Scenes from “Jolly Bar”

Arat Kilo’s “Public Library”, Courtesy of Blen Tilahun

Of boyz and men

After hearing the bad news of my favorite newspaper not being published back home anymore, and that my favorite journalists were on the run; I made my way to the facebook profile of one of these journalists. To mastezazen, you know. The way you do at “leQso bet”s. To shake the head, to suck the lips, to dig for info. To ask “meche, endet, weldowal?!”. And, like most leQso bett visits, i came out hardly able to contain my laughter.

The source of this [cruel, inappropriate, uninvited] amusement is the words this journalist friend chose to show his online status with. It read:

Cursed to think. Cursed to speak. Cursed to be born in a place where you cant think or speak. Cursed not to bow down. Cursed to be surrounded by those who master the art of bowing down. Me and my kinds In Ethiopia are truly BORN UNDER A BAD SIGN.

Call it what you will:

Deep
Philosophical
Bitter—-ical
Lacking in precision (I mean, “can’t think”?!)

[I called it "heavy". Too heavy to try & read into at 7:19 a.m, before a girl had her morning fill of Folgers' classic roast -- not that light-brown "special" thingy which tastes like a perfume]

But you can’t help notice, for a facebook status, it is too melodramatic. And like all melodramas, it seems laden with seeds of, dare i say it?, insincerity! Like a fit a cousin would throw at the sight of you, about being robbed on a minibus, before you even have a chance to say howdy and demand she return the money she swore she’d give back this morning. Making you wanna apologize and slither out with a heart-felt “you don’t have to explain it to me, Sile/Netsa/Enu. Honest you don’t! I believe you [--were scared of being thrown in jail, and would have never dreamed of coming to America, and garner the privileges dished out to persecuted journalists, if it weren't for that fear].

Now a line from Forrest Gump:

There was this man, giving a little talk. And for some reason, he was wearing an American flag for a shirt… and he liked to say the “F” word. A lot. “F” this and “F” that. And every time… he said “F” word, people, for some reason, well, they’d cheer.

Welcome to the great US and A, guys. Enjoy your first few weeks .

Desperate times/desperate measures

After I showed the following article a friend sent me to Chris, he told me this joke people used to tell in the good ole times. Before the recession, you know. Before the mighty-ones were brought to their knees. And yours truly left home to come to everybody else’s ‘Promise Land’ to stand next to a woman in a wheelchair, a retired gentleman and a pregnant teenage girl chatting with a young man who gives the impression of having been in jail until of late to look for a job at her local Manpower employment center. It’s a “Yo Momma” joke. “Yo Momma is so poor, a village in Africa is fundraising for her”.

[He appologized later, remembering my African roots. I told him I'd survive].

But the following ain’t no joke. It’s a report Associate Presse’s Samantha Henry posted 9 hours ago. It’s entitled Immigrants in US are asking for money from home. I’m posting it here so you’d know it could have been worse and say “የባሰ አታምጣ”. የባሰ ከመጣም .. to remember “where there is a will, there is a way”. For some, that way may just be 15 minutes away.

- Read article.
- Email article to that member of your family who starts their ሰላምታ with the listing of money-related woes.
- Ask for a PayDay Loan.

Art immitating life, or life immitating art? (or does it even matter?)

Peter Pan’s Statue @ Carl Schurz Park

After watching part of the interview Micheal Jackson gave Martin Bashir, “Living with Micheal Jackson”, where he made that infamous statement about sharing your bed with kids being “the most loving thing to do”, I decided to google “Peter Pan”. [Whose story I came across and got hooked on in the movie "Hook", and watched (under the pretense of renting it for my pre-teen kins) over and over until the video cassette no longer works. Maybe there is a child in all of us that never grows up. And maybe there should be a child in all of us that never grows up. How else can we credit stories of flowery heavens, brim-stoned hells and ideas like "true" and "unconditional love"].

I googled, then Binged, Peter Pan (just to see what the big deal was; found none) and learned he was a character created by Scottish novelist and playwright J.M. Barrie:

“..a mischievous boy who can fly and magically refuses to grow up … spending his never-ending childhood adventuring on the small island of Neverland, as the leader of his gang the Lost Boys, interacting with mermaids, Indians, fairies and pirates, and from time to time meeting ordinary children from the world outside.”

