[ad_1]
Aanne Ajjamaa, for Addis Standard
Addis Ababa, January 16/2019 – Turning off the ceiling light, I relaxed on the seat on board the plane and closed my eyes; I let my mind head for the house I wanted to visit for years. Not knowing what was waiting for me, I hurried to revisit all my memories one last time and wished that nothing had changed so I could relive them all again. I smiled at my selfishness. The lights came on and I heard the voice of a man saying, "Welcome to Ethiopia." The local time is at 8:00 am. "I looked out of the Airbus window just to see the dimly lit drenched track at because of the heavy rain that was pouring before we arrived – not the time I did not see the time to do. The endless skyscrapers of Addis Ababa (Finfinnee) are mostly unfinished. These skyscrapers helped to block the vision of the colorless rippled metal of the slums. The line was long, and I waited patiently with my family in our seats, while the first rows of tired and overloaded passengers gradually made their way through the narrow naval avenues.
Once we got out of the plane, we rushed to claim the baggage. I wanted to skip the boring waiting for suitcases and run out to greet family and friends, who had been waiting for hours. Unfortunately I could not, the process of getting our things took hours. Once all the baggage has been accounted for, I ran through the door. I immediately felt the cold weather that touched my skin. Loving the feeling I looked through, looking for familiar faces outside the terminal. "Xinnoo!" He was a close friend, more like a brother who was calling me with my nickname, waving his hand between other friends and relatives, who by chance knew of our arrival. That voice conveyed old memories and immediate familiarity, a security of comfort and belonging. I felt something I had not felt for years: a joy that can not be expressed in words. No single person needed my introduction here. I'm one of them. This is my house, I belong here. After long hugs and laughter, I turned around and proudly presented my children who were already waving and hugging everyone around them. After leaving the airport I noticed that the Bole area I knew was not there anymore. With more confusion and fun, we went to my aunt's house. Recently she moved to Tullu Dimtu, which is located on the outskirts of Addis Ababa / Finfinne, where more friends and relatives were waiting for us. As we traveled home, we got our first peak in Addis. The smell that came from the garbage on the sides of the streets bothered my children. Something that I absolutely did not want my new American children in the country to live on the first day of my arrival in my country.
to lose
Internet accessibility was a good experience. I felt like I was disconnected
from the world That afternoon I insisted on getting the phone. My niece brought us to
the Bole Medhanealem branch of Ethio Telecom, the state agency with a monopoly
on the country's telecommunications industry. I was told that we had to register
our phones there to get SIM cards and access the web. Standing inside
the endless line of people, I was horrified by anyone who spoke or
protesting, despite some people having cut the limit. After a while, mine
my husband and I decided to take responsibility for protecting the integrity of
the line. We kindly showed the new arrivals the end of the line. People that
they were online were pleasantly surprised and grateful for our actions. We have brought
our civic duty the same day of our arrival.
After a good night's sleep, we headed for the center of the city that I call home. The brief visit to Ililii Hotel, a famous hotel owned by Oromo in the city, was followed by a trip to the city's Abnet district. I could not recognize the streets that I once walked on a weekly basis. The area has completely changed. The once famous hotels are now invisible and small. Some of the changes in the city made me feel like a stranger. Probably because of my exposure to the concrete jungles of the west, everything in Addis seemed to me much smaller and old than before. My next stop was in the neighborhoods that hold the most precious of my memories. Gadam Sefer and Xaliyan Sefer are the neighborhoods of the city where I have the deepest connections. It's where I took my first breaths of air. The feeling of familiarity when you enter your neighborhood is unreal. I did not know how satisfying it would be until I finally stopped there. The gravel roads I knew now were paved with asphalt and pebbles. Even if it is a positive change, a part of me has felt this change robbed something from the originality of my childhood. I was disappointed in one way.
I grew up a lot
a close-knit community in which everyone knew each other. Something that remains the
the same until today. Everyone looks and takes care of one another. These
places are where the true loving and caring spirit of the community is archived.
