police. She had faced threats to her life from the police commissioner himself. But she had stood her ground. In the years she served as a judge, Birtukan’s courtroom was where one prayed to end up if they were to get closer to justice. It didn’t matter the age, ethnicity or economic status of the individual, the law was what she served and the courage to implement it, she possessed like no other. Even after she quit her judgeship, she never pursued a lucrative career in her industry. In fact, for a significant time she worked pro bono, fighting for individuals and causes she believed in. 

It was this Birtukan who was given a leadership position at Kinijit and this Birtukan the late Professor Mesfin Weldemariam attempted to rally people around when, in 2007, Kinijit was at the brink of collapse, dismissing men like the late Hailu Shewel and Berhanu Nega as simple powermongers. And it is this Birtukan that has captured my imagination. Hers is a case of someone intuitively good and thoughtful, someone who lived a serious moral life and having paid a price for it, transforming into a helpful agent of oppression. 

…

Historically, elites have existed primarily to be at the service of the monarchy. During the emperor’s time all elites conformed to the hierarchical structure of the feudal system. The student movement of the 1960s which helped topple the monarchy and bring about the 1974 revolution is arguably the most idealistic period of Ethiopian history. While the revolution did manage to rid the nation of the official feudal system and its grasp on the economy, it was clear that even the revolutionaries, by far the most progressive, were unable to break free from the legacy of their ancestors despite their intense revolutionary fervor. It wasn’t long before the revolution, as they say, devoured its children. The horrifying bloodshed of the Red Terror perpetuated by the Derg regime not only murdered or sent into exile the most idealistic, driven and hopeful generation, but it buried with it any future hopes of changing the socio-cultural attitudes and beliefs of feudalism. The littering of city streets with dead bodies and the constant terror all communities existed in also guaranteed that collective political activism will be viewed in society as a game of life and death for generations to come. So for elites who survived this period and those who followed, life became primarily about guaranteeing personal survival and pursuing personal interests, given anything beyond was viewed as assured death. Thus, the post revolution ethos became primarily about individual survival and nothing beyond. Why else would our grandest individual dreams today be to make ourselves the kings and queens of mini palaces with swimming pools and luxury rides while being catered to by those in the chokeholds of poverty, by those who seem to lack God’s blessings and favor?

The actions of the former Birtukan had represented a split away from such self-serving ethos of the average Ethiopian elite, even while existing within the ethnicized and over-complicated terrain of Ethiopian politics circa 2005. But alas, she too eventually failed. And when you fail, it is the aforementioned system which exists that catches you; the neo-feudal world of decadence.

…

Rewatching the giggling and the ever so genial Birtukan on EBS, I couldn’t help but wonder if what landed her here amoung the most valueless and cowardly of elites could be traced back to those long gone days of prison. I wondered if the immense trauma experienced behind prison walls was ever faced, ever explored, ever healed. I wondered what hate towards her tormentors must have been bred there, what unacknowledged anger must still be silently fuming. Ethiopians have a way of dealing with trauma by not dealing with it at all. We live both our personal and political lives as experts at evading and hiding away from harsh truths, never learning that the very emotions we attempt to bury – pain, hate, powerlessness – are those which come back at a later period in the uglies of ways. I wondered if this inability to face and acknowledge her own deep trauma is what made her incapable of ever facing and acknowledging the trauma she has comfortably watched being perpetuated on others. The armchair psychologist in me can’t help but wonder how much of a nation’s failures lie in the unhealed trauma or bruised egos of its elites. 

There is an argument that may need to be made at this point about the potential futility of analyzing the moral characters of political individuals, given in every generation the depravity eventually consumed everyone. We are, after all, not much more than the social, cultural and political structures we live under. For much of our lives we simply carry out roles that transcend our individual will. Individual agency plays a minimal role. So maybe under different political and social structures, Birtukan wouldn’t have buckled even under the most intense adversity. Maybe because she would have been embedded within a broad, strong political movement or lived among those who possess a strong ideological commitment and vision to something much bigger than themselves. But alas, no such thing exists in Ethiopia. We are a society who live among elites who fail to hit the minimum bar imaginable, regardless of context, to what it means to be a moral being; to not relish cruelty. We are a society that consistently fails to look at ourselves for who we are, thus failing to hold ourselves and our elites accountable for our and their actions or lack thereof. 

The evading of truth, the inability to look at ourselves for who we actually are has become a sort of identity for most. This is why the cruelest of elites who had celebrated the first bombs being dropped on Tigray – the consequences of which the nation is still reaping, the current wars in Amhara and Oromia being significant ones – are back today talking about all sorts of rights. The cultural elites who had lifted that cruel spirit are back to singing love songs and prayer hymns. The capitalists who had risked the collapse of the economy to side with their current benefactor are back to lecturing about the miracles of capital markets and floating currencies. The political elite remain in a humble bow to their king. They all call their cruelty political realism. They define their cowardice as humility. They view their lust for material wealth as merely respect for hard work and their unsatiated hunger for power as eagerness for responsibility. How else does one sleep comfortably at night, let alone thrive in a system whose defining nature has been its ability to bury the most basic ideas of what it means to be human?

And Birtukan?

Well, as expected, she finally left NEBE having served her purpose. I’m uncertain of her current engagements and to be honest, I am no longer interested.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Addis Abeba, Ethiopia, Politics 5 Comments  August 25, 2024 15 Minutes

The Tigray War and Our Collective Moral Failure.

“A culture that does not grasp the vital interplay between morality and power… which fails to understand that the measure of a civilization is its compassion… condemns itself to death.” Chris Hedges

One chilly summer evening, by what I can only recall to be a random chance, I found myself at a party at the Hilton Hotel in Addis Ababa. I had recently graduated from college and was enjoying a summer in my hometown. Unemployed yet very much enthusiastic, I had joined a group of well-dressed, well-educated, and impressively self-assured individuals who were inclined to say things like “where are you based?” instead of “where do you live?” or tell you passionately about the importance of giving back to their country as they provide a detailed account on how they happen to be doing so at the moment.

While I felt a little out of place being surrounded by mostly ambitious and well-accomplished people, I had no problems mingling with ease. You will be surprised where properly articulated English sentences and the right pair of tasteful high-heels can get you in life. Throughout the evening I met and conversed with many individuals, some of whom frequently grace us with their presence on our national newspapers and TV channels today. I met and chatted with a handsome young banker (not of your local variety), the type of man my mother wants me to bring home for dinner. He told me about his job which involves extensive international travel & frequent run-ins with important men I only know of in the media. “There is no reason Ethiopia can’t be the next China!” he had said excitedly, explaining how state led capitalism was the answer to our nation’s economic ills. I listened attentively to his invigorating talk with the occasional water sipping, making a mental note to myself to frequently glance through the pages of The Financial Times to further ease such conversations. Thankfully, my ignorance of the international financial world did not show, since after some minutes of having met me, he started calling over his friends to make introductions. “Come meet this brilliant young woman,” he had said to his friends, whose hands’ I shook politely. In case you are wondering, be assured this statement is not related to any objective assessment of talent or cleverness I may possess. It is simply that when one is in such a room, it is assumed that the fellow he or she will interact with is very much like who he assumes himself to be. So, of course, such rooms are crowded with the “brilliants,” the “trailblazers,” the “change makers,” and the “jegnits” of Addis. 

I also talked with a fellow jegnit who had gone back to school after a stint at Oxfam and was now doing her PhD dissertation on the societal perception of domestic violence on women in Addis Ababa. I listened and encouraged her passions full-heartedly, not forgetting to remind her of her brilliance before our conversation came to a close. I met another older woman who headed one of the big International NGOs’ East Africa offices, who was also kind enough to give me some advice on networking, including some names and phone numbers I should reach out to in the field. She narrated how she came from humble backgrounds to be a success and assured me I had all it takes to be an asset for my country. 

By the end of that evening, while tired from all the talking, smiling and polite nodding, my enthusiasm had not waned. It was clear much was required to join the who is who of the Addis professional elite. It was not too clear to me if I had what it took to reach the ranks and do what they call giving back. Most of the people in the room were smart; they had solid credentials to prove it, they were financially successful; talks of weddings at white sands beach resorts had already started to become a norm; they were assumably cosmopolitan; their language skills and agreement on the dullness of London’s weather hinted at it. Could I really join their rank? I was not too certain. My failure to take home to my mother even the banker who thought her daughter “so brilliant” forced me to not answer in the affirmative. 

Politics is discussed little in such settings, if at all. Globally, at the time Ethiopia was being hailed as a growth miracle, being made the poster child for the Africa Rising narrative. During those years Ethiopia was achieving double digit GDP growth, making people like my new banker friend confidently predict that the nation was destined to become the China of Africa. While everyone in the room was aware that our nation was one of the poorest in the world, they held a strong conviction that our luck was finally turning, and the trajectory now was toward the light. Through their work in civil societies, NGOs, and IFIs, these educated and forward-thinking Ethiopians would help bring Ethiopia into the 21st Century. Ethiopia offered what every young, ambitious and educated person wanted; an opportunity to achieve both prosperity and purpose, and to do so with class, style, and easy access to high end whisky & wine of one’s liking. I was lucky to be amid such a crowd, I had thought.

To be sure, my evening with the vivacious and seemingly cosmopolitan crowd of Addis Ababa paints only a fraction of the full Ethiopian picture of the time. The success stories and the enthusiasm of that evening leaves out a much darker and unconformable side. Being in that room, you would not know that as we sipped on our drinks & complimented each other on our outfits we were doing so in one of the most politically repressive nations in Africa. The 2010 Ethiopian election results reported EPRDF, the then ruling party headed by Prime Minister Meles Zenawi, as having won almost a hundred percent of the votes. Journalists and human rights activists were constantly being persecuted, thrown in jails or exiled from the country. Torture of prisoners was commonplace. There was no doubt the government was ruling with an iron fist. But this iron fist was justified by the self-presumed movers and shakers of Addis as unfortunate but necessary. Many agreed that a nation cannot hope to achieve its democratic aspirations until it untangles itself from the stronger chains of poverty.

It has been a decade since that chilly evening in Addis. Several realities have changed since. Ethiopia is no longer led by the EPRDF but by the Prosperity Party, power having been consolidated under the young evangelical & populist Prime Minister, Abiy Ahmed (a child of EPRDF himself). Ethiopia has abandoned pursuing a state led economic policy, instead following neoliberal economic policies led by the IMF and World Bank. The relatively secure nation that had managed to attract high levels of FDIs into the nation is now ripe with ethnic conflicts. Most devastatingly, the African Rising narrative headlines, as questionable as some of them were, have been replaced most recently by headlines of a war of biblical proportion – involving rapes, massacres, and famine – in Tigray.

Interestingly, the friends I met that evening and in many other similar get-togethers in Addis, still hold the conviction – while witnessing historical levels of human agony & devastation – that Ethiopia is still moving forward, the future even brighter. Their memory of the past has changed drastically. Now they remember those long-gone days as dark and oppressive, and the former regime as backward. The injustices they had dismissed as unavoidable for economic growth, is now viewed as the epitome of cruelty. “We finally have a modern leader who’ll take Ethiopia into the 21st century,” a “non-political” friend who, as I remember it, was quite satisfied with the nation’s former state, said to me.  

The Addis Ababa urban elite have swarmed towards the Prime Minister like bees to honey and he has certainly welcomed the embrace. The Prime Minister, for his part, has rewarded this enthusiasm for the change and prosperity he offers. More than any other time in recent history, he has welcomed into the central government a high number of urban technocrats with minimal allegiance to any specific political ideology. In the first few months of Abiy Ahmed’s premiership, I too had welcomed this change, viewing it as a sign the regime was attempting to open spaces for those who were competent, but not necessarily party loyalists. I was highly mistaken. Months into Abiy’s administration, while many still held hopes of building a genuine political arena representing all people, for those paying close attention it became clear that the Prime Minister was using these urban elites mainly as a front, a way to legitimize his regime as a liberal, democratic and modern one while he solidified his personal power in the most basic authoritarian of ways. Modern being roughly defined as cognac sipping at the Hyatt, walks at Entoto Park, spa days, fancy suits, a degree or two, and some foreign contacts in international institutions. Not too surprising, given complications and nuance rarely leave enough mental space for the “positive mindset” required to achieve prosperity of the Prime Minister’s variety .

As a thank you for the rewards of status and various privileges that come with power, the urban elite for their part have shown their gratitude unflinchingly. Some have gone from cheering Abiy as a true reformer, empathizing deeply with the unimaginable challenges he has inherited (an arguably harmless stance, albeit at times idiotic) all the way to supporting, denying and justifying systemic rape, massacres and an almost total destruction that has taken place in the war on Tigray (a painful failure the consequences of which we will no doubt reap). 

To be fair to these urban elites whose need for comfort, money and status has always been evident to the non-naïve, even human rights activists who were once celebrated for remaining neither blind nor indifferent to the abuses of the former regime, stand today alongside a Prime Minister who has openly attempted to downplay war crimes, including systemic rape of women. Today those who used to profess and stand up for ideals such as freedom, justice, and peace remain either mute or are complicit in the face of killings, rape, ethnic profiling, ethnic cleansing, harassment, imprisonment and abuse of their fellow citizens. The same individuals who preached about the inherent dignity and inalienable rights of all individuals are seen sermonizing about the difficulty and complexity of running a diverse nation such as Ethiopia. They are seen arguing openly, for a nation to prevail it might, after all, be unfortunately unavoidable – even necessary – that some groups of humans pay with their very lives. Today we are forced to assume what we thought was a fight for justice, was only a fight for power. 

Ethiopian academics and intellectuals have not been any less disillusioning. These individuals, including those working & residing safely in various universities around the world have freed themselves from the basic responsibility a decent society puts upon its intellectuals – to pursue and speak truths. Intellectuals are in a unique and privileged position to expose the lies and deception of the powerful given they can do so with minimal risk of loss of livelihood, imprisonment or physical harm (real fears the average person has). Having spent years in study and training, they have the analytical tools at their disposal to help us differentiate fact from fiction, to help us remove the veil of deceit created by government propaganda. But what our intellectuals have chosen to do is be loyal to their ideological convictions instead of truths. They have chosen to cheer as the Prime Minister declared, “there were no civilian deaths” while engaged in a war, to celebrate as free and democratic an election with virtually zero genuine competition, and to excuse and explain away systemic rape and massacres as unfortunate consequences of war. They sing the songs of liberalism, democracy and morality in the Western classrooms within which they teach in the mornings, to only sit in front of their computers later that evening solemnly spieling to their Ethiopian audience about law and order, Ethiopian exceptionalism and the unforgivable sins of their disfavored groups. If I were not alive to witness it all as it is taking place, I would have certainly dismissed it as cynically written bad fiction.

There is something particularly pernicious about Ethiopia’s current state of affairs. Not only do elite groups of all stripes – technocrats, intellectuals, human rights activists, religious leaders, media – legitimize the actions of such a repressive government through an almost sadistic level of active support, but they do so with an added air of moral superiority. They have managed to sell to the public that a war that has mainly devastated innocent men, women & children is done in the pursuit for justice, to rid us of a special kind of evil that exists only over-there, never with us. Not only are we being told that death & destruction are a necessary evil, but that it is being done for our own good, for the good of Ethiopia. We, for our part, have chosen to believe it. 

I do not know how this war, ignited for the sake of power consolidation, will end or how we will manage to move forward as a nation. Our elites want us to believe that this is only the darkness the nation is experiencing before a great dawn. This is simply false (the Prime Minister’s unexpected military defeat and the possible continuation of inter-ethnic war in the region has proved this). There is no darkness that is being experienced by a tangible entity we collectively label as “Ethiopia” that either feels pain or anguish. The darkness is being experienced by individual humans; mothers who are burying their young sons, fathers who are forced to dry the tears of their raped daughters, families who watch as everything they have worked so hard to build destruct in front of their eyes. And even if it were true – if there will in fact be a great dawn after such chaos – which part of our collective consciousness is willing to accept a prosperity that comes at the price of innocent blood spilt and the tears of anguish shed by those we once called our people? 

If there is ever hope of a dawn, I know we will never reach it if we remain on our current path ripe with lies, deception, and denials. The powerful will do all they can to remain on this current path knowing full well they will cease to exist otherwise. But you and I have a choice. We do not need any special type of knowledge to know that all other humans feel pain as deeply as we do, that every life is worthy of love and protection, that we all have a right to life and the freedom to do what we choose with it, even those we consider our enemy. There are no complexities that need to be untangled before we confidently say “no” to the dehumanization of our people, no deep thought required to take no part in injustice and no accreditation necessary to speak basic truths to corrupt power. I may not be able to state with full certainty that with truth, love and compassion, we can change the world, but I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt our rejection of them will guarantee us hell. 

 Rihana Nesrudin  Addis Abeba, Ethiopia, Politics 15 Comments  July 13, 2021 10 Minutes

Living under the Mercy of Identitarian Elites.

By: Goytom Teklu and Rihana Nesrudin.

          After yet another flash point, in another wave of state violence, riots and ethno-communal conflicts, Ethiopians have lost hundreds of lives (by official government accounts). Thousands more have suffered various levels of injuries to their bodies and minds by both state security apparatus and a violent mob. Many have lost their homes, businesses and places of worship. Internet shutdowns, banning of government opposing media networks and arrests of various well-known opposition figures have followed the violence. There is a serious tension of conflict and war between the federal government and regional states, as well as between regional states. If we were not witnessing everything unfold in front of our eyes, it would have been easy to dismiss all this as a nightmare we will soon wake up from.

           It is imperative we assess the factors that have led us to where we are now. One such factor which needs to be properly analyzed is the role contemporary elites play in shaping the ideals and notions both people in power and the masses uphold. Are our contemporary elites helping the nation move forward to achieve a better life for the people they all claim to love or have they been embarrassing colossal failures, who should be held partly responsible for the current state we find ourselves in? 

        A century or so ago, before our current ruling political elites – from the Prime Minister to regional presidents to talking heads of various enclave political and media elites with bad hairlines, a shrill voice that makes Gigi Kiya & Yoni magna sound like the Dalai Lama, and access to some sort of doctorate or post graduate degree – took national stage, a steady stream of Ethiopians left their country to study abroad. During the reign of Emperor Menilik, a number of bright young men (some dumb and old were likely in the mix) traveled around the world to study with the king’s personal encouragement. These young men left their country, studied and came back equipped with knowledge and skills from America and Europe, and laid the foundations for the political philosophy of the country. These intellectuals, while critical of the government they served, wrote important and pioneering entries on political economy, literature, and social issues.

            The influence of these early reformists endured in various ways for decades to come; Emperor Haile Selassie, during his second stint, rebuilt his administration with support of these intellectuals. Their influence further endured to greatly shape the ‘revolutionary’ intellectuals of the 1960s and 1970s, the young men and women who changed the face of the country forever. The radicalized students of the 60s, characterized by the ascendancy of a marxism-leninism ideology and consistent demonstrations, broached key questions and issues that have remained in people’s consciousness for the following 50 years. The questions of class, land ownership, education rights, women’s rights and the “national question” were brought to the forefront of the political movement. When EPRDF, led by Tigrai ethno-nationalists, took power it continued to attempt to address these same questions, most notably it  attempted to address the “national question” (at least in codifying it into the constitution). 

          The “educated few” who became “elites” over a century ago and the revolutionaries of the 60s have greatly shaped the ideologies and major national questions our society and government are grappling with today. But the contemporary highly “educated few” that influence public opinion and power today, are noticeably less political than the previous generation (also not really few). And those that are in the political arena are very much siloed along identitarian lines (mainly ethnic ones). On Average, today’s elites haven’t shown the “progressive” tendencies their predecessors showed. They are less likely to be found dissecting the real issues the majority of our people face and, more likely to be found giving justifications or a pseudo-intellectual cover to some tribal, authoritarian political project, with a cherry picked history or advocating for heinous Chicago school neo-liberal economic “reforms.” 

Contemporary identitarian “elites:”

        It is hard to decipher the role of contemporary elites in Ethiopian politics. Sometimes one can’t help but wonder if it would make a difference whether Ethiopian politics isn’t better off being led by local dureyes rather than the current PhD holders whose only end goal seems to be power – for power’s own sake. At least our dureyes know how to engage in a healthy dose of self deprecation, comprehend concessions when settling fights, have a sense of communitarianism and don’t leave you wanting to shoot yourself due to their torturous level of banality. In one form or another, it seems most only want to be the kings of their tribes or lords of their own tiny skull-sized kingdoms. It isn’t very difficult to demonstrate this point. Note the recent unfortunate nightmare we find ourselves in and the interactions taking place between Ethiopianists and ethno-nationalist on social media and elsewhere. The predictability of their response to current political events leaves one wondering if they have reconsidered their take on much of the issues they opine on since their enthusiastic university freshman days. 

           For instance, the (usually Western educated) modern Oromo-nationalist argues, supposedly on behalf of his people, against the oppression of the Oromo looking at history almost exclusively within a colonial framework. He equates “Neftegna” with “whiteness” and talks about decolonizing supremacist feudal views and attempts to fight “systemic oppression” that’s stifling his people. The average Ethiopianist, whose chauvinism he finds difficult to conceal, instead of arguing against the premise of such arguably weak and lazy characterization of Ethiopian history, will scream (mind numbingly predictably) “inferiority complex,” “hate” or “extremist” and walks away feeling morally superior, having won nothing but a long tedious race to the bottom.   

