He is a victim of a hit and run and by the looks of things, his days seem numbered. On my left is my own eighty year-old beloved uncle with a broken pelvic bone and a sandbag strapped to his right foot weighing it down to keep him from moving it. He was hit by a taxi driver and abandoned before he could receive medical attention. In a bed next to him rests another man who was also in a car accident.

I enjoy driving most days. But these days in Addis the few times that I drive, I do so in paranoia and travel as a passenger with unease. Impatience and aggressiveness on the roads has long been a trademark of the city but nowadays either I have become slow or there seems to be a “crazy” spreading around to get “there” faster.

A month ago I witnessed a man run for his life leaving behind him someone’s loved one laying on the road surrounded by a swarm of people screaming. A few weeks back someone I know was in an accident, instantly killing his loved one who sat next to him in the passenger seat. Days ago I heard of a young girl punished with a 15 year imprisonment for running over and killing someone’s loved one as he crossed the pedestrian walk. And today a friend of mine tells me her co-worker lost her father – her loved one – to a traffic accident.

According to the Department of Forensic Pathology at Menelik II Hospital, from the 200 autopsies conducted in 2006, 80% of injury related deaths are due to automobile related accidents. That is a staggering figure. Even more staggering is that Ethiopia has the highest per capita rate of car fatalities in the world with 190 deaths per 10,000 vehicles. With a vehicle population of around 250,000 and about 60% of those concentrated in Addis Ababa, reckless driving, dismissal of pedestrian rights at crossings, inattentiveness of pedestrians themselves and drunk driving claim the lives of loved ones of many.

Although the new “Road Traffic Safety Regulations” of the Addis Ababa City Government which came into effect towards the end of 2009 introduce commonsense rules for drivers to abide by, the deeper impact is yet to be felt. Furthermore, I wonder if Article 538 of the EFDRE criminal code which states“Whoever causes the death of a human being intentionally or by negligence, no matter what the weapon or means used, commits homicide” and talk of vehicular homicide criminal charges, has turned would-be-assistance-givers into hit-and-runners. After all, how can we expect someone who may face imprisonment to remain and identify himself/herself, right?

The bottom line is that those regulations exist for our own safety. Not because some traffic police wishes we squirm in our seats strapped behind a seat belt or that we miss that “very” important call that we are not patient enough to pull aside and attend to. But we can only feel the positive effect of these regulations only when we allow them to translate into our daily habits. I myself have in the past been guilty of mild intoxication, talking and texting on my cell and eating while driving until some very close calls reminded me that I am not immune to contributing towards a traffic fatality and that it can happen to me too. I have many loved ones and I am someone’s loved one.

If we cannot let it sink in that we are all connected, then let us at least accept that we all have someone we love and that loves us. Let us not wait to wake until it hits closer to home!

Spread the word to drive responsibly and compassionately.

I will be 29 on June 19th. Officially a geezer. Older than dirt? Not yet.

I am not much of birthday-celebrating-type guy, but this year, I would like my birthday mean something different. I’m donating my birthday to charity:water— an organization dedicated to giving people access to clean water. They have had a tremendous success over the last three years and have drilled 1017 water wells in Ethiopia alone giving 455,711 people access to clean water.

But, instead of citing more statistics or show you charts about how dire the situation is, I thought I’d tell you a little bit about my dad and his water well drilling rig.

Here is the setup: rewind 14 years. We were in Ethiopia and I was only 15.

One evening, my dad came home rushing to sit on the family dinner table. Much to my mom’s chagrin, this was a normal occurrence in our household. It usually meant, he has something in his mind and he wants to sketch out while it’s still fresh in his mind. Drafts man by training, he tends to explain things in straight lines and circles than words.

But that night, it was one of those ‘aha‘ moments. After bowing his head over things he was sketching on pieces of paper for hours, he rose and resolutely said I will build a water well drilling rig. Driving to another meeting earlier that day, he has seen a water well drilling machine somewhere on the road for the first time and the sight had inspired his wonder.

As he did many times before, when there was a shortage of soap or food in Ethiopia, he saw himself as the guy who would build machines to solve these problems. He was the first person to build a dough mixer, soap machine, satellite dish, etc.. in Ethiopia. 

