Ahun esti mn ybalal, year after year, month after month, nattering away until our teeth have all loosened? Ere’dia! Retrospective schmedrospective! Yawlachihu!

The date: April 1999… the inspiration: … er, liquor and loads of it… SELEDA comes to life. Our first issue… what can we say? Accompanied by bogE background colors not seen since Birqnesh’s ye-kt shenter-shenter qemiiss, and adorned with the flag, SELEDA comes to life. The first Top Ten, the first Life Diaries … and who could forget our timid and finespun introduction. Those were the days… long before circumstances morphed us into vulgarians.

By our second issue we thought, why not pep this baby up? But, as is prone to happen, obsession and addiction to anything new quickly short-circuited our sense of aesthetics. Enter "all graphics all the time"… yipes! Didja see that? Didja see that? It was as if someone was "shammo…ho…shammo-ho"-ing graphics and we were grabbing everything in close proximity. Sigbgboch! And then, someone accidentally tripped on the "animated graphics" button… beqa... mot’e negeru. Bl’CH… bl’CH… dr’gm… dr’gm. The only redeeming thing about the second issue was the introduction of The Mail and our then-astonishingly-sane Mail Editor.

It wasn’t until our fourth issue, when X-Editor-X mercifully swooped in, that the gawdy graphics wuqabbi left us for less refined people. Under Abiy’s patient tutelage, we were guided into cyber-jolly jackism…sleek designs, cool colors and understated elegance. Wow. Wow and wee. We somehow managed to… blackmail saiiiihon… persuade a starving artist to create us a logo, and in September 1999, enter the "SELEDA Guy"… Naturally, upper management hated the new logo and specifically the SELEDA guy (what is his name?), because he lacked that certain… umph! that screamed "I drive a Jaguar. Do you?" They finally capitulated… not because of any salient argument presented on our part, but because they found the whole matter too boring. We’ll take victory any way we can.

And so began the road to graphic graphics sophistication. By the February 2000 issue we introduced original art for the cover page, and then by our Education Issue in October, wuddya look at that!? Cute l’il icons on the bottom page. Whatever’s next? Piped in music? We are often asked if we have a favorite SELEDA cover artwork, or is that like asking us who your favorite child is? Well, yes, and yes, and we have no problem with identifying either…but for that you’ll have to keep reading.

It used to be that SELEDA was an Ethiopian Utopia… well, not really but we just had to use that phrase in some context. At least we didn’t have to contend with the frosty memos that have become routine whenever we dare ask for a new pencil. ("Dear Editor X: Your pencil budget is way out of control. That’s two pencils in the past two months. We are not running a charity here.") Not that we have ever accused upper management of immoderation, mind you, even as our first CEO was, er, detained by authorities at BolE for racking up dubious hotel bills and trying to skip out of the country without paying a dime. When the SELEDA coffers were raided to accommodate upper management’s stomach staplings and liposuctions… did you hear us making a big stink? No, you didn’t! And you know why? Damn straight! Because we are gutless, spineless ye alCHa alCHoch.

By our first Love Issue in February 2000, our bosses were quarantined to Anger Management classes, and thus started the reign of the Creative "Let us drink from the same cup to symbolize harmony" Crew. Now those are memories we’d like to suppress! YeNa idl! We couldn’t even have a great mefenqle mengst and cool abiot riots. What kind of shop are we running, anyway?

Our new bosses reigned terror on us…trying stunts such as enrolling God-fearing people into detox. Whaaa? At least with the previous regime we could come staggering in at noon looking like people with names like Demmelash, dressed like people nicknamed Demmequ and smelling like an amateur bartender who answers to "an’t wenfit fit!", and alls we’d get was a blank stare. (As long as we don’t ask for a new pencil, everytin’ irie!) Oh. Repress… repress those memories.

It might be an uncanny happenstance, but the History Issue was the homecoming of upper "yemiyawqut seiTan" management. And you ask if history repeats itself! By our Family Issue just a month later, all was back to normal madness. Unable to retain anything they had picked up at Anger Management camp, our bosses stormed back in and the rest, as they say, is misery.

