Archive for May, 2007

New Yorkers Received Rare Treat at MOBIA: Ethiopian Art from The Walters Art Museum

COLLEEN LUTOLF

Walters Art Museum Director Gary Vikan’s fascination with Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Christian art began in a Washington D.C. basement during the 1960s.

“I do remember going into somebody’s house in Washington [D.C.] and seeing the Virgin [Mary] with these huge, dark eyes,” Vikan said during a recent interview. “And I remember the moment I saw it and where I was standing. The memory is very strong.”

Private collections throughout the world, like those protected beneath a Washington D.C. house, inside rock-hewn Christian monasteries in Ethiopia, or above ground in a New York City SoHo loft, have provided the Walters Art Museum with a majority of its Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Christian art, Vikan said.

Vikan only began collecting Ethiopian Orthodox Christian art for the Walters in 1993, the same year he curated “African Zion: The Sacred Art of Ethiopia,” an historical exhibition he said served as a “flashpoint” for the current strife occurring in Ethiopia at the time.

“In the context of doing the exhibition, it was not easy. It was a troubled moment historically” in Ethiopia, Vikan said, with Mengistu Haile Mariam’s reign of Red Terror having just ended. The trial that would prosecute members of the communist Derg, mostly in absentia, would soon begin.

“These aspects put people on edge, and they kind of spilled over, not into the exhibition itself, but the different views, it was very interesting,” he said. “The exhibition had facets that most exhibitions don’t have.”

A year later, Vikan, a medieval orthodox art scholar and trained Byzantinist, moved from chief curator to director of the Walters and began collecting Ethiopian Orthodox Christian art in earnest. The Walters now boasts the largest collection of this type of Ethiopian devotional art outside of Ethiopia in the world.

“Certainly the best, from some very interesting private collections,” Vikan said. “I was attracted to it before anyone paid much attention to it.”

When the collection of a sub-Saharan art dealer who passed away was being sold off, Vikan got a call.

“Somebody selling off the collection who knew about me - this would’ve been in 1995 in New York in a loft in SoHo – they invited me down to look at this and I thought, ‘This is really amazing,’” Vikan recalled. A stock market windfall allowed Vikan to buy a number of those pieces for the Walters, and they are now included in the museum’s 100-piece collection of metalwork, icon painting, woodcarvings and ancient manuscripts that span 1,500 years of Ethiopian Christian devotion. The collection is now the central exhibit on the medieval floor of the Walters Art Museum.

“It’s in the pride position because it is so visually powerful that nothing else could dominate it,” Vikan said. “It dominates the Byzantine art around it.”

The Ethiopian Orthodox Christian collection also shares the medieval floor with Russian, Byzantine, and Georgian Orthodox art in the Baltimore museum.

“The others revolve around Ethiopia,” Vikan said. “It would make the room look funny [if they didn’t] because the others are not as visually strong.”

New Yorkers were recently given an opportunity to view about half of the Walters’ collection when the Museum of Biblical Art in New York City hosted “Angels of Light: Ethiopian Art from The Walters Art Museum” from March 23 through May 20.

If museum-goers had a feeling they were being watched as they entered the “Angels of Light” exhibition at the MOBIA, they had good reason. Huge, dark eyes similar to those that greeted Vikan in that Washington D.C. basement over 40 years ago were looking out from various devotional icon paintings depicting Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary, almost always flanked by angels with equally large eyes that symbolize holiness.

triptych-with-virgin-and-child2_new.jpg
Above: Anonymous painter. Triptych with Virgin and Child Flanked by archangels, scenes from the life of Christ, apostles and Saint George and Saint Mercurius. Ethiopia (Gojjam?), late 17th century. Tempera on panel. 14 78 x 4 5/16 inches left; 15 1/8 x 9 inches center; 15 1/16 x 4 7/16 inches right. 36.7 museum purchased, the W. Alton Jones Foundation Acquisition Fund, 1996, from the Nancy and Robert Nooter Collection.

Most of the iconic paintings date between the 15th to 17th centuries in diptychs and triptychs depicting familiar Christian scenes – Christ on the cross; the Virgin Mary, seated, with the Christ child holding a book in his left hand, and embraced in Mary’s left arm with the first two fingers of her right hand pointing downward; Christ with a crown of thorns, Christ teaching the apostles.

While the compositions of these depictions can be traced to visiting missionaries and artists carrying with them Byzantine and Western examples of Christian iconic devotional paintings after the 14th century, the Ethiopian depictions are unique from any other depiction of Christian scenes in the world, MOBIA curator Holly Flora said.

“Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity has a very close relationship to angels that is not always found elsewhere,” said Flora. “Objects relating to healing as well are emphasized in Ethiopian art.”

Also unique to the art of Ethiopian Orthodoxy is the artists’ use of vibrant colors in paintings and manuscripts.

diptych-with-virgin-and-child_new.jpg
Above: Diptych with Virgin and Child flanked by archangels, apostles, and Saint George. Ethiopia, late 15th century. Tempera on panel.

To understand what makes Ethiopian Orthodox Christian art unique, one must understand the role African traditional religions and Judaism played in Ethiopian culture prior to the introduction to Christianity, said Ayele Bekerie, assistant professor at Cornell University’s Africana Studies and Research Center.

“The influence of ancient religious traditions are manifested in what we now call Ethiopian Christianity, particularly in reaching out to angels and visualizing the biblical stories in colors and styles inspired by the material culture and environment,” Bekerie said. “It is important to note that most monasteries and some churches are built on top of hills and mountains where you experience remarkable and colorful views of the sunrise and sunset. Besides, the landscape is always a panorama of rainbow colors.”

Ethiopian Christianity also evolved out of a Judaic culture as well, established over 3,000 years ago. Bekerie tells the story:

“Judaism is introduced to Ethiopia at the time of Empress Makeda (She is also called Azeb and Queen of Sheba) and her son, Menelik I, the founder of the Solomonic Dynasty in Ethiopia. According to Ethiopian oral tradition, Empress Makeda paid a visit to King Solomon in Jerusalem where she made a deliberate journey in order to learn from the reported wisdom of the king. She did achieve her objective and even more by giving birth to Menelik, the son of the king. Menelik’s rite of passage was to travel to Jerusalem to meet with his father. The overjoyed king asked him to become the king of Israel, but the son wanted to return back to Ethiopia.”

“His return (there are many versions) resulted in the establishment of Judaism (a new tradition of believing in one God) in Ethiopia with the most important sacred symbol of the Ark at the center of the new belief system. When later on, Christianity emerged in Ethiopia, we observe a logical evolution of the faith from Judaism. This is because the Ethiopian Christianity is the only Christianity in the world that embraces and holds the Ark of the Covenant as its defining sacred symbol.”

“Ethiopians believe the Ark of the Covenant is in Ethiopia,” Flora said. “They will tell you unequivocally the Ark is there.”

Ethiopians believe the Ark is located in the Aksumite Church of Our Lady Mary of Zion, but every church in Ethiopia and throughout the world must have a replica of the Ark in order affirm their legitimacy, Bekerie said.

Ethiopia is one of the oldest Christian civilizations in the world. The religion was practiced along the Ethiopian coastline as early as 42 A.D., Bekerie said, after a Meroë (in what is modern day Sudan) merchant introduced commoners to the religion. Due to the inclusive nature of African traditional religions, Christians were able to worship openly without fear of persecution.

Perhaps more significantly, Ethiopia became one of the first countries in the world to take Christianity as its state religion approximately 300 years later when, according to legend, Frumentius, a Christian merchant seaman from Tyre on his way to India with relatives, became shipwrecked and was delivered to the king in Axum, a powerful world empire in the fourth century, Bekerie said.

“He was raised with special care and managed to master the language and traditions of the Aksumites,” said Bekerie. When the king’s son Ezana, came to power, the long-trusted Frumentius convinced him to make Christianity the state religion.

Proof of the conversion is part of the Walters Art Museum collection. Two silver coins, slightly larger in diameter than a pencil eraser, and crafted in the 4th century, show on one side the likeness of Aksumite King Ousanas, on the other, a cross. Aksumite coins are the first in the world to carry the cross, pre-dating Constantinople.

African traditional religious practices were also incorporated into the Ethiopian Orthodox Christian religion.

Protective scrolls, made for those who were ill or believed to be possessed by demons, were created (and still are today in some remote villages, Flora said), by clerics known as däbtära. The däbtära would sacrifice a goat, sprinkle the ill or those believed to be possessed with the goat’s blood, then fashion the scroll from the sacrificed goat’s skin, Flora said.

A healing scroll from the 18th century obtained by the Walters Museum and on display there, was created for a woman named “Martha.” The scrolls combined Christian imagery with magical incantations written in Ge´ez, a liturgical language developed in Ethiopia in the 4th century. The incantations were book-ended by talismans drawn at the top and bottom of the scroll and are believed to protect their owners, Flora said. The scrolls’ recipients then wore the prayer scrolls until they were believed healed.

prayer-scrool_new.jpg
Above: Prayer Scroll. Ethiopia, 19th century. Ink on parchment. 65 9/16 x 3 7/16 inches. W.788, gift of Mr. James St. Lawrence O’Toole, 1978.

