Home Sweet Home
By Adugnaw Worku
April-June 2001
The month was October and the year was 1971. Having graduated from high school the year before, I was now getting ready to go to Australia for college education. Before I left for Australia, I went to the village of my birth in northwest Ethiopia to say good bye to family and friends and did so with mixed emotions. On one hand, the prospect of going overseas to study and experience another culture was exciting. But on the other hand, fear of the unknown and leaving family and friends behind for such a long time created intense feelings of anxiety within me. Despite such feelings, however, my mind was made up and there was no turning back. Everything was ready for my long trip to Australia.
As Alitalia lifted off from Bole International Airport, I looked out of the window and saw Addis Ababa from the air for the first time. As soon as I settled in my seat, a conversation my father and I had just days before began ringing in my ears. In that conversation, he asked me when I planned to return home and I told him that I would return as soon as I finished my education. Knowing my father, I expected a follow-up question to my response. “How long will it take you to finish your education?” my father asked. “Probably four years,” I said. He took a deep breath and said, “that is a long time!” I reminded him of what he used to tell me about time when I was a young boy. “Time flies!” was one of his favorite sayings. But some how, that expression did not seem to fit this situation. After all, I was leaving for a far away country and for such a long time. For the record, my parents lived in a small village called Agdamoch in South Gonder and they were dealing with a serious break in family tradition in my case at this time.
To make my story clearer, let me share my background briefly. I was born and brought up in rural Gonder and my parents were peasant farmers. From age six to ten, I was a shepherd and from age ten to fourteen and half years of age, I worked along side my father as a young farmer plowing with oxen the old fashioned way. Like my childhood friends, I did not know how to read and write and I was destined to live out my life on the family farm following family tradition. But something happened one day to change my life drastically and forever.
It was timket (epiphany) time in our St. George church and my friends and I decided to go to the all-night celebration as we had done many times before. The time was approximately eight o’clock in the evening and the moon was not out that night. As we walked in single file through a heavily wooded area, the person walking in front of me pulled a thorny branch and let it go without warning me. That branch hit me in the center of my left eye destroying my lens and scratching my cornea. The accident left me effectively blind in the left eye. And to make matters even worse, the accident also caused cataract to develop. There was a white patch over my left eye and that plus the loss of vision was a devastating experience for me. My parents brought the best herbal medicine men and women from the surrounding villages but my injury defied any and all traditional medical wisdom. Then, my father’s brother suggested that I should go to Debre Tabor and see a doctor. I walked to Debre Tabor with a group of merchants and saw a doctor from Norway by the name of Dr. Christian Hogganvik. Dr. Hogganvik examined my eye and told me that he was a general practitioner and could not help me. Once more, I was very disappointed and discouraged. Fortunately, there is a good ending to this otherwise painful story. While at Debre Tabor, I observed students going to school, reading books, writing stories and letters, and studying. And I realized that I was missing out on some thing very valuable. So, I decided right there and then to go to school.
The problem was that I did not have permission from my parents and I did not have any money at all to support me through school. To make a long story short, I went around asking people for help and both fellow Ethiopians and overseas missionaries helped me through school. I will never forget their encouragement and generosity as long as I live. I owe them who and what I am personally and professionally. Now, let us return to my trip to Australia.
Life in Australia proved to be more than I expected and it took me about two years before I felt comfortable with the culture and the educational system. I was one of two black students in the whole college and I was very lonely. The first year was especially tough and I was tempted several times to leave and go where I could find other Ethiopians. But where would I find other Ethiopians in that part of the world? I tried to find Ethiopians anywhere in Australia but there were none to be found in those days. The other black student was from the island of New Guinea in the South Pacific and he was just as home sick as I was.
In 1974, I began my junior year feeling better and more comfortable about life in Australia and looked forward to graduating the following year. I began debating whether or not I should return home after graduation as I promised my father or go for graduate school while I was at it. I decided to go to graduate school in the United States of America and did just that in 1976. By then, the Ethiopian revolution that overthrew Emperor Haile Selassie was well underway and there was an air of uncertainty among Ethiopians at home and abroad as to how events would progress.