And thus we live… under tyranny and paranoia, and we would not have it any other way.

The Mail: Why there are voices in our heads.

There is a way that our crotchety Mail Editor flares just one nostril that leaves us wanting to masnekat the U-U-ta before fleeing to the relative serenity of a Pentecostal healing session. But, what can we say about the Mail Editor that has not already been written in someone’s hate diary/suicide note?

Remember Dejen Yemane who started the "SELEDA is pedantic/use less biggie words" war? Even as the Mail Editor was trying his hand at restraint, you still can’t hurl phrases like "I don't know anyone on this earth that talks the way you wright...[sic]…" and "That's why I have stopped reading your articles: I DO NOT GET ANYTHING OUT OF IT!…" and "are you writing to impress people, or are you interested in impowering [sic] them" and think you could get away unscathed. IndEt yhonal? ("Fine. If that’ll impower you, darlin’, we will. After all, we live to empress.")

Remember Bini from Dartmouth and his rightful proclamation, "[SELEDA's] contents have turned into largely tirki-mirki topics, liberally garnished with vainglorious verbiage, and authored by out-of-touch and self-appointed liqs"? Now why can’t people write stuff on their minds without getting skinned alive? ("Ah, kids raised on Sony Playstations these days!"…) It just seems unfair.

And what’s with all the pummeling of Lycée students? IndE? When did newr become unfashionable here? All Yemisrach wanted to point out was that people who love people also went to Lycée. Tadiya mn ybalal replying with "Lycée is the Frash Tera" of Addis Ababa schools? ‘Ta! Why we can’t play nice-nice?’

Try as we did, the Tsebel we kept slipping into the Mail Editor’s "coffee" failed to suppress what has become known as Atypical Mail Editor Split personality/No Personality Syndrome. We gave up after the response shot at Yirgalem’s way. "What is this page??*!!" was all Yirgalem wanted to know. "Why is this page having to very pretendness![sic] Why? It is very diappoinment.[sic] Yours truly, Yirgalem. Dallas." To which followed a very cagey "Yirgu, beqa, beqa yqr. Na esti agsa…(pat, pat) beqa… yhew.. qere! You know, with a little verb conjugation and the correct spelling of "pretendness", that would have really hurt. As it is, we are grateful for small miracles. (Demo ‘yours truly’!!!)"

How unnecessary was that?

Not to say that the Mail has been one big safa of insolence where good intentioned people have had the unfortunate encounter of being medeffeq-ed by a cantankerous SELEDA gatekeeper… well, yes, it has. But we still remember the "SELEDA ain’t for everyone!" homily and think, maybe… just maybe. Not! But to those few, the brave, the non-eqa lq’laqis like us who managed to bite back our Mail Editor with your zingers, may we offer you any of his organs? Keep them coming.

Some articles that have left us open jawed and feeling like cretins:

Like we mention in every Notes from the Editors, we are astounded by the… ere lemehonoo, ere lem-e-ho-hoo… Ere zmmm yshalal.

Off the top of our heads and in no particular order…

… The first time we all read "Medfer"… hello! If we thought we were a bunch of no-talent intellectual zrkrkoch before… Slap us silly and call us "CHqa Shoom Asseged". It was a watershed event.

… And who could forget "Hellhole Diaries" and the controversy that followed, and the frothy-mouthed reactions from the determiners of "true Ethiopianism". Ah.

Speaking of controversy, we were very happily surprised by the civility of the detractors of "A Slow Prelude", the Family Issue’s My Story about a young Ethiopian man coming to terms with his sexuality. We did get the usual "you shall burn in purgatory" diatribe, but what they don’t understand is that we already are in purgatory.

Groundbreaking also was Dr. Tedla W. Giorgis’ piece on depression in the Ethiopian Diaspora, in April 2000’s Jebdu, The Last Taboo: Breaking the Silence about Depression and Mental Illness. A lot of you wrote to him and us regarding this piece, and it might just be the only qum neger we’ve accomplished since we learned how to extort money from selfeNoch at the qebelE hbret suq.

In what was also a riveting account of madness and suicide, Ato Atnafu shared Saluting a Ghost with us, about yet another lost Ethiopian life. Ahhhh, exile.

