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!

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