My career goal was to teach history in Ethiopia and I hoped and prayed that things would soon settle down in Ethiopia so I could return home as planned. But there was no such luck. Political events in Ethiopia went from bad to worse and the revolution began devouring the best and the brightest Ethiopians sending shock waves throughout the country and abroad. I asked my history professor at Andrews University in Michigan for permission to write my papers and projects on the Ethiopian revolution and began to read any thing on the subject that I could lay my hands on. And I was horrified by the atrocities committed by the government as well as its opponents. Stories of abduction, detention, persecution, torture, and cold and calculated murders found their way to newspapers, magazines, and radio and television programs with graphic details. I clearly remember feeling angry, helpless, and confused. Despite my readings of man’s inhumanity to man throughout history, I found it difficult to believe that my Ethiopia and my people would experience such barbaric treatment. How could this happen in a thoroughly traditional and fervently religious country like Ethiopia? Political violence in general and political killings and persecutions in particular were not new in Ethiopian history but nothing comes close to this magnitude and intensity.
Religious values, cultural sensibilities, and national pride seemed to have disappeared overnight and it was the worst of times in the history of our country. Ethiopians still mourn the deaths of hundreds and thousands of their friends and loved ones. Hundreds and thousands more are condemned to life in exile to this day. Many fellow Ethiopians and I now live in exile haunted by broken promises to family and friends. The instinct for survival has forced us to change our plans to return home and we now live in many countries of the world as citizens and resident aliens. This was not meant to be.
In earlier times, most, if not all, Ethiopians who went abroad returned home joyful and proud. Sadly, that possibility changed during the Derg era. Ethiopians abroad applied for political asylum hoping that better times would return and that we would all go home soon. Unfortunately, communist politics under Mengistu Hailemariam was replaced by ethnic politics under Meles Zenawi and all hopes to return home have since become remote. In fact, countless Ethiopians in Ethiopia itself now dream and scheme to leave the country by whatever means necessary in search of a better life in foreign countries. This is indeed a sad commentary.
In my case, my father’s worst fears have come true because I have not been able to fulfill my promise. I did not return to Ethiopia even for a visit for twenty nine years. During a telephone conversation with my father some time ago, he told me that he had given up hope about my return to Ethiopia. And I did not know what to say to him in response. I remember saying to him, “only God knows the future and let us hope for the best.” Deep down, I knew that my father’s conclusion about my permanent absence from Ethiopia is true. Until and unless Ethiopian politics is tamed by the rule of law, the likelihood of yet another violent event can not be ruled out. To some, this may sound like an excuse not to return. But as long as there are political prisoners without due process and human rights violations for political reasons, Ethiopia will continue to be unsafe for those who challenge the status quo.
After more than twenty-nine years, I finally felt compelled to return home and visit family and friends and I did just that in November of 2000. Fortunately, my parents are still alive and I was privileged to be with them at home once again. A six-week visit was not exactly a fulfillment of my promise to my father but it certainly was better than not seeing each other at all. After six weeks, I had to say good bye once more and it was extremely painful. My 85 year old father broke down and cried when I left and I cried my heart out with him. I promised my parents that I would visit them more often in the future but they were skeptical. My track record so far and their advanced years have made them wary of the fulfillment of such promises. As we know, there are no nursing homes and social security provisions in Ethiopia. In old age, parents rely on their children as their care takers and their social security. This situation more than any other weighs very heavily on those of us in the diaspora. All of us feel the pain of not being able to be with our loved ones when they need us most. Neither do we have the luxury of their presence when we need them most physically and emotionally.
Since I returned from my recent visit to Ethiopia, I have been asked how I found today’s Ethiopia compared to the Ethiopia I left behind in 1971. A short article can not do justice to answer this question and to everyone’s satisfaction. But I will try.
