senduQ

mind entropy of the ethiofrican

Diirre: A Childhood Crush

13 November, 2008 | 6 comments | Category: for.the.love.of.words!, nostalgia.personal, prose.tales

the boy, the city, the spiciness of the experience…

I was 10-12 I think…

The Spiciness
Every summer I went to visit my grandmother and great-aunt away from the rainy, muggy kiremt into the sunny humidity of the East. My great-aunt was the precious kind of woman who exuded love to all the kids of the area and gathered them into her home, showering them with the little cares of a grandmother. She would cajole, scold, hug, kiss and nurture as if they were her own. She was many things at all times, the versatile abode that is Woman. Personified, she was the vesicle for culture, the treasure chest of folktales; a linguist, like many in her generation. She spoke Haderi, Arabic, Amharic, Oromiffa, Somali…saying exactly what was on her mind with sharp eloquence as the need presented itself.

Almost every night, us kids would gather outside by the grayish blue gates around my great aunt’s feet as the sand settles and the heavy nefasha air breezes past the leaves; the teeming starry sky twinkling above us. I was a big fan of these nights, nights of teret teret storytelling about ali babba, the always mischievous monkey and the smart girl, the selfish one…the stepmother (Hmm…maybe this is why I’m such a sucker for breezy warm days that caress as they prode out a contented smile; like a lazy Saturday afternoon by the Potomac waterfront…)

Anyhow, back to another time and place.

Every summer I would reel from excitement as i make my way to Dire to start a month long excursion filled with dankira with the kids and happy days with my adorably talkative aunties. freedom! These summer friends of mine had their own slang; the juiciest kind that combines all the languages of the area. “Kale Waria!!” “Abooooo tewaaa!” “Abshir new, Alhamdililah!” “Intalo, injiru bishaniti?” Qesht, Abo, Senduq, birka, shillingi, roqa, medebir, mamilla, CHebo, deAs, DerIA…and so I rack my memory: to find all these and more profane wordy varieties…

The Boy

It was then that I became crush-struck. My younger cousin’s best friend was about 1 year older than I. The star footballer and the little arada of the area with his hitched walk and croaky voice; sure to be crowned mr. congeniality; deserving by far. It seems I was drawn to personality more than looks, even then…He had sharp accented features (big eyes, big nose, brownish soft hair) and he was light-skinned. Tall and skinny be he.

The old ladies were his fans, the other kids admirers of his mischief. Him and Cuz would tell me stories of classroom antics, football rivalries, adventures running errands around Dire and those vicious kids at the khat terra with whom they waged reckless battles. I’m not sure if I wanted to be them in their recklessness and my rebellious tomboy aspirations or hang with them for some girly reasons I couldn’t fathom! Nonetheless, such were the vagaries which plagued the mind of a little girl coming-of-age.

Jeezz, I was so ashamed of my heart doing a violent and loud ruckus! My tongue-tied little mouth releasing hitched breaths …jitters as he played football outside, came to buy Rossmans…crush-struck! lol, It was petrifying for the little girl that I was. It didn’t even occur to me that I could like him. I badly needed to keep my casual ease – sliding smoothly into funny stories, rants and raves about childhood naughtiness …and juicy neighborhood gossip, for good Dire measure…But No! his voice started breaking as I started breaking into sweat! what silliness!

Sure enough I never told him how I felt- maybe because I didn’t know what it was despite the plethora of teenage books and movies I devoured! At age 11, I expected he would laugh in my face. And as we grew older he would come visit and I would grasp at composure, fumbling… Mainly, I would hear about him from other people…he repeated a class, he was thinking of joining the national football team, he joined the team at the ‘C’ level, then went to vocational school for carpentry …finally he’s joined the federal police… and such a path destiny took…

The City

My little memory vesicle still holds this swanky character with fondness…A fondness that encompasses a town full of people in flip-flops and short-sleeved shirts; long skirts and flirty scarves. Neighbors that come out in the fading warmth- in the cool, calming dusk under acacia trees…as they sit on steps across narrow roads and yell out conversations about so-an-so’s illegitimate child and the price of water… ah! the freedom and openness! Dirty laundry always adorns the dingy streets; if u care to stand for a quick second and listen.

This is a town with equal opportunity hoya hoye where girls ran around with boys, chanting and singing for coins; where people (read: bachelors) buy ‘muslim’ meat pasta with marinara sauce in thin plastic bags with handles. The pasta spot sells chick-pea porridge ‘fuul‘ at breakfast (a middle eastern meal? As staple as dunked bread in sweet spicy tea, as far as I could remember)

Here, the mid-afternoon starts with a calm when everyone clamors indoors to chew on khat and rewind after the noon nap… Mid-morning is marked with knocks by entrepreneurial contraband salesmen, beggars and milkmaids calling for attention. And what of the open blue-grey gates? These gates are always ajar. Open to sounds of children kicking around balls; little girls mixing sand to build play-houses…and passersby exchanging greetings along with drips of the social update for the day.

This small city ruckus is topped up with the sound of the mamilla-CHebo coming around asking auntie for lunch or work carrying stuff in between his cigarette swigs. Infamously, this year’s mamilla was an amazingly intelligent english teacher until the blinding sun-khat -and sand turned him looney!

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senduQ in Maltese

11 July, 2008 | 5 comments | Category: I.dentity

Doing a google search, the quirkiest thing came up- Senduq is a word in Maltese which means ‘Chest’, a box for safe keeping. In Dire lingo it is used to describe the cupboards, storage boxes, coca cola racks …basically any storage container with a rectangular form.