Another prayer object that is unique to Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity and features the well-honed abilities of Ethiopian metalworkers are processional crosses. Draped in purple textiles, the MOBIA featured six such crosses, almost six feet in height, dating as far back as the 13th century. Made of gold or silver, these crosses are carried by priests during processions and feature intricate geometrical patterns, Flora said.

“Priests carried these during mass and also used them as instruments of blessing,” she said.

hand-cross_new.jpg
Above: Hand Cross. Ethiopia, 18th–19th century. Wood.

While Ethiopian artists were almost unquestionably influenced by Western and Byzantine devotional icon painting in the 15th century, due in part, museum curators suggest, to the destruction of many church murals and liturgical objects during the Muslim invasions of the 1530s and 1540s, Bekerie said some observers are too quick to see overt Western influence in Ethiopian artists’ creative thought.

“It seems to me there is some sort of mental block not to acknowledge originality and creativity in the Ethiopian artists,” he said. “I always advise scholars to use the example of the architecture of the Debre Damo Monastery, the oldest monastery in Ethiopia.”

The monastery is constructed of stone blocks and logs, creating a distinct architectural feature, Bekerie said. Distinct painting traditions have also emerged in different regions of Ethiopia and are pursued by students over the centuries.
The monarchy and the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Christian Church were institutional pillars that guided culture and politics in Ethiopia until the monarchy’s fall in 1974, Bekerie said.

“The monarchy is gone and the church is still place,” he said. “It is true that there are other religious institutions, including Islamic, Catholic and Protestant institutions. The oldest and by far the most influential is the Tewahedo Church. [Its] influence is apparent in art, music, social relations, food habits and literature.”

And as the collection of Ethiopian art becomes more popular, the sources for these collections become fewer, said Vikan.

“All of it’s drying up and that’s a good thing,” he said. “We need this art to be shown outside of the country, but [its distribution] needs to be controlled and shown in a way that acknowledges the dignity of the culture from which it comes.”


About the Author:
Colleen Lutolf is a reporter for Tadias Magazine.

Ethiopian Monks maintain the only presence by black people in Jerusalem

Above: The roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, Christianity’s most holy place, where Ethiopians monks have lived for a very, very long time. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

Publisher’s Note:

This article was first published in January 2003. The piece appeared in the context of the July 2002 brawl that erupted on the roof of Christianity’s most holy place between Ethiopian and Egyptian monks.

“Eleven monks were treated in hospital after a fight broke out for control of the roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, the traditional site of Jesus’s crucifixion, burial and resurrection”, wrote Alan Philps, a Jerusalem based reporter for the Daily Telegraph.

“The fracas involved monks from the Ethiopian Orthodox church and the Coptic church of Egypt, who have been vying for control of the rooftop for centuries.”

As part of our Millennium series on the relationship between Ethiopia and the African Diaspora, we have selected part of the original article from our archives with a hope that it may generate a healthy discussion on the subject.

Deir Sultan, Ethiopia and the Black World
By NEGUSSAY AYELE

holy_sepulchre_exterior_new.jpg
Above: Main entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Date: 27/03/2005, Easter Sunday. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

Unknown by much of the world, monks and nuns of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, have for centuries quietly maintained the only presence by black people in one of Christianity’s holiest sites—the Church of the Holy Sepulchre of Jesus Christ in Jerusalem.

Through the vagaries and vicissitudes of millennial history and landlord changes in Jerusalem and the Middle East region, Ethiopian monks have retained their monastic convent in what has come to be known as Deir Sultan or the Monastery of the Sultan for more than a thousand years.

Likewise, others that have their respective presences in the area at different periods include Armenian, Russian, Syrian, Egyptian and Greek Orthodox/Coptic Churches as well as the Holy See.

As one writer put it recently, “For more than 1500 years, the Church of Ethiopia survived in Jerusalem. Its survival has not, in the last resort, been dependent on politics, but on the faith of individual monks that we should look for the vindication of the Church’s presence in Jerusalem…. They are attracted in Jerusalem not by a hope for material gain or comfort, but by faith.”

It is hoped that public discussion on this all-important subject will be joined by individuals and groups from all over the world. We hope that others with more detailed and/or first hand knowledge about the subject will join in the discussion.

roof2new.jpg
Above: Painting on the wall of the Ethiopian part of the church of the Holy Sepulcher. Photo by Iweze Davidson.

Accounts of Ethiopian presence in Jerusalem invoke the Bible to establish the origin of Ethiopian presence in Jerusalem.

Accordingly, some Ethiopians refer to the story of the encounter in Jerusalem between Queen of Sheba–believed to have been a ruler in Ethiopia and environs–and King Solomon, cited, for instance, in I Kings 10: 1-13.

According to this version, Ethiopia’s presence in the region was already established about 1000 B.C. possibly through land grant to the visiting Queen, and that later transformation into Ethiopian Orthodox Christian monastery is an extension of that same property.

Others refer to the New Testament account of Acts 8: 26-40 which relates the conversion to Christianity of the envoy of Ethiopia’s Queen Candace (Hendeke) to Jerusalem in the first century A.D., thereby signaling the early phase of Ethiopia’s adoption of Christianity. This event may have led to the probable establishment of a center of worship in Jerusalem for Ethiopian pilgrims, priests, monks and nuns.

Keeping these renditions as a backdrop, what can be said for certain is the following: Ethiopian monastic activities in Jerusalem were observed and reported by contemporary residents and sojourners during the early years of the Christian era.

By the time of the Muslim conquest of Jerusalem and the region (634-644 A.D.) khalif Omar is said to have confirmed Ethiopian physical presence in Jerusalem’s Christian holy places, including the Church of St. Helena, which encompasses the Holy Sepulchre of the Lord Jesus Christ.

His firman or directive of 636 declared “the Iberian and Abyssinian communities remain there” while also recognizing the rights of other Christian communities to make pilgrimages in the Christian holy places of Jerusalem.

Because Jerusalem and the region around it, has been subjected to frequent invasions and changing landlords, stakes in the holy places were often part of the political whims of respective powers that be.

Subsequently, upon their conquest of Jerusalem in 1099, the Crusaders had kicked out Orthodox/Coptic monks from the monasteries and installed Augustine monks instead. However, when in 1187 Salaheddin wrested Jerusalem from the Crusaders, he restored the presence of the Ethiopian and other Orthodox/Coptic monks in the holy places.

When political powers were not playing havoc with their claims to the holy places, the different Christian sects would often carry on their own internecine conflicts among themselves, at times with violent results.

Contemporary records and reports indicate that the Ethiopian presence in the holy places in Jerusalem was rather much more substantial throughout much of the period up to the 18th and 19th centuries.

For example, an Italian pilgrim, Barbore Morsini, is cited as having written in 1614 that “the Chapels of St. Mary of Golgotha and of St. Paul…the grotto of David on Mount Sion and an altar at Bethlehem…” among others were in the possession of the Ethiopians.

From the 16th to the middle of the 19th centuries, virtually the whole of the Middle East was under the suzerainty of the Ottoman Empire. When one of the Zagwe kings in Ethiopia, King Lalibela (1190-1225), had trouble maintaining unhampered contacts with the monks in Jerusalem, he decided to build a new Jerusalem in his land. In the process he left behind one of the true architectural wonders known as the Rock-hewn Churches of Lalibela.

lalibela5.jpg
Above: Lalibela. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

lalibela7.jpg
Above: Lalibela. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

lalibela6.jpg
Above: Lalibela. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

The Ottomans also controlled Egypt and much of the Red Sea littoral and thereby circumscribed Christian Ethiopia’s communication with the outside world, including Jerusalem.

Besides, they had also tried but failed to subdue Ethiopia altogether. Though Ethiopia’s independent existence was continuously under duress not only from the Ottomans but also their colonial surrogate, Egypt as well as from the dervishes in the Sudan, the Ethiopian monastery somehow survived during this period. Whenever they could, Ethiopian rulers and other personages as well as church establishments sent subsidies and even bought plots of land where in time churches and residential buildings for Ethiopian pilgrims were built in and around Jerusalem. Church leaders in Jerusalem often represented the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in ecumenical councils and meetings in Florence and other fora.

During the 16th and 17th centuries the Ottoman rulers of the region including Palestine and, of course, Jerusalem, tried to stabilize the continuing clamor and bickering among the Christian sects claiming sites in the Christian holy places. To that effect, Ottoman rulers including Sultan Selim I (1512-1520) and Suleiman “the Magnificent” (1520-1566) as well as later ones in the 19th century, issued edicts or firmans regulating and detailing by name which group of monks would be housed where and the protocol governing their respective religious ceremonies. These edicts are called firmans of the Status Quo for all Christian claimants in Jerusalem’s holy places including the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which came to be called Deir Sultan or the monastery (place) of the Sultan.

Ethiopians referred to it endearingly as Debre Sultan. Most observers of the scene in the latter part of the 19th Century as well as honest spokesmen for some of the sects attest to the fact that from time immemorial the Ethiopian monks had pride of place in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Deir Sultan). Despite their meager existence and pressures from fellow monks from other countries, the Ethiopian monks survived through the difficult periods their country was going through such as the period of feudal autarchy (1769-1855).