            The Slovenian Marxist Philosopher and a noted street food decimator Slavoj Zizek’s slightly revised quote about a jealous husband’s need of a cheating wife, taken from the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan’s work, “Four Discourses,” demonstrates our current elites quite well. Zizek writes; “recall Lacan’s outrageous statement that even if what a jealous husband claims about his wife, that she sleeps around with other men is true, his jealousy is still pathological.” 

           Along the same lines one could say that some of the claims made by the “Ethiopianists” and “ethno-nationalists” about each other is true. For instance, the accusations of chauvinism, cherry picked history, irrational love of monarch’s history by ethno-nationalists levied towards Ethiopian nationalist (Amhara nationalists) has some merit. The accusation levied by (Ethiopian nationalists) that Oromo and Tigray nationalist as being narrow nationalists or harboring secessionist tendencies has some merit as well. But their hysteria about each other is still pathological because it represses the true reason why an ethno-nationalist of a Tigrai, Oromo etc. needs an Ethiopian nationalist (or Amhara nationalist) as enemy to sustain his ideological position. 

           The same way a jealous husband uses his unfaithful wife as an excuse for his own failures either in sexual or other ways, the ethno-nationalists need the group of elites they call “Neftegna” or “Derg remnants” (who probably deserve those labelings in some cases) in order to maintain his status as a defender of his “own people,” protecting them from a second coming of Derg or Minilik. The “Ethiopianist” or “Amhara nationalist,” for his part, also needs these “backward nativists” “secessionists” and “traitorous ‘bandawoch’” who are working day and night to destroy the romantic myths and idea of a harmoniously functioning cultural order of the nation that his ancestors built and want to return to. Without these enemies to yammer about and rile up the base, maybe one would be forced to examine how he participates in the strengthening of his ethno-nationalist opponents by acting exactly as his opponent portrays him to be to his base. The same applies for the other types of ethno-nationalists who are reinforcing their “opponents.” 

         In an alternative universe, an “Ethiopianist” who is interested in the project of building a robust nation tackles its’ existential problems head-on collectively, instead of yelling consistently at his enemies or moaning endlessly about a star on a flag (or any other identitarian BS). He pauses long enough to attempt to articulate why an Ethiopia with a dialed down ethno-nationalism is preferable to an ethnically siloed one will be beneficial to each individual and all groups, in a way that recognizes the complexity of history, culture and biases of different nations or groups. When he critiques ethno-centrism, he does so in an empathic and nonjudgemental way that recognizes and understands that countless ordinary folks grew up with their ethnicities as the center of who they are and still have that inclination. Ethiopianism is preached in a language and way of engagement that is understandable and palatable to the audience it is addressing, instead of a declaration of an almost all out culture war, that itself is ironically ethnocentrically essentialist. He entertains the possibility that maybe a destroyed statue of a historical figure he adores in London doesn’t necessarily mean a destroyed Ethiopia, that there are bigger fish to fry. He remembers that it is sort of an established fact that at this point in time monarchies in general suck and being an apologist for it in 2020 is a bit weird. He of course, also, wakes up to the reality that cultural wars waged by waving a tri-colored flag, worshiping Teddy Afro and shrieking “one-Ethiopia!” can only take him so far and is never helpful for anyone advocating a non ethno-centric approach for the country.

            In this same alternative universe, the other type of ethno-nationalist, well for one, has stopped being an ethno-nationalist (it is supposed to be a different universe). But at least, for his part, he accepts that the former elites of his tribe also engaged in killings and oppressions and that they benefited substantially from the formation of modern Ethiopia. He acknowledges that the historical trauma he claims his people faced wasn’t exclusive to his people but was faced by the overwhelming majority of his countrymen/women. He has the wisdom to realize that his outrage will produce multiplicatively more results if it was less towards “a Neftegna” or a fellow PhD across his computer screen who seems to be talking down at him, and more towards the overflowing of the literal shit in streets and villages. Those who argue that ethno-centrism is not the end goal but a necessary tactical concession to address historical mistakes and existing limitations in society, do the impossible task of articulating how exactly they will achieve a common socio-economic union through an ethnocentrism that’s generally a mess. Alas, this is not the universe we currently occupy. 

        For all their bloviating about how much they love whatever region or country they claim to represent or fight for, none of these elites ever, with few exceptions, show their wrath on issues they should righteously be angry about such as the IMF-WB prescribed economic “reforms” that the government is implementing. Privatization of state owned enterprises, liberalizing currency exchange rate etc… which will create exchange rate volatility, imported inflation, macro instability, cronyism, corruption, huge debt pressure, sizable macro imbalances, static export, and increasing inequality that mostly lands its impact on the poorest segment of the population, is almost completely ignored by our elites. Maybe the disregard of these issues is not too surprising given to address them, one is require to care enough to spend some brain power on global and local economic and political systems and study how those systems interact and affect society. Maybe, it’s also because elites won’t necessarily be affected much by these reforms given the class positions they occupy. By simply looking at their actions and rhetoric, it is not unreasonable to conclude that the goal of most of our elites, ultimately, is to hold power and bring themselves and their circle to the ruling class using a large number of frustrated youth and whatever flavor of identitarian/nationalist agenda.

            It is not easy to get out of the predicaments of the identitarian authoritarianism hell we are in. Many of the same questions that were raised in the 60s, which have been attempted to be answered in the decades that followed, still need to be answered in a meaningful manner today. One way Ethiopia can answer these questions – a way never brought up by our current elites given it requires resolve and some brain cells –  is building a ground-up non-essentialist political project that is cognizant of historical baggages and challenges on the ground powered by multi-ethnic movements directly involving the masses. With all its serious drawbacks and mistakes, the movement of the 60s has at least shown us, it is possible to construct a multi-ethnic mass movement. 

          Of course the fact of the matter is that we do not have the popularly based, institutionalized, mass political movement that is multi-ethnic and independently powerful enough to force political concessions. We need to realize any kind of progress or the strive for a better Ethiopia can’t be constructed or achieved overnight. Such a movement can’t be spurred by symbolic flag humping events, fleecing diaspora for tribal media enterprises or sobbing on Facebook Live. It can only be constructed by linking large numbers of Ethiopian workers, farmers, students, the surplus population, the urban poor around a political agenda that speaks directly to their demands and aspirations. This, like all organizing is meticulous, laborious, challenging and sadly that may even be something that requires great personal sacrifice. And there is no assurance of a final victory, let alone short-term success. But, to quote Adolph Reed, “there are no alternatives other than fraud, pretense or certain failure.”  

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors 3 Comments  August 1, 2020 9 Minutes

Of Class and Addis.

“Ahun yerso tera dersual,” she says with a genuine smile looking in my direction.

“Eshi, eshi …” I quicken my steps afraid they’ll cancel the appointment unless I do exactly as I’m told. My dear childhood friend had informed me it took her some serious sweet-talking, softly hinted promises and ye’emeye mariam intervention to make this appointment happen in such short notice. 

My friend, who’s an advocate of avocado face-masks, perfect looking toenails and 60 birr macchiatos drove me to the location herself. “Minem atasebi, betam gobezoch nachew, teru yinkebakebushal,” she says, since the condition of my hair and nails is what keeps me awake at night. After parking her perfectly air conditioned car, which has miraculously managed to stay dust free under the Addis sun and abuara, she gets out and heads towards a mid-sized modern styled building which looks like it was designed by a newly minted millionaire whose idea of luxury is gulping down a 4000 birr bottle of whiskey along with the soul of a 20 year old girl on Thursday nights. My friend leads us into the building, walking with so much ease and confidence I wonder for a second if she has some shares in the establishment. 

“Hi yene konjo,” she says to an oval faced receptionist with an almost-fashion-model look who has been disappointed one too many times by the “industry” and is now forced to smile at women who spend the same amount on 60 minute massages that she earns in a month. Afer yiblu. 

“Hi, tena yistelegn,” the receptionist smiles at us politely. 

“Dagi, Dagi yetale?” my friend quickly inquires. 

Before she has a chance to continue her sentence, Dagi has already arrived, “hi, enkuan dehna metachu!” he almost yells and gives my friend a hug. Dagi is a good looking young man who you can tell feels like he is too good even for this establishment. The kind of man who watches Senselet on Youtube to prepare himself for his inevitable departure to his true home. But based on his smile and general enthusiasm, he seemed to be tolerating his current existence, which included flattering upper class women and overexaggerating the mundane, well.  

After some kisses and pleasantries are exchanged. My friend says, “Dagiye, esua nat guadegnaye, n’gereh neber aydel? beka full service endet’setuat new yemifelegew.” She says with a hint of both authority and sweetness in her voice. 

“Wow, echin konjo keyet yizeshelegn metash?” Dagi shakes my hand and then pulls me in for a kiss on both cheeks. 

“Selam selam” I stuttered with an awkward smile, uncertain of my role in the conversation. 

My friend is what you might call a total-boss and both Dagi and I understood this fact. Which is why he quickly turns his face back to her to ask how she likes her recently dyed hair. It is clear she is the real customer and I, the temporary friend. “Dagiye, atayegnim model asmeselehegn,” she pushes her hair to the side, go-back style. They both laugh. 

After conveying detailed instructions about what it is that I need – a Moroccan bath, a deep tissue massage, hair treatment, hair straightening, a manicure, a pedicure and a constant eshuru’ru throughout the many hours this will take – my friend bids us all adieu and leaves. 

Dagi takes me down golden, swirling flight of stairs that seem to lead straight to heaven, if heaven was down a staircase. Soft music is playing in the background – the kind they play in movie-heaven. We leave behind the natural light that lit the upper section of the building and enter into a space where dimmed and elegant lights have given it a kind of ambiance where you feel, not just relaxed but somehow automatically important. I almost start wondering for a second where the slaves were to carry me down these golden stairs.

Dagi hands me white towels, slippers and two bottles of cold water. 

“Hode, beka libseshin awelalki’na relax adregi. Aster meta tewesdeshalech.” 

“Eshi, eshi Dagi,” I oblige.

Dagi rushes away to cater to the next customer and leaves me be. 

I sit on one side of a big, elegant, semi-circle sofa that can fit 15 fashion models or 10 wives of state ministers. As I sit, I politely smile at two noticeably beautiful women sitting and chatting on the opposite side of the sofa drinking avocado juice, the fruit that apparently nurtures your whole body to not only prep you for a nice date but for the coming of the messiah himself. They continue their conversation without giving me much notice, which was good and well by me since I was about to carry out Dagi’s instructions and strip.  

After having slipped into the towel that barely covered my thighs, I sit on the couch and keep an eye out for Aster. It didn’t take long for Aster to come get me. “Ye’erso tera dersual” she says with a genuine and charming smile looking in my direction. It looks like I’m an erso while in skimpy towels. 

Aster, I came to later find out, was a thirty something year-old mother of two, who has been trained as a masseuse and who enjoys her job, even if she has recently been struggling with varicose veins and a greedy old landlord who seems to be adamant on making her family homeless through incremental monthly price increases. I automatically liked Aster: she had a no-nonsense attitude, was good at her job and could crack a good joke while rubbing you down with overpriced goo and butter.

We walk into the room where I’d spend an hour being scrubbed with what looks like Kaldi’s goat poo, followed by a lavender scented soup-rub to wash off said poo – three rounds. Thankfully, to then be finished off with a lathering session with oil that smelled so divine, you’d think it should have been exclusively reserved for Etege Tayitu herself. Maybe heaven really is down a flight of stairs. 

It didn’t take Aster and I too long to become intimate. There really isn’t much reservation left between two people after one has responded to the other with an obedient eshi, as the other instructs them to take off their underwear to ease the process of body rubbing. After the second round of Kaldi’s goat poo rub, Aster was no longer calling me antu and was comfortably passing on gossip about her other customers. 

The two women who were on the sofa earlier, she tells me, have rich boyfriends who lavish them with love and presents, including trips to Paris, Dubai and Thailand. One of them had brought Aster a beautiful silk top during one of her trips – “yesua bale’ma siwedat, besmea’b” she tells me “gen bale’tidar new alu. Bale siltan sayhon aykerem – be’tilik mekina new yemitmetaw… endet teru lij nat meselesh.” She also tells me about the professional women – mostly UN, ECA and other various NGO employees – who have their weekly massage schedules and never miss their appointments – “enesu keld ayakum, beza lay arif tip yadergalu. Gen cheb’et yalu nachew… yetemare sew neger…” She giggles. 

Asters and I cover topics ranging from massage parlors that provide happy endings to her worry about the rising cost of living in the city to a personalized weekly regimen for my hair that she finds worryingly dry. I listened attentively, especially to the hair treatment recommendation – a dry scalp and hair is a serious matter. As soon as she finishes slathering Etege Taitu’s oil all over my now baby-soft skin, she takes me to the massage room and spends the following 30 minutes cracking my bones and tearing apart my muscles along with my first world problems – total relaxation. I thought, this must be the state of mind our policy makers must be in when they pass policies – free of all discernable thought.

By the time I land at Dagi’s chair for hair straightening – after having gone through a wash and blow-dry for my hair, a pedicure and  manicure for my nails and 2 cups of double macchiato for my soul – I am surprisingly ready for his enthusiastic chatter. I was right, Dagi loves his job. He starts me off with a scalp massage describing the science behind why it was so essential. He demands he trim my hair to get rid of my split ends and then insists I allow him to pick a hairstyle for me, which I graciously grant. By the time I am finished, I have transformed from a tired and average diaspora into a macchiato-sipping, 200 birr avocado-toast munching, designer heels-wearing Addisababian who’d prefer you don’t look directly at her. Where are my slaves!?

As they say all good things must come to an end and it was finally time for me to ascend to the space of natural lights and unsuccessful models. I walk to the register to ask for my bill, which I anticipate is enough to install a decent toilet in the valleys of Birginet. The receptionist informs me that my friend has already covered all my expenses and that I am free to go. This leaves me with plenty of money to pretend to be a mini-millionaire with the free mental space to agonize about the state of her toenails. I tip everyone generously. 

As I step outside back into the Addis sun onto the bustling street filled with weyalas yelling, elderly mothers carrying overweight shopping bags and 10 year olds selling tissue paper and gum, I couldn’t help but be perplexed and saddened by the nature of my beloved city. How have we come to accept such a state of affairs, where we’re able to design artificial heavens for a few while we consistently fail to design basic dignified survival for the millions?… If heaven does exist, I certainly hope its stairway is neither golden nor exclusive. 

I quicken my steps and decide to hail down a lada taxi, old school style.

“Hode, wede Piassa tiyedaleh?”

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors 8 Comments  October 3, 2019 7 Minutes

Sips of Coffee and Pain.

Here is another day that I have to survive, I thought, as I pushed the gabi off my legs and left the bed. 

A deep breath… I whisper. That should help ease the tension in my shoulders…

Coffee, coffee, coffee. Yes, coffee.

It can be tiring – this life – can’t it? The tiring could, maybe, even be bearable, if only we could find meaning in our pain. But sometimes the ridiculousness of existence becomes the only thing that’s clear enough to understand. Sometimes the meaning you were working to articulate disappears like a mirage when you’re just about to grab it. The utter absurdity of it all… you plan so impeccably well, you work hard, you do the right thing… yet still wake up some mornings with that hollow emptiness that eats at your soul. Every “right thing” you’ve done hasn’t filled the void. It hasn’t clarified the 3:00am confusions, cured your hidden longings or calmed your anxieties…

A deep breath… coffee cup in hand, I open the door to the backyard… A sudden cold fall breeze hits my face. I could feel goosebumps all over my body, all at once… Oh God, when did it become fall?

Oh the pain, the anxiety, the absurdity… but then, there’s this perfect fall breeze that so gently kisses your neck, whispering to you – you are alive! It wakes you up with a kind of authority you unknowingly crave. It wakes you up to the ease within the struggle… 

Like that first sip of coffee soothing your throat along with your pain… with every sip, your body relaxing, expanding, preparing you to take on your day. As your lips touch the cup, you remember kisses exist. Sweet, long, tender kisses that send shivers down your spine, even this breeze can never manage to do… Then you remember the first time he touched you and seeing yourself melt like the butter your mother sinks into the hot shiro she so brilliantly makes. You blush. 

Thoughts bring up more thoughts…

There were the long cold kiremt Sundays, where you laid around lazily with your gabi, coffee and some buna kurse, where not much mattered but the bliss of presence.

That doro wot you can’t stop eating, with snot coming out of your nose because your aunt decided the measure of a true habesha is their tolerance of good ol berbere... 

There’s Aster Awake’s voice telling you Ayzoh in the exact moment you needed to hear it most.

There was that time you laid down next to a woman, caressed the soft skin between her thighs along with her soul… hiding within her embrace, baring your whole soul to her – the weak, the beautiful, the ugly – and felt rebirthed.

…And language exists. Letters, words, sentences… forget the wisdom, knowledge and lessons that they have carried to us. Think – you read me and I can read you. We exist, not so separate.

Oh and then there’s love. You have felt it – deeply. You’ve looked at another human and your heart made you leap to hold them. To just be – with them. You have felt their pain as if it was your very own, you have delighted in their joy. You can love… with no logic, reason or explanation… You are capable of loving, possessing the very key that opens the gates out of hell… 

There’s poetry – words so perfectly intertwined speaking to your spirit and allowing your spirit to speak to the universe…  

There’s laughter… You have laughed … tears running down your cheeks, stomach curled, snorts and all. You have laughed at others, at yourself, at life itself… you are capable of laughter even in the abyss. 

So am I. 

I finish my coffee and walk back in. The existential panic will have to wait for another day. Today, I am alive – fully. 

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Within the absurdity, there lays so much beauty to be found in the small things – a sip, a touch, a smile…

” I have finally concluded, maybe that’s what life is mostly about: there’s a lot of despair, but also the odd moment of beauty, where time is no longer the same. It’s as if those strains of music created a sort of interlude in time, something suspended, an elsewhere that had come to us, an always within never. Yes, that’s it, an always within never.” – Muriel Barbery. 

So if I were to say a little prayer for you and me this morning for the upcoming New Year, it would be… if what you’re anticipating is joy, may you be given the wisdom to savor every moment. If it’s anguish your heart is preparing itself for, may your heart awaken to the tenacity that it possesses. If you’re anticipating success, may you be given humility and if it is failures that you dread, may you reap lessons from it. But most of all, I pray that you rid yourself of anticipation itself. I pray that you live life fully today, given tomorrow is abstract, full of both good and bad possibilities. I pray that you stop cooperating with uncertainty. Today is the only thing you own – certainly – so live it. I will too. 

Melkam Addis Amet.

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors Leave a comment  September 12, 2019 4 Minutes

Ethiopian Feminism: Revisited

“He who knows only his own side of the case knows little of that. His reasons may be good, and no one may have been able to refute them. But if he is equally unable to refute the reasons on the opposite side, if he does not so much as know what they are, he has no ground for preferring either opinion…” John Stuart Mill

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One of the most common critiques I received when I wrote Ethiopian Feminism, A critique was that my line of argument was a tired and common one i.e. arguing that feminism “ke’egna ba’hil ena haymanot wuchi new.” Some viewed it as a rather weak defense tactic used by Ethiopians unable to accept new ideas that might challenge their thinking. So I want to address this particular idea in this piece. Are those of us who are wary of accepting feminism as it’s currently being practiced- in Ethiopia and outside it- simply unreasonably too attached to traditional and religious ways of thinking? Are we being unreasonably resistant to a new idea that could potentially transform our entire society simply because we’re unfamiliar and lack an in-depth understanding of the ideology? Let us explore.

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First, I feel it important to highlight and clarify some things. I do not in any way want to converse with a straw-man version of the movement basing my arguments simply against the loudest and extreme voices. I also do not believe that feminism should be condemned or destroyed in any way, this risks disregarding the positive role that feminists can, in fact, play in a society that can benefit much from the movement, such as increasing educational, political and economic opportunities for women who had traditionally been deprived of it, and potentially ridding our society from sexist and limiting attitudes towards women. Within the Ethiopian context, there are many real fights that need to continue to take place: female genital cutting, rape, gender-based violence, to name just a few specific ones. All of us, in our varied capacities, need to fight to make sure that girls are given the same opportunities as boys in all fields and are provided the secure space to do so. It has been my personal experience, that once you open up opportunities for women and you remove major barriers out of their way, they are more than capable of achieving the seemingly impossible.

I believe the overwhelming majority of individuals, traditionalist and religious ones including, support these ideas. The problem arises when we start looking at the specifics of some matters within the movement. From engaging in various conversations with others, witnessing the online bickering and spats and some hours of digging into the research, I’ve attempted to pinpoint the main differences between those who espouse to mainstream feminist thought and those who do not. I believe the divide stems from a number of premises that today’s feminist theory functions under, which are not necessarily accepted by the wider Ethiopian society. I’ll attempt to focus on one such premise: the patriarchy.

The patriarchy is a central concept in feminist theories. “Dismantling the patriarchy” is usually stated as a central goal in today’s feminist movements. The patriarchy is literally defined as the “rule of the father.” This, I believe, to be a historically accurate description of our societies. Historically, generally speaking, women were responsible for raising children and maintaining the home while men were tasked with going out to make a living, thus engaging in the social and political sphere. Because women were limited to their homes they lacked autonomy and authority in the public sphere. For instance, women’s capabilities to own property, to vote or have access to positions of political power were minimal at best. In some cases, women were even unable to control their daily activities and movements without a husband’s consent. This system left many women vulnerable, especially to potentially abusive men. All this is true. But today, under the feminist lens, the definition of the patriarchy has been expanded to mean beyond the simple “rule of the father” to mean a *the systemic bias* of a larger system dominated by men working actively against women. Meaning, when looking at history (and some current societies), rather than stating, “some men oppressed women” it is now considered that the oppression came from the underlying bias of a patriarchal society that actively chooses to oppress women. And here is where I believe the water get muddy and where the big divide exists.