While I was in Ethiopia from the middle of November to the beginning of January, I travelled widely stretching from Gonder to Arsi and talked to many people from all walks of like. Let me provide a disclaimer before I go any further. My reflections here are not based on exhaustive and formal research and as a professional I would want to be fair and objective to all concerned.
One big difference between the Ethiopia I left behind in 1971 and the one today has to do with the political arrangement of the country. Whereas Ethiopia under Emperor Haile Selassie was truly a unitary state with provinces formed along natural boundaries, ethnic federalism has now been forced down the reluctant throat of the country. In the past, one was considered Ethiopian first and then belonged to an ethnic group. Now, the reverse seems to be the case. The two words I heard over and over from the official media in Ethiopia were the words kilil and the name of the ethnic group in that particular kilil. It felt as if the word kilil has replaced the word Ethiopia and everyone I talked to resents it with a passion.
My observations and conversations with many people from all walks of life have indicated that the current government has serious credibility gaps with the people over this issue. Ethnic federalism and the cessationist constitution that upholds it elicit heated debates among educated people and ordinary citizens alike. Ethnic federalism and article 39 of the constitution granting cessation will remain the government’s Achilles heel. And it does not appear likely that the current regime in Ethiopia will change this policy any time soon. But if the government fails to convince the population and if this matter is actively challenged, the government’s only option will be to resort to force to keep it in place. And this will not bode well for the long term stability of the country.
Two other areas that caught my attention as being different are the sharp increase in population and the extent of deforestation in the country at large. When I arrived in Addis Ababa and drove through the city, I immediately noticed how crowded the streets are with people. As the old saying goes, “yemebelaw sata lijie tirs aweta.” Overpopulation and low economic development equal abject poverty. This matter is worrisome indeed. Deforestation is a serious problem as well. I went to visit the village where I was born and grew up and the trees I used to know are all gone with no replacement. Most Ethiopians are still dependent on wood for fuel and construction and trees do not grow over night. Deforestation and overpopulation are two areas any government in Ethiopia will have to grapple with for the foreseeable future.
On the positive side, I was able to travel and move around the country freely and without any apparent risk. I was also able to talk to people without looking over my shoulders. While in Addis Ababa, I chose to read the independent newspapers and magazines to get a sense of how the opposition to the government feels. I also watched Ethiopian television and read government sponsored papers for balance. It was obvious to me that the current Ethiopian government has allowed a degree of free expression often critical of the regime. I say this with full recognition of alleged harassment of the free press by the government. The government must understand that freedom of expression is a prerequisite for a free society and it must stop the alleged harassment of the free press. Having said that, one must recognize the fact that what did not exist during Haile Selassie’s regime and that of the Derg regime exists today. There is a degree of free expression, however limited, that may be. One would hope that the free expression of ideas will become a tradition in Ethiopia regardless of what regime is in power at a given time.
Another change I was able to recognize is religious freedom. While I was in Addis Ababa, I witnessed the celebration of the end of the Moslem fast on a grand scale and it was widely covered by the national press including Ethiopian television. It appears that there is no one religion dominating all others with government support. My recollection is that such was not the case in times past. For the record, Emperor Haile Selassie had declared faith to be personal and Ethiopia as a country common to all citizens. But in reality, some religions had better recognitions and more advantages than others. The Derg, of course, was equally brutal to all religions. Now, the religious playing field seems to be levelled as far as government policies are concerned.
In conclusion, I was very pleased to be able to visit my country and my people after twenty nine long and frustrating years. I hope and pray that our beloved Ethiopia will experience peace and prosperity for all and that our violent political culture will be replace by the rule of law which respects and guarantees human rights for all. Ethiopia and Ethiopians can not afford to rewrite the constitution and the national anthem every generation. And those of us in the diaspora must be actively involved in the economic and political life of our country.
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Adugnaw Worku is Associate Editor of Ethiopian Review. He resides in northern Califnornia.