Who could have thought that a google search vaguely connected to Dire Dawa’s multicultural lingo lands smack where the Italian and Arabic languages fuse to give Maltese? Malta is the 30th smallest country in the world located across the largest desert and the Mediterranean Sea away from Dire… an island which has a total population of 400,000 (about the size of Dire’s population) and interestingly, not everyone IN Malta speaks Maltese!

Well, well…ok maybe I’m making it sound an itty bit more like an Indiana Jones investigation than it actually is. It appears that Maltese is one of the many semetic languages which may have variations of the word ‘senduq’. I don’t speak all these languages so I wouldn’t know…

Amharic · Arabic · Chaha · Harari · Hebrew · Inor · Maltese · Neo-Aramaic · Neo-Mandaic · Silt’e · Soddo · South Arabian · Syriac · Tigre · Tigrinya

wiki says: “Maltese is generally accepted to be descended from Siculo-Arabic, the Arabic dialects that developed in Sicily and the rest of Southern Italy, with substantial borrowing from Sicilian Italian and Italian. It is the only Semitic language written in the Latin alphabet in its standard form.” (more…)

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Dance Free!

25 June, 2008 | 10 comments | Category: book snip, I.dentity, musiqa

Minyeshu

Dancing is pure freedom! It is…completely releasing all inhibitions in an act that seizes the moment. In a

moment …you set free all nagging thoughts and nuances to sway, step, slide, twist …to pulsate! A pulse navigating out of the speakers to fuse in sync with your beat, your inner rhythm.

I love to dance… Could probably literally dance the night away, most days!

…So I thought I’ll drop 3 things on dancing into the senduQ:

~Minyeshu

Minyeshu is an Ethiopian traditional music vocalist residing in the Netherlands. I stumbled upon her when I found a flickr picture of hers looking like the lady on the senduQ header. :)

She just released an album ‘Dire Dawa’ this past April and has a previous album ‘Meba’ released 2002.

I love the ^ fashion, and stage energy… She exudes joy when on stage, in dancing; a free-spiritedness that doesn’t need an entourage. Simply put: Tishekeshikewalech on stage. I like how her fashion seems deliberate. The yellow dress does not come across as stereotypical, but does a great fusion of many styles from different cultures while keeping the flare of a traditional touch.

More than the music, which to me isn’t incredibly, incredibly original. Though her music uses notable full-on acoustics and makes a great and enjoyable attempt at fusion (of sounds from within and beyond Ethiopia) just like her attire…I like that she expresses a different take on the diversity that is Ethiopia …and that she pays homage to the best treasure jewel in the harur valley – Dire. (more…)

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brothers who are enemies

19 May, 2008 | No comments | Category: book snip, peace & conflict

And then there are incredible stories that knock u right out of your daily conundrum!

Have you ever heard the bizarre idea about creativity being the most potent weapon individuals have against war?? I thought it was a bit too ‘happily optimistic’ at first…until closer consideration… Ever heard the saying “necessity is the mother of innovation.”? Well, Wednesday’s news made me say: “heck ya!”

The quirky reflection that came to my mind reading the news goes…

“”It is in creativity, in the fashioning of self and world, that people find their most potent weapon against war.”

…1st, meandering to a tiny bit of intro….I first stumbled upon this bizarre concept in Carolyn Nordstrom’s “A different kind of war story” on her experience in the devastating 16-year-long civil war of Mozambique. As an anthropologist, she reflects on the messy nitty-gritties of war, civil society intricacies and the trajectories of individual lives within a land that is plagued with strife and struggle, where people are migrating between refugee camps and daily fearful for their lives…

she says “……ultimately, war victims have taught me, violence is about the destruction of culture and identity in a bid to control/crush political will.” She saw human condition at its ‘lowest’, when people were helpless, vicious, greedy, desperate and deeply disturbed. According to her “It is often in what we relegate to the margins of life process and theory [violence and the unspeakable] that speaks most fundamentally about core aspects of human existence.”

i think it’s real; in times of war, strife and struggle people have very few choices. when they are caught in the most devastating corner of all, they either create ways to survive, maintain/revivie their humanities and fight back…or get sucked in to becoming helpless puppets which push the gears of a viscous ‘war [insert other term] industry’.

According to the book, some resistance tools toward survival, restoring humanity & peace include the care and love in communities, creative expression and non-violence… (more…)

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above belly.underneath heart

7 May, 2008 | 5 comments | Category: love.of.words!, musiqa, poetry

getachew mekuria and susheela raman. “the love trap” an adaptation of Mahmoud Amhed’s “bemin sebeb litlash”

trancing a light curly zigzag
lazily. teasingly. tingling
…lips, finger tips…

half-dreaming colors and warmth
floetry, underneath the heart,
above the belly.

feelings that look like…
gradient orange sunset rays piercing through blazing red fire
surrounded by pulsing rhythms and…
sifting fragile petals of yellow on translucent maroon sashes…
like skipping butterflies as they prance between the deep pit of the belly where feelings reside, and the base of the heart where they overflow.

the depth of the feelings mirror shadows falling creating accents…
provoking a vulnerable smile at the cosy humble fire they stroke…
at the heady euphoria of an embrace
a sweeter crush,
a more delish lushness,
a softer…scrumptious flutter,
a more tasty brush.

feels, textures, tints and tones…
tempting finger tip senses, lip buds, eyes.
skimming along the edge of shoulders exposed to air.
sending a delicious tingle down…

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