With my unannounced return, I was able to confirm this notion. People took a shower
we with love and hospitality. Even if we kept telling them we had just done
Finished eating, they refused to listen, and they organized a tasty banquet for us
from the little they had. Here's how we do it at Taliyan Sefer, where
my mother taught us altruism and kindness.
In this neighborhood the mother I called mine is not only mine, but
also everyone's mother. In this neighborhood, love and happiness are organic –
something rich that inhabits large compounds tend to be lacking. In an exchange with Oprah, the comedian Trevor
Noah once explained how happy he was to be raised in a poor southern neighborhood
Africa saying "having less has forced you to enjoy what you have, which is each one
other. "Well in my neighborhood people enjoy each other's company.
It was great for me to come back as a tour guide for my children and my husband
which seems to come from a different part of the country. I wanted my children
be able to imagine the place and the education that helped make me become the
woman I am today
A few days later, we
he hired a rental car with our belongings and traveled to the city of Ambo, 120 km away
west of Addis where half of my family lives. I was anxiously eager to meet mine
relatives. We drove for less than two hours from Addis and we arrived in the dark.
There were a lot of machines and windows that covered the open spaces I once knew.
I can barely recognize the city that has completely changed from the last time
setting foot, we arrived at the residence of one of my aunts. As ours
the car stopped, she came out and hugged me tightly. Behind her
we were about ten people waiting for their turn to welcome us. We alternated
I greet everyone. I've just recognized none of them. Everyone had changed. I
I had to jog in my memory to remember who was who. After the introductions o
rather reintroductions, we sat down for dinner and coffee late at night. At dinner
table, I heard many firsthand stories of everyday life that for years was
half a world away from me. On this day, I sat among the survivors of the brutal
repression against the protests of Oromo in recent years by government forces
deployed with the order to shoot the demonstrators. Both was a hotbed of peace
resistance and protest activity. The city has suffered many victims like ours
Unarmed citizens and neighbors were killed as they marched through the streets
denouncing oppression. The young people of my bloodline are living witnesses of
horrors. Listening in silence while sharing reports of courage and value, me
he tried to imagine the chaos that they had to live. One of my nephews turned around
to me and asked "Do you know what made us move forward? Our pride." The pride of
dignity given by Waaqaa (the Creator). We simply refused to give up
dignity. "I heard all that day, their strategies for survival, the
promises dates one to the other. Even if they went to jail, they were beaten every day,
or lost their loved ones swore to carry on the protest movement.
"We would rather die head-on than to live with shame in our land." No
track of a desire for revenge in their voices only the pleasure of being able
to see the dawn of a new day. I listened to their stories as I watched the
scars on their faces. These were sentimental stories that I was listening to
course of an evening, whose events will surely drive me crazy
years to come.
The next morning, I got out of bed and opened the window to look out. Both was silent. Above the mountain there was a big cloud that covered the city. I looked through the morning clouds to remember something from the past. That morning, when friends and relatives joined us, we went to visit the university of Ambo. After our visit to the university campus, we went to my grandmother's house where my uncle now lives. My grandmother, Sinqii Anaa, was an important woman in the city, who died when I was in junior high. After a short but sweet stay at my grandmother's house, I walked around the neighborhood looking for anyone I could know. Later that afternoon, in the pouring rain, we rushed to our car and drove to the nearby town of Gincii. Gincii is also another historical place. The first protests of the revolutionary Oromo Protests movement took place in this city three years ago. It is that movement that rhetorically overturned the vase and subsequently inaugurated the era of the national reform in which Ethiopia is currently located. The historical revolt began in Gincii. There, we had time to converse with the Qeerroos. Qeerroo is the collective name given to the young Oromo who led the above-mentioned peaceful resistance to the armed assault of government troops. Fortunately, their sacrifices have not been in vain and those who died have contributed to the changes that the country has undergone this year. We have listened to their stories and complaints. Those complaints leave me worried until today. The staggering number of young unemployed people who feel left out of the fight for which they have paid a high price would be a problem. This was one of the many meetings that helped me to see the challenge that the country is facing behind all the celebrations. I would very much like to see an initiative to create community youth centers that can meet their needs. They need work, they need hope and they need to be heard. They are mostly neglected, which is worrying and should not be the case, considering their role in permanently harming the oppressive establishment.