You see, for his technical mind, building a water well drilling rig was the next logical step. He said to himself, Ethiopia needs clean water. He was the guy who will build the machine in Ethiopia that can bring clean water from beneath the ground by communities for whom water or the scarcity of water meant life or death.

He had to see the rig in reality, tonight. As many in his generation, he is an impatient and relentless man earning his nick name from his friends “endeT ad’ro” loosely translated as “I want it yesterday”.

So, off he went. Over the next four years, he sketched, built, cut, demolished, consulted, went abroad, erected, tore it back, got pissed, got happy, grew older, depleted his resources, almost gave up, went abroad again and again and again…

…and then, on a faithful afternoon in 1999, his rig successfully drilled 40 meters and the clean water came gushing out of the earth into in the air. I have never seen my dad that happy!

He finally figured an elegant solution. His proved himself yet again that his dream of giving access to clean water to those in need was technically solvable.

Now, as my dad tried to do then, charity:water is tackling the same problem at a larger scale.

So, my friends, as I turn another year in my life and grow some more grey hair, I ask you one thing: Would you to be kind enough to join me in reliving this memory by donating $29 to my campaign at charity:water?

It will mean clean water to those families who are in desperate need.

And, it will mean the world to me.

Because, water is life!

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I see her every morning in my commute to work.  She is a pretty woman; probably in her early to mid thirties.  I immediately recognize her.   I know her.  Not her personally, just her ‘Ethiopian-ness ‘— if there is such a word.  I always smile and say hi and she does the same but we never strike up a conversation, until one day last week when she sat next to me.  Like I sometimes do and like countless others have said to me before I say “Abesha nesh Aydel” she says “enem eko mesleshing neber, gin I wasn’t sure.” It’s a familiar conversation I have had it many times before.

We continued to chit chat all the way to our destination.  I found out she has been married for a couple of years and she has a 9 month old son.  She works in the day time from 8 – 4.  Her husband takes care of their son while she is at work; she comes home around 5:30 pm.

They have about a couple of hours together and he goes off to work and comes home at around four in the morning.  And they do this every weekday.  They only see each other a couple of hours a day.  But they are both off on the weekends.

While she is telling me her story all these questions are going through my mind. I felt a tremendous amount of admiration for their commitment and dedication.  We are probably about the same age, but I am single and no children.  The only thing I am dedicated to is Thursday night TV so I won’t miss The Office and 30 Rock.  Actually I lied; I don’t even do that anymore because now I can watch it online anytime.  But I suppose if I had a child I will probably do what I have to do to take care of him or her.  At least that is what all my friends with kids tell me.

Her story started me thinking about marriage long after I got off the bus.  Is marriage just an institution to raise kids? What about love and romance? How realistic is it for a marriage to succeed if you only see your spouse just a couple of hours a day and just on the weekends? Or could this be about a perfect case of absence making the heart grow fonder or is it more like out of mind out of sight? Could one have a marriage just on the weekends?

For me marriage on the weekend thing wouldn’t work for me.  Marriage is more than just raising children.   I am not saying I need to be with my man 24/7 but a couple of hours a day and just weekends wouldn’t work for me.   I need the romance, friendship, companionship of my husband, as well as time with my child and it would be nearly impossible to fit all that in just the weekends.

If you know me, you know I love food. Yes I cook, but sometimes when you have a craving, it’s just that craving.

The Manhattan from BooyeMonger, a delicious sandwich filled with cooked spinach, bacon and hot Roast beef with a house dressing; the crust from a wood oven baked pizza at Pizza Paradiso; the noodles in Bangkok Joes; and Tibs at madget.

I love Thai food, and it’s the first thing that pops to mind whenever the sun sets and I am hungry. When I first moved to the current dwelling, I went for Sushi nearby and ended up with an almost perfect Chicken Drunken Noodle.

The place called Yamazatoes, it’s really a Japanese spot with a fourth Thai dishes. I am not a big fan of ‘lets get two different types of cuisine in one location’ so that we can compete in two markets idea, so I was hesitant at first.

Anyways the dish was great for 11 big ones. Thus I started picking it up on my way home; at least once every two weeks and in some cases once a week.