Most people that have not been taught this idea, I’ve noticed, simply do not believe it. They do not recognize the patriarchy to be an all-encompassing evil that systematically oppressed all women. There are a number of questions that arise when one thinks of the patriarchy in such a manner. One rather simple one, and a question very much worth considering is why would men choose to systematically oppress women including their wives, mothers, sisters and daughters, for the sake of holding power? What do men gain from such oppression? To give an example, it is argued that one way our traditions and religions, as dictated by men, have oppressed women is through preventing them from things such as expressing their sexuality, upholding virginity as an unnecessary ideal or encouraging marriage for women while not doing so for men to the same extent. This reality is viewed as a manifestation of the oppression of women perpetuated by our traditions and religions. This I believe to be too simplistic of an analysis.

Consider this: the birth control pill was not invented until 1960. It did not start to be used in Ethiopia until many years later. In 1990 the prevalence of contraceptive use stood at a mere 2%. Meaning, until this point in history, sexual intercourse that lasts a minute could result in pregnancy, a historically life and death situation for women. Even today only 34% of Ethiopian women of reproductive age have access to contraceptives, meaning a single sexual intercourse, can initiate unimaginable consequences specifically for the woman and the unborn child. So, looking at it from this angle, promoting marriage, celebrating virginity and limiting sexual liberation was societies collective attempt at protecting women, children and the community at large. Men, on the other hand, were not tasked by nature with the bearing and initial nurturing of children, thus affording them fewer restrictions. Nevertheless, it is worth remembering, the type of men that our traditional and religious societies choose to celebrate are the family men who carry the responsibility of their families, communities, and nations, not those who exercised their sexual liberation. It is worth mentioning here, this is not an argument against the utility of sexual liberation, given modern technological advances that argument can be had on a different day, this is to highlight the utility traditions and religions provided to deal with the rather harsh and arguably unfair realities of existence.

I believe it is because most Ethiopians see the nation’s history from such a standpoint that, while they acknowledge that our systems have patriarchal structures, even at times oppressive ones, they fail to see that the underlying basis of that structure to be one of oppression of women by men. I share in this view. When I look at our society, what I see is a social structure that was built by fallible individuals based on basic religious ethos to deal with the challenges of existing in a poverty-stricken land that had no mercy to men, women and children. This, of course, is in no way an attempt to draw some idealized version of history where women and men were “equal” (whatever equal means). This was not and is still not the case. Men’s ability to engage in the public sphere, while women were limited to the private sphere, coupled with their lack of biological obligations of childbearing and rearing, had given them an economic, educational and political advantage that women were unable to access. But prioritizing a narrative of men as oppressors and women perpetual victims is simply not only to fail to look at the full picture but to also, possibly unintentionally, paint women as weak objects without any agency.

So, while it is possible to argue that women are dealt with a unique set of sufferings throughout history and up to this day, it is difficult to reasonably put that at the feet of all men or a system that purposefully and systematically oppressed women for the sake of power. I think of all the men we’ve sent to war to die for our nation, and the wives and children who carried their set of responsibilities on the home-front, I think of the men that take on all the dangerous jobs – the electricians, construction workers, miners – who leave their homes for days on end to provide for their families, I think of the men being humiliated daily by poverty, unable to provide for their families yet wake up the next day to fight yet again… It’s when I think of such realities that the phrase – the oppressive patriarchy – gets choked in my throat.

From my vantage point, I find it extremely difficult to view the world with all its complications and decide that the majority of an individual’s or a group’s major sufferings is a result of one cause – in this case – the patriarchy. I always try to be wary of a single-cause explanation for complicated problems. For me, today’s Western-styled feminism, the way I’ve understood it so far, seems to offer essentially one explanation to the complicated problem of existing as a woman in this world, making it difficult to accept, without due diligence, the solution it brings forth to solve these problems; especially those that are presented with the simple premise that men are oppressors and women, victims. We need to appreciate the complexities of the challenges women face and be open and willing to have conversations, even difficult ones, so that we’ll achieve what I believe we all want, a just society for both men and women. We need to acknowledge that religious and traditional teachings that have served civilizations across the globe for thousands of years might still offer explanations and solutions to human challenges, even to our seemingly ‘woke’ 21st-century ones.

As stated at the beginning of the article, this piece is not an attempt to dismiss the work that Ethiopian feminists attempt to do, far from it. This is my attempt at diversifying the conversation, to possibly add some nuance to a dialogue that seems to be dominated by mainstream feminists who are, at times, too certain that their perspectives of our societies and their prescribed solutions to Ethiopian women’s problems are the only ones worth considering. This is my attempt at highlighting the fact that those who have disagreements with some aspect of the movement may actually *not* be uneducated, ill-intentioned, nurturers of “fragile masculinity,” “guardians of the patriarchy” –  ignorant to even know that they’re being oppressed, thus “complicit in their own oppression,” or out of touch – as some have suggested. Such accusations, I find to be dangerous, intellectually disrespectful and damaging to the very cause feminism stands for. One who is standing on the side of reason and logic has no need to demean or insult. In fact, what he/she will have is the courage to engage in difficult conversations, opening him/herself up to have his/her beliefs questioned, even ripped apart, knowing the end result will be having a respectable firm ground to stand on. These conversations matter because ideas matter. Ideas we hold shape who we are as individuals, communities and nations. So, if we hope to build strong individuals, communities and nations, we need to discuss these ideas with integrity, humility and courage. The way I see it, that’s the only way we’ll be able to move forward with relative success and minimal suffering for all.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Addis Abeba, Ethiopia Leave a comment  December 21, 2018 8 Minutes

Of Tailored Suits and Life:

I used to have a certain kind of distaste for men in perfectly tailored suits. The well positioned cufflinks, the perfectly angled tie, the shiny shoes. All of it.  Whenever I’d be around such men, I’d notice myself changing. I stiffen up. If I happen to be out having coffee with one of them, I start saying things like, “may I be excused, I need to use the lavatory to powder my nose” and “what pleasant weather.” I, all of a sudden, become  a character from Mad Men. I may even occasionally stop to notice and check if I’m playing my newly appointed part well, that of the sophisticated modern gal. I’d manage it, maybe for 30 minutes. After which point, I’d have to bid adieu.

I could never really articulate why I felt this way. Was I intimidated by well dressed and competent men? (Why would I assume they were competent?) Did I somehow feel inferior in their presence? Why so much prejudice? I mean, I, myself, have worn suits. I might have even enjoyed doing it a time or two. 

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In early 2018, I vowed to fully embrace authenticity, to become more honest with myself and those around me. This meant, I needed to first acknowledge that I do a lot of bullshitting on the daily – much less than average it turned out – but a lot of bullshitting nonetheless. And something funny happens when you decide to completely stop bullshitting, you start seeing how much of it happens around you all the time – the pretense, the white lies, the lies through omission… It’s everywhere. But, Interestingly enough, being hyper aware of this reality didn’t make me disheartened or judgmental of others or myself in any way. It somehow made me more understanding, even compassionate, dare I say.

You see, there’s a certain level of delusion that one must possess in order to go through life reasonably intact. A certain level of forgetfulness is of paramount importance. You sprinkle in denial, then you’ve achieved success. We’ve turned bullshitting ourselves and others daily, into an art… “I don’t need a man” you think, as your heart bleeds dreaming of his touch. “I’ve done my best” you say, as you click “next” on the episode. “How selfish could she be?” you mutter, as you see past her questioning gaze… The thing is these small and “insignificant” lies serve a purpose. They free us from potential failure, from responsibility, from facing the Goliath within our souls. These lies are also relatively easy  and seemingly inconsequential – never have I been struck by lightening for sweeping my shit under the rug or burying my head under the sand. But of course the repercussions remain: the nagging anxiety, the resentment, the un-articulated anger… these things will slowly and continuously chip at your soul – one word, one gesture, one act at a time, someday render you completely and utterly lost.

Then. Then, there are the ideas we’ve collectively constructed: the identities, cultures and ideologies we so fervently hold on to. These ideas, we so desperately need to give our lives meaning and significance. These ideas inform us, quite subtly, of who we are, what we should value, what we should achieve. I mean, who am I, if not the strong independent woman I, so perfectly, picture in my mind? If not the athlete I fancy myself to be? Have I really lived well at all If I haven’t ticked every box – the money, the career, the house, the car, the husband, and the 2.5 kids? Do I even really matter lest others know of my name and speak often of my worth? … Weirdly enough, these ideas, I respect. These ideas have helped us build families, communities and nations. They have provided us structure, security and purpose. These ideas are what get us out of bed each morning, drive us to achieve the impossible and keep us hopeful in our quest to achieve that ever illusory thing called happiness. But, – there’s always a but, – how *real* are they really?

… I do not know.

Some days I wonder if what we’ve done is construct a beautiful, awe inspiring, lie. Some days I think of how we’ve somehow ended up in this world having never provided consent and will leave it as such. But, now that we’re already here, with a perplexing innate need to remain here – and to do so with some level of sanity – what choice do we have but to delude, forget and deny? How else could we face the reality we were born into? “The real world is simply too terrible to admit” writes Ernest Becker, “it tells man that he is a small trembling animal who will someday decay and die…” What other choice did we have but to construct this alternative reality, a reason for our existence, a thing to get us through the day and back? Becker continues, “Culture changes all of this, makes man seem important, vital to the universe. Immortal in some ways…” 

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Thus, my distaste of tailored suits. It was never really the men, the men I found beautiful, even alluring. It was the lie the suit represented that I wanted to run away from. The suit brought up in my head what Soren Kierkegaard termed the “automatic cultural man” a man confined by culture, a slave to it. Concerning himself of only achieving the goals which were designed by the constructed world, constantly hiding within it… because stepping out, risks too much. It risks anxiety and depression, even insanity. It’s only the courageous that look outside the construct *knowing* there’s something deeper, more *real*, out there. Trusting their gut that *this* can’t be all there is. And I, so desperately, wanted to be of the courageous… I wanted to be of those who found true freedom while existing within this limited world, even thriving in it. I wanted to be of those who prioritized Truth over security. I, so desperately, wanted to be of those rare, beautiful and delightful spirits who walk to the beat of their own souls and not the chant of the masses. 

How I wish.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 1 Comment  December 7, 2018 4 Minutes

The Personal Vs The Political.

It’s 2018 and the world is ending.

As I turn on the evening news, scroll through my social media feeds or visit my local bookstore, politics is all I see. Ten years ago, this would have left me thrilled and invigorated. Today it leaves me a wee bit excited, a lot more cautious and a tad bit tired.

On the excited days, I think to myself – this world needs to change, we need to implement democracy, rights need to be respected, justice needs to be upheld, poverty needs to be eliminated, we need to overcome, I need to help usher in change!

On the more cautious days I remind myself, I don’t even do my dishes properly.

On the tired days, I drink coffee.

Political engagement is our civic duty. As the saying goes, the penalty for not participating in politics is being doomed to be ruled by fools. But in today’s world where everything seems to have become political, where we’ve all divided up into various tribes fighting for the rights of *our* group, believing the source of our discontents to be *them* and *the system,* it might be time for some reassessments, an attempt to draw a line between the personal and the political. To draw the line not necessarily to separate the two, but to fully grasp the idea that the actions and thoughts that take place in our private spaces are what will bring about the change we seek. In other words, I’m more likely to affect the world positively if I do my dishes properly, promptly and gracefully than I am screaming through twitter, pointing out your idiocy. Allow me to explain.

Political engagement today has moved beyond making our voices heard through our polling stations. Now we feel obligated to become “agents of social change,” activists in our own right. Because we live in the 21st century with access to technology that allows us to reach potentially millions of people (or 2 friends at minimum), our computers have become our podiums from which we pronounce our convictions and denounce injustice and all things we deem ill in society. Our voices get louder with every ‘like’ and attitudes stauncher with every comment. All of it feels so real, so consequential. And it might be, who knows. But there’s a little part in the back of my brain that nags incessantly, calling it all much of it bullshit.

As someone who loves politics and engaging discussions, my fingers are having a hard time putting these paragraphs together. Because, in the spectrum of political engagement, from running for office to a being an apathetic viewer, I might come off as leaning towards the apathetic viewer, which is quite unfortunate, if I may say so myself. But I have my reasons. Political discussions have almost completely ceased to be informative or productive. We’ve turned what is supposed to be a discussion to reach some sort of consensus of ideas, into a sports match where the point is to defeat our opponent at any cost. We no longer simply disagree with the ideas of our opponents, we question their moral standing, their humanity. Just the other day, there was news about a certain individual with a certain political view that was given a high position in the current Ethiopian government administration. The response to the news, from some, wasn’t about how they disagreed with the decision because of some policy this person supported, that would be too easy apparently. It was a direct attack on the man himself. He was not only viewed as wrong or ill informed on his opinions and beliefs, but as deeply immoral, almost evil.

We have simply ceased to engage, we rage. We are so caught up in our superiority, of both intellect and morality, that all we do is preach and lecture. We speak not in an attempt to articulate an idea so that it will help us move forward in finding some sort of truth, but merely to hear our own voices. We listen not in the hopes of learning something new or broadening our perspectives, but to weaponize words and attack. What most of us seek is not answers or truth, we’re seeking information to reinforce our formerly held ideas. We have an agenda to pursue and anything that doesn’t fit into our narrative is discarded as biased and flawed. We’ve rid ourselves of nuance and paint the world as black and white. Someone is either good or evil, privileged or victim, with us or against us. We think, If only our political party won, if only our side held power, if only they listened to us, if only they weren’t corrupt, then we’d be free and prosper, then we could finally rest. We, so confidently, place ourselves on the side of David fighting Goliath, unaware we might be Goliath himself.

Our political engagement has become an exercise in futility. It’s like we’re running on a treadmill all day and thinking we’re reaching our destination. We ain’t.

Thus, the utility of washing your dishes – properly, promptly and with grace.

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I must have been 14 at the time, I was at the main gate of Black Lion Hospital, Addis Abeba, with my uncle (a second father to me) waiting to enter the facility. Unfortunately for us, we had arrived outside of visiting hours, so the hospital guard would not let us enter. Being familiar with the policies of the hospital (both formal and inform), I simply looked at my uncle waiting for him to follow the informal policy and slip the guard 5 birr (the going rate at the time) so he’d let us in. To my utter shock and disappointment, my uncle simply informed me that we shall wait (in the burning Addis sun) until it was time to legally enter the facility. My attempts at arguments (it was only 5 birr!) did not work. There would be no bribing that day, not from him anyways.

This incident has been etched into my memory more deeply than anything else I can imagine. I’ve told the story countless times as a kid to demonstrate how *crazy* he was and laugh. I tell it now to demonstrate that it is only through the integrity and humility of the individual that societies flourish. My uncle stood up for his principles when it seemingly did not matter much. For him, It mattered not that the system was already corrupt, that no one would really know and praise him for his actions or that in the grand scheme of things, his actions were single clean drops in a diluted ocean. What mattered was simple: do the right thing – every single, clean drop counts because that is what makes up the ocean. After that day, every time I paid trivial bribes to guards, every time I told my white lies, every time I weaseled my way through projects giving the bare minimum, I thought of him and felt a little shame – every time.

We rage against the corruption that’s so rampant in government, while everyday we pay off the police to get out of a ticket. We seethe about the lies that we’re being fed by the media, but on a daily basis we ‘white-lie’ to our friends and family to avoid confrontation and criticism. We complain of the sub-par work of every government institution, but we can’t even keep our sinks clean. If we are to believe that our personal lives are microcosms of our wider society (which it is), how exactly have we carried our personal responsibilities? If our inner thoughts and private actions were to be broadcast-ed on the 8 O’clock news, how exactly would we feel? Would we really be out here calling out every perceived wrong or would we cower in shame of our ignorance and arrogance?

“Indeed, Allah will not change the condition of a people, until they change what is in themselves.” (Quran, 13:11)

This is not an argument against political engagement, it’s not even an argument against seemingly silly online spats (even those can have value if done the right way) – it’s through engaging with one another, however uncomfortable, that we can move forward in our thinking and actions. What this is, is an argument against self righteousness, willful blindness to our flaws and arrogance of the worse kind – the kind that makes us feel that *we* have all the answers – if only *they* would just open their minds, if only *they* were not so ignorant, if only *they* were on the side of good, then we could surely usher in our utopia.

It’s 2018 and the world is doing alright. It can even do better, if only we can wash our dishes right – properly, promptly and with grace.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Addis Abeba, Ethiopia, Habesha, Life Reflections, Personal, Politics 8 Comments  October 10, 2018 6 Minutes

This is how you make a friend.

“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.”
― Mark Twain

Have you ever wondered why you find some people interesting and are drawn towards them while you find others a bit too “normal” and ordinary? Or wondered why you form and remain in friendships with individuals who are inconveniently placed in a faraway land, while you neglect to initiate a conversation or a friendship with someone you share an office, a classroom, or a city with? I was contemplating this idea this morning, so I attempted to come up with a list of tangible skills interesting people have (if it is in fact a skill we can learn and adapt into our lives) to help us all have interesting and lively lives. I tried to think of all the individuals I’ve had the pleasure and fortune to meet and break bread with, some of whom I now consider friends. I also thought of all the times I avoided coffee dates with fancy PhDs and “professionals” but loved sitting down with seemingly average individuals who share zero of all my modern sensibilities. What is it about some individuals that draws and intrigues us? I’ve managed to come up with a list of four skills including a few ending thoughts.

What interesting people do:

They project a sense of authenticity: When interesting people talk, it is them talking. They’re not there with an agenda (a conscious or an unconscious one). They’re not there trying to show you how woke, smart, successful, rich, virtues, kind and oh-just-fabulous they are. If they are any of these things, you’ll naturally see it without much effort. If they choose to tell you about themselves, they’ll not be telling you about some idealized version of who they imagine themselves to be. They are attuned to who they are, including their flaws, their uncertainties, and humanness and they will choose to share it. This authenticity you’ll find yourself loving, this authenticity you’ll automatically want to emulate.

They know how to listen: These individuals are not egomaniacs that are in love with their own thoughts, ideas and lives. They value what the other person has to say and take their time to listen – actively. They’re aware that whoever they’re talking to may know something that they don’t, so they listen attentively. They also don’t fidget constantly or check their phones incessantly. They comfortably maintain eye contact and let you know they are there – with you.

They hold no assumptions about you: Forming assumptions about other people before we’ve gotten to know them is a natural, almost instinctive, human behavior. This can be very limiting when we’re trying to form relationships. As Thomas Cooley said, “I am not who you think I am; I am not who I think I am; I am who I think you think I am.” If you notice your thinking process often enough, you’ll learn that when you’re talking to other people, part of what you do is act and talk with the goal of confirming an assumption you think they have about you. Interesting people minimize the assumptions they have about you and give you the freedom to be yourself, whoever that self is. Whether someone is rich or poor, “educated” or not, black or white, male or female, a coffee lover or a tasteless dimwit, it matters not to them. They give people a chance to be themselves and not cage them in boxes of stereotypes.

They don’t talk much about trivial things: Interesting people don’t talk for too long about the weather or the inconvenience of their daily commute or the brand of shoes they’re wearing. They may raise such topics to initiate a conversation and make another person comfortable, but you won’t find them analyzing the quality of the leather of your shoes an hour after you meet them. They do small-talk-with-a-purpose, then move on. When I say they don’t talk about trivial things, I don’t mean that what they do talk about are things that are deemed “important” or intellectual in any way. One does not need to be able to discuss big ideas about politics, economics, philosophy, psychology… to be interesting (of course such knowledge definitely helps). What they are is asteway (deep reflectors?) of things they already know about, be it about themselves or the world and are willing and able to openly share it with you.

So there you go, I’ve just solved all your friendship problems. While this is not an exhaustive list, gaining at least three of the four listed skills will at least make this gal be willing to sit down and sip coffee with you.

Given I’m also a practical gal who attempts to recognize reality for what it is, I want to remind you of a few realities. While we can all try to learn these skills and potentially achieve them, there are some things that may not be teachable. Some individuals are born with a kind of confidence in themselves that you can’t help but be captivated by every word they utter, and so much charm that all you want to do is please them. Some have a kind of smile that you can’t help but stare at and the kind of eyes that seems to see deep, right, through you. Some manage to have a sense of humor that make you laugh and giggle like a 12-year-old girl and a warmth that makes you feel at home. These things you can not learn… Some, you may even feel, you’ve known in another dimension of existence, in a far away world where your souls knew and cared for each other… These are the types of people we all love, the types we all want to be, the types that make us feel less alone, more alive. The types that if your good fortune brings to your path, you’d be well advised not to let go.

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors Leave a comment  May 3, 2018 4 Minutes

Ethiopian Feminism, A Critique

Part 1

Attempting to provide counter arguments against any idea of mainstream feminism, let alone an actual critique, quickly gets one labeled as ignorant and intellectually backward. So to avoid such knee jerk reactions, I’ll start by stating that I strongly believe in the equality of the sexes and in the necessity of providing equal opportunities for both men and women. My professional life revolves around improving the knowledge and health outcomes of vulnerable women. I’ve spent years in liberal institutions living among women who live and breathe women’s rights and I have lived it right there next to them.

