Memoirs of the Motherland (Part I)

26 December 2012 | Gulele Post

By Jilcha Hamid

I spent the morning before my final flight at a transit point in Bahrain. The Kingdom was kind enough to give us a hotel room and lunch, free of charge. I didn’t eat. I was exhausted and ended up oversleeping, but woke up just in time to hop the minibus back to the airport to catch my flight. The first thing I noticed about Bahrain was that it felt like stepping into an oven. The second thing I noticed was that there were no Bahrainis. Most of the population were expats. And I don’t know if I was expecting to see mobs of angry protesters block the road and flip over the minibus, but I didn’t see any protests. As we waited for boarding I saw that except for a handful of folks, most of the people on the flight were Ethiopians. The Oromo speaking crowd on one end, the Amharic speaking Muslims in one group, the Amharic speaking Christians in another. As for me, I sat with my fellow Canadian. A lady travelling with two small children. As the passengers lined up to board the plane, there was a bit of a commotion, arguing and what not but as soon as they saw me and the lady holding the two kids the sea of people split in two “they’re travelling with children, let them through!”. The benefits of having kids I guess.

So we got on the plane and I was seated next to a bunch of Oromo guys, who were laughing and joking around. Having a good time. So I greeted them. They greeted me back and got quiet all of a sudden. I realized it was because they didn’t know that I spoke Oromo. In Ethiopia you watch what you say around people you don’t know, because your words can and will be used against you in the interrogation room. Anybody can be an agent or spy.And in hindsight the way I was dressed and behaved probably portrayed me as some sort of gov’t official (lol). But seated next to me was a 14 year old boy. Probably because of his young age he opened up to me more. He told me they were on the flight because they were being deported back to Ethiopia. They were illegal immigrants who crossed the Gulf of Aden by by boat to Yemen (a journey in which hundreds of youth die every year) in hopes of finding a better life somewhere else in the world. He was born in a small town in northern Ethiopia (in Wallo) and at such a young age had already been all around Ethiopia, Djibouti and the Middle East. You couldn’t tell it from his baby face, but his rough hands told the tale. I found out that the whole group of guys were from Wallo, and that they were all deportees.In fact I can say with confidence that most of the menon the plane were being deported, and most of the females were probably expat workers. They didn’t have easy lives, but they didn’t let it get them down. They were happy and jovial. They lifted my spirits. As the the announcement was made that we were landing in Addis Ababa people started cheering and clapping.

Then slowly the clapping turned into a slow rhythmic clapping. An Asian flight attendant came forward and started doing a dance called “eskista” and everybody went crazy jumping out of their seats. The Muslims started chanting takbeer. It was pretty awesome lol. As we landed and got off the plane I parted with my brothers and went to get stamped in. There was a funny smell in the air. Not a bad smell. Just different. This was the land where my family originated. I was in Addis Ababa. No…I was in Finfinne. Shaggar. I started thinking about the history. Visible on the outskirts of the city was Mount Entoto. On that mountain 130 years ago an Oromo tribal chief named Goobana struck a deal with Ras Minilik to join hands and make war on the neighboring Oromo tribes. After a long bloody and genocidal campaign, the modern day state of Ethiopia was established. My great great grandfather and his heroic men fought the army of Minilik at the battle of Calanqo. I was finally home.

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Jilcha Hamid is a University student in Canada.

Click Here to Read Part Two

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