One day I called to pick it up, and by the time It was time to pick it up, I was invited to a dinner gathering and so I skipped. Two weeks or so later when I called to make my order, the lady on the other side said hold on and brought the owner to the phone. He complained that I called and didn’t pick up.

‘Sorry it won’t happen again.’ And everything was back to normal, except the person who would pick up the phone would get some kind of approval before they accepted my order.

I always thought it was rude; so what! if I missed to pick up one order, I am a loyal customer and you should treat me as such.

If I had a choice I would have been a goner; unlike the Korean dry cleaner that was conveniently located next to my grocery store. I dropped of my corduroy sports jacket with the other usual stuff. Everything came back fine except they forgot to clean the jacket or something, because a particular large stain remained untouched.

I dropped it back the next time I went; the owner wasn’t there and I insisted they clean it for free, second time around. They left her a note asserting my claim.

When I came back to pick it up, she basically fought back and said I must have wore it again, because it was a while ago. I got animated and said you think I want to cheat you 7$, you didn’t clean it the first time around. And eventually I said I won’t be back. My average monthly dry cleaning expense will be spent elsewhere for ever.

Drunken Noodle was on my mind when I called to order but right after I hanged up I got a call from a girl, inviting me to dinner. I called right back and canceled the order, 2 minutes or so in between.

Next time I called, the owner got on the phone and said he is not taking orders from me. I explained the situation and he finally took the order.

A few weeks later I went to pick up…but this time I didn’t order ahead, I just arrived and ordered and he was at the front desk and told me that he is not taking orders over the phone from me.

Just come here and pay first,” in his thick far eastern accent with a dismissive tone. I told him, you know I average 26 orders a year, 2 years and counting. Do you know how much money that is?

He said he knows, how much I order from them. I reiterated that the cost of me messing up twice or even 6 times in a year is minute. If you want me to pay for the missed and canceled order I will pay. But you have to realize that there is such a thing about business costs.

And he said ok! If I mess up again just add it up as a business cost.  But I was thinking ya, don’t let your black people prejudice affect your business; nevertheless didn’t say it out loud since I don’t want him to spit on my drunken noodle.

This post is dedicated to my big sister, who is the biggest foodie I know.

I struggle with this; being complacent is one of those things that come with consistency in our lives. Stability, resilience & security are some of the things we strive for as we get older.

In reality though in our lives —although stable with basic necessities — we are dealing with problems that come and go; losing a job, relationship problems, and health issues among the many unforeseen variables. The mundane and trivial trails that god — if you believe in that — or pure existence puts us through. The other most stable part of almost everyone’s lives are the people that somehow share your livelihood; friends, family, random relationships & significant others.

I have seen this from different angles. I have disregarded — aka taken for granted people who happen to be involved in my life because I was dealing with a major headache of some sort that instance, that week, or even that month.

I have seen others overlooking friends just because they are in a new romantic soiree. I have seen new significant others ruining friendships and relationships within the family.

I have lost friends that were an integral part of my life and I of theirs because we being incompatible due to married. They now have married friends; his wife prefers him not hanging out or even talking with someone that marks single on their tax forms.

Long ago a friend asked me to join him on a night out in town; I declined to join him. He was adamant on a legitimate excuse for my hesitation to join him and then asserted that if the shoes were the other way around it wouldn’t be the case.

Most people, I have noticed would generally give a white lie in this situation. I have to do some errands; I have a headache or something to that extent. I usually do not lie about such trivial things and I get in trouble for it.

The thing is; he who asked to join him had in the past ignored me for months when he was hot & heavy in love with a new girl. So I mentioned it, and he said yes, if he was to do it all over again he would – he exhaled. Meaning it should be that way, apparently friends should step aside when its not convenient for them.

I have seen this happened not just to me but in society in general. Not to say I have never been guilt, I have been — I have said that I just can’t make it tonight I have to go see about a girl. Gin its never been so bad that I would avoid my friends at all costs including phone calls just because I happen to be in love this month.

You see what people tend to forget is that friends & family are there forever through thick and thin. They don’t leave you because you are broke or you gained weight or lost your hair or you go to jail. Significant others are not replacements and should not be treated as such.