In this article I want to address Ethiopian feminism in particular. Social media, that place where we all ‘speak,’ vent, and scream for thousands to hear, is where I started learning more about feminism as it is practiced in Addis Ababa. I constantly hear about how tough “feministing in Addis” can be. Living in such a “sexist society,” it seems, is taking its toll on the women trying to get their message of equality out there to the community that needs to hear and understand it the most. One source of the frustration revolves around the misunderstanding of the term feminism itself. I read somewhere coming from a particularly frustrated woman, “Do you believe in the equality of men and women? Then you are a FEMINIST!” underlying the fact that everyone should embrace feminism instead of hating, or worse, ignoring it. While I understood the frustration, my reaction was – “well… not quite.” This is my attempt to try to work/think through the why of this matter.

I grew up in Addis in a family where women’s issues was constantly a point of discussion – the lack of educational, economic and political opportunities for women were abysmal, to say the least and we were acutely aware. While we were never told to go out there and save our fellow women, there was an understanding that the minimum thing expected from us, girls, was to at least save ourselves and stand on our own two feet. Generally, it was understood that economics was the key – poverty was choking our whole nation to death, and it seemed to be choking women in particularly harsh ways. ‘Ay ye Ethiopia set’ my uncle used to say, ‘sentun chela?’

While these issues and their discussions still persist today, there seems to be a slight shift in focus. Maybe it’s not a shift, maybe it’s a broadening of the idea of women’s rights itself. I’m not quite sure. What I’m sure of, and what has been the source of slight frustration for me, is the change in vocabulary, thus discussion and focus around women’s rights. I see real issues being wrestled with, discussed and addressed constantly (real issues broadly being defined here as creating educational, economic and political opportunities for women who have been deprived of it). But at the same time, some ideas from western feminism have seeped into this same discourse without the necessary depth of analysis that is required when attempting to take and implant an idea from one particular society to another. This is the source of my concern, this is what leaves me fearful. If the discourse doesn’t change to fit our particular society, feminism in Addis will start to be viewed as not only out of touch but potentially dangerous.

To help us navigate through this discussion, I want to quickly glance through some ideas of western feminism. Western-feminism, in the US particularly, began with what is called ‘first-wave feminism,’ where the movement focused on attaining equal political and legal rights for women. Female suffrage was its principal goal (American women were granted the right to vote in 1920). In the early 1960s, what is termed as ‘second wave feminism’ began, going beyond achieving political emancipation and concerning itself with the economic and social rights of women. Increasing number of women were joining the workforce and rejecting traditional gender roles both in their homes and workplace. This was also a time when the sexual revolution of the 1960s took place, marking a time that involved a rejection of traditional sexual norms. Today’s western feminism charges even further and attempts to question and redefine ideas and words that are viewed as limiting to women. For example, gender roles (viewed as a social construct i.e. our ideas of gender are not biological but socially influenced), femininity, masculinity, sexuality, and male privilege (the thinking that men are benefiting from a patriarchal system that is victimizing and harming women) are some of the ideas that are constantly at the center of dialogue among feminists.

Western feminism has greatly influenced the way women’s rights, thus feminism, is practiced in the rest of the world, including Ethiopia. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Ideas travel. If that wasn’t the case, it would have been only the Athenians practicing democracy today. Nevertheless, it is a necessity that we exhaust – through deep study, reflection and dialogue, which ideas are well grounded, thus worth inheriting, and which are weak, thus in need of disregard. We should not and cannot accept an idea simply because it’s part of a general ideology we are attracted to. There is no need for Ethiopian feminism to fully align with western feminism, we can take what works within our societies and make sure we leave behind what doesn’t.  

It’s no secret that Ethiopia is a socially conservative nation with deep religious and cultural beliefs dictating daily living. Some of our traditions have been dangerous and harmful, and we’ve collectively agreed and have worked/are still working towards eliminating them. Female genital mutilation, abduction or telefa and rape being good examples. The women rights activists I watched growing up took on these issues head on, fought to change laws and policies, organized to increase educational opportunities for girls and provided them that rare sweet opportunity of choice. They attempted to create economic opportunities so that women can work outside of their homes to contribute to their families’ income, increasing the general well-being of families. These goals, most logical men and women, religious/traditional or otherwise, could get behind, since the argument for protecting and bettering the wellbeing of the family, thus the community, is relatively an easy one to make.

Today in Addis Ababa, the dialogue seems to have broadened. Now, relatively recent concepts of western feminism such as male privilege and mansplaining (men condescendingly explaining to women about something they have incomplete knowledge of, assuming they know better) have started to be discussed alongside issues of rape and women’s lack of educational opportunities. The lack of women in high positions of power and the trampling of the proverbial glass ceiling is discussed with a higher fervor than one might expect given the fact that it’s a handful of middle and upper class women that are facing this issue. Now, feminists view the world exclusively through the ‘feminist lens’ to such an extent that at times we forget that everything in society is not about power structures between the seemingly privileged (men) and the victim (women).

Prioritizing the discussion of male privilege, for example, in a nation where men have their own set of sufferings – abhorrent levels of unemployment, poverty, literacy, and life expectancy – is akin to discussing the down side of munching on Kitfo with a beggar on the street. It’s a potentially useful information, but you have to keep in mind she/he’s currently more focused on finding some kolo to tame the grumbling stomach. When discussing male privilege, if we’re thinking about matters such as, why it’s only women who do the cooking and child rearing and not men and why it’s men who have “better” careers (legitimate concerns), then maybe we’d first want to reflect on why we imagine there to be an inherent good in working outside of the home and an inherent bad in cooking in the kitchen. Before starting to accuse men with an opinion as mansplainers, maybe we should stop to consider that the identity of her womanhood is not the first thing a man sees when talking to a woman.

While we may believe that some of our cultures or religions have held women back in various ways, we still may want to recognize that not all things religious or traditional are negative. We may want to recognize that there are wisdoms in these teachings (which at times have been backed by strong historical and scientific evidence) that modern educated liberals have not fully grasped or refuse to accept. Mainstream feminism, as it’s practiced in the west today, has moved so much to the left of the political spectrum that, while 85% of American women believe in women’s rights, only 18% identify as feminists. Feminism is not the simple idea that men and women are equal. This might have been the definition in 1920, it is not the definition today. Feminism is an ideology with a history and a belief system that, at times, directly contradicts with the basic cultural and religious value systems that have served and benefited our societies for millennia. If we hope to better the circumstances of Ethiopian women and girls that are currently trapped by poverty and lack of opportunity, we’d need to carefully listen to the heartbeat of own nation, not the remnant heartbeat of others.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors 14 Comments  February 17, 2018 6 Minutes

On Love.

 “If there’s any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it’s almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.” Celine, Before Sunrise

______________________________

It was as if someone was squeezing my gut and refused to let go. I felt nauseous and weak. The feeling was especially painful at night, as most pains are. It was the daunting realization that I may never see this person again. I wondered if this was love. The love they sing and make movies about. The love I was told to find if I had any hopes of ever being fulfilled, complete.

Countless times, I’ve attempted to define romantic love. How do we meet strangers and soon find ourselves enthralled by their existence, depending on them as if they were the very air we breathe? Why do we crave the entwining of our minds, bodies and souls with one another? Is such kind of romantic love real or even necessary? Have Disney, Hollywood, and Jane Austen duped us into believing the unreal as something to dream about and strive for?

Such love is the “love of the adolescent.” As adults we tend to dismiss it as unreal and unnecessary, especially once we have made a public declaration transforming our love-based relationship into a marriage, breathing commitment into it. We now have more important things to think about; 8-hour workdays have to be lived through, bills have to be paid, and the Joneses have to be kept up with. Once we decide that kids are a necessity then of course, the kids have to be fed, clothed and sheltered. Hours of our days are sacrificed screaming and instructing these small creatures to brush their teeth, to finish their vegetables, to practice their reading and to, for the last time, GO TO SLEEP! The everyday mundane existence of the adult mind doesn’t have the luxury of fantasizing  about intangible ideas of love and fulfillment of the soul. At least, not until you’re dozing off to sleep tired from your long day and wondering if this is all there is. Luckily, these moments are few and far between, since, of course, you have to focus and plan to wake up the next day and adult all over again.

But even without the weight of adult existence, the intensity of the adolescent love seems to wither with time. The man who had once declared to worship the very ground his angel walked on, now looks at her with a certain kind of disdain, he can’t fathom that his once beloved beauty is this overbearing and nagging woman who seems to be overly concerned about his choice of attire and the cleanliness of the toilet seat. The woman who had once looked at her lover and marveled at her lucky stars for delivering such a brilliant and caring man into her existence is baffled with the careless, somewhat un-affectionate man looking back at her across the dinner table. What happened?!

So, in a way we know that the adolescent love doesn’t necessarily translate into adult love, it dissipates. Our inability, for some of us at least, to believe in such love and our haste to dismiss it as mere infatuation lays in this very nature of the adolescent love – its inability to last. If it passes, was it ever real?

________________________________

Yes. Yes, it was and is real. (Please excuse me while my logical, younger self goes and vomits).

Ok, I’m back.

The adolescent love, whether experienced at 15 or 50, is real, practical and mind-mindbogglingly fantastic. Its transient nature should never be seen as a reason to disbelief in the realness and beauty of it. Things do not need to last for us to label them real. Picturesque sunsets last mere minutes, beautiful movies – just hours, houseflies – weeks, all four seasons – months, and our bodies’ – just years. These things do not need to remain permanent for us to be awed by them or to be convinced of their realness.

The adolescent love is awe inspiring; two separate beings immersed in bliss together – mind, body and soul, giving both a rare chance to experience the “eternal now.” When they are together, they cease to think about the past with all its regrets or the future with all its anxieties. They are just there, indifferent to the world outside, experiencing a kind of peace that comes when one no longer feels that natural nagging of loneliness.

So yes, the adolescent love is real and beautiful and if you’ve been fortunate enough to experience it, count yourself very lucky.

But, (you have to have known a but was coming), while such love is real, it would be amiss for me to not reflect on a slightly deeper level as to why it dissipates. It dissipates because, as weak and fallible humans, we expect too much out of our relationships. We demand the love and our beloved to provide more than they can bear. We tend to deify our lovers; we want them to be our heroes and saviors, we want them to complete us. We forget that they are mere humans that can neither save us or themselves. As Ernest Becker said, “no human relationship can bear the burden of Godhood.” So, once their humanness becomes too apparent, that infatuation subsides, they, all of a sudden, become too real and we find ourselves awake to a “reality” we never signed up for.

__________________________________________

This is why adult love is necessary. This love understands reality with all its hardships. It accepts commitments and sacrifices. It recognizes the humanness of the lover and yet attempts to stick around continuing to be compassionate and understanding. The adult love also requires a kind of vulnerability that the ego finds unbearable. When we decide to love someone in such a manner we’re open to seeing the worse of who they are and still be willing to stick around and continue to love them, without judgment. We have to put an immense amount of faith in them as well. That, once they see our worse side – as we all have that side – once they see our weakness, our ugly flaws, smelled our morning breathe, they will look at us not in dismay, but will see our full humanness in our failings and, maybe, potentially, unimaginably even love us more for it. The adult love is complicated and is not for the faint of heart, which is why half the time it fails.

_______________________

Thus, while adolescent love is beautiful and real, we still have to be willing to also adultify it at some point. As much as we want to remain with our hearts in the clouds, we live in a temporary world that’s constantly and harshly reminding us of its transient nature at every corner. We need not be dismayed by our practical lives that don’t necessarily involve love poems or red roses. We need to be grounded enough to understand that even mundane everyday realities of our lives serve their own purpose, can even be viewed as sacred for the simple fact that we are alive to experience them.

But if your lucky stars align and you get a chance to experience the adolescent love, I hope you indulge, swim and dance in it – not all people are so fortunate. Just make sure you take it for what it is. Nothing more. Nothing less. The magic is not in its ability to last forever; it’s in your ability to live fully in the moment, connected.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections, Relationships 1 Comment  February 14, 2017 5 Minutes

2017 Resolution: Strength

Invictus By William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

#powerofthewrittenword #mindblown

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections, Personal 1 Comment  December 29, 2016 1 Minute

Truths no one tells you about life.

          I was one of those annoying know-it-all people. You couldn’t tell me sh** I already hadn’t formed an opinion on. While I was a bit more ‘woke’ than the average youngster, there were concepts I couldn’t wrap my head around even if my life depended on it, if for nothing else, for the simple fact that some things you have to experience to truly understand. So here’s a list of some realities of life people don’t usually talk about, realities I wish someone had force-fed me to spare many tears and heartbreaks.

You’re welcome.

You are not special.

This is a tough one to swallow since everyone told you how beautiful/handsome/smart/kind/hardworking and oh-just-so-special you are when you were growing up. Yeah, not really. There’s always someone that’s better looking/smarter/kinder/more hard working. There will be times in your life when you’ll be ignored, dismissed, sometimes treated as if you’re less than. You’ll realize you’re replaceable at your job and someone will stumble all over your heart and break it. That’s life. But here’s the thing, you can become special, it’s just that you’ll have to work actively at it. What will make you special are things like your ability to persevere gracefully through difficulty, your ability to care for another human being just like you want others to care for you and your capacity to love others even when they least deserve it. Now, if you’re able to do such things, then maybe you might be up for the trophy.

Money is important.

Allow me to quote Kanye West here, “having money isn’t everything, not having it is.” Modern society has constructed a reality where we’ve made money so important that without it, it’s almost impossible to be happy. ‘Almost’ being the key word here. The actual truth is that it is possible to be happy without money. In fact, the happiest people I know don’t have a lot of it. The source of who they are has nothing to do with it. But you and I are not these people. We neither have the strength or the consciousness to understand that once our basic needs are met, money doesn’t add to our level of happiness. We are products of our societies, so we’ll want that house, this car, those fancy outfits, that vacation, the retirement fund… the list goes on. While my conscious self will tell you to spend more time cultivating, say your relationship with your creator and his creations, my other self that’s grounded in the reality that we’ve collectively constructed, the part that understands how weak our egos are, how easily we’re influenced by our environment and how dead-brained we walk around most days of the week, will tell you that you need money to be happy. While it shouldn’t be your driving force, having it will give you the free time and mental space to sit around and contemplate the vastness of the universe and your relative insignificance in it. Haha, just kidding, the more money you acquire, the busier you’ll get trying to get even more of it.

You will fail, a lot.

Life is freakishly hard. So hard you’ll have many days where you won’t want to leave your bed and face it. You will pour your heart out towards a personal/career/spiritual goal and you will fail. You will meet the perfect woman but learn soon after that she can never be yours or worse yet, you marry her and face a severe disappointment when you realize she’s only human, with flaws and all, not the idealized version of perfection you pictured in your head. You’ll invest your hard earned money and lose it in a heartbeat. You’ll sweat hours at the gym and quit 3 month later when you realize you’ve gained 5 pounds. From your “serious” goals to the superficial ones, you will experience failures. Sometimes your failures will be because of circumstances that are completely out of your control, in which case you’ll have to learn to live with it. Other times it will be because you were not good enough or you didn’t try hard enough, so you’ll have to learn to wallow in your misery for sometime then learn to dust it all off and try again. The fact is that such things will happen and you’ll have to find ways to deal with it (how easy it is to type these words, how difficult it is to live it).

Looks do matter.

We all like to think that it’s what is on the inside that matters, which of course is a fundamental truth. But since when has truth managed to dictate our actions? People will make judgments about you based on how you look. People who are deemed good looking are generally treated better. We smile more at cuter babies, we view overweight people as lazy and good looking people on average are more successful. While the only thing this proves is how pathetic we are as a species, the fact still remains – your looks is part of what you’ll be judged on.

There are times where no one will be there for you.

There will be times in your life where you will feel utterly alone. This may be because you don’t have anyone to share your problem with or the people that are there just don’t quite understand. Or you might find yourself in situations where you will be incapable, unwilling or too afraid to share the pain and the dark spaces in your mind with another human being. Whatever the reason maybe, in these situations, you’ll be forced to find your own way out of the darkness, the difficulty, the pain. No one can love or support you out of your darkness; you’ll have to do it on your own. The good news here is, you are very much capable.

Love is not enough.

You’ve imagined it a million times, the perfect relationship where you’ll love him with all your heart and he’ll do the same. You tell yourself as long as you have each other, you can handle anything that comes at you, you have love, what else could you possibly need? Haha, I don’t know if I want to laugh or cry writing this. Love is not enough. Go back and read that sentence again. While love is the foundation of any healthy relationship, it is not enough. Sex, money, compatibility, communication skills, life philosophies, values… have just as much weight. The importance of these things usually becomes apparent through time. Love might bring two people together, but it will not be the only thing that will sustain them.

We’re all wearing masks.

Most of us, most days of the week are walking around wearing masks. We may change the mask depending on who we’re interacting with – friends, family, lovers, bosses… We’re so use to wearing our masks that most times we’re not even aware of it. The most confident guy walking around in his fancy suit is probably attempting to cover up a constant anxiety of failure, the most assured of women might be exhausted trying to keep it all together. But all this, you’ll never know. This is one of the reasons we love and crave intimacy so much. We want to meet someone with whom we can take our masks off, someone who truly sees us. If you meet this person/people or you already have them in your life, consider yourself very lucky.

Everything we do is a distraction.

Here’s the last and most vital truth absolutly no one tells you about life – everything we do in this life – the career, the marriage, the kids, the cars, the house, the constant chase of this or that – is basically a distraction from the impossibly difficult condition of being a conscious, thinking soul on this earth while possessing a body which will someday decay and be eaten by worms. But hey, let’s make this one a conversation for another day. I don’t want to lose you as a reader just yet.

So yeah, here is your dose of reality for the day. Please don’t leave this page disheartened by some of the seemingly harsh realities I’ve shared here, because there is that other side of the coin I haven’t talked about. The side where love, courage, kindness and hope reside, where there’s built within us a strength that can overcome seemingly insurmountable pain and anguish, a strength that will allow you to even laugh while you’re at it all.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 3 Comments  November 26, 2016 6 Minutes

Pleasures of human existence:

“Many of us pursue pleasure with such breathless haste that we hurry past it.” Kierkegaard.

1. Being in the middle of a book or movie so good that your real life fades away for a few hours

2. Putting cloth on straight out of the dryer

3. Getting an intense hug when you need it most, the kind where you hold so tight you almost want to melt into the other body

4. The goose bumps you get when listening to good music

5. Deeply understanding something for the first time (experiencing that aha moment)

6. Deep sleep

7. Connecting with another human being, where for a moment you are no longer alone

8. Getting into fresh clean bed sheets

9. Peeing after having to hold it in for so long

10. That feeling after an intense workout

11. Sexual gratification

12. Sunday mornings

13. Silence

14. A cup of tea on a cold day

15. Going down a waterslide

16. Long road trips

17. Driving with your windows down on a beautiful fall day

18. Seeing old friends after a long absence

19. Coming across a line in a book so profound, you shed a tear

20. Driving with a dangerously low gas tank but you still manage to get to the gas station

21. Taking off your bra after a long day

22. Cake

23. Reminiscing about old times with old friends

24. Taking off your hills after a night of dancing

25. A hot shower

26. Eating firfir with hot tea that your mother made for breakfast

27. Engaging in a conversation with someone and being understood, completely

28. Snuggling with a child

29. Laughing so hard you pee your pants a little

30. Looking in the mirror and liking what you see

31. The perfect haircut

32. The smell of a baby

33. Sleeping under a warm blanket on a chilly night

34. Getting a phone call from someone after a long absence

35. Seeing your child smile at you

36. The feeling of being somewhere with someone and knowing that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be

What would you add?

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 4 Comments  November 22, 2016 1 Minute

Ethiopia’s Ethnic-Federalism: The chickens are coming home to roost.

“If we cannot end now our differences, at least we can help make the world safe for diversity.” – John F. kennedy

If you’re following news from Ethiopia or scrolling down any of your social media feeds, you know that various uprisings resulting from political and economic dissatisfactions are taking place mainly in the Amhara and Oromia regions of Ethiopia. If you’re well versed on the political and economic history of Ethiopia, this piece will only serve as a quick evening read, but if you’re confused as to what’s going on or are more likely to skip any news regarding Ethiopian politics because it just confuses you, then this will serve as a helpful, and hopefully fun, read about our political history (or at least provide enough info to make you sound smart next time you’re at a party making small talk about the topic).

Ethiopia and our Ethnicities.

Ethiopia is one of the most ethnically diverse nations in the world, with about 80 ethnic groups calling it home. Here is the breakdown:

Oromo – 34.4%

Amhara – 27%

Somali – 6.2%

Tigray – 6.1%

Sidama – 4%

Gurage – 2.5%

Others – 19.8%

(2007 Census)

As you might imagine, governing a nation with such diverse groups of people can be quite challenging. How does a nation accommodate and address the cultural, political and economic needs of a people that may not necessarily see things eye to eye, especially when those people have had complicated relationships with one another? This is a question that has been tackled for decades in Ethiopia and it was a key question that needed to be addressed in 1991 when the current ruling party (Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) headed by the Tigrayan People Liberation Front (TPLF)) came into power after ousting the socialist Derg regime.

Historically, federalism is used as a system of governance in nations with vast and diverse people. In such nations, power is shared between a central government and regional governments. Federalism is used as a way to keep a nation united under one flag, while at the same time upholding democracy for all groups of people. Thus, the idea that federalism would/should be implemented in Ethiopia was a no-brainer. The surprise came when it was decided that Ethiopia would function under ethnic-based federalism. This decision, in my opinion, is akin to buying a newly renovated house with ‘termite issues’ you neglected to address. It looks great and functional on the outside, but it’s only a matter of time before it all comes slowly crashing down.