The waters parted and we were so sure that we heard the theme from Chariots of Fire blast the air by the heart-stopping, "take your LDs and stuff it!" exchange between Makeda and Gelawdios in our July/August Life Diaries. Was it us? Was it Memorex? Was it literary mrqanna? We have not been the same since, and considering we never knew who we were in the first place, it makes us prrritty darn lost, dunn’it now?

Ato TDM managed to wow us with the first ever Work Log, a week in the life of an Ethiopian ski instructor hidden in Vail, Colorado, at one with his mountains. Surprised? Yep, it’s true; wherever we go, there we are.

Speaking of wow, Eskedar Y…, the ye SELEDA azpirroo! In her unforgettable Between Good and Bad she deconstructs, disembowels, diss’s period the discourse on them bad boys and the women who love them.

The catchphrase around SELEDA for about a year was "Engulfato". It served as a noun… "Esssu’ma Engulfato" new"… it served as an adjective… "ZarE mechEss Engulfato, Engulfato bloNal" and, our favorite: "Nei esti anchi! Inn’gollaffet!" All thanks to the brilliant piece by Yared Mengistu in our Technology Issue about language, science, and choking with knowledge.

There are people who’s literary reach intimidate us so much we run out of ammed for them to amedachn’n b-u-u-n madreg, Alemush Zelalem being one of our foremost leT TseT-ers. In the History Issue, her piece Sankofa Bird on Ethiopian history and interpretation, had us wishing we were the mastika ‘neath her sandals. And we quote: "Maybe time had taken the edge off the incidents, and they had since seen worse, but even the most discerning of ears would have been hard pressed to find bitterness in the tone of their memories. It struck me then that this was the elusive element in the history I read. Simplistic though it seemed, in the interest of being "objective" and "critical" we often subjected the past to harsh scrutiny with splintering effect. The historical participants themselves may be positioned at odds with our interpretations." Tadiya… tadiya…ammed. Be back soon.>

Whoever Feleke of Educating Hiruy and The Gilding and Goom-Goom Shah!… whoever he is… esti, can we make him the official SELEDA baby daddy? Can we? Or at least our legal guardian? Skip a single word of Feleke’s articles, and you miss a kuntal of nuance…slow down, sit back…and enjoy.

One of the most beautiful stories ever puplished in SELEDA is, according to those who know these things, From Marsabet to the Mid-West, a haunting account of life on the boarder of Kenya and Ethiopia, and of a love that was not meant to be.

Just when we think that we can take no more, and we mengedaged back to reality, kap-link! Unrequited in this past Love Issue bounces us out of this galaxy! Why, we thought, is this piece not in a real magazine? Whoo-wai?

Center of Gravity by Asfawesson Asrat in the Class Issue garnered the most "Hey, can you introduce us to this man" requests from SELEDA shenkorits all over. We? We just like what he had to say about those miserable Addis Ab’ans.

But they tell us that a picture is worth a thousand words. And when we see the pictures and…and…read the words of Robel Kassa in the last SELEDA Berenda, we are left breathless. We… are… left… breathless.

Remember the Life Diaries between the Urban ArbeNa and the Suburban Grazmachess? Ping pong! They played us like ping pong… and we are still looking for our weNe from that encounter! IgziabhEr y’ylachew!

And, then, taking the baton from them in one clean swoop and continuing on the subject of Ethiopian BuBu’s…, the serene A Kiss Without a Hug. Wei sew mass’aTat! Why do people have to bring logic into things? Abo!

We don’t care what anyone says, the foremost exhaustive, brilliant, compelling and well-argued piece about Ethiopian music was/is/shall forever be our first Chilot where the cyber frd bEt determined that we should not be as harsh on La Fontaine as we might want to. Hey, wait a skinny minute! What… who… indEt… ay mnew! La Fontaine shall remain an open target, despite what that exhaustive, brilliant, compelling and well-argued piece says.

We think, and of course we have not an ounce of evidence to back this up, but we think we’ve made new friends over the past couple of years. Foremost in our minds are the super cool kids at the Ethiopian Students Association International and our hyper cool friends at the Ethiopian Computer Club in Houston.