Don’t take me for granted, I never have!

I pride myself in telling the truth,…”

One would say and then just lessen the blow to ones integrity. I am sure I am guilty as well, I live my life in a way I am comfortable, but I know there are things in my life I have to fix.

I just like most of you have personal and professional issues that needed to be resolved.

I once read on a blog that a guy was asking if he didn’t do take some classes that he was required to through the court system for a DUI he received some eight years ago in a different state far away, could he get away with it?

The answer was that his crime was petty and in a different state that is so far that legally they wouldn’t try extraditable him for financial reasons.

Then another guy answered, said that if he just didn’t go deal with what he has to do then it’s always going to be there over his head haunting him forever.

I was like wow, he is right; some things will always be there to haunt you.

One of the most common stories of family lies is that a woman would have extramarital affairs and get pregnant and would tell herself that the baby is actually her husbands. And that lie would continue to exist forever and ever.

If you don’t believe me Google it! “Another man’s baby!”

I recently saw an episode of Oprah on infidelity statistics. According to the data

• 22 % of married men have strayed at least once during their married lives.
• 14 % of married women have had affairs at least once during their married lives.
• 70 % of married women and 54 % of married men did not know of their spouses’ extramarital activity.

So this is not about the cheating; it’s about people living with their lies.

Or how the west perceives the Ethiopian family; I first saw the creation of an Ethiopian family in the ‘somwhat‘ mainstream media three years ago when on one my favorite directors Jim Jarmush made a film about a retired womanizer.

Anyways the Don Juan, who was consequently named Don Johntson played by Bill Murray had a nosy neighbor who looked and acted more Jamaican than Ethiopian.

The ridiculous part; the neighbor played by Jeffery Wright was named Winston and although married with kids was a heavy Weed smoker. The décor in the house was a salute to Red, Yellow, Green; Lion of Judah; and HIS as opposed to the more modern EthioCentric ornaments like the Tilet and Kitsch paintings on leather. Not that I am denying the relevance of Rastafaric décor in the Ethiopian interior design rather questioning the predominance of its existance.

I don’t blame Jim, he is a genius who is in love with the Golden Era of Ethiopian Music and wanted to show his appreciation to Mulatu Astatke by incorporating music that sounded like an Ethiopiques complication that a Hollywood Soundtrack. Details.

Now that Winston is gone here is the real Ethiopian American Family as presented on Jay Leno by Harland Williams.

This happened several years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday….. I received a call, “leqso endetedershe, ye Selam ehet arfalech”

I said “ Ehet? What are you talking about she doesn’t have a sister she only has two brothers. Which Selam are you talking about?” She replied, “The Selam we both know.” At this point I was totally and completely confused then I thought oh ok some Ethio’s refer to friends or cousins as ehetoch. I didn’t want to ask too many questions as I knew it wasn’t her sister but a close friend or relative.

So I go to the leqso and it was a very sad moment. The family was uncontrollably crying. When I saw my friends, I asked “guadegnwa nat?” One girl said “nope we all just found out Selam had a sister.” Say what? Supposedly only few people knew of Selam’s sister and our group was not part of the few people. We knew Selam very well so this was a true shock.

Selam, her parents and two brothers live in the US and her sister, Meskerem, was left behind in Addis.

Yes, unfortunately Meskerem was mentally and physically challenged and was never part of the family photo’s or gatherings. Never, ever mentioned not even in passing by Selam. She has always referred to herself as the only girl.

At this point, I was disgusted and deeply saddened that just because her sister was challenged she was a shame for the family.

Why deny Meskerem the family she so needed to help her deal with her challenges? It was almost like she was born and died the day of the leqso. I was puzzled and mourned not her death but her life. This girl lived being rejected when she needed love and loved when she died.

She was supposedly locked up in a room away from the public eye. She was only 27 years old when she died and I was told she died of natural causes. I assume the natural cause may be rejection or depression. I don’t wanna judge and ridicule the family but I was very sad that day beyond the leqso.

I was confused as to why there was a leqso at all for someone they never acknowledged as part of their family. Guilt, is the only answer I could come up with.