Still, in every document or reference since the opening of the Christian era, Ethiopia and Ethiopian monks have been mentioned in connection with Christian holy places in Jerusalem, by all alternating landlords and powers that be in the region.

As surrogates of the weakening Ottomans, the Egyptians were temporarily in control of Jerusalem (1831-1840). It was at this time, in 1838, that a plague is said to have occurred in the holy places, which in some mysterious ways of Byzantine proportions, claimed the lives of all Ethiopian monks.

The Ethiopians at this time were ensconced in a chapel of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (Deir Sultan) as well as in other locales nearby. Immediately thereafter, the Egyptian authorities gave the keys of the Church to the Egyptian Coptic monks.

The Egyptian ruler, Ibrahim Pasha, then ordered that all thousands of very precious Ethiopian holy books and documents, including historical and ecclesiastical materials related to property deeds and rights, be burned—alleging conveniently that the plague was spawned by the Ethiopian parchments.

Monasteries are traditionally important hubs of learning and, given its location and its opportunity for interaction with the wider family of Christendom, the Ethiopian monastery in Jerusalem was even more so than others. That is how Ethiopians lost their choice possession in Deir Sultan.

By the time other monks arrived in Jerusalem, the Copts claimed their squatter’s rights, the new Ethiopian arrivals were eventually pushed off onto the open rooftop of the church, thanks largely to the machinations of the Egyptian Coptic church.

church-with-monks_new.jpg
Above: The roof of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, where Ethiopians maintain the only presence by black people in Christianity’s holiest shrine. This image is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution.

Although efforts on behalf of Ethiopian monks in Jerusalem started in mid-19th Century with Ras Ali and Dejach Wube, it was the rise of Emperor Tewodros in 1855 in Ethiopia that put the Jerusalem monastery issue back onto international focus.

When Ethiopian monks numbering a hundred or so congregated in Jerusalem at the time, the Armenians had assumed superiority in the holy places. The Anglican bishop in Jerusalem then, Bishop Samuel Gobat witnessed the unholy attitude and behavior of the Armenians and the Copts towards their fellow Christian Ethiopians who were trying to reclaim their rights to the holy places in Jerusalem.

He wrote that the Ethiopian monks, nuns and pilgrims “were both intelligent and respectable, yet they were treated like slaves, or rather like beasts by the Copts and the Armenians combined…(the Ethiopians) could never enter their own chapel but when it pleased the Armenians to open it. …On one occasion, they could not get their chapel opened to perform funeral service for one of their members. The key to their convent being in the hands of their oppressors, they were locked up in their convent in the evening until it pleased their Coptic jailer to open it in the morning, so that in any severe attacks of illness, which are frequent there, they had no means of going out to call a physician.’’

It was awareness of such indignities suffered by Ethiopian monks in Jerusalem that is said to have impelled Emperor Tewodros to have visions of clearing the path between his domain and Jerusalem from Turkish/Egyptian control, and establishing something more than monastic presence there. In the event, one of the issues that contributed to the clash with British colonialists that consumed his life 1868, was the quest for adequate protection of the Ethiopian monks and their monastery in Jerusalem.

Emperor Yohannes IV (1872-1889), the priestly warrior king, used his relatively cordial relations with the British who were holding sway in the region then, to make representations on behalf of the Ethiopian monastery in Jerusalem.

He carried on regular pen-pal communications with the monks even before he became Emperor. He sent them money, he counseled them and he always asked them to pray for him and the country, saying, “For the prayers of the righteous help and serve in all matters. By the prayers of the righteous a country is saved.”

He used some war booty from his battles with Ottomans and their Egyptian surrogates, to buy land and started to build a church in Jerusalem. As he died fighting Sudanese/Dervish expansionists in 1889, his successor, Emperor Menelik completed the construction of the Church named Debre Gennet located on what was called “Ethiopian Street.”

During this period more monasteries, churches and residences were also built by Empresses Tayitu, Zewditu, Menen as well as by several other personages including Afe Negus Nessibu, Dejazmach Balcha, Woizeros Amarech Walelu, Beyenech Gebru, Altayeworq.

As of the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th Century the numbers of Ethiopian monks and nuns increased and so did overall Ethiopian pilgrimage and presence in Jerusalem.

In 1903, Emperor Menelik put $200, 000 thalers in a (Credileone) Bank in the region and ordained that interests from that savings be used exclusively as subsidy for the sustenance of the Ethiopian monks and nuns and the upkeep of Deir Sultan. Emperor Menelik’s 6-point edict also ordained that no one be allowed to draw from the capital in whole or in part.

Land was also purchased at various localities and a number of personalities including Empress Tayitu, and later Empress Menen, built churches there. British authorities supported a study on the history of the issue since at least the time of kalifa (Calif) Omar ((636) and correspondences and firmans and reaffirmations of Ethiopian rights in 1852, in an effort to resolve the chronic problems of conflicting claims to the holy sites in Jerusalem.

The 1925 study concluded that ”the Abyssinian (Ethiopian ) community in Palestine ought to be considered the only possessor of the convent Deir Es Sultan at Jerusalem with the Chapels which are there and the free and exclusive use of the doors which give entrance to the convent, the free use of the keys being understood.”

Until the Fascist invasion of Ethiopia in the 1930’s when Mussolini confiscated Ethiopian accounts and possessions everywhere, including in Jerusalem, the Ethiopian presence in Jerusalem had shown some semblance of stability and security, despite continuing intrigues by Copts, Armenians and their overlords in the region.

This was a most difficult and trying time for the Ethiopian monks in Jerusalem who were confronted with a situation never experienced in the country’s history, namely its occupation by a foreign power. And, just like some of their compatriots including Church leaders at home, some paid allegiance to the Fascist rulers albeit for the brief (1936-1941) interregnum.

Emperor Haile Sellassie was also a notable patron of the monastery cause, and the only monarch to have made several trips to Jerusalem, including en route to his self-exile to London in May, 1936.

Since at least the 1950s there was an Ethiopian Association for Jerusalem in Addis Ababa that coordinated annual Easter pilgrimages to Jerusalem. Hundreds of Ethiopians and other persons from Ethiopia and the Diaspora took advantage of its good offices to go there for absolution, supplication or felicitation, and the practice continues today.

Against all odds, historical, ecclesiastical and cultural bonding between Ethiopia and Jerusalem waxed over the years. The Ethiopian presence expanded beyond Deir Sultan including also numerous Ethiopian Churches, chapels, convents and properties. This condition required that the Patriarchate of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church designate Jerusalem as a major diocese to be administered under its own Archbishop.

jourdan-river2_new.jpg
Above: Timket (epiphany) celebration by the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church on the Jordan River, considered to be the place where Jesus was baptized. Jan. 1999. Photo by Iweze Davidson.

Ethiopia and Black Heritage In Jerusalem

For hundreds of years, the name or concept of Ethiopia has been a beacon for black/African identity liberty and dignity throughout the diaspora. The Biblical (Psalm 68:31) verse , “…Ethiopia shall soon stretch forth her hands unto God” has been universally taken to mean African people, black people at large, stretch out their hands to God (and only to God) in supplication, in felicitation or in absolution.

As Daniel Thwaite put it, for the Black man Ethiopia was always “…an incarnation of African independence.”

And today, Ethiopian monastic presence in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre or Deir Sultan in Jerusalem, is the only Black presence in the holiest place on earth for Christians. For much of its history, Ethiopian Christianity was largely hemmed in by alternating powers in the region. Likewise, Ethiopia used its own indigenous Ethiopic languages for liturgical and other purposes within its own territorial confines, instead of colonial or other lingua franca used in extended geographical spaces of the globe.

For these and other reasons, Ethiopia was not able to communicate effectively with the wider Black world in the past. Given the fact that until recently, most of the Black world within Africa and in the diaspora was also under colonial tutelage or under slavery, it was not easy to appreciate the significance of Ethiopian presence in Jerusalem. Consequently, even though Ethiopian/Black presence in Jerusalem has been maintained through untold sacrifices for centuries, the rest of the Black world outside of Ethiopia has not taken part in its blessings through pilgrimages to the holy sites and thereby develop concomitant bonding with the Ethiopian monastery in Jerusalem.

For nearly two millennia now, the Ethiopian Church and its adherent monks and priests have miraculously maintained custodianship of Deir Sultan, suffering through and surviving all the struggles we have glanced at in these pages. In fact, the survival of Ethiopian/Black presence in Christianity’s holy places in Jerusalem is matched only by the “Survival Ethiopian Independence” itself.

Indeed, Ethiopian presence in Deir Sultan represents not just Ethiopian Orthodox Christianity but all African/black Christians of all denominations who value the sacred legacy that the holy places of Jerusalem represent for Christians everywhere. It represents also the affirmation of the fact that Jerusalem is the birthplace of Christianity, just as adherents of Judaism and Islam claim it also.

The Ethiopian foothold at the rooftop of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the only form of Black presence in Christianity’s holy places of Jerusalem. It ought to be secure, hallowed and sanctified ground by and for all Black folks everywhere who value it. The saga of Deir Sultan also represents part of Ethiopian history and culture. And that too is part of African/black history and culture regardless of religious orientation.

