Howdy there,

Wiy wiy-minnew - you had to pick that time to arrive in this world. I can picture your parents nervously awaiting your arrival with unequivocal attitude as all hell broke loose in the whole country. "Endiyaw mn yeteregeme lij new - kalTefa gizay he had to pick a time where the future is as clear as mud!" I can even see the name choices they had for you - Abiot - the number one choice except your poor grandma could not swallow that name; then came Maebel for all those tumultuous times ahead; and ofcourse Yetnebberk for "Where the heck where you in the good days!"; and then, as a last resort, they settled on something religious - as a final plea to the Lord, so that whatever fortune your parents had acquired would be spared from the hands of those greedy Derg….Don't think so…

My case is also alsheshum zorr alu. I am one of those kids who have defied statistics - you know, one of those 3 % kids who bypass the contraceptive pills and make their unexpected and unpleasant emergence into this world. My parents did not even bother to name me for a while - I still have no nickname and my name doesn't have any derivatives while my siblings enjoy several names. Oops!! I think I need five hours of therapy now. I have been told more than once that beside me being the "not-so-coveted-child", my grand debut into this planet also marks the begining of health problems, financial problems, not to mention, political problems in my family's life, and, for that matter, in the country's. What can I say, not everyone is lucky enough to be part of our generation -- I am darn proud to be one of the **Tarik SeriwoCh kids.The Fafa generation... The Y8K generation…

** My entry into this world marks the beginning of the Derg and my departure from Ethiopia amazingly brought forth the fall of the Mengistu regime, ---- oh GOD maybe E'tabeba was right, I was really a curse to the nation…Why else would Mengistu leave as soon as I leave the country? --- No, I am sure it's pure coincidence --- Wouldn't you agree…?

CAUTION: THIS INDIVIDUAL HAS A SEVERE CASE OF FOCUSITUS* ---- IGNORE LACK OF FLOW IN THIS LD

Back to you... As I read your intro I could feel my body turn green with envy: thirteen months away from here! It must have been quite an adventure. Did you swing by Ethiopia (quite a swing) on your way to west Africa? Wish my life was as interesting…

Today is one of those exceptional days where I stay late at the office-I have to perform a summary for the boss because his boss is coming tomorrow. It's very late in the office and the only person left with me is the overly zealous and perky intern who from time to time (more so lately) gets on my last nerve. I have done my share of brown nosing back in the days-- dog sitting for the boss, baking cookies for the office people. It's now for me to sit, watch and laugh as someone else acts the fool.

***

Well I am back at the office at 6 A.M. I am not a morning person-never have been and never will be. I am running around trying to coordinate several things at the same time. Right now I am working in this philanthropic environmental health advocacy group where I am an information coordinator/IT person. I am in the middle of a mid-life crisis, an early one. I am one of those people who are blessed with so many talents with an attention span of a QuniCHa…. I always think the grass is definitely greener on the other side 'till I get to the other side, take one bite and am already eying the next pasture. I have to slap my face twice a minute so I can stay focused. I have held a few different jobs since I finished my undergrad, but as soon as I go through the learning curve, I am ready to hop to another--- not a favorable quality in an employee. I am thinking about going back to grad school and something - if only I knew what. I love being the eternal student minus the starvation…part. Maybe, I should focus on finding a husband, flush with money, in his mid-forties, who will put me on a pedestal and burn sendel and grant me my every desire. Do you know anyone? I have a lot to offer besides my typing certificate and charming looks, I am willing to learn how to make QinCHe, CHeCHebssa... besides, I would be a good thing to show off to his friends who are stuck with their aged wives--- maybe I should start calling my friends' dads….

Before Miss Seledawit puts me on A.D.D. medication, let me stay focused and write on what is this month's topic --- Exile.

I have been in the US for quite some time, and I have my days. I have lived in four different countries as a child-Ethiopia being the fourth. This is my second exile to the US. My first trip used to bring warm and fuzzy feelings when I was back in Ethiopia. I always saw myself as an American until I came back here for the second time to find out that the America I left as a child ( maybe my perception was tinted then) did not seem to be the same one I see now. Those yummy McDonald burgers are not quite luscious anymore. Even the sweets that I used to crave, the apples, the big peaches and the Kentucky Fried Chicken were nowhere close to scrumptious. It was such a rude awakening... I was like, "Please someone send me ye Bole mini burger and ye Enriko cake.

I considered myself as someone who has been exposed enough to this world that I can jump into any place and adapt easily. Well, my theory was tested and boy was I wrong. The thing was, I was dying to come to the US (the greener grass thing, so much so that I did not care if I ended up in NYC or Helena, Montana. Well, I ended up in one of those big towns where they have lots of Abeshas (not DC). The first month was okay. Since I was not done with high school, I enrolled myself in school and that was when I was electrocuted with cultural shock. The first year, every Friday, I would sit on my bed and cry myself to sleep. It was like a ritual. On Saturdays I would write letters to all my friends - I even wrote a letter to my Amharic teacher who was on a mission to expel me from school - it was that bad. Ask me how many letters I write nowadays?