The fact that J.M. Barrie shared the first two alphabets of his name with the late “King of Pop” — M.J., interested me. I decided to read a bit more about him. How he came up with the idea and what people’s reaction to it was. I was in for a major surprise & a more interesting read than the story I first set out to — you know — read. In that the biography of this … Barrie dude has a striking resemblance to that of Humbert Humbert’s, the middle aged protagonist of Nabokov’s “Lolita” [who "becomes obsessed and sexually involved with a 12-year-old girl named Dolores Haze"]. Right from the caged childhood, to the befriending of a parent to get to a minor, to the loathing of the marriage bed ["Greatest horror" he once wrote "—dream I am married—wake up shrieking"], right down to the faking of wills & screwing up of a child’s future.

Maybe Micheal wouldn’t have gushed about Peter Pan, using him as an excuse for misconduct, it seems, so freely if he knew what a creepy midget the man who conceived him was. Or realized the very words used to describe the latter’s freakish dispositions ["asexual" when it comes to women, "impotent" when it comes to his unconsummated marriage, and "loving to play with other people's kids" when it comes to his fellowship preference] would one day be used to describe …him–self. Or……. did he know, and tried to take advantage of “the naughtiness and evil passions with which [kids] go to bed with” before they “wake in the morning with [their] beautifully aired.. spread out … prettier thoughts, ready for [them] to put on.”?!

[One can only wonder!]
Sources:

• Was the author of Peter Pan a pedophile?
• Finding Neverland
• J.M. Barrie and Peter Pan

For those who haven’t read the original book, here is a free copy of Peter Pan: The Boy Who Would Never *Grow Up To Be A Man*.

Related Post:
* Prisoners of Love: The New Michael Jackson Tribute.

Michael, እንደ Ethiopia ዘመን አቆጣጠር

In the beginning were “The Jackson Five”. Then “Thriller”. Then “We are the World”.

 “People faint while he sings”, my mother told me once, “they cry… and scream. It’s as if they are possessed by evil spirit”.

Then came the change of looks. The skin “rush”. The funny nose.

 “They say part of his face is already gone”, my cousin Netsanet joked, “that’s why he wears masks, to hide it”.

He then became a pedophile, a circus-freak, a clown who avoided company and slept in an oxygen-filled tank.

We cussed him out: First we cussed his dad, for beating him. Then we cussed his talent, for putting him in the spot-light at such a young age. Then we cussed him, for the decisions he made.

We were going to cuss him more, and he was going to take it. We counted on that. What we didn’t count on, what we didn’t imagine he’d do, was give up and die. And, by dying, remind us all the joys he once brought us. The charities. The wonders. The “thrills”. Of “Micheal Dabo”. Of “Micheal jacket & Micheal suri”. Of “YeMicheal Jackson aynet tsegur aQoraret”.

Rest in Peace, M.J. You will be missed!

Related posts:
Ethiopia: Remembering Micheal Jackson
Ethiopia artists, fans and media mourn Micheal Jackson’s death
The world mourning Micheal Jackson’s death

K’naan: A pirate with a guitar

Dressing the part

I was hoping somebody would bring this subject up and I’ll be allowed to give my distinguished opinion about it . Nobody did, so i decided to do the dirty work myself – with, ofcourse, some help from npr.org. For, as the Home Depot commercial would tell you, doing it on your own doesn’t mean doing it alone.

For those of you who don’t know who the guy on your right is, his name is K’naan Warsame. He is a Somali-Canadian poet/musician/rapper born in the district of Wardhiigleey (“The River of Blood”) and brought up in “the meanest streets in the universe”, or ‘the risky zone’ as he calls it, “full of pistols and russian revolvers”.

His mission:
Seeing to it that the “average Somalis”, the “most forgotten people in the world”, have a voice other than all the voices that talk about them & drawn their’s. Voices of “violent warlords, or pirates hijacking ships off the coast”. He’s made it, the above mentioned website reports, L.A. Times’ “an artist to watch” list after:

His first album, 2006’s The Dusty Foot Philosopher, was a hit with critics here and abroad. His latest, Troubadour, features Mos Def and Damian Marley .. The Guardian called him “powerfully low-key, theatrical [and] witty.”

And what was it about him I was hoping a reader would bring up & i comment?!
In a word copyright. In two words, copyright violations. This up and coming Somali rapper has been accused by Ethiopians of violating international copy right laws; in the form of copying/stealing/taking without permission or acknowledgement some beats that are rightfully ours. The beats he allegedly copied/stole/took with neither permission nor acknowledgement are “the original composers and singers of Ethiopia namely Tilahun and Alemayhu eshte”. A special attention has been brought, both by Nazret.com and Jimma times, to this song.