When a few years ago, an Ethiopian monk was asked by a writer why he had come to Jerusalem to face all the daily vicissitudes and indignities, he answered, “because it is Jerusalem.”


About the Author:
Dr. Negussay Ayele is a noted Ethiopian scholar. He is the author of the book Ethiopia and the United States, Volume I, the Season of Courtship, among many other publications. He lives in Los Angeles, California.

Hot Shots from Rebecca Haile’s Book Signing

Photos by Liben Eabisa
Event Name: Rebecca Haile’s book signing (Held at a Distance: My Rediscovery of Ethiopia)
City: New York
Date: Monday, May 21, 2007
Venue: Hue-Man Bookstore
Address: 2319 Frederick Douglass Blvd

Send your hot shots to hotshots@tadias.com

rh15_new.JPG
Above: Tseday Alehegn (left), Editor-in-Chief of Tadias Magazine, and Beejhy Barhany, Director of BINA Cultural Foundation Inc. & Head of the Annual Sheba Film Festival in New York City, with her 20-month old baby, Alem.

rh1_new.JPG

rh9_new.JPG
Above: From left - Yonatan, Tseday Alehegn , Asrat (Law Student at Columbia University), Kidane Mariam (Ethio-Cuban Cinematographer), and Beniam (Fashion Designer NYC).

rh11_new.JPG
Above: Author Rebecca Haile and her husband, Jean

rh17_new.JPG

rh5_new.JPG
Above: Maro Haile (left), Textile Designer, and Tseday Alehegn

rh8_new.JPG
Above: The executive team of EthiDolls™, makers of African signature dolls. From Left - Yeworkwoha Ephrem, Executive Vice President (Ms. Ephrem is also the owner of the highly successful Ethiopian restaurant, Ghenet, located in the SoHo neighborhood in New York City), Stephanie Janis, Senior Vice President for Research and Development, and Salome Yilma, Chief Executive Officer.

rh13_new.JPG
The Hue-Man Bookstore is located one block away from the world famous Apollo Theater in downtown Harlem.

rh14_new.JPG

Want to laugh? Read Wegesha’s poem about hot shots. Click here.

Book Excerpt: The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears

Above: Photo by Blair Fethers

By Dinaw Mengestu

Joseph’s already drunk when he comes into the store. He strolls through the open door with his arms open. You get the sense when watching him that even the grandest gestures he may make aren’t grand enough for him. He’s constantly trying to outdo himself, to reach new levels of Josephness that will ensure that anyone who has ever met him will carry some lingering trace of Joseph Kahangi long after he has left. He’s now a waiter at an expensive downtown restaurant, and after he cleans each table he downs whatever alcohol is still left in the glasses before bringing them back to the kitchen. I can tell by his slight swagger that the early dinnertime crowd was better than usual today.

Joseph is short and stout like a tree stump. He has a large round face that looks like a moon pie. Kenneth used to tell him he looked Ghanaian.

“You have a typical Ghanaian face, Joe. Round eyes. Round face. Round nose. You’re Ghanaian through and through. Admit it, and let us move on.”

Joseph would stand up then and theatrically slam his fist onto the table, or into his palm, or against the wall. “I am from Zaire,” he would yell out. “And you are a ass.” Or, more recently, and in a much more subdued tone: “I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Next week, it may be something different. I admit that. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be from the Liberated Land of Laurent Kabila. But today, as far as I know, I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”

Joseph kisses me once on each cheek after he takes his coat off.

“That’s my favorite thing about you Ethiopians,” he says. “You kiss each other on the cheeks all the time. It takes you hours to say hello and good-bye because you’re constantly kissing each other. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

Kenneth pours Joseph a scotch and the three of us raise our cups for a toast.

“How is America today, Stephanos?” Joseph asks me.

“He hates it,” Kenneth says.

“That’s because he doesn’t understand it.” Joseph leans closer toward me, his large moon-pie face eclipsing my view of every thing except his eyes, which are small and bloodshot, and look as if they were added onto his face as an afterthought.

“I’ve told you,” he says. “This country is like a little bastard child. You can’t be angry when it doesn’t give you what you want.”

He leans back deliberately in his chair and crosses his legs, holding the pose for two seconds before leaning over and resting both arms on his thighs.

“But you have to praise it when it comes close, otherwise it’ll turn around and bite you in the ass.”

The two of them laugh and then quickly pour back their drinks and refill their glasses. There is a brief silence as each struggles to catch his breath. Before either of them can tell me something else about America (“This country cares only about one thing…” “There are three things you need to know about Americans…”), I call out, “Bukassa.” The name catches them off guard. They both turn and stare at me. They swirl their cups around and around to make sure it looks like they’re thinking. Kenneth walks over to the map of Africa I keep taped on the wall right next to the door. It’s at least twenty years old, maybe older. The borders and names have changed since it was made, but maps, like pictures and journals, have a built-in nostalgic quality that can never render them completely obsolete. The countries are all color-coded, and Africa’s hanging dour head looks like a woman’s head wrapped in a shawl. Kenneth rubs his hand silently over the continent, working his way west to east and then south until his index finger tickles the tip of South Africa. When he’s finished tracing his hand over the map, he turns around and points at me.

“Gabon.” He says it as if it were a crime I was guilty of.

“What about it?” I tell him, “I hear it’s a fine country. Good people. Never been there myself, though.”

He turns back to the map and whispers, “Fuck you.”

“Come on. I thought you were an engineer,” Joseph taunts him. “Whatever happened to precision?” He stands up and puts his large fat arm over Kenneth’s narrow shoulders. With his other hand he draws a circle around the center of Africa. He finds his spot and taps it twice.

“Central African Republic,” he says. “When was it?”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully, like the intellectual he always thought he was going to become, and has never stopped wanting to be.

“Nineteen sixty-four? No. Nineteen sixty-five.”

“Nineteen sixty-six,” I tell him.

“Close.”

“But not close enough.”

So far we’ve named more than thirty different coups in Africa. It’s become a game with us. Name a dictator and then guess the year and country. We’ve been playing the game for over a year now. We’ve expanded our playing field to include failed coups, rebellions, minor insurrections, guerrilla leaders, and the acronyms of as many rebel groups as we can find—the SPLA, TPLF, LRA, UNITA—anyone who has picked up a gun in the name of revolution. No matter how many we name, there are always more, the names, dates, and years multiplying as fast as we can memorize them so that at times we wonder, half-jokingly, if perhaps we ourselves aren’t somewhat responsible.

“When we stop having coups, we can stop playing,” Joseph said once. It was the third or fourth time we had played, and we were guessing how long we could keep it up.

“I should have known that,” Kenneth says. “Bukassa has always been one of my favorites.”

We all have favorites. Bukassa. Amin. Mobutu. We love the ones known for their absurd declarations and comical perormances, the dictators who marry forty women and have twice as many children, who sit on golden thrones shaped like eagles, declare themselves minor gods, and are surrounded by rumors of incest, cannibalism, sorcery, and magic.

“He was an emperor,” Joseph says. “Just like your Haile Selassie, Stephanos.”

“He didn’t last as long, though,” I remind him.

“That’s because no one gave him a chance. Poor Bukassa. Emperor Bukassa. Minister of Defense, Education, Sports, Health, War, Housing, Land, Wildlife, Foreign Affairs, His Royal Majesty, King of the Sovereign World, and Not Quite But Almost the Lion of Judah Bukassa.”

“He was a cannibal, wasn’t he?” Kenneth asks Joseph.

“According to the French, yes. But who can believe the French? Just look at Sierra Leone, Senegal. Liars, all of them.”

“The French or the Africans?”

“What difference does it make?”

We spend the next two hours alternating between shots and slowly sipped glasses of Kenneth’s scotch. Inevitably, predictably, our conversations find their way home.

“Our memories,” Joseph says, “are like a river cut off from the ocean. With time they will slowly dry out in the sun, and so we drink and drink and drink and we can never have our fill.”

“Why do you always talk like that?” Kenneth demands.

“Because it is true. And that is the only way to describe it. If you have something different to say, then say it.”

Kenneth leans his chair back against the wall. He’s drunk and on the verge of falling.

“I will say it,” he says.

He pours the last few drops of scotch into his cup and sticks his tongue out to catch them.

“I can’t remember where the scar on my father’s face is. Sometimes I think it is here, on the left side of his face, just underneath his eye. But then I say to myself, that’s only because you were facing him, and so really, it was on the right side. But then I say no, that can’t be. Because when I was a boy I sat on his shoulders and he would let me rub my hand over it. And so I sit on top of a table and place my legs around a chair and lean over and I try to find where it would have been. Here. Or there. Here. Or there.”

As he speaks his hand skips from one side of his face to the other.

“He used to say, when I die you’ll know how to tell it’s me by this scar. That made no sense but when I was a boy I didn’t know that. I thought I needed that scar to know it was him. And now, if I saw him, I couldn’t tell him apart from any other old man.”

“Your father is already dead,” I tell him.

“And so is yours, Stephanos. Don’t you worry you’ll forget him someday?”

“No. I don’t. I still see him every where I go.”

“All of our fathers are dead,” Joseph adds.

“Exactly,” Kenneth says.

It’s the closest we’ve ever come to a resolution.