Til this day I never got the answers to the why’s but just feel for Meskerem and what she must have gone thru in her 27 years on earth. I often think of her and how life could’ve been so different if she had also had the chance to come to the US.

Selam’s sister finally had a name, a face, and the acceptance she craved from her family and the world. When I saw her photo I saw a beautiful girl with beautiful long, braided hair and she had eyes that longed for love.

Even though it has been several years since your death, RIP Meskerem.

names and some detailed have been changed to protect the identity of the persons involed!

I was similarly surprised once when I had a layover in Minnesota and I noticed there were so many Ethiopians working there. It was just something I didn’t expect to find. He introduced himself as Biratu Debella. We exchanged the expected greetings and he asked where I was going and so on. Shortly there after, he offered to get me ‘ shay/ buna.’

I tried to politely decline since I really needed to use the internet but he insisted and I gave in. Consequently with the coffee he offered to also buy me lunch, even though I just said I already had lunch.

He was very sweet. He was so happy to see another Ethiopian and so proud. He told me about his wife and kids and how he’s planning on moving back to Addis for good; how he used to be a runner and about life in Switzerland and the Ethiopian community there. After awhile he said he had to get back to work so he left me to finish my coffee and pointed out where I can use the internet. I sat there for awhile thinking about the kindness of our people and our culture. More often than not I make a note of how my culture conflicts with my lifestyle rather than what it adds to it.

I decided to finish my coffee and make my way to use the internet. Just then I noticed he was walking towards me. When I met him halfway he said,

I thought maybe I should get you some chocolates or something…you can take it to your mother since you wont eat mesa.”

I thanked him for his offer and tried my best to assure him I was perfectly fine. But he seemed disappointed, he told me how he wishes there is more he can do, but we were in an airport and he’s obviously working. I sincerely thanked him and told him he has done enough. As I said my goodbye and began to walk away, I can see his disappointment in not having done more.

I was so touched. Here is a man that doesn’t know me from anything…but he treated me like an old friend, a family. This because I belonged to a bigger family, ‘the Ethiopian family.’

I thought about that all the way back. I reminisced about my days in Ethiopia where ‘your gorobet was a relative.’ Lately it seems everything I hear about Ethiopia is so negative. Countless times I’ve heard stories about how people come to the States to stay with some Ethiopian, even a relative and they are mistreated so badly. I can go on to list many more stories, but I’m sure you get my point. So it was a pleasant surprise to find this reminder about the kindness of our people. I only hope that I will always remember and exemplify this aspect of our culture.

Can you believe Biratu called to make sure I made it home safely?

I love my mother. She’s a strong and loving person. But sometimes she is unbearable. As long as I can remember I have translated things, filled out forms, and made phone calls on behalf of my mother.

Although never discussed it was always assumed anything that involved speaking English would be handled by me. Oh I should note my mother speaks English well enough to get whatever she needs done. In fact I’ve seen her do it and been amazed!

Recently, I find myself frustrated by the list of things my mom has for me to do. My day is already full with the crap that I have to get done without anything else added. Also, it’s bad enough she asks me to do things at the most inopportune times, but then complains if it is not done to her liking. I believe beggars can’t be choosers; you want it done differently…do it yourself!

Of course I can’t say this to my mother, or so I thought. I uttered these very words this past weekend. I was annoyed and frustrated.

I am tired of being a fulltime secretary for tedious things. Furthermore, the one that irritates me the most is when I’m volunteered to do things without my knowledge for other people!! This is my mother, “Oh, weey Mittu tadergewalech.” Or “Your child is not doing well in school? Ok Mittu will tutor him, Mittu will write you the letter, Mittu will take you to work, DMv, airport…Mittu will do this or that…”

BEQA!!! No more!!! Mittu is no longer available.

There is no concern what so ever for my time or for what I might have going on…nothing.

The more I think about it, it doesn’t make sense. Why is it my mother has lived in the U.S. longer than I have, yet I’m the one who handles most of her dealings? I’m not the only one either. My friends and I spend hours complaining about this very thing. I have a friend whose mother refuses to get an oil change on her own. So not only does my friend has to get the oil change but also has to remember when the oil change needs to get done.