According to the 1995 constitution, the nation was to be divided into 9 regional states or kililoch based on ethnic territoriality. The constitution highlighted the equality of nations and nationalities, for example by giving all states a right to use their language. Member states were entitled to adopt their own constitution, flags and anthems. More importantly if the need/want arises, all states were given the right to secede. Centralized rule under a single ethnic group was viewed as the source of abuse and discrimination, thus federalism was to deliver us justice and prosperity.

Why Ethnic Federalism?

We need to do a little history-101 if we want to understand the ‘why’ of the matter. Ethiopia is a multi ethnic nation (a fact worth repeating to highlight the complexity and challenge of the situation), with one group having always dominated the other. Historically the Amhara ethnic group has enjoyed the privileges that come with power. You do not really need to open history books to be aware of the political, economic and cultural power this group has enjoyed over centuries of our history. For example, the simple fact that I’m multi-ethnic, but only speak Amharic fluently (I’m not Amhara, no doubt I have the blood somewhere in me) and wear ‘hager libs’ (notice the term itself) to represent Ethiopia and identify doro wet as the traditional Ethiopian meal (which no doubt should be hulbet meregh btw!) says enough about the cultural hegemony the Amhara ethnic group has enjoyed in our nation.

As you might imagine, for one group to dominate, there needs to be others to dominate over, thus come all the lands and people that have been ruled over by the Amharas. For centuries, various ethnic groups have felt ostracized and abused by the powers that be. Most obviously the Oromo (the most populous ethnic group of the nation) have been a people that have felt marginalized economically, culturally and politically. Other ethnic groups have felt similarly over the years, including the Tigrayans and much of the people of the South. Remember, when a community’s culture and language is disregarded, it very much robes them of respect and dignity, which are basic human rights. When that identity is not recognized, there is a good chance their political rights will also not be recognized. Thus, it should not be surprising that various ethnic based resentments exist in our history and persist to this day.

So, it was to resolve such grievances and address the lack of human rights that ethnic federalism was set up by the EPRDF. When the 1995 constitution was being drafted, the idea was that ethnic groups would be given the right to rule themselves, thus no longer feel marginalized or abused. If this sounds pretty fair and square to you, get ready to have your bubble blown. The problem with all of this is that while it sounds logical in theory, it almost never works in reality. I won’t bore with examples of nations that demonstrate why (if interested, Google Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, and Czechoslovakia…). While ethnic federalism has the potential to protect the rights of all, it also has the potential to make people start to strongly identify with their specific ethnicity more than the identity of the collective (for example feeling more Gurage or Oromo than Ethiopian), easily creating an ‘us’ and a ‘them.’ There are many who argue that TPLF purposefully used this system of governance to divide and rule the nation while holding on to the real power. Looking at events today, this theory may have some merit, but I’m not one to delve into guessing of intentions, so I’ll leave that for you to decide.

But, here we are today, 2016, and grievances are ripe as ever. While our constitution says that all ethnic groups are equal under the eyes of the law, reality seems to point to the opposite direction. The current regime, dominated by TPLF, is constantly being accused of human rights abuses, preferential treatment of its own people and stifling any dissent that may arise. What is taking place today is almost a natural progression of what happens when a people are made to claim their ethnicities as the core of who they are. If a goverment prioritizes a people’s ethnicity as their main identity, it should not come as a surprise when the people use that same identity to organize themselves and fight for what they believe in. When a people feel discriminated and abused because of their ethnic identity, it is natural for them to hold on to that identity when they attempt to regain what they perceive to be their constitutionally given rights and self respect.

Decades old ethnic based grievances coupled with crippling poverty of the masses are a dangerous combination for any nation to face. The staggering income inequality that currently exists will most likely worsen the situation. I do not have the insight or knowledge to predict what the future holds for our nation but I hope we all learn to have productive conversations, based on facts and some compassion, about these issues so that we can move forward and hopefully contribute to the prosperity of our nation.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia, Habesha 2 Comments  August 10, 2016 5 Minutes

Of Love and Life.

Romantic Love.

It’s not the butterflies you feel in your gut.

It’s not the excitement of a first kiss.

It’s not the romantic dinners, fancy vacations, long walks on the beach.

It sure is not something you fall into.

Such love is the kind we mostly dream of and fantasize about. The kind we show off to our friends, the kind that takes over our Facebook news feed. This love feels sweet. This love feels exciting. This love, we let sweep us off our feet, into the heavens and get lost in dreams.

Surprisingly, this love is easy. If you’ve realized this, you’ve come a long way.

I’ve come a long way.

Real love is not something you fall into. It’s something you choose to practice. Day in and day out, not only through joy, laughter and bliss, but also through struggles, fears, and failures. It’s something you actively choose. The real, deep, genuine kind of Love is too deep, drenched in reality. The real kind of love requires so much struggle, so much awareness, so much strengths and commitment. The longer its life time, the stronger it becomes, the sweeter.

It’s easy to be in love when the road is easy. When the sacrifices revolve around letting her pick where to eat dinner or letting him control the TV remote. When apologies revolve around why she was late for a date or why he seemed to avoid dinner with her friends. For whatever reason, we have come to believe that this is love.

Inevitably, the everyday, banal and harsh realities of life will teach us that we are sourly mistaken. This love as sweet as it feels, is fleeting. It doesn’t like pains or struggles. When it faces them, it falls apart. But, If we’re lucky this love can be the foundation of the real kind of love to come. Most of us can fall in the easy kind of love, indeed, most of us have. But the real kind – you need the strength, the patience and the commitment to be deserving of it.

And the lesson begins when two people commit to each other, be it while amongst friends and family or amongst themselves and God. How easy it is to say the words… through sickness and health, through wealth or destitution, through fear and joy, through it all. How different it is to live it, how rare.

Love, I read somewhere, is about bottomless empathy. Love is when you truly identify with the struggles and joys of someone else as if they were your own. It’s choosing to realize the other person is as real, as needy, as sensitive as you, and at times, just as lost.

Love, I’ve recently learned, if done right, is one of the most powerful weapons that can help us go through this life, not as mere survivors, but as worthy humans. It’s what gives us the strength and the courage to go after our dreams, to not be shackled by our fears, reminding us we are only human, so insignificant, so weak, so needy, yet very much worthy.

When you love someone, in the real sense of the term, You not only find yourself saying you will constantly choose to be there, but you will find yourself actually doing it. You will find yourself doing it in the most trite, “unsexy,” yet so meaningful of ways. You will find yourself genuinely believing how beautiful she is when conventional wisdom, so unwisely, may say otherwise. You will find yourself letting him dump his anger and frustrations on you, because you realize he’s doing it because you’re his safe haven. You’ll find yourself making excuses after excuses when she behaves in the most irrational of ways. You’ll find yourself hurting by his pains. Her loss will feel like your loss. You will find yourselves sitting side by side, together, lost, confused, at times defeated, yet you will remain there, choosing the struggle.  And that’s when you’ll be a witness of the sweet and merciful side of life. You will be the witness for the knowledge that truly “with hardship, there will be ease.” Because you chose to love, you will experience the strengths and courage that comes with it, the ease within the struggle.

But I wonder how many of us will be able to experience such kind of love. I wonder how many of us still remain relatively unchanged by our current world of individualism, consumerism and narcissism. I wonder how many of us have the guts for such kind of love. The kind that requires bravery of the heart and acuteness of the mind. The kind that reminds us that you or I, as unfortunate as it sounds, are not the center of the universe, yet lets us know that is exactly how it should be.

I wonder.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections, Relationships 6 Comments  October 29, 2013 3 Minutes

Ethiopian Air: Insights from Above the Clouds.

By: Jemila Abdulai, A great and inspiring Ghanian blogger. Make sure you check her out at Circumspecte.com.

A great thing about traveling is the people you meet. Not just the people you end up sharing a street, apartment, class, work space with, but also the people you share an aisle with on the train or plane. For the most part, I have shared my travel space with nice, interesting people – persons who are either non-hostile or extremely pleasant, with the former occurring just once. On my way back to Ghana for the Christmas holidays – my first in seven years! – I sat next to an elderly Ethiopian man who, for lack of a better description, had eyes that twinkled. He was friendly right from the moment he smiled and asked “19L?” when I tried to put my hand luggage in the overhead cabin. “Yes, that’s me,” I responded, before heading over to the window seat. He explained that he was trying to find an aisle seat since it’s easier to move about considering his age – he seemed to be at least 70 years. I have always preferred the window seats I’ve typically been assigned, and never actually thought about the implications of seating for the elderly or even sick.

The whole while we waited for take off, I felt an urge to ask him what it felt like to be sitting in a national airline. This was my first time traveling with Ethiopian Airlines – and transiting through Addis Ababa – and although the plane was yet to set off, I was already impressed. It made me wonder what it would have felt like to sit on a Ghana Airways flight during its glory days. Would I have felt proud that my country was offering this opportunity from people from all over? I opted for politeness instead and asked nothing of my seat mate. That is, until he started offering suggestions to flight attendants on how best to pack the cabin luggage. He must know a bit or two about flying, I thought to myself. My curiosity returned, and I finally asked my question: “What does it feel like to be flying with your national airline”? I asked? His response in two words: It’s great and I feel proud.

That question led to an entire conversation – one of those where you can literally feel pearls of wisdom dropping down into your lap. My conversation partner had worked with Ethiopian Airlines for about 30 years in their finance department, and he had watched the airline grow from strength to strength. “In those days, we put the airline first; the airline first and then our individual aspirations. It’s not the same today,” he said. From the way he spoke, it was obvious that he loved what he did, so putting the airline first was not a far cry from putting his own passion first. It made me even more convinced about the importance of doing the thing you love, making it your life’s work. Anyway, the man traveled frequently on Ethiopian Air business and once went on a tour “around the world” – basically hitting every continent on our dear planet. Wow, I thought, so cool!

Beyond Ethiopian Air, he’d also been contracted by countries like Malawi to help restructure their airlines. “Well, Ghana should have reached out to you as well,” I quibbed. “Maybe Ghana Airlines would still exist today.” He turned, looked at me and said, “Sadly, it wouldn’t. Even Malawi Air couldn’t take in what we were trying to teach them.” I was confused. He went on to explain that despite how well-trained he and his colleagues were, their Malawian counterparts couldn’t or rather wouldn’t accept what they had to say or teach. They just weren’t willing to accept pointers from another black man. “You see, sub-Saharan Africa’s experience of colonization is its undoing today. For the average African the ‘white man’ is still supreme. If a fellow African doesn’t look or sound like a white man, chances are, your ideas, suggestions or expertise will not be accepted,” he said. He was right. I’d written about similar some years back in an article I entitled “Psychological Effects of Colonization”, and I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen this dynamic at play. That said, I believe it is changing, bit by bit, a mind at a time. In order to truly embody regional cooperation though, more needs to be done.

How come Ethiopian Air was flourishing and recently bought two of the latest Boeing Airlines? Because they were never colonized, my seat mate responded. “We never had to answer to anyone, or to match our standards by someone else’s. We set the rules, the goals, and so we had the flexibility to change course as necessary. It’s okay for us to take risks, to take a chance on ourselves.” Basically, they are real masters of their destiny. Could we say the same for our leaders, governments or business people? Or does the creepy psychological remnant of colonization scare us into submission anytime we dare to try?

Another thing my friend pointed to was the fact that in many African nations, there is no national feeling. True, our social fabric is traditionally based on group allegiances, but in most cases, these group or ethnic allegiances override that of the nation. What makes one an Ethiopian? What makes one a Ghanaian? What identifies us as Africans? The latest edition of Dust Magazine talks about the need for country branding and I think the old man hit it right on the head. Without a sense of national identity, it would be hard to brand an African country as one thing or another.

“So, what’s your story?” He asked me. “Where are you headed?” I responded that I was returning home to Accra, Ghana to undertake research for my final capstone project. “That’s great. And afterwards, what do you see yourself doing? Will you be returning to the continent?” Ah, the almighty question. I responded in the affirmative. Ultimately, I see myself living and working in an African country, whether Ghana or elsewhere. My friend seemed satisfied. “That’s good. All of my children live in the U.S. and I still choose to live in Ethiopia. I go to the States to visit them or for medical check ups, but that’s it.” Not surprisingly, we got to talking about brain drain and the current wave of brain reversal, and that’s when this old man with twinkling eyes made the statement about working in Africa that has stayed with me till today. “Money in your neighbor’s pocket is money in your pocket. Why would you export that money elsewhere when your own country and economy needs it?”

He was talking economics, yes. But he was also talking the fundamental truth of cause and effect and of the connection between all of us. I might not set out to embark on charity work in Ghana, but the very fact that I am present and engage in business transactions, means that I’m feeding my country’s economy and ultimately helping oil the engines of development. Most policy documents refer to the private sector as the engine of development, and this man put it in very simple terms. To take it a step further, I guess we could say the informal private sector is the engine of development in most African countries.

We eventually got to talking about China and Africa relations. We shared similar sentiments – a skepticism about China’s influence on Africa beyond being a donor or business partner, and most importantly, an uncertainty about whether our leaders and governments can or will act in our respective countries’ best interests. Hearing that the Chinese are swarming African countries is one thing, seeing it for yourself is another. While waiting to board my connecting flight to Accra, I’d thought that a good number of the Chinese in the waiting lounge would board the flights to Lagos and Kenya. Oh how wrong I was. They all ended up on the Accra flight, and as a result, over 50% of the passengers were Chinese, with a smattering of Indians. What’s more, many of these passengers looked to be teenagers or in their early 20s at best.

This is where my concern comes in. For many Chinese, Africa is a gold rush – an opportunity to hit a goldmine in their chosen field and make it. But for most African countries, China’s engagement is helping keep them from hand to mouth livelihoods. Quite unbalanced, wouldn’t you say? Unless our governments put in place the right regulatory frameworks to guide China-Africa relations, we could be setting ourselves up for some serious trouble, while the Chinese can hop onto the next goldmine if the current one proves unprofitable. They are looking out for their interests. The question is, are we?

Anyway, my flight mate eventually found his aisle seat and moved. But for the while that we sat together, I had quite an insightful conversation. Which just goes to prove another thing about traveling: sometimes the real journey is not to a place or location, but inside another person’s mind. So, take a chance, ask questions. You never know what new lands you might encounter.

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors 1 Comment  August 12, 2013 6 Minutes

Breaking Free From Expectations

“One of the most courageous things you can do is identify yourself, know who you are, what you believe in and where you want to go.” – Sheila Murray Bethel

By: Anonymous.

As a young girl, I was limited by my expected gender roles. I was expected to be nurturing, dress a certain way, speak politely,  and often told to “stop acting like a boy” when engaged in sports or playing with toys considered “for boys.”

When I was asked as a child what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, “I want to be a writer”. My father looked at me in disbelief and told me, “No daughter of mine will be a writer!”

When I was a senior in high school, my uncle who was visiting Addis from the United states asked me what my future plans were. I, with confidence replied, “ I want to be a lawyer. I want to help women who are in abusive relationship and unfortunate situations.” His response, “why don’t you major in something “easy” for women like business. You are a woman. Do something that “fits” a woman. Till this day I struggle to figure out what he meant. What “fits” a woman?

Every woman, whether it comes from close family members or from society as a whole, struggles to find her “fit.” Now more than ever, women have many different choices, and with those choices come tough decisions and sacrifices. Especially for women who are in a relationship with a significant other. In these cases, women are more likely to give up their personal dreams more than men. Women are the ones who are expected to be patient and stay in unhealthy relationships. Women are the ones who push aside their own needs for the sake of their families, regardless of what that may mean for themselves. The expectations for women are endless!

Even with all these challenges facing women, I have had more encouragements to get married young, than I had for following my dreams. Due to this belief, I got married young and had a child within a year. I had the “it” life from other’s perspective. I had the nice house, the beautiful family, the “comfortable” life. It was when I started to question my former beliefs, questioning how I had put aside what I’ve always wanted to fit into the idea of what it is to be a good women, that a lot of thing started changing. The moment I decided not to have another child until I accomplished my own goals, I saw how rough it could really be for a woman trying to stick to her guns. From the rumors, to the constant questioning and smart comments, I had to fight it all, both internally and externally.

I was often asked (by the same people, every time they see me or people who didn’t know me that well) why I would not want to have another child. When I explain my dreams and my goals for myself before expanding my family, they look at me like I had lost my mind. They hit me with the “Lij beLijinet” bullshit and “you will regret it later” comments. What does that mean anyway? Is your twenties not Lij? How were they certain that I would regret it? Why would anyone regret wanting to fully grow into the person they feel they were meant to be before being strong enough to be a backbone for their family?

We live in a society that expects a woman to simply go for what is considered the norm: to get married young, have kids young, cater to her husband and support his goals, oh and his family too and pretend like her marriage is all peaches and cream. Or if she chooses to have her career and other things lined up, the expectation is to still to get married young, have kids young, cater to her husband and support his goals, oh and his family too and pretend like her marriage is all peaches and cream. Did I mention you have to have your hair and makeup intact, a spotless home and a smile on your face at all times?

I also find accepting challenges and facing them head on, is rarely encouraged, especially if you have what is considered to be a comfortable life. When I had a semester and a half left, to finish school I got a job offer that I didn’t want to turn down.  I knew it would be a challenge to go to school full-time, work forty-five plus hours a week and raise a child at the same time. Yet I accepted that challenge. With that I chose to kiss my social life good-bye and focus on my goals. This didn’t sit well with many people around me. I always got the, “isuan bilo degmo busy, hulum yimarina yisera yele indet? Birk honebat?” from people I didn’t attend their serg or lekso. I guess there areother women who work full-time and go to school and raise children and be super human? But for me, I had to stay true to myself. Working and going to school taking up an average of 16 hours of my day, I couldn’t understand how  I was supposed to play all the other roles I had to play to be deemed a good women.

Life can be very difficult especially when you have to consistently fight for what you want. Yes, while going through this tough time, I admit that I cried many nights praying that it would all be over soon. Yes, I went on like a zombie almost losing my mind. Yes, I considered “taking the easy way out”, quitting everything and staying home (which has it’s own challenges by the way no matter how people paint their lives to be as stay- at- home moms), but I chose not to, because that was not what I wanted. And Yes, I admit I chose to go through counseling to overcome depression. I am a better woman today for doing so.

I worked really hard to get to where I am today. As a twenty something year old woman who is educated, with a career that I love, and a daughter that constantly keeps me on check, here are the lessons I’ve learned along the way which I’ve decided to share with you.

Get to Know Yourself

While trying to fit into society, we seldom remember getting to know ourselves. In the movie, The Run Away Bride there is a scene where Julia Robert tries different kinds of eggs to figure out what she really likes. Because the type of egg she likes changes based on the man she is dating. I would tell my younger self, get to know YOU first and don’t change yourself for anyone. When you know who you are, you make the best decisions for your life.

Surround yourself with people who support you

Our lives are filled with ups and downs. Don’t be afraid to admit that you have flaws. Don’t be ashamed of your mistakes in life. The important thing is you learn from it. One of the challenges I have had was getting over judgmental friends. If your friends don’t support you like they should, they shouldn’t be in your life. Figure out what is holding you back in your life and change it. If it means ditching judgmental friends, so be it. You deserve people around you that support you and that you can be comfortable with.

It’s Ok to Ask For Help

If you are having a problem, ask for help. Don’t burry your problems because you are scared of what others might think. Everyone has their own problems they are dealing with; there is nothing wrong with that. So ask for help when you need it. If talking to your friends or family doesn’t help seek professional help. Although I was raised to believe going to a “shrink” should not even be an option, I chose to do so and I am glad I did. I would not be where I am today if I had chosen to hide my problems.

Follow Your Dreams

I was once told that my major was not “appropriate for habesha women”. Really? What major is exactly appropriate? It is sad to know that this is the kind of mentality that teaches us to be followers and not leaders. If you want a different path than what is expected of you, take it.  You do not need to justify your actions. It is your life! Own your unique qualities and reach your potential.

Celebrate Your Accomplishments

It breaks my heart when people make comments like, “When you meet a man, don’t tell him your success because you will intimidate him” or “ Make sure you don’t tell him you make as much as you do, you will chase him away”. We constantly hear these comments and some take the advice. But I say celebrate what you worked so hard for. If a potential partner doesn’t want to take your accomplishments as a plus you need to find someone who does. Don’t be afraid to talk about your dreams and aspirations. Most of all, be proud of what you have accomplished so far and never be ashamed to have future goals that don’t necessarily fit into others’ expectations of you.

One Size DOESN’T Fit All

Everyone’s life is different. Even people who choose to take the same path in life experience it differently. So choose what works for you best and don’t expect people to understand your choices. Your life doesn’t have to be the same or have the same outcome to be considered the “right” way. Don’t let people’s comments get to you. LIVE your life the way you want.

Final Thoughts

As an Ethiopian woman, I grew up with high expectations of how my life should unfold. Most of these expectations came from external influences.  It was a challenge to break free from those expectations. But once I broke out of these expectations, I became much more content with my life. I no longer live to please people. In that I have found peace.

So when my daughter proudly says she wants to be a firefighter when she grows up. I smile and reply, “Yene konjo, you can be whatever you want to be!”

Disclaimer: This post is by no means trying to prove a certain way of life is better than another. It is not a post about rebelling against the Ethiopian culture. It is a post that would hopefully encourage women to follow their dreams and break away from cultural barriers that hold them back from reaching their potential.

 Rihana Nesrudin  From our Contributors 7 Comments  July 26, 2013 7 Minutes

Addis – First Impressions.

This is the first of, hopefully, many articles that will be posted on the this blog from other contributing writers. The following piece was written by Feker Tadesse, a former DC resident, IV league’r, habesha gal who currently works as a consultant in our beloved city, Addis Abeba, thus making her our new “correspondent” from Addis. Enjoy.

