iQaQa: tales of playing life in thingthing
16 October, 2007 | 2 comments | Category: nostalgia.personal
there was a refined science and an art to evaluating the right proportions of water and soil…red or black, or ashawa sand…to make the purrrfect pot, food, house, miniature person 
… a little world of iQaQa!
I remember playing this game in two settings:
ahnd. the main gates were fuchsia pink, with peeling paint along the top edges. we lived across the sandy driveway from each other. Three of the SaId family children: the eldest boy, the eldest girl, the youngest and I, grandma’s girl. Chronologically, I fit between the two girls.
the consistency was fiiiine! fine sand which rises in sheets from underneath the ’save the children’ land cruiser usually parked next to the veranda where the gatekeeper situates his-self under the shade and cockily challenges all willing to a mean game of draughts.
the scorching heat of the sun and humidity prick the air leaving wavy optical illusions and refractions tangled with the dusty sand puffing upwards all day. but we always hid, we would go behind the old Italian building housing the venerated top floor office. we would go where the adults did not come, by the garden and store rooms. we frolicked well-lit grounds quaintly accented with insect infested dark corners while ever-flowing tap water trickled into these bountiful lands …casting pipes of soft gooey sand along the edges of the plants. If only grandma knew how we messed with those peoples’ gardens!
‘there are so many big trees!!’ Don’t you ask me what big meant! Ask me ‘when is Big’? and I might try to recall how tall I was at 7 years old….or not! … I wasn’t short! I did like wearing puffy colorful skirts tho!…
trees were the kind unique to that area of the world. ones with “monkey money” (yeTota frank) with entourages of small plants with “trumpet flower” (TirumBa AbeBa) & “bird’s seed Qolo” (yeWef Qolo)…my favorite, the ‘bogambil’, made for a mean hoooot pink stew concocted in a mud pot which had been very crispy-crunchy well done under the hot horn of African sun.
lema. there was a lot of short and stout greenery 515kms away, many about my height. and large chipped rocks lining the ground. it was rainy and muddy, gloomy clouds suspended over the wet season blues… moisture, nagging muggyness. the corrugated narrow metal doors were open, for what reason I don’t know. there was my cousin, the neighbors’ kids and I. the youngest one, a chubby little pumbkin with twinkily eyes was my favorite. such a cutttiie! they lived across the rocks…it seemed.
we messed with water. messy could make Coca cola, (aheeem! ambition and imagination allowed us to fathom even the most infamous/intricate billion dollar cola assembly line, kemir!!) … and soups and sauces, salaTa…and many more dishes and beverages… there were different shapes and sizes of tin cans, the yellow ethfruit salsa can and rectangular green olive oil can, the small one with the cartoon yeast dude on it!… and we went water-fetching behind the house… through the narrow path into spooksville, a space I later grew too big to fit in.
I enjoyed snipping all sorts of leaves and flower petals, mashing up different colors and concoctions. soiling my soft palms, tinging them with acidy tart smells/tastes. We served on different plates, qorkies (bottle caps…whatever are they called in english!?)… and with different utensils; invisible ones work especially well when we make the sound-effects “Aam-Aaaaam-Aam” and “fpfffffuuuuut!”
I remember the fascination with which every day passed, the immense amount of concentration and energy with which we jumped! jumped! Jumped! songs and chants, daily chores, timhirtibet-timhirtibet, mushira-mushira, …we were playing life! oh! joy-joy, funny how somethings, like playing life, are universal!
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immigrant stories: theirs*ours
12 October, 2007 | 6 comments | Category: I.dentity, ethnicity, i.mmigration, peace & conflict
him: do u ever ask yourself why you do it [blog]?
me: yes
him: do you find answers for that question?
me: yes
him: so what are they?
me: i tell myself i write cos i want to share my thoughts about ethiopia’s conflicted identity
i want to put things in writing cos that is valuable to me…i want to provoke thought
him: why restrict urself to one country?
me: no reason. except i’m dealing with it, personally
him: our story is everybody’s story.and their story is our story.
me: true, maybe you can write an article about that, I would love to post it!
him: lol….what i’m trying to say is that. the ethiopia thing should not be your focus, but rather your lens. to the whole world. you can post this conversation if you want
me: the thing is, i don’t believe i’ve reached my level of awareness about other countries’ issues in the personal way i know about ethiopia.
him: i can understand that. as long as ur open to it i think you’ll be fine
me: hmm…actually. i was being ambitious…
wanted to do a comparative thingie about yugoslavia’s states, the orthodox churches*
– and the connection with ethiopia and the orthodox church i.e. nationalism
him: that is an excellent idea. it would have worked beautifully. i have two friends i went to school with and they were best buddies. one of them serbian the other one bosnian
me: wow. that’s crazy
him: and u know their story….so similar to ours. one summer… it was a serbian and a bosnian, a greek and a turk…living together
me: hehehe. roommates?
him: ya, friends, roommates…brothers
me: that’s intense. what was their experience?
him: middle class kids. still best friends. so u see where i am coming from?
my mother and father are from the north. both near the eritrean border
and i was born in addis ababa. i spoke tigrigna first, then amarigna, when i was 4. then english eventually
i was an immigrants son, first genenration….like most of us addisabans, from all over ethiopia
me: now that i think of it…so was i!
him: yup. immigrants are a window into history
me:ohhh actually…i had a draft for a blog post: “we are all immigrants”
him: lol…yes we are
me:inspired by lemn sissay’s quote: “The Vikings were immigrants too – we are all immigrants.”
him:hmm…thats very true
*countries with “national” orthodox churches rely on church ideology for a common bond across the nation. amongst individuals, across ethnic groups. many ethnic conflicts involve countries with orthodox chruches. its like a conspiracy theory, i’in’ it?
We are all dealing with the identity issue, the ethnic conflict within ourselves, our families and neighbours – can we take a few minutes and listen to the experiences of others with an openness to feel their walk? …find a common ground that feels smooth for both of us? after all, they really are just like us: “immigrants!”…unless…
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