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Fogies,
both of the young and old varieties, tend twice a year to
sit around a turned off TV set and to shoot the breeze, as
the Americans say, for hours. Mostly, it is to reminisce
about days gone by.
Just
the other day there was a collection of like-minded people
of both sexes, extolling the days of yore, when it was not
at all possible or easy to live (as was our collective want)
and reminisce, of course nostalgically, about home at times
during the holidays. I said, twice a year: the first time is
around now, at the end of Lenten Fast; the second is during
the first week of September, on the eve of the Ethiopian New
Year.
A
street that seems to bisect the city along a north-south
line, 16th Street, starts at the White, or thereabouts and
ends in the State of Maryland. It is a veritable picture of
run down apartments, and some not so run down; and also a
collection point of all kinds of houses of worship along its
length. The city fathers, in their inscrutable wisdom
ordained, promulgated and encouraged houses of worship to
be built there because they, the churches, the synagogues
and the temples, pay no city property tax, and the city has
the last word in such matters anyway.
Halfway
along its stretch, there is a colossal apartment block,
buzzing with people coming and going at all hours of the day
and night. The building was at first meant to be a hotel,
but that did not last. It then became a hostel for one of
the many universities in the city, again all non-tax paying
entities. That did not last long either. So the developer
decided to turn the whole building into apartments,
something they should have thought of doing in the first
place.
What is
pertinent to our story is, however, something else. Take a
walk by the apartment block on the eve of any of the two
Ethiopian holidays, Lenten and the New Year, and your nose -
and it has to be said, your eyes too - would be inundated by
the smell of Ethiopian cooking, as families prepare for the
feasts that accompany these grand festivals. There were a
couple of damp eyes as we talked of these attacks on our
senses: of the Ethiopian cooking butter, affecting and
exciting the olfactory senses no end; and the odour of the
Ethiopian red pepper, with no other condiment like it in the
world.
The
reason for the wet eyes in our group was not because of the
imagined red pepper in the eyes, but because someone
resurrected the memory of burning eucalyptus leaves and the
ensuing smoke in the preparation of the injera in and
around Addis Abeba. Someone mentioned that he had been
driving into the city from the north, up above on the Entoto
Hills, and he saw this haze he said seemed to waft and
drift in all direction, all over the city sprawled
underneath him. And even at that height, he swore he could
smell the glorious smell of burning eucalyptus. This was
well before smog had so covered the city like a pall, and
well before the city had so grown, as it has today, that it
has almost joined up with Akaki.
If one
could get beyond the smog today, however, where does one
find the eucalyptus trees and the forests that used to
surround the city, other than the ones that were mowed by
Mengistu and his erstwhile lieutenants?
Gone
are the days of plenty, of course, even here in the USA. The
tightening of the designer belt, as someone said, is in full
swing. But it is precisely because of these hard times that
days gone by are remembered with nostalgia and fondness.
For
Ethiopians in Washington DC today, everything seems to be
available at one's fingertips. You pay good money, of
course, but at least it is available. I am not talking of
affluence here; only of what has been made available by far
sighted entrepreneurs, those that have full knowledge of
what their people want in their lives. These same
entrepreneurs tend to open doors for others to follow, but
then have stepped back, seemingly satisfied with their
handiwork.
Today
it is the Koreans that have taken over from what Ethiopians
started. The 9th Street and before that, the 18th Street
corridors are good examples of the pioneering spirit of
yesteryear. If you want meat in any quantity, you have to go
to an area of DC, and run by Koreans, that looks very much
like how the vegetable market below Abune Petros Monument
used to look - before decaying into the foul smelling market
that it is today. There, you will find not just meat, but
vegetables and other household needs.
Following this discussion, it quickly became an opener for
someone in our discussion group who opined: do you remember
when…?
The
only way one could get meat for festivals was by buying it
from supermarkets at exorbitant prices. Even if one could
not quibble with the price, and needless to say you could
not (Americans are not aware of the joys of barter), you had
to get there early before all meats were sold out. The
countrywide supermarket chains never really cottoned onto
why there was a shortage periodically until it was too late
and their customers had gone elsewhere.
Where
they went to were two farms some 88.5 km from Washington. No
one now remembers how these two farms were found, and by
whom. They offered - not just to Ethiopians, but to
Nigerians as well - a service that neither community could
pass up. The two farms reared sheep. They offered to sell
the sheep, slaughtered on the premises, and following the
rigorous customs of both Ethiopians and Nigerians.
A farm
hand would ceremoniously offer the blade to the Nigerians
and the Ethiopians in turn, and separately, both being the
sons of Abraham would intone their respective blessings
according to their beliefs, before slitting the throats of
their sheep.
The
Ethiopians would string up the beast and, again according to
custom, skin and disembowel it, cleansing the meat all the
while. The Nigerians would also follow their custom. When
finished, the pelt would be given to the farmer to do
whatever he wished with it, while the farm hand would next
help in the cutting up. Using motorized hack saws, he became
so adept that he did not need much oversight. He could cut
up the sheep in ways that the abattoir in Addis would have
sworn was some of their own handiwork.
