Carpe Diem Ethiopia

It ain’t easy being black in America. Racism’s sinewy tentacles have touched almost every Ethiopian that has migrated to America since the mid-1970s and we have learned to deal with it on a daily basis at the workplace, in private and public facilities, educational institutions, and even in places of worship. Ethiopians have been harassed, attacked, beaten, and in one case, murdered by xenophobic white Americans. Unfortunately, We have not been immune from the racist aspects of the criminal justice system either. Like most dark-skinned people in America, we are targeted on highways by bigoted cops, subjected to unreasonable searches and seizures, and serve disproportionate prison sentences in the hands of ignorant judges and all-white jurors. Ethiopian immigrants refuse to buckle under the weight of such challenges in the land of the free. To many African immigrants, American racism pales in comparison to the hellhole their leaders have turned their countries into. For Ethio...

I stood under the old pine trees and stared at the kill-zone through the green bars of the school’s fence. It was lunchtime and the high green-coated fence provided an artificial enclosure from the killing fields Addis Ababa had become. To those looking into the school, they saw a nappy dark-skinned kid with a thousand-mile stare. I was just a keremt away from turning ten, lived for football, kung-fu flicks, marbles, and dreaming about Tigist, the thumb-sucking little teacher’s pet that sat in the front of the class and who occasionally stole glances at me through her long, curly-eyelashes. But on that day, I needed to ponder my father's comments from the night before. CRIMSON The young man had a huge afro which bounced with every step he made in his pointed high-heeled shoes that barely peaked through his bellbottoms. He looked incredibly cool. I made a point to ask my parents to buy me the same studded jean jacket he wore. Uncontrollable anger swelled ...

LITTLE ETHIOPIA New Year’s Eve 6:00 p.m. It was strange to see my bride gushing at another man. It was also strange I felt okay about it. Hey, it was Teddy, okay, the man responsible for the best thing that has happened to Ethiopian music since Muluken " hodenew Telatish ” Melese ! Polite to the hilt Tewodros Kassahun interrupted his conversation with friends at a restaurant near Little Ethiopia , stood up, and allowed this otherwise reserved and thousand times better half of mine to give him a hug. When my turn came, I was at a loss for words. What do you say to a man whose music we’ve played all summer and laughed our heads off as our tiny off-springs neigh whenever Balderasu ( altegeram wey feresu ?) comes on? “Teddy . . . um, um, um, um, beTam beTam gobez neh . . . jegna, jegna, gobez neh !” He flashed a smile that apparently came easy and brought me in for the shoulder hug. I was surprised by how short he was. “ BeTam amesegenalu ” were his only words and bowed low to...

I just returned from Addis where I attended a friend’s serg . I’m still digesting what I saw and experienced in the nation’s capital in the past two weeks and I hope to write about my impressions in subsequent postings. The words negeroch teregagtewal , oft repeated by Addis Ababans these days only describe a meregagat of the security situation in the city and not the utter disgust with events taking place at Sidist Kilo. A sense of doom pervades in the city—smiles are rare and even the goofy guards at the Hilton have lost their arm-trembling salutes. Carter’s trip in May was a harbinger of the malaise that has gripped Addis Ababa since the ex-prez’ blunder-filled jaunt in Ethiopia and his neither-here-nor-there observations of the 2005 elections. One thing that has quadrupled since my last visit to the city a little bit more than a year ago is the sheer amount of the homeless and yene biTe on the streets. For the love of God, Ihadegoch , can't yo...