Initially, I tried to befriend the Cindy and the Amandas of America - that was an experience by itself. Cindy 'nna Amanda Qil eras honew tegeNu. I got tired of being their "show and tell" friend from Africa. Well, I gave up on Americans and started to socialize in the international community. I scored high with the West African guys --- y'agerbet wez ---and I suspect some of the Nigerian ladies (very hostile) have cast some voodoo on me because occasionally I go to a different level [ of high? Do you smoke what we smoke?-- SELEDA]. Zemed kezemedu aheya kamedu ende'mibbalew, I tried to associate with the Abeshas in the community and that was the biggest shock. My perception of Abeshas was way out there-it was painted through my limited exposure to the all girls school I went to, the frequent visits to St. Joseph and ICS, and my limited visit to the hibret suQ. I did not have a single thing in common with those Abesha's. I had much better conversations with BirQe-our maid back home (she is definitely more engaging than the average American and even more so than the first batch of Ethiopians I came across). In fact, of all people, I missed her the most. I even sent her some money from my first paycheck for all the things I had done to her. Wow, I never knew BirQe was like a confidant: whatever I could not tell my family, I told her. She heard it all. Besides getting a better appreciation for BirQe's service and companionship, I found myself questioning many things. I had many self-dialogues that would creep the heck out me. I am one of those people who tends to reflect on life more so than the average person. Believe me, it is not fun. I knew from before that I was reflective but not this badly. I believe that the unexamined life is not worth living, but I have modified that saying--- better live an unexamined life than an overly examined life--- that's a sure way to drive yourself...I am even scared of the word…

I am still adjusting day-by-day, but I don't think I will ever claim this, for that matter, anywhere Home. Don't get me wrong, I still think America is great - but there is still this gigantesque void in my life that makes me sad from time to time. Sometimes I feel like we are the lost generation. One who could not completely acclimate to America, yet who would not be completely fulfilled living in Ethiopia.

If you have read this LD, congratulations!--- You just saved me a fortune on therapy…

Betemesasai program eskenigenaN,

RomaneworQ

From:        Melak?
To:            RomaneworQ
Subject:    Kertatta hiwot…

RomaneworQ,

"Bien Venue to my world" to you too … So I see we belong to the same club! No, no, not the club where our Seledawian 'friends'in tight leather jeans with whips and handcuffs regularly visit to charm and seduce poor victims into stripping their clothes for a Life Diary , but the other club, the one to which twenty-somethings born around the time of Idget BeHibret belong to: Club de Generation Fafa. But why do I get the feeling you were the Cerelac lovin' type? "Send me yebole mini burger"? "Ye-Enriko cake" ?? Minnew? IyaLE yeKidane Bet fool, yeQebericho Quanta firfir, yeYohannes bet Kitfo"??

Well, it is that August again, the month that marks the beginning of my ninth year in the US. Ilil Ilil Aylulet wei Ayanebulet … Roman, who do you think was blessed first with feathers – birds or time. I would say time, because that sucker can sure fly! Wasn't it just yesterday that I was walking around Merkato, shopping for luggage and for that new 'imported from America' sports shoes that was to put me at par with my cousins when I got to the US? "Gashe, iwnet iwnet ilotalehu, beTam beTam Qonjo CHamma new, keAmerica". Of course, you get to the US and find out that, not only did the pair of shoes cost more, it should not even have passed quality control WHEREVER it manufactured!

My departure from home, unfortunately, did not make history like yours did. Rather, it was marked with the sad, and at the same time, happy tears of a very close-knit family. Unlike you (and many others), I was not exiled … I made a choice, and in the process, I lost a bit of my soul. When I decided to leave the home I loved more than I loved myself, I could feel silent tears drilling a hole in my heart, and some of my soul escaping through that. But like millions of my generation at that time, I was a prisoner of reality – the reality of limited choices and opportunities at home and of a better future in the US. The grass looked greener on the other side, and it was indeed greener. I was among the fortunate few: two days before our senior year graduation, I received a congratulatory letter from a liberal arts college promising me a free ride, a college which, months earlier, had told me there was no such thing as a free ride. A new journey had just began.

Nine years and six strands of shibet later (sign of wisdom? hmmm …), I have to say the past eight years have been one hell of a fun ride! I give it a thumbs up (let me hold off with the other thumb though, for who knows what tomorrow holds!?) …. Yet, the clenched hand with the thumbs up, unclenched, does reveal a palm with zigzagged lines, a journey that has not entirely been so smooth.