My other friend’s mother refuses to pay the bills…instead she makes her write out the checks and mail them. These are things they are very much capable of doing. In fact doing it will give them independence; they don’t have to wait on anyone to get it done for them.

I understand our parents needing some help now and then. But to be completely dependent on your children is ridiculous. Additionally, it’s the entitlement that they feel; since I am the daughter then it is my responsibility. It’s ridiculous. Why don’t our parents want to be independent and do things for themselves?

They say a bunch of things. When a journey finally reaches a destination you graduate; apparently! Then what, ‘Quarter-Life Crises!‘ I went through it, and I am in consensus with Mr Ashe:

Success is a journey, not a destination. The doing is often more important than the outcome.

With that I would like to congratulate my little sister Tsilat on a journey started; an endless one.

Love the sis! The most dynamic person I know!

Even with the best global positioning systems and satellites we can never monitor/direct our journey; an advice from a man you recently finished his quarter-life crises on his way to his mid-life one!

The older I get, the more I realize that Abaye, I called him that, had a great influence on me. Not just me, but all those around him. Some of the longtime readers of Bernos know that I mention him quite often in the articles and a lot more in my comments.

The Soldier

He had an amazing career amassing over 35 year as an officer in the Ethiopian Army. As a Lieutenant Colonel most of his career was as head of accounting for his division. He served in Congo among many other places as UN peace keepers.

He was an excellent soldier, looking at the drawer full medals and plaques, which were put away by the time I was around. He was long retired, when I knew him, but the soldier in him was always present. He was very charismatic; he was a great story teller. War stories were his specialty.

Seen here with his Medals and heading a ceremony for Q. Julian & her husband Prince Bernard of Holland in the late 60’s.

We spent endless hours of the night talking; he taught me the many stories; stories about the Arbegnoch, The Belay Zelekes and the Atses of Ethiopia. The strategies used by the English against the Italians on the Second Italo–Abyssinian War. How the Russians moved to Siberia, waited till the middle of winter and attacked the German’s in the Second World War. He told me all the stories all the way to the times of Ahmad Ibrihim the left handed.

The stories were not the only reminder of history as a lifelong soldier. He was very anal. Everything needed to be perfect, he didn’t like sloppy work. He would ask for it to be straightened. The shirts perfectly folded, the books, perfectly shelved.

He attire is always neat; in the early days, when I was around he would never leave the house with out his sports jackets, his pant always had a perfect crease, as they were always perfectly hanged. As was everything else. He knew were everything was;

bring me my address book, its in the second drawer in on the right next to scarfs”

and of course we were expected to put it back in the exact place where we got it from. Perpendicular to the edge of the drawer.

His Family

Family was very important to him as well, he raised 11 kids, including myself of which 5 were his own. By the time he died he was father to 5, grandfather to 16 and great grandfather to 6 and counting. (Seen on left with his five children)
By far his greatest quality was how he treated the kids, although I have heard that he was much stricter in his younger days. He talked to the kids as adults; better yet he treated us as adults.

He thought all of us, including some of the great grand kids about integrity, the importance of education and etc. He thought me how to tie my shoes, how to brush my teeth, how to tuck in my shirt, among many other things.

He had an amazingly long marriage; he was closing in on the 60th anniversary before he passed. We celebrated the 50th in 98 in Washington DC. My grandmother and grandfathers relationship were interesting together, she worried to incesently and he thought she was worrying for no reason. That same conversation happened almost everyday they were together, as far as I remember. They loved to play cards, and of course we joined in. Conquer were the games, and he won almost every time.

We would always eat together, table manners were important, he took his time to eat. We were not allowed to rush, still he would be at the table eating long after we were out playing.

Married fifty 57 years, seen here with his wife and my grandmother.

The Artist within

He was very religious; he did his Qedase every morning. Something he took from his father. He had a few Geez books from which he did his Qedase. He was a fan of bible stories, the stories of how Queen Sheba met King Solomon; or how a Jonah spent many nights in stomach of a shark.

He was also a enthusiast of Qine, he bought one book for the kids and sent it to them in the US.