—-
From The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears by Dinaw Mengestu. Copyright (c) 2007 Dinaw Mengestu, Published by Riverhead Books, a member of Penguin Group (USA), all rights reserved

Interview with Miss World Ethiopia

She’s got brains, beauty and a serious sweet tooth. Meet Jiitu Abraham. Recently, we
had a chance to sit down and chat with the Ethiopian beauty queen.

Tadias: How does it feel to be crowned “Miss Ethiopia World”?

Jiitu Abraham: I feel blessed and honored. I fasted for two months prior to the competition. I asked GOD to make it clear to me if I should go, or if it was just going to be a waste of my time. I didn’t actually buy my ticket until 3 days before the competition. I am honored because I am the first American-born Ethiopian to win this title.

I was happy to see that organizers such as Andy Abulime, and the competition’s judges, were progressive enough in their thinking to understand that you don’t have to be born in Ethiopia to be an Ethiopian. The country of your birth doesn’t prevent you from taking pride or interest in the country that raised the parent(s) who raised you.

While I have received a lot of negative feedback from many, I stand my ground in believing that to be Ethiopian is something that you are born being regardless of your birth country, not something that can be given or taken away from you. With all the children being born to Ethiopian parents in the US and other countries outside of Ethiopia, there is no way that I can or will allow someone to tell me that we are not real Ethiopians, or not Ethiopian enough. We might have had different experiences growing up but that is what is going to make us a more eclectic and successful community. If encouraged and supported properly, Ethiopians, from all backgrounds, can come together and fuse their different life experiences and knowledge to better the social, economic, and political situation in Ethiopia. Being born outside of Ethiopia was not our choice, neither is being Ethiopian. It just simply IS our reality.

jitu2.jpg

Tadias: Who is your role model and why?

JA: I have different role models for different aspects of my life. As far as life goes, I don’t have to look far for a role model, because my parents, Abebe Abraham and Azenegash Hailu Abraham, are my role models. They have showed me through their actions that the only way to achieve your goals is through hard work and determination. They taught me that there is no speed-pass to success. True success can only be earned through hard work. They also made sure to instill in me the importance of trying to live your life for God, because without him nothing is possible.

When it comes to pursuing a career in entertainment, I would say my role model has been Will Smith. I specifically remember one interview he did for MTV, in which the reporter commented on his acting and rapping talents. Will replied, “I might not be the best actor or the best rapper, but one thing I can say for sure is that I am the most determined.” That day I made this statement my motto. I repeated this statement to myself over and over again while competing in Ethiopia. I was so nervous. I was full of self-doubt.

The girls were so beautiful and all I can remember thinking was “You are out of your league.” But I had to keep saying to myself, “You might not be the tallest, the skinniest or the prettiest, but you CAN be the most determined.” Repeating this statement to myself over and over and over again, coupled with the constant verbal affirmation of my parents is what allowed me to give 110% to pursuing a life-long dream.

Tadias: Where do you see yourself five years from now?

JA: In five years, I would like to see myself as the President/CEO of my own entertainment company. The company would be focused on International Americans. I would like to help shape the media’s image of first-generation immigrants, like myself. Our experiences growing up are unique and have yet to be focused on by mainstream media.

jitu3.jpg

Tadias: Name three things you can’t live without… Okay, make it five.

JA: I am glad that you moved it up to five. I couldn’t narrow it down to three. First and foremost, I couldn’t live without my relationship with God. It is hard being young in the world today. There is so much more of a pull from the secular world than the religious one. It is easy for someone to get lost. I try to keep His word with me at all times, so hopefully when I am put in a tough position I can make a smart decision.

Secondly I would choose my family, my mom, Azenegash Hailu Abraham, my dad, Abebe Abraham, and my brother, Yohannes Abraham, a very handsome, Yale University student. They are my rock and my strength. I couldn’t go through all the ups and downs of life and pursue a career in the oftentimes fickle entertainment business, if I didn’t know that I will always have them there at the end.

Thirdly I would choose my friends, Dana, Betty, Tessi, Jen, Michelle, and Abbey, who are my extended family. They support me at my shows, encourage me to pursue my dreams, and most importantly, they are always there when I need to take my mind off a hard day’s work, and just have fun!

My fourth choice would be sweets! Some people have a sweet tooth, I, on the other hand, have sweet teeth (plural). If it were up to me I would eat sweets for every meal. I know my health-nut mom is cringing at this statement, but it is true. While I do my best to heed the health advice of my mother, I have yet to allow a single day of my adult life to pass without sneaking in at least one piece of cake or chocolate.

Lastly I would chose playing. While I love to get dressed up for a night on the town, I enjoy playing more. I love nothing more than spending a whole Saturday or Sunday swimming in a local lake, hiking in West Virginia, or biking. Actually, I just got back from a 3-day, 184-mile bike ride from Cumberland, MD to Georgetown, DC. It was wearisome but I enjoyed the serenity of being outside, in nature, without the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Tadias: Is there anything else you would like our readers to know?

JA: I was named “Honorary Ambassador of Goodwill to Israel.” While my father and I were in Israel, on a religious pilgrimage, the Minister of Tourism, Mr. Avraham Hirchson, presented me with the title “Honorary Ambassador of Goodwill to Israel.” I also got a chance to meet with Senator Barack Obama, United States Senator for Illinois, and discussed my mission as Miss Ethiopia World. We also discussed ways in which to seek and gather public support and recognition for the foundation supported by the Miss Ethiopia World title, the Ethiopian Life Foundation, and its causes.

jitu1.jpg

Also, I am a senior anchor for ENBS (Ethiopian National Broadcasting Services). ENBS is currently the only Amharic and English language program focused on informing and educating the Ethiopian Community and interested public residing in the Washington, DC area. ENBS presents issues pertaining to Ethiopians, Ethiopia, and its surrounding African countries. The show airs every Saturday between 4-5pm on MHz Networks.

My Rediscovery of Ethiopia by Rebecca Haile

Publisher’s Note

Rebecca Haile was born in Ethiopia in 1965 and lived there until she was eleven years old. When the Emperor was deposed by a military coup, Rebecca’s father, a leading academic in Addis Ababa, was shot while “resisting arrest.” Barely surviving, he escaped with his family and settled in central Minnesota where they struggled with the cultural and financial strain of their drastically changed circumstances.

Rebecca grew up in America harboring her precious childhood memories, but in time saw herself as more American than Ethiopian. She attended Williams College and went on to graduate from Harvard Law School. In 2001, she was the first member of her family to return to Ethiopia.

The following is an excerpt from her book Held at a Distance: My Rediscovery of Ethiopia (Academy Chicago Publishers, Paper, 183pp, $17.95, 0-89733-556-2).

rebecca2.jpg

“I want the two of you to pack some clothes tonight because this weekend we’re going to drive to Nazareth town to visit Ababa Haile and Tye Emete. If we don’t do that, we will probably take a plane to join your mother and father in America.”

With those casual words, my Aunt Mimi tried to prepare my sister Sossina and me to leave Ethiopia even as she downplayed the voyage by equating it with a Sunday drive to my grandparents’ home in the country. Mimi dared not promise us the trip to the United States, much less name a specific date. Those were unpredictable days in Ethiopia—days when people who disagreed with the regime didn’t know whether they would see the sun rise the following morning, days when, my uncle Tadesse swore, you couldn’t trust your own shadow. By then, government soldiers had nearly killed my father, and my parents had fled the country. How could my aunt and uncle assure us that no one would block our family’s reunion?

Now, twenty-five years after those final tense days, I am on an overnight flight back to Addis Ababa. I am sitting next to my husband, Jean, staring restlessly out the window at the inky ground below. As we cross from southern Egypt into northern Ethiopia, an hour or so before we are to land, the horizon finally begins to lighten. Soon, the sky over the vast highland plateau is awash in a deep, clay red. Jetlagged and on edge, uncertain what to expect from the country I am not sure I can still call home, I am grateful for this beautiful prologue to the month that lies ahead.

I left Ethiopia in 1976, two years after the army deposed Emperor Haile Selassie and sent a powerful wave of turmoil and state-sponsored violence crashing across the country. Along with countless others, my parents were swept up in that wave and soon the life they had built together had been completely washed away. In the summer of 1976, my parents, my sisters and I found ourselves abruptly deposited in the United States, stripped of our possessions and expectations and left to start over financially, professionally and emotionally. I was ten when it became clear we could not stay in Addis Ababa and had just turned eleven when my sisters and I reunited with our parents in a small central Minnesota town. That first summer, as we watched our host country celebrate its bicentennial birthday with fireworks and cheers of freedom along the banks of the Mississippi, not one of us imagined how long it would be before we would see Ethiopia again. When I returned in the spring of 2001, I was the first in my family to do so.


From Held at a Distance by Rebecca Haile. Copyright (c) 2007 Rebecca Haile, Published by Academy Chicago Publishers, all rights reserved.

I was in Zanzibar, and It Felt Like Being in Paradise: Marcus Samuelsson

Above: Marcus Samuelsson at his home in Harlem. Photo by Tesfaye Tessema for Tadias Magazine

Publisher’s Note: The following is an excerpt from Marcus Samuelsson’s book: Soul of A New Cuisine.

