By Abera

I fancy myself of a lot of things depending upon the season or how much money is in my pocket. At times I could be a philosopher of imminence and a great social commentator. At others I am the man who ‘makes right, a time out of joint’. Truth be told, even my greatest hero, Gorge Costanza, thinks that I am a loser. Anyways, the other night, I was fancying myself as a writer of such virility that my room was full of disdain for every and all. Pulitzer and Nobel are for sissies and wussies. I’m gonna publish on the NET. I am fired up. I am going to change the landscape of poetry and prose in one Jovian sweep. I went to the net spoiling for a fight.

OK, heeeeeer we go. Who wants a piece of me! Let’s see. Poetry. Search. Emmm, what’s that? Click. Drivel.

Click. Aha, a site for the ingrates. Back. Next click.

Ok, you type in a name and some bastard’s litany of lonely poppycock. How appalling! Let’s see if the bastard from the college days has joined poetry for the masses by the masses of the masses? Type in name. Click.

F’ me, if that is not a freaking habesha name. Ok Habashida, whachyou got? C’mon… c’mon. Na...na...na...da…da…da. Drivel, absolute drivel. Man, listen carefully. Stay at the parking lot booth.

Next, please. I like the way she spelled her name. I find the letter Q sexy. Why is that? Maybe it is because Que is…. For God’s sake, man. Stay with the program. Read the freaking poem. Okay already!

Yada, yada, yada …yaaada. Emhh… Ok. What the F! … That’s not bad. Not bad at all. She got more. Click. Naiiiice. Good form. Good flow. Preeety wording too. Next. She good, dammit she good. Wow! I think that is the sound of me blown away. F’ me.

Got up from my seat. Waved my index finger at the havens.

Now, you gods and fiends alike, take notice! She is AN ETHIOPIAN and she is good!!!! Inbred bastards whachyou got to say to THAT?? HA!

The gods and the fiends stayed mum. Can’t have any argument for that.

I was blown waaaaay out. In fact, just between you and me. I was astounded. Out of respect for the word ‘astounded’, I kept immobile both in body and mind for some minutes. After a respectful time has passed for the astounding to be noted by its gods, I followed her name over the net.

It led me to a review of an Ethiopian function she submitted to some Ethiopian forum. I began reading. It is funny, well constructed, but the bold stuff…. Ok, that is Amharic. Yes it is Amharic! What an ingenious way to write. ‘yiqr-beleN, GetayE’. Ok I get it now. Oh my!

I kid you not. I peed my pants, with some to spare for the floor. I have never laughed like that since I heard my ex landlord being mauled by his own dog in ‘97. What wit, what skill specially mixing those old corny YeMadbet Amharic expressions and metaphors into a learned prose. A metaphor for metaphors is what it is. She is killing me. I am a dead man. I wanted more.

Suddenly my literary virility left me at the sight of such a wholesomely humorous prose. It just stopped dead in mid-stride like that stupid deer in the headlight. BeKinat Marer. You have to excuse me, I am new to this you know. That is supposed to refer to being charred by jealousy. I still wanted more of this girl. Shush now. What I meant was I wanted to read more of her writing.

Click Home.

Seleda. The ylunta blah, blah issue.

There is some graphics of ice-cream cone and stop sign and shit. Oh crap! They are going to tell me to eat right. It must be one of’em 21^st Century women-health-diet-spirit-aromatherapy F’rs, albeit Ethiopian. Anyways Click. Editor’s note will tell.

Wait, an Ethiopian website with an editor? That is novel. I gotta see this.

Click. Read… more…more… Isn’t that something?! Same bold Amharic… Ahaa!!! So that is where she got it. And I thought that I found a genius writer who is also an Ethiopian! What a crock! What a low down bloody…

LEboch. Demo AtaNachew! Must be postmodern everything goes has finally arrived in Habeshville. Big deal!

Finished the editors thingy. Ladies and gentlemen, now that is pontification. Definitely pontification. Pontification with style, yes. But pontification all the same. Yeah, baby, yeah. My kinda people. I am home. Wait! They are my people. Yager lijoch. Glory days are here. You hear that, inbreds of heaven?

Keep your horses straight now; I’m talking to the Olympian gods. Yamachhual, I will never say that about the one behind the tabot. Yiqr-beleN, GetayE. ( I am lovin’ this guys. I am busting.)

Wait a minute; what the F’ does seleda means anyway? Perhaps a short for Selemon Damena? Selamawit Da……Da…… what? Da….. whatever. Surely it doesn’t refer to some kind of eda (owing)? It can’t be. Well, these are learned morons we are dealing with here. Maybe it is… F’ it.

Click. My story. Seminars by shanqo. I commiserated with shanqo. Axed out by Yoftahe. I gingerly commiserated. You never know he may be one of’em —Look at me! Look at me! My abc, ihk, shtt, stocks are going through the roof. Look at me! Look at me guys in one of them funny days past. Good writing, though. Bawza by Daniel. Scholarly. Definitely a learned man Ato Daniel is. Definitely. Hats up.

After some while of rummaging through back issues I would reach the M’Ts issue and claim back my heritage. I went back to shanqo’s Seminar again and M’Tsed vigorously. Actually I stopped every thing, stole a shot of some fancy brandy from my landlady and took it straight from the bottle. I came back and sat down on the floor and M’Tsed like it was nobody’s business. I M’Tsed this. I M’tsed that. Then this and that together. I M’Tsed Baby, I did.

By then I have already known what seleda meant. Some guy has to spell it for me in Amharic on one of the issues.

I like it. I like it a lot. Honest to God-Forest Gump-liking it a lot.

I sure will come back again and again. Good show! Jolly good show, boys and girls.

Well, as you may have guessed, I live in complete isolation of my language and my people somewhere in Numbskull Ville. My ignorance is boundless. Are the St. Jo and Sandford guys theirs or ours? You tell me and I shall give them a thrashing they will never forget. Or I could commiserate…. you know.

Are we embracing our M’Tsing and MadbEt QuanQuaing or are we…No, that won’t do. By God I will be M’Tsing till I faint of dehydration. As God is my witness I will never go without my M’Tsing ever again. I am a born again M’Tser and I am Aydont keredash who knows it.

My undying, everlasting, unflinching, eternal LOVE to the girl who dragged me from my wherever into this blessed mayhem called SELEDA. You know who you are. Thanks. By the way, you are welcome to my email if you so desire. SELEDA people take note of the previous sentence.

You SELEDA bastards, keep on bastarding. Many thanks.