By Feker Tadesse.

It’s been about a month and a half since I took the plunge and moved back home, to the confusion and chagrin of most people around me. I say most because there were equally supportive friends and family who saw this move as an exciting adventure. I shouldn’t paint myself as a hero since it remains to be seen whether I made a good or yeseytan joro aysmana, a bad decision.

The oddest thing about this move was that it was largely a practical decision, and not an emotional one as many would assume. I studied development and it just didn’t make sense to do it from a metropolitan city thousands of miles away from where all the action was happening. Having said that, there is a certain level of satisfaction about doing what I do here in Ethiopia. As one friend wrote, part of the reward is about ‘giving back to the place that made you who you are.’

Where should I begin about dear Addis? There is both an energetic and suffocating feel to the city. You see the youth involved in exciting projects or constantly hustling to get involved in some. Suffocating because there are just a LOT of people in the city. The icing on the cake is construction of roads happening all over the city, making it impossible for both pedestrians and drivers to safely navigate the city’s streets. Traffic has become a nightmare given that major roads have been closed due to a railway construction that is hoped to be unveiled in three years. In retrospect, I could have worked a little bit more on my timing.

I perhaps look at things a little more clearly, more critically and to some, I’m sure, I’ll sound annoyingly judgmental about our ways. Jarring comments about homosexuality being a sin and the utter disgust people express when speaking about Betty (wholeheartedly agree with this post HERE by the way), remind me about how conservative our society is or at least, pretends to be. Or getting berated by a family friend for suggesting her daughter look into PhD programs after undergrad. ‘Timirtu lay focus sitareg gizewa yihedal.’ Huh? Times like these is when I realize how removed I feel from the society.

Of course, there are moments when I feel like I’ve never stepped foot outside of home, such as the comfort I feel when I spend my Sunday mornings sipping coffee begabi tetekliye, chatting with my parents about the latest gossip, tv humming in the background, the room enveloped by the heavenly smoke that emanates from the Itan. I am reminded of the constant anxiousness I felt in the states and there is a certain level of peace I already feel. A taxi driver in DC once told a friend and myself that immigrants will always feel schizophrenic about their identities, much like Zadie Smith, in White Teeth, describes one of her characters, a second generation Pakistani residing in London, “ … stood schizophrenic, one foot in Bengal and one foot in Wellsden.” Perhaps I will always feel that way but it has ceased to bother me anymore. I don’t quite know how to explain it but I feel surrounded with love, which for now, more than makes up for all the line cutting, random power outages and abuse you suffer from random strangers. I just came back from lunch with colleagues where a stalker insulted a colleague, calling her ‘yenech ashker’ because she dared confront him about his stalkish qualities. Times like these I wish I had continued with my Taekwondo class so that I can karate chop anyone who dared speak to me like that. Ah well, what’re you gonna do?

Our city as always is a site of contrasts. For every drastic story you hear about someone getting laid off and struggling to make ends meet, in the next breath, you hear about destination weddings in Mauritius. It boggles my mind how such dramatically opposite lifestyles could exist side by side. And of course there’s the guilt you can’t help but feel, that comes and goes like those shooting pains you experience once in a while. They’re not so serious that you should seek professional help but nevertheless add a certain level of discomfort to your life. In the States, I never felt guilty for wishing to drive my favorite car (a fancy BMW, preferably a convertible on days when I feel like letting my hair down, ‘tsegurishin go back iyalsh’ as my uncle once described.) Here, I feel guilty for even coveting one because the difference is just so … striking. Living in the US, you can comfortably wish for the American dream complete with your 2.5 kids and a two garage, 5 bedroom house because for the most part (although that is debatable now more so than ever), you know that if anyone works hard, that life is attainable by all. Nothing special about you to make you flinch or think twice about it. No such formula here I’m afraid. Yes there are stories of the self-made man and woman who weathered all odds to make that dream come true, but these stories are few and far in between. There is also, of course, the urban poverty that makes you cringe every time you leave one of the many posh restaurants in Addis after having paid an average of 100-150 Br for lunch. Given time, the homeless blur and seem to blend in with the construction sites of Addis until you notice them no more. A friend was telling me that you need to give a homeless person at least 1.25Br, which is the price for a piece of bread nowadays. I wonder if our legash hands have kept up with the inflation …

All is not so grim, obviously. It IS home after all and Addis has a certain flavor that is uniquely comic. The other day, I was having dinner with a group of friends or rather, we had ordered and we were anxiously waiting for the food to arrive. Our wiater comes back after oh about 40 minutes, cocks his head so and announces, with a pitiful look on his face, ‘Yikirta, pasta alkual!’ To which we all burst out laughing, shocking even him in our reaction. Only in Addis eh? Or the time when a colleague went to her favorite breakfast joint and asked for ‘enkulal firfir’ to which the waiter adamantly stated that under no circumstances was he going to serve ‘firfir’ but she could have the ‘enkulal sandwhich’ instead. She had to call the chef and demand that if they had the eggs, why can’t he just ‘meferfer’ them?! The chef reluctantly acquiesced. The nerve! Or the time when a particularly witty weyala, having witnessed a couple kissing on bole road, shouted ‘diaspora mechem tegboal zendiro’.

I oscillate between feeling like a complete fraud, purporting to help the poor while enjoying the sort of lifestyle I lead in Addis and feeling useful and good about what I do. It’s like what E.B. White said, “If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.”

Makes it hard indeed!

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia, From our Contributors, Habesha, Life Reflections Leave a comment  July 21, 2013 5 Minutes

In Search Of Freedom

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.”

Johann Wolfgang van Goethe, Elective Affinities.

I was 5 and Menge had just been ousted out of power. I don’t remember much, but one thing I clearly remember is hearing the word democracy everywhere. I didn’t have a clue what it meant. What I could gather from all that was being said was that democracy meant freedom – you can do whatever you want, nothing could or should hold you back. Let me tell you, that was music to my ears. I for one needed that freedom, cuz mine, dear reader, was none existent. I was forced to eat kurse, mesa, mekses AND erat and clean the plate tebetam sayker. This was painful given my non existent appetite. (my initial joy of attending school had nothing to do with education, it was for getting the opportunity to hand over my lunchbox to whoever was willing to take it). I couldn’t tear blank pages out of my notebook to make yewereket merkeb ena ayropilan. Where was I to get papers from? I could only attend school as long as my head was covered with an intricate shuruba. I wasn’t allowed to magnek the tip of my uniform shurab that so deliciously sat on my wrist, right next to my palm, so ready to be chewed out of existence. Most horrifying of it all, I couldn’t mekam any sikuar, which was apparently meant to be used for tea, and of course, you guessed it, i wasn’t allowed to drink tea. It was insane really, I couldn’t mekam even a teaspoon full – you know that teeny weeny teaspoon? So yeah, democracy couldn’t have arrived at a better time. The universe had conspired so brilliantly to deliver me my freedom at the moment I needed it most. Things were about to change, yehadig yemesgen. 

Sadly, it didn’t take long for my new-found world, with its sweet netsanet, to collapse. One day after school, after finishing yet another mekses, I decided I needed some sekuar to settle it down. After making sure no one was around the kitchen, my yelemede ej, went to get me some. But for some reason when I looked at the sekuar with the teeny weeny teaspoon in it, I knew I wouldn’t be satisfied. As I looked around I saw a shorba mankia sitting right next to the sink. No one has rejoiced for seeing a shorba mankia than I at that very moment. I picked it up, took a shorba mankia full of sugar and shoved it into my mouth. Satisfied, I quickly exited the kitchen. But, only a few minutes later I could hear weyneshet, the beautiful woman who helped raise my cousins and I, calling my name. I could feel my heart about to burst out of my body, but I was also a bit confused. Didn’t weyneye hear about our new-found democracy? She must be confused or maybe she really must not have heard since she’s always so busy. “Sikuar kameshal?”  she asked me. My initial thought was to deny it, since she looked so serious, but right then I saw what was sitting beside her on the kitchen counter. My brilliant self, feeling excited about the shorba mankia, had left it right in the sugar itself, all tangled up with the teeny weeny teaspoon. I looked at it, I looked at her, I decided it was time to inform weyneye, cuz denial wasn’t going to work. I scream DEMOCRACY, DEMOCRACY, DEMOCRACY  and run out of the kitchen as quickly as my legs could carry me. Alas, It was at that moment, looking at her face, that I knew nothing had changed, freedom hadn’t arrived yet.

Today, after having lived over two decades on this earth, the kind of freedom my 5-year-old self expected has still not arrived. My much more mature self tells me it never will. Because it seems like the freedom I was looking for does not exist within the nature of our world or within the human nature. Most of us view freedom to be an ability to do and be anything we want to do/be without any limitations,constraint or inhibition. “Free as a bird,” the expression goes, as if the bird was flying without purpose.The kind of freedom that truly matters has nothing to do with doing what we want, if it did most of us would live in misery or visit our graves too soon. Look at what happens when we do what we want – we eat whatever we want, we get fat and sick, we drink however much we want, we humiliate ourselves at best or drive off a cliff at worse. We say whatever we want, we hurt other people. We sleep with whomever we want and end up on the Maury show. This kind of freedom only leads to destruction.

Then there’s the kind of freedom we’re promised on TV, especially in commercials – the freedom money supposedly buys. Have you ever watched the Chase Freedom Credit card commercials? (Everyone time i watch those, i feel physical pain and despair) or the Nike Be Free commercial or any of the other countless ones which tell us how to achieve freedom through their products? Yeah, those, the ones we seem to accept wholeheartedly. So, we end up buying whatever car, whatever house, with whatever debt, whatever burden to achieve the American Dream. We try whatever diet, whatever day of the week to fit into those pants, that cute little black dress, and become the sexier, more beautiful version of our oh-so-average selves. We step on any petty individual that seems to not comprehend the concept of climbing that status ladder that will deliver us our prize. Of course we go out in the rain, heat or snow, or argue for countless hours whether to vote red or blue in the hopes of perpetuating that idea of freedom that is being beaten over our heads by the media – the media that tells us what to believe, what to think and what to buy.

All these things we chase only give us the illusions of having achieved freedom, when all we’ve achieved is a fleeting sense of satisfaction.  Because in reality, this kind of freedom does not exist in the world we live in, simply because it can not. Whether we like it or not we’re bound by rules, be it the rule of the land we live in, personal believes, our own conscious, even physical realities ( you can only drink so much before you say Adieu to your liver). What is happening is while we’re under a false sense of freedom, the real kind of freedom is being ripped away from us without us being conscious of the fact and we happily let it go. We don’t realize that the kind of freedom that matters doesn’t require so much PR, it doesn’t need to be drilled into our heads. What it needs is conciousness and awareness.

Freedom is not the absence of limitation or constraint. What it is, is the absence of dependency. We will only be free when we stop depending on external factors to make us happy or whole. It sounds so simple, but yet it’s so profound. To not be enslaved by money, beauty, love, status or whatever other external thing we seem to worship, we only need to stop letting them define who we are.Yes, it’s extremely difficult to detach ourselves from these thing since we’ve given them such a high status in our lives. But if we’re able to do it, if we’re able to not give in to every physical or emotional unending need or want we’re almost programed to require to make ourselves happy, if we’re able to understand that we can never buy freedom or go out to the streets and fight for it, we’ll truly be free. Because the only thing we need to do is look inside ourselves and realize that it has all along been inside of us, we’ve just let too much noise, too much “reality” blind us to it. All we need to do is just wake up.

I, myself, have spent much of my adult life trying to reeducate myself about this idea that we all hold so dear. I’m constantly struggling with it, and i have yet to learn so much more. But what i’ve learned so far can be boiled down to this – there was a reason i was told not to mekam all that sekuar, it was for my own good. I should be grateful for not being given that kind of freedom. But if i must, if my human nature compels me to get my fix, i should stick with my usual teeny weeny teaspoon.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 3 Comments  July 18, 2013 6 Minutes

Holier than thou.

I recently heard about Betty, the contestant on Big Brother Africa. I have never watched the show and I didn’t know we even had an Ethiopian contestant on it. I’m not even sure what the show is about, but what I do know is that Betty, our Ethiopian gal had sex with a fellow contestant while the camera was rolling. I watched the clip, but most importantly I read the comments made by my fellow Habeshas.

“Asedabi,” “asafari,” “ehe ye’ethiopiawi sera aydelem,” “bahelachenen gedel ketetechew,” the impassioned  comments went on and on. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about the whole situation. Of course my initial reaction, given I’m what you might call a typical Habesha with a bit of a conservative inclination on some matters, was that of embarrassment. Why would anyone do this knowing they were on camera? But then, I couldn’t help but think about how we, Habeshas, have become such hypocrites. Were we so outraged about her actions or that her actions were caught on camera? Because if it is her actions that is enraging us, then i call bullshit.

I don’t know how the people of the previous generation acted or conducted themselves. They might have been the chewa, sew akbari, egzihabeheren feri individuals that we were told to emulate growing up. But let me tell you, the men and women of my generation, may fantasize to be these things, but we are far from it. I’m only speaking here from personal experience, so feel free to correct me if you feel I’m mistaken, or if your experience has led you to a different conclusion.

Sex in our community has become nothing more than a simple source of physical pleasure. The things that are normally and traditionally attached to it – love, intimacy, commitment are rarely found within it. For instance, if you’re a guy living in Addis with some cash to spare, and you’re looking for a “good time,” that’s exactly what you’ll get. In fact you probably don’t have to do much to look for it. The  ladies in our modern age, it seems, put out easy. Today’s city dwelling women are not the women of your granny’s generation – meshkormem doesn’t work today. You don’t even have to see the nightlife in Addis to witness this, walking down Bole road shall suffice.

This is not only in regards to the single men and women out there. Some marriages have become a way to simply conform with “our tradition” because after the wedding, life sure enough, goes on. I’ll sadly say, I know more marriages that are dealing with the issue of infidelity, then those that are dealing with “communication issues” or whatever other issue we tell others we’re having.  The idea of weshema, a term I viewed to be ‘old,’ used only in writing, is so common now,even newly built condominiums are making some profit from the practice. The interesting part is no one seems to be shocked by this. In some circles it’s almost a source of laughter and amusement.

So why all the outrage? Do we really believe that this girl is not a true reflection of her community? Does she not represent the modern urban dweller of Ethiopia? Or are we pissed that she dared to do it in the open, going against the natural Ethiopian love of keeping everything a secret, behind closed doors?

Please keep in mind I’m not making any moral judgement here on people who view sex to be a casual form of entertainment, it definitely can be that – to each his own. But let’s not mefogager, let’s get rid of  this holier than thou mentality. Let us not be so quick to condemn, when we know in our heart of hearts we’re not as chewa, as egziabeheren feri as emaye wanted us to be. Whether it’s all The Sex and the City episodes us modern ladies watched, or the new-found money that seems to be in the pockets of the upper/middle-class or the liberal diaspora with their “liberated” selves, whatever the reason – let us at least acknowledge, we ain’t all that holy.

Tena Yistelegn.

Related articles

• Ethiopian Lawyers to Sue Bba Chase Ethopian Housemate for Public Sex on Bba Tv (afrochoonez.wordpress.com)
• Ethiopian lawyers to sue BBA Housemate, Betty, for having sex in public (alexixblog.wordpress.com)

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia, Habesha 3 Comments  July 4, 2013 3 Minutes

Lessons Learnt II

I guess when you’re so consumed with life, it becomes increasingly difficult to write about it… and… thus my excuses begin. I can’t believe it has been this long since I last attempted to reach out and share my thoughts. Actually I can, who am I fooling, as usual I’ve lacked the commitment. I’ve continuously, consciously chosen everything else but to sit down and make sense out of the constant rumblings in my head. I guess maybe it’s true, I’ve really been consumed with life to have enough time to stop and make sense out of the whole thing. But i guess it is life, most days, it doesn’t really make much sense.

Life has been interesting, to say the least. It has been filled with joy, with hardship, with confusion, and as always with so many lessons. As random as I view this life to be, there’s something wired in me that always forces me to look at the lessons in all situations. I’ve found learning the lessons to be quite worth it. Like President George W. Bush once said, “There’s an old saying in Tennessee — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.” Even though I’m not sipping whatever it is that he’s sipping, like Mr Bush, I try not to be fooled twice, especially by life. Even though there is no rehearsal to this life we can always view others’ life and our own past as a good source of wisdom. We just need to be awake enough to notice. So yeah, here are some life lessons I’ve taken to heart.

It is all in the small things:

If there is a single realization that has completely transformed my life, this would be it. We are always told to dream big, to view only the sky as our limit. We are almost wired to appreciate the grand, the majestic, the achievement of the seemingly impossible. We celebrate college graduations, weddings, the start of new families, financial achievements. We celebrate breaking of world records and new discoveries . For sure, these are things worth celebrating, but in our constant craving of seeking happiness in these grand achievements, we’ve totally undervalued the grandness of seemingly small things, even though life is all about them. If most human emotional misery can be boiled down to one thing, it would be our inability to see greatness is small things, our inability to live in the moment and embrace it. We waste our lives dead, unconscious, chasing after everything else but the small miraculous moments.

Joy is in the cup of coffee you sip while talking to your dear friend, it’s in the contagious laughter of a toddler. It’s in the immersion of a novel, or watching someone like Merlyn Streep bring the novel to life. It’s in the embrace of a lover and the security that comes with it. It’s in watching Woody Allen’s fretful characters come to life on-screen. It’s in the sharing of secrets with friends, and knowing the love you share with your family. Life is rarely about big moments, it’s about our consciousness of small miracles.

Have the courage to be yourself:

Know who you are and be it. It’s so easy to live the life everyone else what’s you to live. It’s even more difficult to decipher between what we want and what other people expect. Most times we think what will make us happy is living up to the standards of the society we live in. The simple example would be this idea of getting married, especially for women. If i had a penny for every time girls i knew decided to get married to men they hardly knew because everyone was getting married. The pain and despair i feel for most of these girls… (this is a whole other post on its own.) The whole idea is know what you want, know what it is that makes you happy and at peace. It may not be some grand success that’s usually celebrated by the average person, but it will be you.

Also, know what your values are – This just makes making decision much easier. Whether it is in work or relationships, clearly knowing your values will help to distinguish between the bullshit you’re willing to put up with and the ones you’re not.

Don’t give up on what you want:

If you feel there’s something you want out of life don’t be afraid to go after it. There is no reason why you shouldn’t. The way i see it, aside from making yourself a good and decent human being, what else are you going to do with your life? We have 24 hours everyday, the time is going to pass anyway, and it’s up to you to decide what you want to do and do it.

Love:

I think the simplest ingredient to make life worth living is to love. Not only to love humanity from a distance, ( Wasn’t it Dostoevsky that said i hate individuals but i love humanity?) but to love individuals with all their NIFT and all. When you truly understand life, the only thing you can conclude is, what else can you possibly feel for a fellow human being but compassion? At the end of the day we all have the same beginning and the same end. And the only thing that makes the middle beautiful is love.

Life really is too short:

The earliest great lesson I’ve learned in life must be this – Shi amet ayinor. I’ve always been acutely aware of  mortality a lot earlier than i should have been. This must be why I’ve never been one to stress out more than what was necessary. It could all end in a minute. I heard or read somewhere that everything we do in life is to distract ourselves from death. No truer words have ever been spoken. This world would be so much different if we were always conscious of our mortality. How easy it would have been to love, to empathize, to be kind if only we kept this truth in front of our minds. But rather, now it’s so easy to hate, easy to hurt other people, so easy to be selfish and destructive to ourselves and this earth. In our attempt to deny death, we destroy life.

Don’t get fooled with all that glitters:

Don’t believe in most of the bullshit people show you and tell you about their lives. People lie. keep in mind they don’t do this intentionally, they simply don’t want to air their dirty laundry or be pitied by anyone. I guess we all gotta keep up appearance. People you think have it way better than you probably don’t, they just know how to edit their Facebook profile accordingly. They are more concerned about looking happy than actually being happy. Life is tough, It’s pretty fair that way. We all go through difficult times, and when you do, never think the grass is greener on the other side. Believe it when they tell you, If everyone threw their own problems in a bowl and you got to see it. You’d pick your problem back up and walk away happy.

Cut yourself some slack:

It really ain’t that serous, so don’t take yourself so seriously. Life has the potential to be beautiful, as long as we’re ready to see it, as long as we’re conscious and awake. Like they say life is a roller coaster, so when things seem to be down, know it’s not forever. Life is hard and it doesn’t discriminate. Things might not go your way once in a while, so what can you do? Try again, let it go or go take a nap.

Ok, I think that’s a good enough reminder for the day. I spend more days than i should oblivious to these realities. Hopefully now this will cement it in my head once and for all, and hopefully yours too.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections, Personal 4 Comments  June 29, 2013 5 Minutes

Melkam Addis Amet!

Endemen kermachuhal? Our wonderful and beloved New Year has dragged me out of the shell i’ve been in the past couple of weeks (or has it a been wee bit more?) Living in my head most hours of my day is what makes me crave sharing my thoughts with you. But surprisingly these past couple of weeks i’ve done the stepping out of the head and into the world thing more often. “Cogito ergo sum” Descartes had once said, but i’ve somehow managed to distance myself from this thinking, i am now not because i think, i am because i feel, because i live in the moment, because i feel the sun on my skin, the anger in my veins, the music in my soul, the swagger in my groove. As Eckhart Tolle redefined it, i feel therefore i am.