There are some articles that you read and you think you could not have possibly read words so unforgettable. Well, we want the elixir to get Limbo from the Careers Issue out of our minds. It is a story about that precarious time in one’s life when what one’s chosen career does not love one back. "He goes back to the unopened letter staring up at him from the writing desk from hell (he frequently wakes up covered in sweat from the recurring dream where this same damn desk is chasing him around the room, belching out one ding letter after another while it simultaneously chews up the only copy of his dissertation). He does not short-circuit the ritual that he's followed religiously since these letters started coming in. He sits upright and righteous in front of the table where the letter sits, taunting him. He looks at the front, the back, and puts it down again, stamp side up. Lifting it by the top left corner, he brings it to his nose and takes a loooong whiff ... no reason, just because. Then he flips over the letter, takes the dull bread knife that has been relegated to this task, and slides it under the flap, slicing the envelope open slowly and carefully. Down goes the knife, and he holds the envelope between his palms as he blows into the newly sliced envelope to separate its sides from the letter inside. He takes out the single folded page, closes his eyes and chants "Mariam Mariam Mariam" before opening it slowly.

"Dear Applicant, ... We regret to inform you..."

There have been some phrases in SELEDA that ring through our minds like a gedel mamitu. The words from the Class Issue’s Changing of the Guard come bouncing back at us, and with every rebound, they bring with them the insatiatable ghosts of our past. "At the time he left Ethiopia, pedigree no longer commanded respect on its own. Class meant, for the most part, that gaping rift between the two halves of material prosperity -- the have-not's and the have-lots'… The temari paid daily pilgrimage to the neighbors' qorqorro gate with the supplication, ‘zarE TV yikefettal?’"

We had more fun than you can imagine writing the Backpage on the Ritz-Carlton Poppo LarE. And have you had a taste of As BolE Turns? Be careful…one taste and you may never be the same again.

The Sew-Sews

Not that we get all Tengara when we are in the midst of celebrity, but… but… what a kick having Haile Gerima write his most mesmerizing article on art and the Ethiopian psyche in our November 1999 issue, thus making us feel like grown ups. Also on film, her kburinetwa Salem Mekuria (a moment of silence please after the mention of her name) very graciously agreed to be a life diarist way back when in our Arts Issue, appearing not far from His Isachewness Yemane Demissie’s celeb profile. Chef Marcus Samuelson and then Yosef Kibur graced us with their presence, as did a voice from the cyber-godana past, Nemo Semret, who spoke up on ‘Digital Coffee’. Our friend and nefs abat, Dr. Tadesse Wuhib, wrote in these very pages, dear readers. His Why Should We Care About HIV/AIDS Among Ethiopians brought to light just why it is that people like him, and not wurajams like us, should have a monthly forum. Mahlet and Yodit Tsegaye, to whom we are telling anyone who will stop to listen (including them) we are related (‘coz that’s the only way we can come this close to greatness), authored the timely and memorable, Our Father’s Daughters. The stars must have aligned with the tiny little specks in the sky when we proposed to the Ethiopic Computer Elite to grant us an interview for our Heroes and Mavericks Issue. And what sports they were, and how intimidated we were! And in a category all by herself, (esti sewech foqeq belu…) is her Girmayitness Heran Sereqe Brhan, historian, musician, performer and the person who’s name appears on the top of all SELEDA male editors’ "My future wife and bearer of my 14 children" list.

A recurring theme in SELEDA has been our experiences with the Red Terror and its manifestations over several generations. As we purge our past through words, it seems like what was previously unutterable might just be conquerable. In our first "Healing the Ethiopian Soul" in the September 1999 issue, Zewdu recalled the Derge torture chambers in Dire Dawa, and the story of his brother’s best friend. "I often drift in and out of the incidents of yesteryears, hoping to come to grips with my troubled past. After twenty plus years and from thousands of miles away, I can still visualize the soccer field, the banana trees, and, yes, the killing fields of Dire Dawa. I daydream about the dead as if they only left us yesterday…the nature of my work has given me several opportunities to go to Ethiopia, but I have yet to summon the willpower to set foot in Dire Dawa, my birthplace. I look at my three beautiful children, and as I struggle to teach them about our history, I always ask myself if I should include the part that forever severed their father from his home."