The flight to Asosa in the Benishangul-Gumuz region was smooth and short. I had never been to this part of the country before. My husband's nephew came to welcome us with his family. Local women wear traditional clothes known as Tobii – the first thing that caught my attention (it's similar to what Sudanese women wear). I loved it! I gave one on my return. From Asosa to Kobor we drove through the captivating landscape and the wheat fields. My children were amazed by the beauty of the landscape; it's spectacular. The road was smooth and the journey continued without incident until we separated from the main road to Kobor. There we met a singing crowd. A Bajaj (three wheeled rickshaws used as public transport around here), motorcycles and trucks full of kids approached our vehicle and began to sing songs of resistance. For a moment, we were not sure what was happening. Then it became clear that it was all part of an elaborate surprise welcome ceremony for my husband. They kept it secret and used the surprise element to welcome their famous son. I felt a little uneasy, even my children were nervous when they came across the jovial procession. Curious, like children, they kept asking me why people were waving their hands. When I explained that this was welcome, my children continued to press to get answers. "How did they know we were coming? And why were everyone in town out to welcome us?" While reassuring my children and teasing them at the same time, I kept my eyes on the road, even though I thought I was not the driver. I was worried about the safety of those children who rode in the back of the trucks. My heart was pounding every time I went up and down the hill, but they seemed unaccustomed and unharmed.
It was an experience to do at least once in a lifetime. It was strange to know that everyone in the city knew you were there. Kobor is a small town on the Sudanese border of Ethiopia, a testimony of religious and ethnic tolerance. It is common to have people with different religious backgrounds within the same family. Most of my in-laws are Muslims. They are fantastic people. From near and far, family and friends came to visit us. For my children, everything was an adventure from the use of the bathroom to take part in street soccer shooting games with neighborhood children. They took everything calmly and they managed everything very well. They easily agreed with everyone who met in the city and made many friends. Unlike the United States, here the children run and play in the mud with pleasure until the sun disappears or is told to go home. Initially worried about how they could adapt, I let my children go to joke and have fun. My children have had more than one kick out of the campaign compared to me. The task of greeting the endless swarms of people was not so pleasant after a few days, I got tired. I turned to my phone in a desperate search for network signal bars. The reception in this rural part of the country was very poor. I had the strange experience of going into the woods with my phone looking for internet reception. There was this place in the back yard with half-decent network reception. As that one spot received better reception than the rest of the area, I have no idea. I will leave it to the people of the telecommunications office to investigate. I would attend this mysterious spot to surf the internet while watching the breathtaking views of the Gara Bonii mountain. My children appreciated the abundance of animals, they loved them. One morning they heard that the goat they were playing with only a day ago was slaughtered. They came running to me with horror and said: "Mom these people are cruel, they killed the beautiful cow and the goat!" Trying to quell laughter, I tried to explain the need to do it to my children without success. In the following days, they both refused to eat meat. Also, he did not like the fact that the waitresses generally ate away from the rest of the family, as is customary in Ethiopia.
Two weeks after we arrived, the best part of the return home took place. I did a tour that changed my life with one of my models, the woman determined by the determined character, the unique and unique Adde Warqe Begi. She is the founder of Terkanfii Sustainable Development, whose initiatives and projects have already changed the lives of many people for the better. Laga Xafoo, a suburb of Finfinne is one of the places that has benefited from its vision. My family and I visited the new fully furnished middle school, more clean water sites, co-op centers (microfinance) for women and training centers for women who teach young women a variety of useful and useful skills. We also took a guided tour of his next project site, located in the city of Dukem. We headed to Bishoftu, a bustling city whose well-paved roads bore signs of infrastructural progress. There were many places surrounding the magnificent lakes I visited. Bishoftu is the place where the Beqqee International Oromo Women group, a group I co-founded with friends and associates, builds homes for internally displaced people in the Oromia region. Ethiopia has a chronic problem of collective violence that has unfortunately caused over a million displaced people from their homes across the country. Today is the day when I will see the fruit of our work to provide some of these people with shelters and lodgings. I have always dreamed of being a humanitarian operator with a vision of social entrepreneurship. In the end I was granted a close and personal look at that vision, an unforgettable and moving experience shared with my dear friends and family by my side.