I, being one of those who give more attention to the ‘giTim’ instead of a rhythm of a song ( although my Introduction to Poetry teacher at AAU, one Wondwossen Adane, another genius on his own right, repeatedly said a song won’t be a song without the beat), am no more bothered by it than I would by anyone around my age “kilil” winning the celebrity status. And he’s an awesome geTami, this ‘weriha’, of an experience most of us went through back home and continue to [go through] abroad, as this poem here amply proves. [Did i just add myself to the list of "most of us abroad"?! You'd think i've been "affer meGfatting" for 30 years, instead of 3 months; well.. the first 6 months are supposed to be the hardest ].

More importantly, I believe in giving credit where credit is due. For it’s no secret to us how if there is something the Somalis are good at, it’s piracy. It’s not bringing their issues to the table and thrashing it out, it’s not having ambitions that are realistic by nature (Barre’s outrageous day dreamings and Aweys’ blabberings come to mind), it isn’t even going without “chaat” for a couple of days. It’s piracy. Taking what doesn’t belong to them and making profit out of it. [And ..oh yeah.. renting a room in groups that has a landline telephone; making long distance calls to their various relatives in the UK and Canada, talk for hours on end and disappearing when the bill shows up. They are good at that stuff!] Not to mention how “counterfeiting” is “tirsachewin neQlewu yaDeGubet muya”. But a friend of mine has been pretty chocked up about it, to the point of asking me to do a post on it [which I, loyal to my loyalty to the "Dusty foot philosopher", refused], then giving VOA’s Amharic Service a call and alerting them of the theft. Then alerting me of the call. [I know, it's pretty confusing ]. “Well..”, I said to self last night (while pacing the room with a sleeplessness that bordered with insanity), “he’s been a ‘lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path’ these past few months, giving me pointers on what to do and when — to make the American transition easier. He’s also been my source for any mischievous act Meles or his government has committed lately . Lemme google the songs and give the post a try”.

Here are my findings. I’ll start with 15 Minutes away, which just became one of my favorite songs of all times. [Tiny Western Union office on "Global Hintsa", biresash Qegne yirsagn!!]. America, ABC’s and I come prepared.

You tube and The Official K’NAAN Website has a lot more.

The fairgrounds

I was at the 2009 San Diego County Fair at Del Mar Fairgrounds the other day. I saw a couple of things I only knew on tv (the fun-zone where you get to ride some pretty scary machines, banjee-jump or walk into the “house of horror” and have your childhood nightmares come to life). None of this, ofcourse, can be compared to the thrill of seeing a handful of fellow fair-ers who look — well — Ethiopian. One or two of them even had a bag or a hat with a “green/yellow/red” color on it. I didn’t have the guts to approach them and ask “abesha neh/nesh?”. Apparently, they didn’t too.

Wished you were here, Babi and Blen. For now, though, check out my mobile-collection of:

The outside scenery

Poetry Jam, abesha style

Selam All,

This past Sunday, we had a wonderful time at the Tsehai Poetry Jam. So today, we have posted the best of Poet/Photographer Richard Beban photographs from Sunday’s incredible ‘Little Ethiopia: Intergenerational Conversation’ Poetry Jam presented by PEN USA, the Ethiopian Heritage Foundation and Tsehai Publishers.

This video will be posted in the near future. The photos are at my Flickr site as a set to browse through, or, if you just want to relax and not move a finger, as a slideshow.

Since we will have similar program at the Tsehai Conferences in Chicago, stay tuned by visiting The 4th Annual Interantional Tsehai Conferences. If you are a poet and would like to get involved, let us know. We would love to hear your feed back.

Akbariwo,
Elias Wondimum

Publisher & Editorial Director
Tsehai Publishers
Loyola Marymount University
One LMU Drive, UH 3012, Los Angelse, CA 90045

The million $ question

Out of sheer boredom, and because “The heartbreaking work of a staggering genius” was no where to be found, I took Dave Eggers’ “What is the What” to the Starbucks corner of Barnes & Noble and started reading. The book, we are told, is an “Autobiography” of Valentino Achak Deng, a lost son of battle-weary Southern Sudan who flees his little village of Marial Bal, through the ‘howling grey desert’ of northern Kenya, through the ‘yellow nothing’ of Ethiopia, to the safety of Atlanta (where he & his friends got harassed, molested and robbed by those who blamed he and his friends’ ancestors for selling their ancestors into slavery). On the way, he has lost his family, his innocence and two of his childhood friends (who were killed by an Ethiopian, & female, soldier who lures them out of their hiding place by an unlikely invitation: “Come to Mother, children. Come to mother”).

Make haste not to judge [!] for there is more to the book than a handful of head-scratching scenarios. There is humor, there is wit, their is a vividness that makes putting it down, even after 6 hours of intent reading, a necessary evil. The icing, and the story that lend it’s name to the title, is the myth of creation by the Dinkas (the tribe to whom Achak belonged) his father used to relate to business acquaintances after a luxurious dinner, and around a cracking wood fire.