By Marcus Samuelsson
Photos by Gideon Kifle

I WAS VISITING THE BAHAMA SPICE farm, a small, private farm where the faint, musky smell of cloves and cardamom danced on the breeze. Before me stretched a riotous tangle of greenery, sprouting spices I never imagined I’d have the opportunity to see growing—much less all in one place. As a chef, seeing how the spices I use daily are cultivated was like being in my own personal garden of Eden. It was an awe-inspiring afternoon I will never forget.

marcus_zanzibar-cover.jpg

bahamas_sign.jpg

A guide walked me through the farm, challenging me to recognize the different spices that grew before us. Handing me a leaf from a large tree, he urged me to smell it to see if I could recognize the aroma. I sniffed and ventured a guess—“Cinnamon?”— and he smiled, happy to have stumped me. “No, it’s nutmeg,” he said, cracking open the mottled yellow fruit to reveal the tough brown kernel of nutmeg at its center.

hand_spices1.jpghand_spice2.jpg

And so it went on our journey along the rambling path that ran through the spice patches. Before me, vanilla beans, ginger, cardamom, cloves, lemongrass, cocoa, cinnamon—all the magical flavors that inspire me every day—sprang from the ground, seemingly at random: a nutmeg tree here, a vanilla bean vine there, a cinnamon tree in the distance. We pulled ginger roots and lemongrass stalks from the ground, and watched our guide climb the branches of a tree to pluck a blossom that yielded tender, plump pink cloves, which would later be dried until they were shriveled and brown.

climbing.jpg

At the end of the tour, one of the boys accompanying us twisted a length of rope into a
a figure 8, hooked his feet into it, and used it to help him shimmy up the trunk of a tall, graceful coconut tree, disappearing into the sky to send a storm of coconuts raining down on us. Back on the ground, he cracked open a coconut and handed it to me. As I sipped the fresh, warm juice, I remembered hearing that long-ago sailors passing Zanzibar used to claim they could smell the scent of cloves drifting from the island far out to sea.

man_lookingup.jpg

withrope.jpg

Today, Zanzibari farmers still eke out a living growing spices on small plots of land, but there was a time when spice plantations brought great riches to Zanzibar, a time whose legacy can still be seen in Stone Town, the faded but opulent heart of this vibrant island. Stone Town is one of the most magical cities I’ve ever visited. It’s a city of surprises—twisting narrow streets that seem to lead to nowhere, grand Arab palaces, Persian baths, mosques, temples, churches, hotels, restaurants, and shops, and sudden glimpses of the Indian Ocean framed between the crumbling stone buildings.

zanzibarsea.jpg

This magical, mysterious town is the place where the African, Arab, and Indian worlds meet. Hundreds of years ago, African fishermen, Arab and Persian traders, and Indian merchants all settled on the island. The Portuguese occupied Zanzibar beginning in 1503, but were forced out by the Omani Arabs in the late 1600s. Their defeat was followed by more than two hundred years of rule by Arab sultans.

The sultans transformed Zanzibar, introducing cloves from Madagascar and building the first spice plantations. Thanks to the spice trade, the island quickly grew rich and the newly wealthy townspeople began rebuilding their mud homes with stone. The traditional Islamic modesty of these homes was accented with beautifully carved and studded doors, which are now one of the hallmarks of Stone Town. I was told these doors served a dual purpose—their ornate carving was a way for wealthy homeowners to show off their riches, while the studs were a symbol of protection for the inhabitants.

door.jpg

But, as in many of the places I visited in Africa, you can’t ignore history. All this grandeur has a dark side: at the height of the slave trade, as many as sixty thousand slaves a year were transported from the mainland to Zanzibar and sold to owners in Arabia, India, and French Indian Ocean possessions. I visited one of the prisons where the slaves were held—a cramped, dark, stark contrast to the stunning palaces built by the sultans who grew rich from the sale of slaves and spices.

During my brief visit, I drank in the sights, smells, and sounds of Zanzibar: fishermen sailing off in elegant dhows as the sun set over the Indian Ocean, the scent of grilled fish wafting from Stone Town’s nightly waterfront market at Forodhani Gardens, and the calling of the muezzin—the crier who summons the Muslim faithful to prayer five times a day from the mosque near our hotel. It’s a place of magic and mystique, whose very name conjures up a sense of enchantment and the smell of spices.

Recipe compliments of Marcus Samuelsson

C H I C K P E A - E G G P L A N T D I P
humus.jpg

Hummus is now so ubiquitous that it’s hard to remember it was once an “exotic” food. It
was the first Moroccan food I ever had, and since that first bite I’ve grown to love the simplicity of Morocco’s many dips because they’re so easy to enjoy. You can serve this hummus-style dip on its own with warm pita wedges, as a spread on sandwiches, or as a distinctive accompaniment to grilled fish or chicken.

2 cups dried chickpeas, soaked in cold water for 8 hours
and drained
1 carrot, peeled and cut in half
1 medium Spanish onion, cut in half
4 garlic cloves, peeled
2 eggplants, cut lengthwise in half
4 cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil
2 bird’s-eye chilies, cut in half, seeds and ribs removed
1 teaspoon Harissa (page 30)
1 teaspoon ground cumin

Combine the chickpeas, carrot, and onion in a medium saucepan, add 4 cups water, and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer until the chickpeas are very tender, about 11⁄2 hours. Drain, reserving 1 cup of the cooking liquid.

Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 300oF. Toss the garlic and eggplant with 1⁄4 cup of the olive oil and arrange on a roasting pan, eggplant cut side down. Roast for 40 minutes. Add the chilies to the roasting pan, cut side down, and roast for another 10 minutes. Set aside until cool enough to handle.

Scoop the flesh from the eggplant and transfer to a blender. Add the roasted garlic and chilies, chickpeas, harissa, cumin, the remaining 2 tablespoons oil, and 2 to 3 tablespoons of the reserved cooking liquid. Puree, adding more of the cooking liquid 2 to 3 tablespoons at a time as necessary, until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Serve at room temperature with warm Pita Bread (page 151).

MAKES 3 CUPS

You can purchase Marcus Samuelsson’s new book: Soul of A New Cuisine at Amazon.com

Created by Two Ethiopian Women: EthiDolls to Spread a New Vision of Africa

By Margaret Heneghan

As young girls in Ethiopia, Yeworkwoha Ephrem and Salome Yilma were part of the first generation to help their native land bridge into the modern world. Today, they are New York City entrepreneurs working to preserve African culture for future generations.

Through their start-up company EthiDolls™, Ms. Ephrem and Ms. Yilma are developing African signature dolls and accessories that teach history and tradition, as well as celebrate cultural diversity.

“As a child, I believed that the world had infinite possibilities because all around me women had equal responsibility for life. School, play, my mother’s work, my father’s work — all were life,” says Ms. Yilma, EthiDolls’ chief executive officer. “This notion has always grounded me and allowed me to thrive – personally and professionally – uninhibited by the many prejudices we all experience as we go through life.”

“I have my parents to thank for this precious gift; their emphasis on integrity, education and aspiration has always been my touchstone,” she says. “We at EthiDolls believe that these are the same gifts all parents wish to bestow on their children. And we hope to awaken this same spirit of leadership in today’s young African-American girls and their multicultural playmates by offering a new vision of the African experience. We believe that connection to the rich historic cultural heritage of Africa will be a good source for young people to extract a sense of pride and self empowerment.”

solome1.jpg
Above: Salome Yilma, EthiDolls’ CEO. Photo by Mitch Rustad for
rezoom.com.

Established in 2003, EthiDolls launched its first product line in December 2006 with the “Makeda: Queen of Sheba” doll, storybook and CD narration. The line is based on the ancient legend of Makeda, “The Queen of Sheba,” the first female ruler of Ethiopia, the land known as the “cradle of civilization” because people throughout the world today can trace their roots to it.

queen1.jpg

The dolls are collector quality and hand-crafted for EthiDolls by Madame Alexander® maker of the popular collectible doll line and no detail or expense was spared to capture the Queen’s majestic image. The doll stands 16 inches tall and has 18 points of articulation from head to toe, including hair and lashes made of top-of-the-line kanekalon fiber and gold hoops and bangles for her wrists. The fabric used for the costume is rich in detail, hand woven in Ethiopia, and is an authentic representation of the traditional Ethiopian dress still worn today.

sandles.jpgneteal.jpgright.jpg

The accompanying items are of equal quality. The storybook is beautifully illustrated by a young Ethiopian artist, and the CD provides a compelling narration of Queen Makeda’s rise to the throne and her relationship with King Solomon.

caravan2.jpg

EthiDolls launches the Queen Makeda merchandise as African culture emerges into popular consciousness and as “edutainment”— learning through a medium that educates and entertains — is on the rise. According to the Toy Institute of America, dolls rank as the toy industry’s second-largest product category in dollar volume with sales of $2.7 billion in 2005. The superior quality and authenticity of the product line also will appeal to the doll collector community, which vies with stamps and miniatures as the No.1 hobby group in the world.

“Our true aim is to enrich the lives of young girls of African heritage especially in this fast-paced and media savvy age we live in,” says Ms. Ephrem, EthiDolls’ executive vice president. “And we’re also pleased to contribute to the growing and important movement of African-American families researching heritage and re-connecting to cultural traditions. We’re eager to serve this market with upscale, quality merchandise that meets their high expectations.”