He would tell me some of the Qine’s from the top of his mind and test me with the werq and sem. He had an amazing handwriting. I remember him trying to teach me how to write better Feedels; It didn’t work. There are several talented artists in his ancestry including that of Aleqa Mezmur Za Dawit, whom I have mentioned before. He was a fan of Illustrations. And although he was by no means a professional, he had drawing skills.

Here with my siblings and grandfather.

Of which, he could draw as well as write with both his hands. He liked portraits, he would draw one quickly and then I would ask him to do it again with his left. He played along.

It is said in the family that both my older sister and myself get the talent from him and his ancestry.

The songs I remember; I have mentioned before of the songs he would sing to us. I learned recently that he did that with the great grandchildren as well.

Abaye, I miss and love you so much, you will always be with me!

Here is an issue that is most often not addressed but existent. Everyone talks about how they all went through culture-shock coming to "Wuch Ager" and how the young ones are fortunate because they can "fit" into the new environment easily…..and blah blah blah…

But a couple of months later…They are bitterly complaining about these same kids.

I find it sad when teenagers are going astray and having an identity crisis because their parents/relatives/guardians are walking around saying "Ahunema aysemanem…911 biterabegnes" and miss the important point of trying to bond with their kids in this new environment and try to understand them. It is no secret that immigrating to other countries is harsher for people in their 40s, 50s and above, but it is even more life-threatening for youngsters caught in between the Habesha culture they have been raised in and the Western values that they become an adult in. Not quite fitting in either one.

As much as it is important to understand the frustrations of people our parents' age, I think it has been taken for granted that these kids will become some success story because they live with their parents meanwhile the parents are just blaming the "bad influences of the Western values" for all the rebellion that their kids take part in. Although this is highly generalized, I find it that a lot of parent-child relationships go bad when they come to "Wuch Ager" because the kids don't know better because they are curious as to what the new land has got to offer and freedom makes the top of the list and the parents stick to their mentality from back home and refuse to see that they are not on the same page with their kids anymore and pretending and fed. It is not important whose fault it is but it is important to see that it is a misunderstanding and fix it.

I may not be a parent but I sure am an Adult who has to deal with this everyday and here is words of wisdom, to get your kids, especially teenage children, to listen to you. Try to understand them rather than just blindly expect them to avoid doing all that you said not to do because you said so. You know what they say, "where there is a will, there's a way."

The greatest downfall is thinking that you can get your kids in line by getting them to get scared of your "Kuta or Tefi." These kids won't ever tell you a thing, even when they are at the brink of disaster because they are so scared. The best way you can help them is to make them understand your rules by giving them a chance to make a point of their own in every argument instead of imposing what you believe. It gets you further and further apart that way. remember, children scared of you might give you an impression that they respect you and listen to you, but respect and fear are two completely different things, that's why are they are two different words.

Remember communication is a two-way street, listen to your kids when they say something because it is their way of reaching out to you… 

My trip from the middle of the room to the door took about ten minutes.  My sweaty hand felt slippery as I held the door knob and turned it.  Finally, I’m outside.  The singing in the room sounded like a talking corpse in a coffin as I shut the door behind me. I sat on the stairs still holding my half drunk bottle of vodka.  Before I knew it, I had smashed that bottle onto the ground.  On a beautiful spring night, sipping in the cool scented air, a part of me was suffocating inside.  It felt like somebody else was taking over. I tried picking up the shattered pieces of glass under my feet.  As I picked up two pieces and sent my hand for another one, a shadow killed the sparkling lights that reflected off the sharp glass fragments.  I looked up.  There she was standing before me. She looked familiar, but I wasn’t expecting this.  “Hi” she said with a soft disappointed voice.

“My name is not mine.  I was born when I died.”

I squeezed the glass pieces in my hands.  I felt them cut deep into my flesh. I dropped them with my jaw and wiped the blood on my dress. Then I saw her dress stain on the exact same spot.  It was magical. She looked at me with tear filled eyes, as if to question ‘What are you doing here?’  Then she opened her hand and showed me a scar building on the exact same place I had just cut my hand.  And she left.  Left me in the dark with blood dripping off my hand.  I replayed her words in my head.

Hi

My name is not mine. I was born when I died.