It goes:

“–When God created the earth, he first made us, the monyjang. Yes, first he made the monyjang, the first man, and he made him the tallest and strongest of the people under the sky…
“Yes, God made the monyjang tall and strong, and he made their women beautiful, more beautiful than any of the creatures on the land…
“…and whan God was done, and the monyjang were standing on the earth waiting for instruction, God asked the man, ‘Now that you are here, on the most sacred and fertile land I have, I can give you one more thing. I can give you this creature, which is called the cow…’
“…God showed man the idea of the cow, and the cow were magnificent. They were in every way exactly what the monyjang would want. the man and woman thanked God for such a gift, because they knew that the cow would bring them milk and meat and prosperity of every king. But God was not finished.
“…God said, ‘You can either have these cow, as my gift to you, or you can have the What.’
“…So the first man lifted his head to God and asked what this was, this What. ‘What is the What?’ the first man asked. And God said to the man, ‘I cannot tell you. Still, you have to choose. You have to choose between the cow and the What.’ Well then. the man and the woman could see the cow right there in front of them, and they knew that with cow they would eat and live with great contentment. They could see the cow were God’s most perfect creation, and that the cow carried something godlike within themselves. They knew that they would live in peace with the cow, and that if they helped the cow eat and drink, the cow would give man their milk, would multiply every year and keep the monyjang happy and healthy. So the first man and woman knew they would be fools to pass up the cow for this idea of the What. So the man chose cow. And God has proven that this was the correct decision. God was testing the man. He was testing the man, to see if he could appreciate what he had been given, if he could take pleasure in the bounty before him, rather than trade it for the unknown. And because the first man was able to see this, God has allowed us to prosper. The Dinka live and grow as the cow live and grow.
The grinning man tilted his head.
“–Yes, but uncle Deng, may I ask something?
My father, noting the man’s good manners, sat down and nodded.
“–You didn’t tell us the answer: What is the What?
My father shrugged. –We don’t know. No one knows.”

I haven’t finished reading the book so i haven’t discovered what the what is. However, I have a sneaking susupicion that it’s in search of this very “what” you and I are in this mess [otherwise known "as the Great US and A"). That we are going through whatever it is we are going through because of it. And would go through whatever we need go through due to, gosh darn it, our heedless refusal to settle for -- a cow. We had it coming, ladies and gentlemen! None but us is to blame!

So.. [anyhow.. anywho..]
You ponder over your brand of “what”. Eye will try to see if Achak got his figured out.

Oh.. Young love!

A writing on the sidewalk infront of KAHOOTS Pet Store (334 W El Norte Pkwy Escondido, CA)

 

 

“The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, but it did not collapse because its foundation was on the rock.“

Plus

Scott’s love for Heidi was stronger than his ability to spell her name correctly.

DTBaS, the sequel

We have talked about the row between Zemari Muluken Melese and Artist Bizuayehu Demissie under the post Daddy’s too big a shoe.

First, an explanation:
As you well know, the expression “walking in daddy’s shoes” shows a younger person’s desire, attempt or tendency to walk the way his/her father walked. “Be in his shadows”, so to say. Live his life. Behave his behaviors. Earn his rewards. It usually is a futile attempt at being bigger than self. For daddy would always be older, wouldn’t he?! Unless your mother is a cougar, married her toy-boy boyfriend who just happens to be younger than you yet expects you to see him as a “fatherly figure”, call him “dad” even, and you were the extremely obliging type. That is the way i understood the daddy shoe idiom/syndrome/whathaveyou, and that’s why i chose it for a title. [Feel free to disagree, but beMereja].

Bizuayehu Demissie is young, talented and (more importantly) ambitious. He sees himself as capable of singing. Singing, of all things, Muluken Melese’s songs the way the Idol did once. He believes he can get enough market for it too. Muluken, as we learned from his interview with VOA Amharic Service, does not think so.

And why am i bringing it up now?! Because I think it’s about time we voted on it and moved on. [And because Mazzi, God bless her heart, sent me Bizuayehu's re-makes for a "Medeberia". And because zSHARE has been so kind as to allow me upload it].