The cut
up meat and the tripe would be put into plastic containers
to be delivered to the womenfolk for their part in the
preparation of the food. The men, on the other hand, their
work now done, would go to bed to sleep the sleep of the
contented, one assumes. They had been up since four o'clock
in the morning.
But
then, an Ethiopian woman entrepreneur took over. She owned a
farm on the outskirts of the city, and there was no reason
for her not to embark on this same business. So, Ethiopians
flocked to her farm. She at first began to offer the animals
all ready for cutting up, and then moved on to offering them
cut up. The men folk were suddenly without a job, but the
women folk still had to do the cooking. There was some
smirking amongst the males of our group as this was brought
up. This was quickly wiped off smug faces as they remembered
that they had all been cashiered into herding and looking
after everybody's children, no mean task at the best of
times.
The
churches at this time undergo both a physical and spiritual
lift. The wall-to-wall carpeting is gone over by an army of
people, all volunteers. The chairs for the congregations are
arranged to accommodate as many souls as possible. All
churches, and some are spacious enough to hold thousands,
are by now gleaming. The hope is that the weather will be
accommodating because there will be an overflow, and many
will have to follow Mass through the loudspeakers
surrounding the buildings.
This
being America, there will be no noise since the neighbours
can quite easily call in the police. But the neighbourhoods
are by now accustomed to hubbub and will not complain, if at
all. But what might irritate people living in the areas of
the churches is the huge traffic jams and so many cars
taking up parking spaces in the vicinity. The Washington DC
police know, by now, the traffic mess that occurs around
this time. But they will be there in force to keep traffic
flowing smoothly, and occasionally having to badger a driver
into obeying the rules.
Some in
our group remembered the first time the Holy Tabot was taken
out of the church and paraded around the building: there
was so much pandemonium that the police thought, in all
seriousness, that there was a riot in the making; there was
so much ululation (which they misconstrued as screaming) and
pushing and shoving. Now, it is sworn that people have seen
some members of the police doff their hats in respect. Such
is progress made when recognition is made.
By
tomorrow morning Ethiopian time, it is good to remember that
those Ethiopians on the east coast of the United States have
already broken fast. Most will be lolling in their arm
chairs, with perhaps a snifter at hand, from New York to
Florida and every point in between, giving thanks and
praying for a soft landing for this time next year. And
also holding their by now bloated bellies for all to see and
admire.
Those
in the west being three hours behind the east - from Seattle
to the tip of California, and again every point in between
- have yet to digest what they have eaten, and are perhaps
feeling the worse for it.
Our
group rolled with laughter at the memory of eating too much,
too fast and too quickly. Laughing more at themselves than
at any thing and any one in particular, they grimaced as a
group, at the recollection that many of the emergency
departments of the city's hospitals would be inundated with
people with stomach cramps. One member of the group, a
doctor, divulged that some of his patients had to be
convinced that they were not about to die, but could go
home, have a lot of tea, and to just sit on the toilet and
wait it out.
The
rich and the poor, both individuals and mighty countries of
the world, have approached a precipice and have looked
into an abyss. The future is very bleak indeed. Those with
means can feed off their accumulated fat. Those without can
only hope that what they have will last them until there is
an upturn and that indeed, the bottom has been reached and
the only way is now up.
As our
group dispersed, we could all but notice that we had become
a little quieter. Some of us were going to go home to our
families, many now grown up. Some were still single, and
would have it no other way, they shouted from the rooftops -
but hugged other people's children mightily and wistfully.
The
times then, as rehashed by our gossiping group, some eons
ago were not as bad as they had seemed then. And not because
today seems unbearable in comparison. They were, in
retrospect, good times. They were ground breaking, and for
those that were willing to work and work hard, bountiful.
Much of what is taken for granted today by those that have
taken over what was initiated then.
The
precursor of all the seventy-plus restaurants in Washington
DC is today, alas, no more. But it has been replaced with
all manner of other restaurants up and down this country and
even in Europe, each one of them, bless them, advertising
Ethiopia's many facets and cultures.
Who
would have thought that you could get Americans and
Europeans for that matter, to eat with their fingers?
And, of
course, it is not just the food: much of the décor has been
imported and is shown to admiring audiences (and eaters).
But
most importantly, it is that Ethiopians, usually introverted
to a fault, wear their individuality on their sleeves. Their
weddings, their times of mourning, their celebrations, their
unique dress, they broadcast them all without seeming to do
so. Their faith and their churches rub shoulders with the
already well established western ones here in this city and
elsewhere in the USA. That there are many Muslims in the
Ethiopian throng is now established.
All
sigh collectively as they go about their business of living,
trying to make ends meet at this most perilous of times. For
those that have it a little better here in the United
States, it might mean delving into their wallets just a
little deeper than before to help buy that chicken, that
sheep or that extra kilo or two of meat. This will help the
relatives and friends tide over these, the most auspicious
of all holidays. Having gone without for nearly sixty days,
they surely merit a helping hand. |
