I have this vision of a peaceful and serene Ethiopia once in a blue moon when I am at my jaded moments with my community. This vision I have is one of eleven children with empty bellies but eyes full of hope. This vision that captivates me is of these eleven children who have are poverty stricken who refuse to be sickened with hopelessness. Thus, they tie up 40 dirty kalsis full of holes and form a soccer ball full of hope. These same children use their dingy t-shirts handed down to them by people of good charity as goal posts. They then play Qwas—their imagination running faster than their feet by barely a whisper—and they whisper sweet tunes of competition interlaced with friendship and fiker.
Grant it, this vision is a fleeting dream most of the time—I wake up to a nightmare of a reality where my community is divided by politics and torn asunder by ethnic expectionalism. But I refuse to accept this as the eternal reality for my motherland and my people; I expect more from us—I expect us to act with the friendship and fiker of those very same bole lijoch who don’t see politics and ethnic differences as they play Qwas on a field where dirt and mud is home to their dreams. How is it that we—as adults—act more childish then children? How is it that our offspring give birth to hope while we stare at each other with shovels in hand digging mass graves to bury the very emnet of our our children? … [read more]