The positive attitude a New Year manages to bring out in the most cynic of a man/woman never ceases to amaze me. The smoker will throw out his cigarettes for the hundredth time in the hopes of beating his addiction. The chubby girl will sign a new contract at the gym in the hopes of becoming fit and fabulous ( Oh how many times have i been down that road). The student will aim for that A that will surely be achieved this year (books bought, syllabus read, mind ready). It matters little, really, weather these goals are achieved. It is the hope, the joy, the excitement of a second chance, or a third, or a forth. It’s very similar to spending your last 5 bucks on a lottery. Weather you realize it or not, your subconscious knows your chances of hitting the jackpot are slim to none, but you do it anyways – for the hope, for the possibility of what could be, for what you can be. The beauty of a New Year, though, lays within the fact that the possibility of achievement is much higher than winner a lottery. You can almost taste it – it’s right there in front of you, the world is bright again!

For most of us away from home, the Addis Amet might be bitter sweet. A New Year without Doro wet and defo dabo, without abebayehosh and adey abeba, without meto haya program and the oh so fabulous ladies, with birr plastered on their foreheads, hitting the eskesta like it ain’t never been hit before, hardly sounds like a new year worth celebrating. But we sure will make it. Some of us will get down to the hip version of abebayehosh by Teddy Afro at the habesha concerts and parties that will surely take place in every “habesha city.” Some will attempt to create their Ethiopia homes in their apartments spending half the time maragebign the buna chis away from the smoke detector, and some will spend it in the virtual world sending out their wishes for all the world to see that it’s their new year, their day.

Whichever way you choose to spend it, here is a cheers from my tiny corner of the world. I raise my glass to having survived the passing year. I raise my glass to endless possibilities, to bright futures, to unflinching dreams. I raise my glass to love, passion and compassion. I raise my glass to living each moment to the fullest, to embrace simple pleasures and to many days of laughter. I raise my glass to you.

Melkam Addis Amet!

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia 1 Comment  September 11, 2011 2 Minutes

What’s with all your stuff?

I bought a dress the other day. A pretty dress. A pretty dress to make me feel better. Yes, dear reader, I have resorted to shopping as my therapy, i have become a real American. And you thought all along you needed an American passport to become a contributing member of the free society, didntchyaa?! If that was the case, i’m afraid you’re greatly mistaken. If you don’t believe me, please refer to the flat screen box sitting in front of your couch – it will give you all the rules and regulations. The information might not seem apparent, but don’t be alarmed. Just observe your thought process and the action that proceeds it – you will quickly realize that you had actually become an american long ago. The rules and regulations have probably sneaked into your conscious, slowly and quietly, making you confuse who you really are with who you’re told to be.

My new pretty dress did its job, the therapy worked! After having purchased it, walking out the store, i was feeling pretty dame better in the hopes of appearing happy and content to my onlookers ( isn’t that ultimately our whole point – to please, to get approval? From God knows who or why). I don’t think i can say i was surprised by what happened – the feel good effect a thing had on me. The ‘wey gud!’ factor was more the slow realization that i actually resorted to a thing to raise my mood, and untimely my self worth. You see, i had always prided myself on not being materialistic. I use my cellphone until it decides to stop functioning, unlike most “modern” females, i actually have countable number of shoes, and any car will do for transportation as long as it has four wheels. So you see, i’m a pretty average gal, or a not so average gal, depending on how you’re looking at it.

So how did this happen to me? How and When did i lose touch with the ME that didn’t require stuff to actually be satisfied with my life? The more i contemplate about it, the more i realize i’ve unconsciously, slowly, been sucked into the consumerism that rules the great US of A. It seems every TV channel i turn on, every magazine i flip open, every billboard sign i’m bombarded with has finally done it’s job, it has convinced me that i’m not good enough.  Aren’t we always told that we should purchase this and that to be bustier, curvier, prettier, skinnier, happier… worth liking, worth loving? I’ve always attempted to make myself aware of the lies we’re being fed on a daily basis so that a rich, fat, white guy somewhere can make a buck while we, the ordinary, drown in our sorrows that arise from our utter acceptance of the fake. The perfect looking couple cuddled up on their couch, staring at their 60 inch flat screen TV will make you question your average-hight, unaffectionate man and your oh so average 50 inch. The photoshopped Cover girl model will forever remind you of your flawed skin and your fat filled belly. The wholesome happy family running by the beach, ‘summering’ in Hawaii, will keep minding you of all that lacks in your life… it goes on and on and on. But hey, no problem, they have a solution for you – to get you closer to the dream – just go shoppin! That’s right, their ain’t much your hard earned Benjamins can’t do. If you don’t have much of that at the moment, no problem! – demo credit card, men serto yibla.

The fascinating thing is that these images that are being ingrained in our minds occur without our awareness of it. We take them from the imaginary world of some far away perfect world that’s being sold to us to something real, to something to actually strive for, when infact we’re always doomed to fail. Don’t get me wrong i’m not preaching against materialism, far from it. I ain’t that self disciplined, mature or in touch with my “true inner self.” I’ve spent my share of time shopping, attempting to find the perfect pair of shoes to go with that skirt that i bought on sale that looks like the one Cameron Diaz had on while on J-Leno! Yes, i can be average that way too at times. What i’m mentioning here is when the innocent want of looking good and enjoying things changes into questioning ones self worth when there is lack of these stuff. Which by the way is quite unattractive, borderlining dangerous.

You see, it is possible to enjoy stuff without letting it rule ones life, but it seems that’s becoming difficult by the day. We’re always wanting something. Once we have it, we want more of it, a better kind of it, and we won’t stop until we get it. We end up trying to validate who we are, our self worth, by the stuff we possess.The funny part is the obsession with stuff is not only promoted by marketers, but is further perpetuated by the communities we live in. About two weeks back i was complimented on the sunglasses i was wearing by a thirty something year old mother. Taking a quick glance at myself in the nearby mirror i agreed and accepted the compliment. So ‘Marku menden new?” i.e what brand is it? Given her shaky language skills and the traditional attire that decorated her full figure, i have to admit i was taken aback. ‘Eee brandu?‘ that was me with a sort of blank yet amused face. Without giving me a chance, “Michael Kors” new? awekshiw aydel esun, Ye Michele Obama’n libse endewem bezu yiseral…” Thanks to my hubby who spent his teenage years in LA falling into the brand hype, i had recently heard him mention that name. “oh awekut esun, ( fara’wan tefeleg) ehe enkuan esu aydelem.” I wasn’t sure if i should lie or just tell this very much 21st century Ethiopian American mother that what i in fact had on were 7 dollar sunglasses from a sale at NY&Co. I’ve never been a good lier so i stuck with the truth. “Wi tey enji?” she said. I thought i saw a tiny little smirk on her face. Being the nice lady she is though, i think she also felt a little sorry for me and my now not so sexy glasses that were not designed by a name she could barely pronounce.

It looks to me the business of selling stuff, untimely fake happiness and self worth, will forever be profitable. We’re living our lives trying to measure up, constantly trying to “perfect” ourselves, following an ideal that’s designed by people who’re attempting to make money to get their version of the better, fancier, high-end stuff. We’re all chasing something it seems and we think we’ll find it wrapped up in all the stuff we accumulate, but alas, to never find it.

Tena Yistelegn!

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 4 Comments  July 16, 2011 5 Minutes

Habesha Gatherings Etiquette.

Dear Diary,

You and I haven’t crossed paths lately. I’m not quite sure why. Possibly because I’ve been too busy, or maybe it’s because I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’ve become a ‘menga among the menages?‘ Remember when we promised never to become one of those? Ay lijinet! Many things have changed since I last wrote to you – Americans sent a black guy to the White House who, by the way, managed to kill that terrorist (talk about a cliche), the Arabs have been busy with revolutions, it is rumored that Ethiopians are now paying 180 birr for one Kilo of coffee, and I have started recycling.

But onto more serious matters. I hear there will be a huge gathering of Ethiopians in the Peach State in a matter of weeks. Such gatherings happen every year during the weekend of the 4th of July. It’s quite the anticipated event. Thousands of habesha people get together to watch football (the real one) and party those couple of nights away. Don’t think it’s happening in some yewedeke venue, as some might expect, no sir, it’s ain’t. It will be centered, i hear, at a huge Dome where the Americans play their version of eger kuass (incase you’re wondering there is no involvement of eger in this game.)

As you might expect, there are a list of etiquette one is advised to follow during such gatherings involving our people. So in case you decide to visit the State during that week, I’ve decided to share a few of them with you.

For one, you better not look shabby when you arrive to the event. The event is strictly ‘gotata free.’  Which is why, i hear, every habesha male and female goes onto a shopping spree at least 2 months in advance, even if they have to go on a diet of noodles and yegzer weha to make it happen. No one is going to get caught dead looking less than average. I must say, this gives me quite the worry since the only shopping i’ve done lately, and i assume this will be the case for a while to come, is at babiesrus. Hmmm I wonder if they carry sesky shoes for mamas? ( you know what, this could be a great business idea to pitch to the babiesrus people! hotmamasrus?… possible? No? ok i’m trailing of.)

Second, I hear you gotta have a lil extra dough in hand (as taboo as it is to discuss money, a good friend shared this insight with me). Aside from the expected expenses you may have when deciding to join this party, ( hotel, transportation, meals, drinks) you may find yourself in a situation where you feel you will have to pay for others. “Have to” here is a very sensitive and culture specific phrase. You won’t be forced to wash dishes if, say, you don’t pay for a meal. But yilugnta, the trigger of major stress in every Habesha, and ego, the torturer of every Habesha man, will force you to do so. Since the Habesha female suffers less from the issue of 10 anbessa autobiss-put-together sized ego, this problem is faced mainly by men.

Third, Fugera, for this week only, is allowed. Actually in some circumstances, it’s also advised. Keep in mind, this act is only allowed under a need-to-save-face bases. Don’t let yourself be caught in a highly exaggerated fugera. You won’t want to be blowing your own horn to be heard all the way to Timbuktu, one reaching the Metro area shall suffice. This is the case because of the countless high school and other related reunions that take place during the gathering. Let’s face it, there’s always that idiot overachiever that oozes out ‘i got a great life and i look better than you’ bullshit from his every pore. So feel free to embellish a little bit about your own life. Life ain’t perfect, and if you feel like you’ve been thrown a little more than your share of curve balls, and you don’t feel like being thrown a pity party by the idiot or that chemlaka ye’bole lij, forget your reality for that week, feel and look fabulous – yet abatu – man ke man yansal!

These are only a handful of etiquette that i hear will be respected by every Habesha that will be attending this year’s July 4 celebration taking place in Atlanta, GA. Lucky for me, since i currently reside in the city, if the above rules and regulations seem a bit too much, i shall spend my days at home, with my not so fancy attire and my in-need-of-some-embellishment lifestyle. But if i feel up to it, i shall join the party looking fabulous. And incase i run into you, Dear Diary, i promise to buy you the meal (ok, maybe not the meal, but definitely the drink), just remember to limit the Fugera, eshi.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia 3 Comments  June 18, 2011 3 Minutes

A Letter to a friend: To Commit or Not To Commit.

I wanted to share with you a letter i wrote to a friend on August 3, 2008. It was written in a moment of confusion, in my moment of naivete. I’ve learnt a lot of lessons in these past three years. If there is one lesson that resonated with the me today while rereading this letter three years down the road, it’s that of listening to the self, listening to your heart. It is true what they say, your heart will never deceive you, it will lead you to your destiny.

Enjoy.

P.S the letter has been edited for the sake of clarity.

“My Dearest Friend,

How wonderful it is to be single! What a relief it is to have nothing to lose, to not be responsible for another individual, to simply live for yourself, being the best person you know how, and just be. You know that feeling where you have everything under your control, to wake up every morning and know what you’re going to be doing for the rest of the day, to know that you are the one and only individual who can harm yourself, thereby decreasing to the minimum the risk of pain and disappointment? You have everything and everyone at a distance and you can be your fabulous self, and – not care. Period.

I know, of course, there are those nights when you crave for another humans touch, where loneliness creeps up and makes you question that very fabulous self that has always been on ‘the straight path.’ Loneliness is a difficult emotion to get use to, yagerochachen sewoch endemilut – meches men yemayelemed neger ale, i doubt applies to it. Can anyone of us really ever get use to the feelings… our bodies screaming for affection, our emotions seeking deep understanding, without having it be fulfilled? Aren’t there moments where for a few scary minutes, nothing matters under the sun except having a significant other next to you? And you want it so bad that nothing, absolutely nothing else matter… making you forget the blissfulness of single-hood?

So which path to take? Are we to be so terrified of loneliness so much that we bring in so many complication in our lives just to avoid it? If i chose to be single, am i risking too much? Will i be one of those women my mom talks about – “rasachewen semay seklew komew yehew keru!” – yemibaluten. Will i regret that decision i’ve made of going only after my career in a couple years and realize that it was simply not be worth it? Should I just give up on a human beings’ ability to stand up just on its own?

If i choose to be two, who and what is the other individual suppose to be? Is that touch i crave for each night expected to come from a specific kind of individual? Or are relationships much more than the touch, the security, the simple beautiful moments of bliss you share with that one person? Should i be satisfied if he satisfies me and only me, or should i make sure that he goes beyond that and satisfies my – mom, uncles, aunts, brother, friends, my friends families, professors, my fellow workers, financial advisor, that man my dad was close friends with, and that other lady I’ll meet while having coffee at…Why am i not so certain, why do i think of everyone’s opinion except my own?

Of course there is that incident where i find that ‘Mr. Perfect,’ the right guy on paper. Wouldn’t it be easy to just commit to him? I know such a guy might most likely fail to get up in the middle of the night to go get you cold water because he has that research to work on first thing in the morning, he lacks to understand that him showing his vulnerability does not mean he’s showing his weakness, he lacks to impress you even when he has himself placed within the creme de la creme. With such a man, you might go to sleep each night being thankful for the life God has given you, because such a life mostly comes with security and predictability, but that same night you will probably wonder if that true love they write about, in fact, exists. If you are lucky, you’ll be given the ability to brush such thoughts out of your head and live your ‘good’ life, if you’re not so lucky you’ll have convinced yourself that true love is only a fairy tale created for the entertainment of the mind, nothing really- only fantasy – and you will have lived the life lived by millions – void of pure love, real intimacy, dedication and inner joy. The sad thing is, no matter how bad I’ve attempted to make this sound unattractive – how easy this path is! you receive approval from your surrounding, you deny your naive self and convince yourself of the truth contrary to your initial ‘idealistic’ beliefs. Really, what more would you want if you’re successful when it comes to your financial stability, if you have the handsome and “educated” husband, your Mercedes and a house with a backyard…. Isn’t this what I should want? Isn’t this what I want? Is it? I don’t know. What is it that’s going to matter 20 years from now?

Oh yeah and also, what’s that bullshit that people talk about – ” you’ll just know when you meet the right person, that he is in fact the right person. Really?!? I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous!!! what the heck happens to those of us who haven’t been able to ‘just know’. Are we somehow deprived of an instinct that the few lucky ones have been given? Are we suppose to feel somehow inadequate? If your logical self hasn’t made you get to a certain conclusion, are you suppose to wait for some sort of a sign that will tell you what your next action should be? By the way, does it come in a whisper in the night or some sort of a loud God-sounding voice telling you – He’s the one? really, what should we expect? This would be a good tip to have. I mean we wouldn’t want to not be alert enough to miss the sign, do we? So please why don’t these – ‘you just know’ communities share their wisdom? Bullshit! – that’s what i think it is, you just don’t know. you live and you see, you work hard on relationships and you become honest about what it is you really want in your life, you stop being a hypocrite and embrace the ideas you’ve been preaching all your life. There is no way you just know. You take time and then you know… after that, maybe, you pray to the all mighty that you’re done your best to find the perfect mate (if there is even such a thing), after that point, he will hopefully take over…

I hope i’m not sounding bitter, because i’m really not. I am confused – i can’t deny that and i wish i could just crawl under my bed and stay there for the next six month… well i guess that’s not reality and that doesn’t show the strength i claim to have. so i’ll pray and i’ll just wait and see…

Awaiting your reply,
Rihana

P.S uffff, it sure does feel good to vent!”

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Relationships 3 Comments  June 3, 2011 5 Minutes

I am not an immigrant.

It is only very recently that I accepted the fact that I live in Atlanta, GA. I can’t even believe I’m typing these words -I live in the United States. Oh God, that feels so foreign to me. Back in college, it was simple really, I would confidently declare that “I live in Addis Ababa, I’m just in MA for college ,” just like someone from New York or Ohio would say where they were from if you met them while studying in TX. Besides I had somehow miraculously managed to go back four times during those four years, so it wasn’t like I was faking. I was still an Addis resident. I still had a valid drivers license.

Things are quite different now, I can’t claim to be a resident of Addis Ababa, because i’m not (what an aha moment!). I can’t claim to know the new hot spot that just opened or give you the best direction to get to yegna sefer Kaldi’s, or tell you the best newspaper to read. I haven’t heard gossip from beautiful hostesoch at the hairdresser’s, watched meto’haya, drank coffee from a cini, eaten croissant from Parissean, drank mango juice from London Cafe, taken pictures at sharp photo bet, taken a walk sefer west, watched ETV, taken a blue taxi or listened to live music at Habesha – in 27 months. Yet it was only last week I admitted to myself or anyone else, that I no longer am an Addisababian. It was like I was addicted to the city, my home, and I haven’t been able to recover from the withdrawal. I’m not looking to recover from the addiction because i’ll be moving there soon, like I was doing 2 years ago, like i might be doing 10 years from now.

If there’s one thing I dread more than not living in Addis, it’s living some place else – as an immigrant. I have never viewed myself as an immigrant simply because I wasn’t, I am not, nor will I ever be…? When does one cross the line from being abroad for a purpose to being abroad as an immigrant? I’m not necessarily talking about being an immigrant on paper, but being one in your mind, heart and soul. I don’t think I’ve passed that bridge, and i wonder if i ever will, if i’d ever want to, if i’d ever be able to. When does one just give up on the idea of eventually going back? Doesn’t every immigrant dream of that day, the day when he’ll be home? Or are there those who completely adopt to the new country and claim it as home? (If such lucky souls exist, I’m sorry to say, I do not relate).

There are two chains, you see, that suffocate the immigrant – the ability, a right almost, to romanticize home or utterly understate, diminish it.  If you are the former, as soon as something goes wrong, as soon as you’re treated by others as if you don’t belong, as soon as your light deems, you see that other road, the greener road – you remember home. All of a sudden you view the people you left behind as more friendly, the air fresher, the buna tastier. Weyne Agere! you declare, you forget why you even left in the first place. Maybe if you had stayed you’d have gotten that other job, maybe your business idea might have become a reality, maybe you’d have married that rich guy. But no, you got fooled by all the Hollywood movies you watched, fooled by the bottled-water-drinking, backpack-carrying, shorts-wearing diaspora you saw walking down Bole road, you got fooled fooled fooled. Like someone once said, hiwoten felega hiwot helelebet ager meteh kuch alk!

Or maybe you didn’t get fooled. Maybe you knew what you were getting into, you had a clear plan – you’d leave home, get all the best things out of Auropa weynem American ager and move back and live the life – arif business kefteh (weynes ante bale seltan new yemtehonew? or a professor at AAU?) habtam honeh, arif sefer arif bet serteh…? But somewhere life turned out to be alright. You could actually get use to *this.* You forgot why you left home in the first place. You got use to the clean streets, the mall, the movies. You got use to your credit card, your nice car, your yearly vacations. Why had you planned on going back there again? You ask yourself – Who wants to be living on dirty streets with all the abuara, with all the poverty staring at you in the face. I mean, you only read yesterday, just yesterday, that millions are starving, young people don’t have jobs, there is no personal freedom, and the country is under strict dictatorship! Life is so expensive that the only ones surviving are the fancy-car-driving, macchiato-sipping, stiletto-wearing, Sheraton-clubbing and kitfo-munching upper class’ers! – you think to yourself – those selfish bastards! Yet somewhere inside of you, you’re not so sure…the old craving of home resurfaces at times. But leaving is too much of a gamble, you tell yourself – I’ve got a good life here- what if things don’t work out according plan?…. no no no… those bastards!

Yes, the immigrant will either romanticize or diminish where he came from. Neither thought will free him from his bondage. The one who romanticizes will one day be harshly awakened. He will realize that not all of his people are as friendly and the buna will somehow taste a bit too strong. The fresh air he imagined will seem a bit polluted… home is just different. He’s been away too long…he’s home…yet a stranger? And the one with diminished, horrible almost, thoughts of home will also face his own dilemma. He’ll live denying any good his country has achieved. He’ll convince himself that he’s lucky to be away from the misery that is Africa, yet goes to bed some nights knowing in his heart of hearts that he still doesn’t belong. This is still not home.

Yes, the immigrant, once having left his home will forever be stuck between two world. No matter where he is, he’ll forever wonder if the other place might have brought more happiness, more satisfaction, more success. And this, dear reader, is where my denial stems from. This is my fear. I am still not an immigrant, I’ve lived the past couple of years having completely and successfully convinced myself that I’m an Addisababian, just away temporarily, heading back soon. I know if I go back now it will be like I never left. But I feel I’m on the edge, on the tip of that line, to becoming an immigrant  – stuck between two worlds, unable to belong to either one.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 5 Comments  May 22, 2011 5 Minutes

The boy who cried ‘Wedding.’

A famous Ethiopian entertainer was once being interviewed on ETV when he was asked about his children, ahun yet dereja endederesu. The man, sitting up straight and proud, answered andu lige graduate adergo teru sera yizo eyesera new, lelagnaw demo Talian ager yedual. Eee, Talian ager….and?! Well, you see Talian ager mehed was a great accomplishment all on its own. No one asked what happened addisu ager ketegeba bewhala.