The first four years of my US life (minus a semester abroad in Europe) were spent at a college in the Mid-West that was liberal in every sense of the way. KeHagere indeEnsra teshekimme yameTahuwaChew excitement and naivete were quickly replaced by shock and bewilderment. RomaneworQ, talk about culture shock. You would be walking down the dining hall, and there would be a huge CLOSET standing by the door that wasn't there the last time you ate dinner. There would be a mob cheering, and the closet would fling open, and there would be your Cindy 'nna Amanda, tongue and lip and what have you in unity, coming out of the closet. You would be at the party thrown by Doug the white Rastafarian, who took a shower once a week to conserve water, where Mr. KKK and Mr. Black Panther would be at each other's throat. My next room neighbor cultivated a large marijuana estate IN his room [I don't remember inhaling, but I am sure at some point I exhaled … "Sebera Zena: Kilil ZeTena-sebatn weklew leShengo yeMiwedaderut Ato Melak? tegaleTu]". I had a couple of kids in math class that would communicate with themselves in Klingon, apparently a language spoken by the Klingones in Star Trek!?? Everyone and their mother, father and grandparent was represented on campus.

Drinking was more than the norm; for many, it was an art. How you dug your teeth into the side of the Budweiser can and downed the entire beer in one gulp made you a hero. Kids would be running naked after a blizzard (and it got mighty cold down there), with body parts flapping and clapping, which would be headline material for the college paper. Yet, as crazy as it was, it was also a place of passionate movements, from feminism to vegetarianism. Whether for or against, people felt strongly about them, and they made themselves heard one way or another. Race mattered. Tensions heightened and thawed. I was confronted and they had no mercy on me. Are you black? Are you a chauvinist? What do you think of women? Why are you a Christian? Why did you come to America? Here I was, a typical Addis kid, for whom things were black or white. I was punched, bruised, mutilated. And then there were the classes kicking my butt.

Somewhere during the third year, I stopped trying to fit in – I mean, where do you even fit in such a crazy place? I had my own clique, and I indulged in the craziness – Sile y'agerbet wez banawera yishalal. All of a sudden you are this 'exotic African', where everyone would like to bond with you. Now, I have come to realize that the best thing I took away from college next to four years of excellent academic instruction, was having grown, matured and evolved without having to fit in to any particular group (sad though, because society will always try to group me into some group). By the time I graduated, strong friendships had been formed, many had earned my respect, shock had turned into tolerance, and things were no longer black and white. Other shades of color had entered my life. And by the time I graduated, college had become home away from home.

And of course, by the time I graduated, I also had no idea of what to do next with my life. I kept my interest and passion for what I wanted to do in life at heart, but I was worn out by college, home away from home, exhausted of rural America, and longing for a life in a big city on my own. School was the last thing on my mind, and had you then told me that I would, in two years time, be a serious graduate student at an Ivy League institution, I would have thought you were seeing my marijuana tujar neighbor from college … So, I packed my bags and moved to a big city in New England (another home away from home) where they have lots of habeshas (not DC) … sound familiar? Could you have been there as well? Could our paths have crossed? Could you be the reason why every Koffi, Boateng, and Kwame I met there talked about a beautiful Ethiopian woman?

I didn't choose the city I moved to for its habesha population. In fact, I had no idea there were that many habeshas there. But it was a pleasant surprise, and part of me desperately wanted to connect with my own people. And after college, I definitely needed to connect with my people. So I went in search of my peeps. But just as much as virtue has its costs, so did the principles and values I cultivated over the four years. When it came to my own community, I didn't know I could get naïve. I refused to be selective -- I wanted to embrace every habesha, and I wanted to be embraced in return. I didn't care what you did for a living, for your ethnicity, for the size of your pocket, for the lightness or darkness of your skin color, for your age, for your style, for why you left your country … Well, I quickly learnt it did matter for some people and that you can get burnt for it. And I got burnt for it. For some, where I went to high school mattered, the fact I did not consider myself in exile mattered, what my father did for a living mattered, the fact I considered myself black mattered, the fact that I loved my Africaness as much as I loved my Ethiopianess mattered, that I didn't laugh or nod at the phrase 'bisbis baria' mattered … Now, looking back, I say, heck yeah, maybe it SHOULD matter. After all, our values and principles define us. And if one can't deal with it, well, I guess that's just their problem. Just as much as I got burnt, I also made good friends. And I didn't need to have much in common to be friends with them. However, there was always one common denominator – we all came from the same type of socio-economic background. And just as much as I want to believe that that shouldn't be a factor, it seems for some of us habeshas (and I will speak collectively so as not to sanctify myself), the socio-economic background we come from or live in can make or nullify a friendship and/or even determine the level of communication we can have with one another… could that be true? could it be the reason is why you couldn't click with your peeps? Had you met BirQue in the US, would you have clicked with her?

Ok, let me bounce … I know I have blubbered too much (I pray you are awake), but the cultured and mannered person I am, I wanted to introduce you first to some of my homes away from home. But my real home will always be the home where I spent two thirds of my life, and where I intend to live out my life.

IyeTebekugn beGugut

YanChiw Melak?

On to Entry Two