We have planted trees for every displaced family
near the houses we helped build for them. I can not discard the feeling of being
grateful for the sober experience of meeting the women affected by the
crisis. I took the warmth of the embrace of every handsome child while I was lending a
shoulder for beautiful and grateful mothers to feel comfortable while sharing theirs
tearful experiences. He shook me. Seeing that our work as a group
offered comfort and hope to some of the most vulnerable in the country has filled me
with an indescribable joy and honor. I left Bishoftu with a new discovery
determination to return and work harder to address the needs of these women
and others that I feel become my new family.
Ethiopia has changed so much. The population has almost doubled in the last three decades while Addis Ababa has expanded from the four corners of the city to the outside, often at the expense of Oromo's farmers. We drove to the outskirts of the city for a thoughtful observation of this reality. I wondered what had happened to the families of those who lost their land during this rampant urbanization period. I have seen people in these areas go about their daily lives and have reflected on their stories of discomfort. We arrived in the country less than six months after the dawn of a new era in Ethiopia. The memories of oppression, the protests and the consequent bloodshed are still very fresh. The endless manifestations of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed and the state of Oromia, President Lemma Megersa, were proof of the new day. The flags of the Oromo resistance and the posters seen in the cities of Oromia are also proof of political changes. The activities of posters and flags are certainly booming. After decades of fear and intimidation, people are discussing the fate of the country, taking proactive positions and rhetorically breathing fresh air that has been tainted by cronies and a corrupt political elite for years. I have also seen how in the rich neighborhoods of Ethiopia, diplomats and former officials, who have deprived people of their freedom for decades, live in a closed community that has moved away from the rest of the population. Most of their land was a farmland, where proud breeders gathered their cattle and rode horses. Now most of these proud farmers are guards for fenced houses.
The homeless and beggars overpopulated the streets. It became a challenge for me to switch from beggars because too often there were women with young children, many of whom were victims of poverty or abuse. It's hard to say. In the beginning I gave money to whoever came to my side. But when it became clear that I would not have had enough for everyone, I became very selective. It seems that begging has become a deal for certain people. Numerous boutiques covered each side of the street. It seems that everyone sells something, and every little open space in the city is for sale. The sidewalks of the Arat Kilo district of Addis Ababa, which I used to travel, are now full of potholes and parked cars. There is almost no catwalk designed exclusively for pedestrians. There are no rules when it comes to driving. The lines of the road are simply symbols without recognized authority, since nobody cares to respect them. It annoyed me in a similar way when I saw people cutting the line to get the SIM cards at the telecommunications office. I asked all those who happened to give us some trips, because they tended to disobey the rules of the guide. The answer of all was similar, if you follow the traffic rules, you will be left far behind and the last to move. "A constant annoyance was this, but with all the madness, I appreciate anyone who has the courage to drive to Addis Ababa, I will not drive in that city in a million years, it's too scary for me.
People of different backgrounds celebrate and applaud "Team Lemma", a collective term for the team of politicians and leaders who have ascended the political ladder and implemented political reform. They are perceived as inspired primarily by the political dogma of the President of the State of Oromia Lemma Megersa, hence the name. Team Lemma is a popular brand assigned to most regional Oromia officials. I have found that the celebrations do not have a common denominator underlying. The highly valued concept of "medemer", the "amharic" for "addition", understood as a term that means setting aside differences and unifying oneself as one is as tempting as it is confusing. Beyond a few individuals on the higher political spectrum there is a huge lack of conversation on the topic further down the scale of society. The lack of communication and understanding is the cause of greater confusion among the different groups in society.