If you, therefore, haven’t already come across them, herebelow are a total of 12 (10 of Bizuayehu’s, two by Anteneh AbatuManew) remakes of Muluken Meles’s oldies goodies [or goldies] that made me view his songs with a new eye. The titles are self-explanatory so i would not dwell on them. But I’d dwell on one thing. The video I found on Daveox Space when googling for photos of the young Artist. It reads:

Let us respect the copyrights of our Ethiopian artists, recording artists and poets. Let us always buy the original products of their works, instead of asking for copies or duplicating and distributing them for free, for our artists need money to keep up with their creative works. By buying their original products, we are contributing and supporting them indirectly morally and financially to come up with more exciting ideas. So let us get conscious.

If you can’t see the irony in that, I don’t think you’d be able to see irony if it sits on your lap and calls you “mama” (“dadda” or whatever name ironies call their family members by when sitting on their lap).

Yene Qonjo, Yene Alem, Yebirhan Kokeb, Tizita, Tizez BeGelaye, Misikir Eyaye, BeGilts BaDebaBai, Endet Lichalew, Embwa Zebider, Che Belew, BerG’t Agegnesh woy and last, but not least, (oh maybe a little) Anteneh’s Kemekem & Emb’wa Bey Lamitu.

Enjoy!

Sara ist das neue Topmodel!

Here is a piece of information my friend Daniel, who once lived in Germany, sent me. Felt I should post everything for maxium effect :

By the way, yemitekim information bayhonim for someone like me who meketatel germany’s media online, it is surely des yilal. Germany’s Top Model, which is presented by the well known model Heidi Klum of Germany, ended yeserday. The winner is an ethiopian-born girl, Sara Nuru. Have a look at her at this link:

Video link

http://ecadforum.com/blog/2009/05/21/germanys-top-model-sara-nur/

The Article, with a little help from google, reads:

SARA is the new top model!

It was so exciting! Three hours long fought the “Germany’s Next Top Model ‘finalists for the title. It was exhausting, it was exciting, it was a head-to-head racing! Finally, the jury of Heidi Klum, and Peyman Amin Rolf Schneider decided:

SARA is the new top model!

The 19-year-old could not believe it, immediately broke into tears.

And then: Warf they only look at moms arms …

Heidi after the show to its decision: “In Sara, we have a special sparkle in the eyes. She has a great figure, a great charisma – and is still nice! ”

And Sara overjoyed to BILD: “I can not grasp – I had so often during the show, the feeling is not to create.”

Sara Nuru is the winner – from over 21 000 candidates! About three months of hard work and competition are behind her. Now she has done it.

Your price: A title-shooting with the German “Cosmopolitan,” a new car and advertising contracts with C & A and the cosmetics company Maybelline Jade (together with a value of 200 000 euros). Moreover beckons an international career as a top model …

Hmmm.. I wonder what a feeling that “is not to create” like . Indescribable? Unimaginable? Unearthly?!

I, the hypocrite

Speaking of truth being crucified, who watched American Idol last night? I did, because the news anchor woman on SanDiego6 was going frantic with worry over who will take the prize (Lambert, apparently, hails from “America’s Finest City”).

“I know this guy”, I said to myself when the man behind the frenzy appeared on the screen, “it’s the tranny all those school girls were going crazy over the other day. Why not watch it and see what happens?”. So I lingered around way after “The Simpsons” was over. Needless to say, I was rooting for the other guy. The clean shaved, Freddie Prinze Jr.-look alike Alen who appears even shorter next to his fellow finalist. What’s more, i can clearly see how the heavily-made up Lambert made it so far (and why those annoying little girls were screaming their guts out for him). He was good! He has a presence! Some body! Some voice. If after seeing him on the street, you don’t turn to look at him again and aren’t haunted by his looks, then you are one of those fatherly figures who don’t see where you are going [my dad never did]. So i rooted for the dim figure beside him. I am Ethiopian [after all], I feel gays could be “straightened” out with a simple wag of the finger. I also have a soft spot for a lost cause, and a soccer team whose players run mechanically around only out of pride.

Near the end, ofcourse, my heart was torn between the two. I wanted the best man to win. But I didn’t want the winner to come with ‘tiFFir Qelem”. So i tried to sooth the rotten feeling with a typical “Brokeback Mountain” argument. I told myself this just wasn’t the time to make a homo/bi/transsexual guy an “Idol”. Remember your new best friends, I asked me. The Republicans?! And their conservative friends? They won’t take this lying down. No sir they won’t! And that would be one more can of worms this government can’t afford to open. “He’d understand”, i concluded, “coming this far is a victory by itself for someone like him”. “He chose to be gay, that’s what sealed his fate”. “All of us pay for our choices, after all”. “Etc”.

Alas, none of it made me feel any better.

Would it have been easier if i weren’t born with a consciousness? Or that i, like many around me, didn’t live by double standards?!

Related:
Adam Lamber’s Duet with Susan Boyle