EthiDolls will launch several more dolls based on African royal figures in 2007. Currently, the company is utilizing the rapidly growing direct-to-consumer marketing and distribution channels to sell Queen Makeda merchandise. Future plans include distribution in targeted specialty shops and other locations that provide unique family experiences.

cdbook.jpg

For more information about how to purchase Queen Makeda products, visit www.ethidolls.com.

—————————-//——————————————-
Message From the Tadias Team
marcus_cover.jpg

Dear Tadias Reader:

We are happy to share that it is finally here!! We would love to send you the Print issue of our pre-millennium issue. It is the biggest and the best designed issue we have produced since the magazine was conceived four years ago. We are also happy to announce that we will be traveling to Addis to producing a special Millennium issue from Ethiopia in September. Please subscribe to Tadias for an annual payment of only $19.99. Click Here

Best Regards,
The Tadias Team
—————————————//———————————

A Doctor’s Memoir: Ethiopia’s Crumbling Health Care System

Above: Sosena Kebede (left)
on her last day with the residents at Tikur Anbessa
(Black Lion) Hospital in Addis Ababa .
Photo by Sosena Kebede.

By Sosena Kebede

Editor’s Note: Ethiopian-born Sosena Kebede served as an Assistant Professor of Internal Medicine at Hanover Regional Medical Center until April 2006. She spent her childhood in Ethiopia, Tanzania, and Botswana before settling in the United States in 1988. She holds a B.S. from Duke University, and a Medical Doctorate from University of North Carolina. She is currently enrolled in the Public Health Program at Johns Hopkins.

Last Spring, Dr. Sosena spent five weeks volunteering at Tikur Anbessa (Black Lion) Hospital in Addis Ababa. The following is an excerpt of her memoir that details her personal experience at one of the largest health care facilities in Ethiopia.

May 3, 2006

So I woke up at 8:45am after going to bed at 11:00pm last night and I reported to duty at Tikur Anbessa Hospital (hereto referred to as TAH).

The hospital is run down, there is barely enough lighting to see your way in the hallways, the wards reek of a mixture of antiseptics, body odors, and whatever else. Medical equipments are scarce, outdated and in some cases out of commission.

sosena2.png
Above: There is barely enough lighting to see your way in the hallways.
Photography by Sosena Kebede

The Out patient Clinic (OPD) is mainly run by resident physicians. Consultants usually see subspecialty patients and are available for consultations. Patient rights including a right to privacy or modesty is barely existent. Patients are examined in a semi-office type room with one stretcher in the room. There is no gown, no privacy in that small room. Patients have to undress in the full view of the doctor and the nurse as well as who ever else may be around at the time in that small room. (Oh, the cell phone of the doctors rings at times in the middle of exams and the doctor interrupts the exam while the patient is lying half naked and talks on the phone. Later on, I found out that the cell phone is used as a pager equivalent in this hospital so to be fair most calls seem to be work related). What topped my experience today was when the examining physician at one time literally pinched an older woman’s pendulous left breast by the nipple and raised the whole breast up in the air like a tent while listening to her heart! I was mortified, and I so badly wanted to slap his hand off of her.

sosena3.png
Above: The Out patient Clinic (OPD). Photography by Sosena Kebede.

Because not all patients can be seen by a consultant some complicated cases are seen by residents alone which made me feel uncomfortable to say the least. Today, one of the residents came to ask the cardiologist’s opinion on how to manage an elderly gentleman who apparently is in third degree heart block intermittently (A heart conduction abnormality that can be fatal). There is no pacer (a pacer, as the name implies, is a device used to” pace” the heart when its intrinsic ability to pace its own rhythm fails) and the gentleman declined admission for monitoring purposes citing financial reasons. It turned out that he couldn’t afford any medications either. Decision was made to send him out and have him come back in three weeks!! Wow. I felt helpless; as I am sure these physicians have million times over. I gave the old man some money for medications. He kissed my hands and I walked out chocked up, knowing that he is one of many, and one couldn’t possibly help all… I saw the physicians exchange glances as I walked out. Perhaps they were amused by what they perceived to be a naïve gesture on my part. Perhaps, they thought here is another American trying to be a hero.

Clearly the volume and the acuity of care is way above what these exhausted and frustrated physicians can handle. The system seems to be crumbling and I wondered how they make it day to day, patients and physicians alike.

At the end of a long day, I stood looking outside the window on 8th floor while waiting for my ride to go home. I saw a beautiful landscape of Addis. A spectacular chain of mountains cradle rows of shacks and rusty tin roofs. The high rises that pop their heads above the shacks don’t hide the story of this city. This city holds some of the wretched of this world.

8th-floor-offices.jpg
Above: 8th floor offices. Photography by Sosena Kebede.

May 4, 2006

I attended grand rounds today and was once again impressed by the quality and clarity of presentation and the professional attitudes of the residents and even more impressed by how bright they are as demonstrated by their wide differential diagnoses. I sat at the back of the conference room proud to call them my people. I don’t think my residents in America with all the information excess at their fingertips and a lot of spoon feeding could generate as much differential and show such insight into disease processes as these residents.

In the department of Internal medicine, there is one lap top and LCD projector that is kept in the main office but the residents use overhead slides for their presentations. The screen for projection is torn at the corner and is held by a wide masking tape and creates an indentation on some of the hand written words that project on its surface. I struggled to read their hand written presentation but I preferred to listen to them anyway, so it didn’t matter.

Diagnostic modalities such as CTs and echos are hard to come by. The hospital does not have an MR. The single CT scanner the hospital has, I am told is broken and has been so for the last 12 months! Patients who require CTs will have to go to private clinics to get them done. With a prohibitive cost for these diagnostic procedures most patients who need them can’t get them.

The physicians here work under some of the most emotionally devastating circumstances, with very little reward and no job satisfaction whatsoever. I found out that every physician now works at a private clinic to supplement their income at the government hospital. This includes the resident physicians as well.

There is no heart hard enough and a mind so callus that it can’t feel pain, outrage, disbelief, and despair at what I am seeing in Ethiopia.

Out of the many sad cases here are a couple that I will probably never forget. We saw a 20 some year old male who came to the cardiology clinic for follow-up of his cyanotic heart disease. He was born with “a hole in his heart” and because of this defect the oxygenated and deoxygenated blood mix and gives patients such as this one “cyanosis”( bluish hue to their coloring), which is one of the hallmarks of low oxygen in the blood. During this visit, the patient is told to continue taking his medications (which will not fix the problem!) and “try and pursue his chance to go abroad to get definitive treatment”. The only way to cure this type of defect is by surgical method and that is not available in Ethiopia. Of course this young man, who is a college student can’t go abroad and he will die here. I wondered what he is studying and how long he will stay alive. Ethiopia’s life expectancy is about 43 years of age, I don’t think he will make it that far.

An 18 year old girl who looks not a day older than 13 (she is severely malnourished) came with her dad for follow-up of her shortness of breath and trouble lying flat. During physical exam her heart looked like it’d pop out between her left sided rib spaces and you barely have to put your stethoscope on her chest to hear the loud booming murmur (a heart murmur is a sound made as blood rushes out of the heart chambers via its valves and can be a sign of heart valve problems). She had distended neck veins and is breathing heavy. This girl has a very sick heart, and you didn’t need to be a doctor to see that. I saw her echo live and the cardiologist, (who is clearly very bright and in my opinion second to none) pointed out the girl’s massively stretched heart chambers and the severe valve leakages. She is clearly a surgical case but he pointed out because of her malnourishment he didn’t think that ENAHPA (Ethiopian North American Health Professionals Association, a group of Ethiopian and non-Ethiopian health professionals from North America that are expected to come mid May to do cardiac surgeries) will consider her to be a good surgical candidate. The girl’s father who accompanied her has sad eyes and didn’t say a word and seems to have no clue as to what is going on with his daughter. The little girl spoke in whispers I could barely hear, and she kept her eyes down cast and continuously wrung her fingers that were folded on her lap. The name and the body frame may change but this case and the whole scenario was déjà vu all over again for me.

There is a frighteningly minimal amount of conversation that goes on between patients/their families and these doctors. The patients and their families who at times travel several kilometers to make it to this hospital are so mishandled starting at the hospital gate all the way to the clinics. Part of this ill-treatment that I perceive (the Amharic word “Mengelatat” I think fits the bill better than any other English term I can come up with) I believe may stem from a general lack-luster “customer service” practice in our culture. Also, my experience has been that harsh words are freely hurled by people in “authority” to people who are perceived to be either inferiors or subordinates in some ways without fear of repercussions. A hospital guard who carries a gun is at liberty to scold a family member of a patient at the hospital gate; as would an older man in car to a female pedestrian, an adult to a child or a physician to a patient, just to name a few. Added to that, the frustrations that come from working under such difficult conditions may make people appear to be heartless. Regardless, it is a sad state of affairs.

b8.jpg
Above: B8. Photography by Sosena Kebede.

Today, I felt overwhelmed by all I saw. After work I met with a friend of mine at a café (there is a miracle right there, my good old southern friend from Wilmington North Carolina, now sitting across the table from me in the country of my origin!) and I broke down and cried about this whole package of life in Ethiopia. He cried with me.