For example, it is no secret that most of the residents in Addis Ababa have no idea or appreciation of the harsh reality experienced by Oromo's farmers in recent years and could be only vaguely familiar with the causes that have led innumerable young people to Oromo to take to the streets in protest. And when these important topics are finally brought to the fore, I perceive a degree of hostility from protected urban elements. Perhaps because of insecurity or something else, there is an instinctive denial exhibited when one tries to make a spotlight shine on deep grievances of the Oromo-themed society. Despite the reformation, this secular secular mantra remains instilled in too many Ethiopians.
In my opinion, while the administration of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed is doing his best to mend the county, the country's major media have failed miserably in contributing to the administration effort. For example, the main objective of the television media seems to be to sell to its viewers etiopianized versions of American television programs. Characters such as "Family Feud" and "Deal or no deal" are assigned prime time viewing slots and shows that promote discussions about pressing concerns and social issues are few and far between. David Letterman's show has an imitator on the talk show. If something were to be imitated, I would prefer it to be the kind of content we see with Jon Stewart or Trevor Noah. These two entertain young Americans as they educate them by juxtaposing politics with a unique brand of humor. In this way our young people can participate in the crucial debates on the society we must have. Instead, I feel that what is in the airwaves and that is pressed on them has idolized them in Western culture and underestimating their unique heritage. The media have a great influence and I think it is contributing to the many sufferings of our young people, a sort of identity crisis that is exacerbated by the lack of information and misunderstanding of the reality existing in society. In a city like Addis Ababa, I find it particularly ironic that, instead of local names, new schools and businesses are constantly given names with a Western sound. It is really a mystery why some gather to everything that is Westernized. While recognizing the progress of press freedom in the country, I feel that now is the time when Ethiopian mass media critically evaluate what feeds their target audience for the benefit of society. I would like to see the media go beyond popular culture and focus on real problems that really matter to the common people in Ethiopia.
Something else's note
I'd like to launch myself. When you leave the city, you will meet one
the growing number of abandoned horses and donkeys linger. I was told
they were used to pulling carts and carts, but to develop an illness
or by becoming old and weak, their owners would simply abandon them. I never
saw this while I was growing up and this shocked me. It is otherwise inhumane and
dangerous. I feel that the government should contemplate the drafting of animals
security policies
It's strange to say it but
sometimes it is difficult to refer to the past to the past because the past is
still vividly fresh in the collective mindset and the present does not really
sunk for some. Especially for those who still have to see their situations
modify. There was so much to listen and understand to understand. What I
confirmed for sure by talking to taxi drivers in the capital or the
young merchants in the small town of Kobor is that everyone wants to preserve
the peace and equality they have earned. They are all worried about the work, access to
clean water, electricity and better education for their children. They want too
live and die with dignity. They all aspire
to be as good as they can get. Like political power
finally moves to the masses, the people, economic power is still
firmly rooted in the grip of a select few. And despite all the changes
coming, the money speaks even louder. The gap between rich and poor is scary.
The lack of a middle class will be a challenge for this administration. There
there is much to be done so that this gap is reduced and that young people have their own
fair participation in society. Otherwise, with the population growing uncontrollably,
the next wave of protests will not only affect human rights; It will be a
survival question.
While family and friends seemed to be everywhere, every morning we sat down and counted the endless invitations that came our way – from friends, aunts, uncles, nephews and cousins who all asked to sit down to eat, no matter what time it happened to be or how many meals we had already eaten. We have tried to accommodate as many invitations as possible. In the end, I greeted everyone and everyone promised to visit soon. Not convinced that I was really leaving the country, feeling like I was still here tomorrow, I left my home for my children's home, that is, the land where they were born. The overflow of love, the generosity of my people that flooded me during my stay in the country further stated my ideals on what should be a home. I met the most beautiful people whose enthusiasm, charisma, decency and friendship I will carry with me for a lifetime. I'm leaving home until the next time I feel disconnected and nostalgic. This will be my starting point to revisit and reflect on the reality of the country a little bit more. SUCH AS
[ad_2]
Source link