In Part Two of "Healing the Ethiopian Soul", Lisane Mariam’s "Letting Go of my Father" examines a revolution that severed the relationship between father and daughter.

Yosef M. Sellasie, in Cleaning My Brother’s Wounds, told the story of a little brother who helps his mother clean the tortured body of his older brother. "To an impressionable four-year old, "shguT aTeTut" has several connotations. None of them death."

And then lately in our Heroes and Mavericks Issue this past month, Lij IndEt Yimotal?

It has been cathartic.

Until they wake up, shake their heads in disgust and say "What the heck am I doing in this Eri Bekentu of literary hellholes, dammit!", and dump us like kubet not worth throwing into the fire, we have somehow managed to cultivate "SELEDA regulars". A dubious distinction for them, we are sure, but they are all brq to us.

To wit: Our friend Fishkaw, who seduced us on our first anniversary when he answered the first SELEDA Survey… In response to "Why I read SELEDA", we all remember and have memorized his reply: " …The good old issues remind me the good old times. That tiny, always foggy, 25-shamma ampol-no window, room of Bacha's with a sign "He who comes with 2Birr CHat is welcome to this burning Heaven". Inside that little room everything looked perfect; sound was good; smell was OK. But if yetebaberut sendel and eTan, by any technical fault, fail in their duty… neger tebelashe! There in the corner a quiet, nice place for two, decorated with things that look like pillows, mostly occupied by the two regulars, Wondimu ("Qdedew"), and his buddy Bekele ("Buanbuaw"). Those two were ye betu misseso, gidgidana mager... center of attentions. Each and every day they somehow manage to tell us a new, fresh, mereq yehonu stories. Even though we knew they are lying, they were always successful in getting our attention. "… They could have made a terrific writer/director team, if they were born in some other planet. The way they talked, the words they used…I miss them. Finally I found some of it in you SELEDA. Thank you. P.S. Recently I saw the same old Qdedew in Habtu Suq, doing his usual daily shopping: "Hulet Niala, andun lekusew" Still, for some reason, he doesn't buy his own matches."

Ahhhhhhhh. And he drgmm-ed us with Heading West and What’s Looks Got to Do with It and completely stole our hearts. Fishkaw… yet gebah?

We know that when God made SELEDA goddess Sza Sza Zelleke, he broke the mold. Yes he did. Yes he did. Yes, he did. From One Night in Arada, to Addis Rhapsody, to My Son’s Itibt, to Ma? Ma? InnE? to Blood and Bone… Please God… please don’t wake her up and a-hack entuff us anytime soon. Who do we call to make her a Tabot-ess?

More recently, the elusive MT, may his children grow up not to be cowboys, has managed to climb up there on the teshkerkari SELEDA zufan, and make himself comfortable. Remember Ye Bally’s Bal? Uh? Uh? Remember Faccetta Nera? Uh? Uh? Remember Awassa Langano? REMEMBER THAT? Ehem. Esti CHuhetun qenessssssssss…. And this month he is back with Gomen. Is it possible to worship someone from afar? One word: Igziomahrenekristos!

And of course, right up dere, looking like they own half of SELEDA, (wait! They do own half of SELEDA) are our dear friends, the kinda friends we would lend our only copy of Mother India to, Fasil (The Date and Mekasha’s Mother and this month's Idle Fantasies), Hiywot Teshome (An otherwise Empty Room, Romancing Shenkorit, Our Angel and this month’s Ye Ibd BEt.) We think we love them. Either that or we got indigestion. They are wordsmiths… we are werENists… it is a marriage made in heaven.

So, who are we?

Weee-elll…. Who are we? Mannachew? Mndinachew? Thanks to Addisu and Mimi of VOA, we have been mefelfeled and laid out to dry in the sun after their interview with us a few weeks back. Ere lemehonooo… is VOA upper management aware that its airwaves have been tarnished by the incessant natterings of hung-over SELEDAns trying to put together two sentences without hiccupping?