These days, after millions having left their country and having witnessed the harsh realities that can come with life as an immigrant, leaving is no longer viewed as an accomplishment, definitly a way to possible success, but not as success on its own. You know what seems to have replaced it, standing on its own as a great achievement without too much of handwork and labor? – Marriage! Yes, walking down the aisle, kulun tekula, mizew fezo, hayloga techefero…. the whole shir gud is given a rather superior status.

All this came to me a couple days ago when i got a call from a close friend telling me that he’ll be getting married in a couple weeks. I’ve received this call, from the same dear friend twice already, announcing the same news – the great wedding – the only thing different was the would be bride. The supportive friend that i am, I announced, once again, my excitement and joy to hear the news. Later that day, as i shared the news with others, i was reminded, by a witty friend, of the boy who cried wolf… in this case wedding.

This friend of mine is definitly not an exception, everyone these days seems to be getting engaged, married, planning on getting engaged or married, talking and obsessing about getting engaged or married! – that is according to Facebook and conversations i have with countless friends who are quite caught up with their relationship status. As a bit embarrassing as it is, relationships seem to dominate as the main topic of conversations… does this render us lifeless or has this been the norm for people in their 20s and 30s since decades ago?

When did marriage become a goal to achieve all on its own? Why has it become such an issue? Has this always been the case?People as young as 26 and 27 are actually worried about finding a husband/wife. I know i’m not the ideal person to discuss this issue given the fact that i am married. But, the irony is that when i did decide to get married, i thought of all my friends who were pursuing higher education or chasing after their dream jobs, while i chose to move to a state with less than ideal conditions for finding a job that i felt suited me, to be with the person i loved – i have to say, i felt a little less than. If i knew then what i know now, i would not have stressed so much about it.

Yes, being with the person you love is a beautiful thing, but it has to be because you want it, not because you feel like that’s what you’re suppose to want. Marriage is a freakishly difficult thing, being married is a lifelong road to travel through, not a destination to reach. Especially given the high rate of divorce that currently exists, please be dame certain that it’s what you want, that it’s he/she you want. Whatever the future holds, at least you’ll know it’s you and only you that made the choice . Hopefully however romantic your decision, you will have made a logical one also.

You see ‘the boy who cried wedding’ seems to be more intrigued about the idea of getting married rather than what’s to come after the marriage. He just wants to “settle down,” with whomever, however. I couldn’t blame him, since most of his friends where  getting engaged, married, planning on getting engaged or married, talking and obsessing about getting engaged or married!

If there’s one thing i’ll end with it would be – just be yourself, do what YOU want – you’re going to be stuck with yourself for quite a while.

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Relationships 3 Comments  May 17, 2011 3 Minutes

Decisions Decisions Decisions.

A cheese burger or a Salad, skinny jeans or regular, the rich guy or the funny guy, move to that city  or stay, it goes on and on, decisions decisions decisions. I wish we never had to make them. I wish we could automatically tell which will lead to doom and which to prosperity, to satisfaction. But sadly, we don’t. We use our logic, our belief, our hearts, to make from the most mundane of decisions to life changing ones, and keep our fingers crossed – Lord, let the salad keep me skinny, the jeans curvy, the rich guy satisfied, and the city on my toes.

One of the major factors which makes decision making so dame difficult for most of us, actually i’m pretty confident that it is THE major factor, is that we’re making it in the 21st century. The amount of choices we, the fortunate yet doomed, are provided with today have doubled and quadrupled. Not only do i have to decide between a cheese burger and a salad, but ones i’ve made the painful decision of having the salad, i have to know if i want romaine or spinach, Italian dressing or ranch, blu cheese or feta – whatever happened to ordering salad and just getting SALAD!

As frustrating as not getting a simple salad can be, most of us can live with it, it’s the world we’ve been born into, having countless choices is the norm. If given the choice, we’ll choose having choices. It becomes a problem when the decision we’re making is a life changing one, where on road will lead to prosperity and the other despair. The process at times puts our psychological well being at risk. I believe it to be even worse for the young, where the decisions we make now have the potential to shape the rest of our lives. Dare i say it suffocates young women today more so than men, more so than women of the previous generations?

You see women of our mothers generation more or less had a  general idea of what they wanted, they wanted to finish school ( high school was enough) wanted to marry – a man who had a job, from a good family, a family man himself, they wanted kids. Chances are, that’s how they lived there lives – they didn’t have the “luxury of choice.” I ( probably including most of my peers), on the hand, have never really been sure of what i want. Actually let me rephrase that, I know what I want, the problem is I want it all. Yes, i want a handsome and devoted husband, 3 kids, a phd and look fabulous while i’m at it. And when i turn on the TV everyday, it’s telling me yes, you can have it all, and of course everyday i fall into the illusion – deeper and deeper.

The reality, as harsh as it sounds, is we can’t have it all – we of course don’t realize this, so when we don’t get it all we feel like we’ve failed, that we’re less than, we witness our self worth slowly diminishing. The process of such thinking leads us to stress, depression at its worse.

Thankfully most problems have potential solutions. It was when i was going through such thinking – questioning my self worth – that i run into a book which i felt  answered some of my questions on reducing stress in decision making. The Paradox of Choice by professor Barry Schwartz gives a wonderful insight on how having choices isn’t always beneficial. You see, more choices doesn’t necessarily lead to happiness, in fact it seems the exact opposite is true. Having too many choices today has more of a debilitating effect than a liberating one.

This realization has had quite an effect on me – now when i go to the store, i pick up the same laundry detergent i started using years ago, after having randomly picked it – sick of going through all the brands. I don’t give myself a headache trying to decide whether i’ve picked the best one. I ask the women at the restaurant to pick whatever salad she feels is best. I’ve started understanding that i can’t have it all, at least, not all at the same time – i’ve learned to live with that and i believe i’m better off for it. Most importantly i’ve learned to realize that i need to make choices based on what I want and not be dictated by my surrounding.

Living in a capitalist world, our illusion of free choice will most likely continue. Most of us will keep being driven by what the current norm is when making decisions, we will keep putting our deep needs and desires on the side attempting to get it all. At the end of the day isn’t having a broad range of choices better than no choice at all? I’ll leave you with a quote from one of my favorite authors – Fyodor Dostoyevsky ( Notes from the Underground)

“One’s own free unfettered choice, one’s own caprice, however wild it may be, one’s own fancy worked up at times to frenzy — is that very “most advantageous advantage” which we have overlooked, which comes under no classification and against which all systems and theories are continually being shattered to atoms. And how do these wiseacres know that man wants a normal, a virtuous choice? What has made them conceive that man must want a rationally advantageous choice? What man wants is simply independent choice, whatever that independence may cost and wherever it may lead. And choice, of course, the devil only knows what choice.”

Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 4 Comments  May 13, 2011 4 Minutes

Lessons Learnt.

It has been a little over a year since i last scribbled down my thoughts. I don’t know why i’ve failed to do so – Fear, lack of commitment to this blog ( which i, one time or another, thought was quite a decent idea, lack of time ( i doubt it)… i’m not sure. But a year down the road – here i am, attempting to connect with you – my dear readers, can i call you that? Thanks, i promise, i’m still working on the commitment part.

Oh what a year does! In a year’s time I’ve become a wife, a mother, a football fanatic ( Yes, not soccer), a Lakers fan ( go ahead judge me, i judge myself too), thin, and recently, an admirer of jewelry. Of course some things never change – I still sleep too much, love reading, sweets and coffee, never call my friends and family often enough and still crack up watching FRIENDS.

From all that has been my life this past year, from all that has been said and done, one thing has stood out, one lesson learned, appreciated, loved – Simplicity. I’ve somehow managed to  keep my life ‘relaxed,’ my thoughts less complicated, and embraced the randomness that is life – and somehow, someway, there seem to be more smiles to my day.

Let’s also hope i’ve learnt to incorporate consistency in my life, i wouldn’t want to  lose the few( yet priceless) readers i have for good. I’m of course assuming i haven’t lost you already – the optimism remains :).

Until next time, Tena Yistelegn.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections, Personal 1 Comment  May 4, 2011 1 Minute

A Letter from a friend: “My First Love.”

         I thought i’d share a wonderful letter a friend sent me a few years back on her “first love” i.e Addis Ababa, and her more recent love – Washington, DC. Enjoy.

        “I don’t need to tell you that it’s not what you’re thinking; obviously. The first love I’m talking about is Addis, my beloved city. I was coming back from work today and in the train, I finished reading Dinaw’s “The beautiful things that heaven bears”. I can’t even begin to describe the emotions that book evoked in me. But more about that later. I was in the train and looking out of the metro windows, lost in my own world of nostalgia, sadness and just pure wonder at the ability of someone to express himself so well. Then suddenly it hit me that the moment perfectly coincided with my melancholic mood because it was twilight; and twilight used to be my favorite part of the day in Addis. You know that time of the day, the sun is just setting, smell of ‘tikus yekeseat dabo’ in the air, distant voices of weyalas screaming their head off and that oh so beautiful breeze that is unique to Addis. At a moments like this, I just bow my head and thank God for being alive.

 And today, today it was one of those days … the whole outside world resembled Addis and I said to myself, maybe DC will be my second love. For its easy to fall in love with it … the bustle, diversity, convenience, … life of it all. Like Addis there are things that break your heart. Take, for example, this African American guy who, when a friend was passing him by says hello to her and she, like we’re used to doing in Addis, ignores him and walks on, and he replies … “yeah you’re right, this is nobody.” Or when you see the general discrepancy amongst people of the city, immigrants vs natives, blacks vs whites, etc. And just like Addis, it has its slums and its version of ‘bole’. I could think of a thousand reasons to love it, from its coffee shops, to the malls to the clubs, little things that creep up on you until you wake up one day, and realize you have yet again fallen in love with another one. But Addis? Too many memories etched inside my head for me to ever let go. If you asked me what of the city I missed most now, it would definitely be … how do i describe it … ok let me try. You know that time of the morning around 5ish (kelelitu 11 seat) and everyone is sleeping, dawn is breaking, and for some reason or another tibanignalesh? You know you don’t need to get up but you can’t fall asleep right away either. So you snuggle in bed, happy that you have a few more hours of sleep. And then … you hear them. The weyalas … you remember how close our house was to the ‘taksi tera’? It was just the most beautiful sound. It is faint with none of the chaos of the day, almost like they were making music of their own. On rare occasions when I would accompany my mom to church, this sound I used as my incentive to pull myself out of bed. And yesterday in the train, I realized that was the only thing missing from DC, lol. You see, iza honen indeza indtaltesadebin … i’m telling you, we might as well drop the search for satisfaction … human beings are way too fickle for that.
Love you, “

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia 2 Comments  January 29, 2010 2 Minutes

Dignity: What ought to be and what is.

          Dignity is a term that’s used to signify that all human beings have a right to respect and ethical treatment irrespective of their economic, political or cultural background. It is related to both self-respect and the respect we give to others. It’s something every human being deserves whether they are our friend, neighbor, parent or president. It’s also something that we deprive each other of so often, mostly giving respect only to those we deem better, be it cultural, economical or political.

          A recent article on the huffingtonpost (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/patrick-galey/flight-et409-exposes-leba_b_438196.html) discussing the racist behavior of some Lebanese individuals towards some Ethiopians was what made me ponder about this idea of dignity and why millions of individuals are depreived of it. When i first read this article, i couldn’t help but be angry – the outrageousness of the situation! Death is one of the few things all human being have in common, it is a reminder of how fragile we are, it’s one of the few times when we should feel true humility, at least that’s what i thought. But, even at such a tragic time, some grievances were seen to be more worthy than others, some heartaches comanded higher priority.

This realization was heartbreaking for me, putting it lightly. It was heartbreaking because i realized the harshness of the reality we currently live in – the huge gap between what ought to be and what is.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly in 1948 states in Article 1 : “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in spirit of brotherhood.”

You can’t help be baffled both by the  sweetness and bullshitness of it all.  

Yes, we should respect other people, regardless of how different they are. Yes, we should respect that poor women who helps clean the house. Yes, we should respect the lunatic who thinks he’s better than everyone… yes even him, he does, sadly, fall into the group of category of human beings. But how many of us really do?

The racism shown by some Lebanese towards the grieving Ethiopian families who lost their loved ones on flight ET409, while infuriating, should make us aware of, not only the racism we face as individuals or as a people, but also the countless biases that is within each and every one of us. If you’re Ethiopian and have lived in Ethiopia, i’m willing to bet you’ve seen a woman working as a house-maid being abused within an Ethiopian home. This is a reality that many of us may not feel comfortable admitting, but it is a reality that exist on a daily bases. Most of us might actually even be immune to it, view it as a norm. Haven’t you had that aunt who yells from the top of her lungs at the help because wetu chew becha selehone or betun abuara selemolaw? Yes, it happens, and you know it quite well. It may not be physical abuse, but the mental abuse – the lack of respect – exists. 

The problem of dignity or the lack of, of course  is no way a Lebanese or an Ethiopian problem, it’s a problem we as human beings face. Mere humanness does not seem to suffice for us to render one another as worthy of respect, we attach so many other factors in the equation – money, status, even appearances, that the pure concept of dignity itself is lost. This is something we all have to take into account on a daily bases and do our best to over come. We’re not being asked to love a people, or even to like them, but to simply respect them for what they are – human beings. Of course, if you can show the love, even better – It is, after all, what ought to be.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Ethiopia, Life Reflections 1 Comment  January 28, 2010 3 Minutes

Ye’Wendoch Guday – Part I

         “There just aren’t enough date’ble habesha guys around, that’s the problem,” said a friend who as of late has been considering broadening her options when it comes to finding a date with a potential of “turning into something more.” Broadening her options meaning venturing out into other races – non Ethiopians, something she thought she’d never consider ( for reasons which I’ll discuss in Part II).

          I couldn’t help but be buffled by how difficult it has become for most habeshas to find a suitable ‘significant other’ they could potentially spend the rest of their lives with. The Ethiopian population in the US and Canada is constantly increasing, but the prospect of finding a mate seems to be decreasing at the same rate. As much as I’d like to deny it, I spend more time discussing relationship matters with my friends then I do any other topic, and some of these friends are the kinds you can discuss topics ranging from Descartes to  our current economic depression. 

         Since i’m a woman i’ll try to stick to the female perspective, i’ll hope a few men reading this will indulge us with their two cents. The following are some of the complaints I hear from the ladies.

          chewa wend teftwal – A very common theme that seems to be the center of conversation is the issues of the cheeataas! Too many pretty girls  – most guys are just not ready to settle down, and give all that up. I remember walking into an Ethiopian restaurant with a guy friend of mine and he gently hinted that I shouldn’t be “too playful” with him cuz the girls dining in the restaurant might assume that we’re “together.” He needed to keep his options open. I of course understood, what this 29 year-old cutie wanted was simple – keep it casual, play the fields before he choses his mate. Playing the fields of course is going to mean a few broken hearts on the way. Isn’t there always that unlucky lady who manages to ignore all his signs and decide to fall in love with him anyways, and find out later he’s been “having his fun” on the side? Yeah, that one. Thus you can easily imagine for most logical females trusting such men can be too much of a risk to take.

         Then there is  the man who’s ready for the relationship – yet abatu -he wants the whole hoopla and then more – this is the habesha who wants what emayena abaye had. Rega yale sorta guy, a girl wouldn’t even be too embarrassed to bring him home to mama. But after a few dates it becomes obvious what he’s looking for – emayen erasuan! On the very first date, the girl can almost picture herself with him –  cooking, cleaning and catering to his needs while having a full-time job. ( I never use to believe that such habesha men existed in the US of A, but to my dismay there are plenty of them). 

            ” Bedebert gedelegn gena kemejemeria kenu” is yet another complaint. He’s decent looking, successful, with a potential to be a good father, but the brother is just plain dull. He wouldn’t know how to be romantic if a dozen red roses and a bottle of wine hit him right on the head. That might even be ok, but when his idea of fun revolves around playing cards and a bottle of beer in his hands with his buddies every evening and weekend… well let’s just say that can be a problem.

             One last thing that is of course brought up is not anyone’s mistake really – it’s just hard to meet people. A few individuals i know are so busy with work and life be’America that they don’t have the time to go out and meet people. Even if the initial meeting happens, it can be difficult to actually try to maintain, and hopefully develop, that relationship.

           Anyhoo these are just a few of the issues that are constantly discussed among my peers ( mostly the ladies) when it comes to why so many habeshas are single but yet almost desperate to find a significant other. But I do not want to end this without putting my own two cents on what I consider to be a debilitating problem of most habesha women ( those I’ve met at least) i.e waiting for Mr Perfect! It took me a long time to admit the problem was in fact real. It is quite accurate when attempting to understand why some women have a hard time getting into relationships. Here’s an example of what some women want.

           Handsome, but not a pretty boy, he needs to be manly. Educated, but not nerdy or boring. Needs to be able to carry on a good conversation with family and friends, but not be too much of a talkative. Smart but in touch with his emotions. Enjoys sports but not too much of a fanatic. Dresses well, takes her out to fancy restaurants, makes good money, tall, good body, no bad habits, but modest about his attributes. Honest, loyal,kind, respectful, enjoys reading and spending time with her, but isn’t too needy. That’s right fellas – we want it all!

          Well, if you know such a man – dead or alive – please let me know cuz i still haven’t met him. I believe no matter what, compromise is going to be the order of the day and all the days to come. There is no perfect man, just like there is no perfect woman. We all will have to weigh our options and chose what we think is most important to us – is it love, money, excitement, security… whatever it is, we’ll have to know it and choose.

              I’ll end this by telling you that I’m in not, in the least bit, an expert in relationships. What I’ve written is an accumulation of many hours of conversations I’ve had with friends. This entry in no way exhausts the countless issues revolving around relationships and the habesha community living in the United States, but i think it can be a good start for an interesting dialogue. Enjoy.

Tena Yistelegn,

 Rihana Nesrudin  Relationships Leave a comment  December 20, 2009 4 Minutes

Practical Dreams…

             Last night i was at very sheek cafe with a friend and her beautiful 18 months old daughter. The place was simple but yet elegant, the lighting gave it a very cozy feeling, and the pastries in the display reminded me of the simple pleasures of life. I greatly admired how the space was decorated and the lighting set up – the three of us where enjoying the place tremendously with two lattes, cookies and a tasty looking tuto.

        Behind every work of art there is always a brilliant and enthusiastic thinker, and i thought of how wonderful it would be to have such a profession in life – to be a maker of things. To create a space so simple but yet give a sense of ease and comfort to people who use it everyday is one of those things which we neglect to appreciate in our everyday lives but which serve us greatly. I thought… oh how wonderful it would be to be able to create things with just my hands and my imagination!

        It got me thinking – maybe i would have loved to become a decorator, a cook, a carpenter, a gardener – as my main profession I mean – maybe I’d have even been great at it. But it doesn’t look like that will ever happen. Growing up in Ethiopia, no one gives you the space to explore these options. I know i can’t speak for everyone, but I’m willing bet that’s the case for the majority of us habeshas. I can almost picture it-  a boy walks home, back from school and enthusiastically declares abaye abaye beka sadeg yemehonewen awkalew. Father says men leje? The boy goes Anati! can’t you just picture the father: leziw new ehe hulu lefate belo arif tefi lejun siyakemsew.  I sure can. Most parents send their kids to school in the hopes providing their kids with greater possibilities and in the Ethiopian reality those possibilities are rarely found in being Anati.

        I wondered how many of us actually dreamed of becoming what we wanted to become. Not only because we weren’t encouraged to explore different possibilities but also because we didn’t even know some possibilities even existed – who knew there were Cryptozoologists! ( incase you didn’t know it’s the study of animals that are not currently empirically proven to exist!) – gize siteref yeluachuhal. What’s more interesting is that most of us don’t quite realize it – it is almost second nature to us Ethiopians to be practical – get a job that brings in the money, the respect, keza demo arif mist/bal…

        Well, I guess one of the perks of being in the developed West is the wider pool of possibilities. In the developed West, if basic conditions are met, you can become what it is you really want to be and still be practical and make a living out of it. But as an Ethiopian you know that you can’t aspire to became “the cake boss,” when you know there isn’t enough bread to eat at home. That’s the reality – a not so pleasant one…

      But as i ponder about this reality, sitting on my bed typing these words, i realize something – at the end of the day, i’m grateful, actually happy, i was raised to be practical. I may have been a fabulous home decorator or a sesky anati, but what i currently aspire to become –  my practical dream – shall suffice, because what it will do is contribute to the widening of possibilities for generations to come and narrow the gap between the practical and the dream. In the mean time… i shall soon head back to that cafe and take delight in a cheese cake i had my eyes on.

Until next time, beselam yagenagnen.

 Rihana Nesrudin  Life Reflections 1 Comment  December 18, 2009 3 Minutes

A thousand miles…

      I’m an individual with too many thoughts going through my head in most of the hours i am awake and breathing. I think about my family, my friends, my country. I think about food, coffee, love and sex. I think about poverty, human rights, education, politics, philosophy. I think about depression, happiness, human character, simplicity, randomness…

     I’ve decided to constantly share these thoughts with you via this blog, mainly to initiate discussions about topics that concern most of us as residents of this planet, but also topics that make us laugh, cry and make us go ‘wey tarik!‘. This is the first of hopefully many entries to come.

     Hopefully these short paragraphs are enough for a quick introduction. Until next time, beselam yagenagnen.