May 8, 2006

The residents essentially manage most of the patients. While I rounded on hematology patients with one of the Hematologist, I was impressed by these residents as they discussed the management of leukemias, multiple myelomas etc. They know the chemotherapeutic agent dosages, all the side-effects. They administer and monitor treatment after consultation with the sub specialist. Infectious diseases are plentiful in kind and number in Ethiopia. I had to acquaint myself anew with some of the tropical diseases such as Leishmaniasis and Schistosomaisis etc, which I was once taught in the US as topics of historical significance in the western world.

Before rounds I was listening to a bunch of residents discuss a case of pleural effusion (fluid in the lungs) and its managements. They know what they are talking about and the camaraderie and team play exhibited seems to be far superior to what I have seen in America. I was also very happy to overhear that they do most of the medical procedures and although limited, do have access to ultrasound guided thoracentesis,(a method by which fluid from the lungs is drained using ultrasound guidance). Most of these guys (unfortunately with the exception of two females they are all guys) seem to be highly motivated, after having arrived at this stage of their lives after much trials and tribulations. (Naturally, there are exceptions to the rule). They work under such suboptimal conditions, with very limited support system, and meager educational resources. Their motivation to learn makes me wonder if I will ever want to teach in
America again.

May 10, 2006

I had a very full day today-long rounds and lectures to the residents. What a pleasure though.

I have had some opportunities to mingle with people and form friends in the hospital and outside of it. The recurring theme among physicians and non-physicians is that people in Ethiopia are increasingly being made to abandon intellectual/ academic pursuits for entrepreneurships in order to survive. (There is nothing wrong with entrepreneurship or business if done honestly, but it should not be the only means of existence in a modern society). One young professional couple shared with me how some of their close friends who have only high school education have gone into “business” and are living large, whereas people like them who have invested a significant number of years in education are left to struggle to make ends meet. Their expertise for knowledge transfer and their contribution to pulling Ethiopians out of the dark ages of ignorance seems to be overlooked. The way I see it, Ethiopian intellectuals are given very little incentive to make this country their home.

While discussing this topic with one individual I heard very disturbing news about a parliamentary discussion that was televised recently. Apparently, the prime minister of Ethiopia was discussing with members of the parliament on how Ethiopia can improve its Chat business in the international market. Chat is a marijuana like substance that is grown in Ethiopia and has an addictive and mind altering properties. This recreational drug is now creating a huge problem among the youth and adults alike and is blamed for a significant number of road fatalities especially among long distance truck drivers who drive while under the influence. Everyone can list many bad public policies, but this one defies explanation and borders on insanity.

May 11, 2006

I saw an elderly male carrying an emaciated adolescent kid and walking up the steep hill via the Radio Fana road going to TAH today. Beside him, also was a middle aged guy carrying a plastic bag. I saw them trudging up that steep hill in silence, obviously exhausted from a long journey, and quite clearly unable to afford a taxi fare to bring a sick child to the hospital. I wondered how long they traveled today and where they came from. I wondered what illness the child had and what other “mengelatat” (harassment) awaits them starting at the TAH gate. I wondered when they will eventually be able to see a physician. I also wondered if that child was going to walk out of TAH alive…

I see many elderly and sick people climbing the stairs at TAH all the way up to the 8th floor because the only one functioning elevator (that sometimes fails to function) is reserved for those who are severely sick such as those who require stretchers. I helped carry a heavy bag for a lady walking up the stairs this afternoon. She was very happy to share the burden and was talking to me in between halting breaths until one of the ladies who works in house keeping on 5th floor addressed me as “doctor”. At that point, the lady I was climbing the stairs with took the plastic bag I was helping carry from my hands, thanked me profusely and went her way, without even giving me a chance to say that it was no big deal.

I also see rows of people sitting on the benches and on the floors of the hospital waiting for their turns to see a doctor. Some look like they need to be in ICU immediately. Not that the medical ICU which has 4 beds and the most rudimentary cardiac monitors and not much else, will avail much of anything, but at least they will be in a bed of some sort. From what I gathered there are only two mechanical ventilators in the ICU; there are two “crash carts” (carts that hold emergency medications and defibrillators in the event of cardiopulmonary arrest)-one in the ICU the other in the OPD area. Emergency medications are not always available, therefore medical emergencies in general have a predictable dismal outcome.

During lunch break today a very soft spoken and pleasant laboratory technician was talking about how tuition for her daughter has increased by 50% and she and her husband don’t know how they are going to be able to keep their only child in the same school. Everywhere I turn I hear “sekoka” (woes). Sometimes it is almost impossible to comprehend this level of social devastation in one country. The poor have clearly grown poorer over the past decade or two, and the minority of “middle class” are frantically struggling not to join others into the quick sand of poverty. There is wide spread sense of hopelessness and dejection in people of all ages, and gender. People are preoccupied with trying to figure out how they can make it from one day to another.

I talk about misery sitting in an upscale café/bookstore, eating grilled veggie sandwich, drinking green tea, and working on my lap top. I have my palm pilot and cell phone on the table, both very much operational and invaluable even here in Ethiopia. On the bottom floor of this beautiful contemporary café called Lime Tree café is a snazzy day spa called “Boston Day Spa, Where luxury and Glamour Meet”. I am very comfortable. When I am done writing this piece I will walk across the street of Bole, where rows of internet cafes, pastry shops, high end boutiques and shiny high rises are lined up. I might as well be in America. I will eventually walk into a two storey beautiful house where the maids will wait on me. Now that is much better than I have it in America. This is what I call the “artificial” life of Addis Ababa. This is a life that only a very small minority of Ethiopians live.

Many things annoy me even infuriate me, but none like people who measure developmental advances of the country using these “artificial” methods. Rome was not built in a day, and nor will Ethiopia be. I am not against road constructions and the erection of high rises. I am not necessarily against the SUV driving, designer clothing wearing, Sheraton Hotel partying, Europe vacationing crowds. I am however against those who use this minute fraction of the reality in Ethiopia to measure “development”. I am against complacency and indifference to the pressing issues of basic human needs food, shelter, clothing, health care, education and safety to all the people of Ethiopia.

May 12th 2006

There were four successive bomb blasts in Addis today. One was close to TAH and it occurred while I was giving a lecture on Sub acute Bacterial Endocarditis to the medical students. Everyone looked pretty unmoved by the whole thing and outside the building it was business as usual. People on the street either talked about something entirely different, or they casually made comments about how they believe the government itself is responsible for these blasts. Two of the four blasts happened in a taxi and a bus (I could very well have been in one of those taxis), and a total of four people died with over 20 injured, some very seriously. Waiting for a taxi to go home right after the blast I saw a group of people sitting at a café near Ambassador Hotel having a good old time. The thought that came to mind was that Ethiopians have become accustomed to death and dying of all forms including terrorist killings that they carry on their lives pretty much how the Israelis and the Palestinians must carry on. Just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse…!!

May 15, 2006

I keep fairly busy at TAH, and I am enjoying getting to know people a little bit better everyday. One of the physicians asked me today why I wanted to come to Ethiopia to work. This is a well seasoned physician that has served in the institution for a long time and I think he wanted to know if I knew what I would be getting myself into. I know that Ethiopia’s problems are complex and individual efforts may be miniscule but if there is enough of us I believe the scale will eventually tip. The scale may not tip in my life time but I am willing to leave my “negligible” contribution on the offering plate.

It is easy to get overwhelmed by all that is wrong around here, but in my simplistic personal view, there is still a lot of untapped sources. These sources are easy to miss because they are not big and they don’t leave visible dents on the surface of our problems, and they certainly don’t make the headlines. Most of these sources are also not measured in monetary in kind, and thus may appear not to be that valuable. I am thinking of the power of compassion that moves us to own the pain and suffering of others and make it our own. I am thinking of daily acts of simple kindness at individual levels. I am thinking of touching other human beings, both literally and figuratively. During rounds I made sure I laid my hands on each patient and addressed them by their names. I also always asked the patients and their families if they had any questions before we left their bedside. I made it my business to communicate to them by words, attitudes and actions that their issues concern me and they matter to me. Two days ago, the father of a 15 year girl with leukemia shook my hand and said to me in Oromiffa (was translated to me by one of the residents who speaks the language) that for them to” be touched by a doctor is like medicine itself ‘.

I will always remember what someone said to me: “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care”. If the students and the residents I worked with this month will remember only this piece of advice my time with them has been worth it.

Talking of simple kind acts, today’s was a special one. I was leaving TAH when a woman asked me where the “cherer kifle” (radiation room) was. Of course I didn’t know where it was but since she and a young man are bringing a very sick elderly woman who could barely walk, (she was moaning and looked like she was about to collapse), I offered to investigate for them. Once I found out it was on 2nd floor, they asked if the “lift” (elevator) will automatically stop on the floor, apparently it was their first time to take an elevator. I took the elevator with them and walked them to radiation oncology and gave their chart to the nurse and inquired for them when they will be seen. There are no wheel chairs, no hospital staff that help triage these sickly patients. The radiation/oncology area it turned out was quite a walk and I kept looking behind me at the sick woman and t