Memoirs of the Motherland (Part II): “Abay, Abay…”

27 December 2012  | Gulele Post

Click Here to Read Part One

By Jilcha Hamid

That night I was picked up at the airport by my uncles. The following day, and for the nextweek, my uncle and I went to his shop in the busy central market place, the Merkato. Said to be the largest outdoor market in Africa. From sunrise to sunset the market place was buzzing with people, merchants, customers, buses, transport vehicles and donkeys ferrying goods in every direction. I remember not taking any pictures for the simple reason that I didn’t wanna look like a tourist. Although my family criticized me for my “poor photography”, it didn’t bother me. It’s like whatever..nahmean.

Generally speaking, two things define Addis at first sight. The construction boom, and the poverty. Much like in many other growing cities in the developing world, the large (and growing) gap between the haves and the have nots was very clear. One of the people I got to know quite a bit, was a man who worked in the shop. I’ll call him the Patriot. The Patriot was a government supporter and through him I quickly grew familiar with the government PR slogan. Which can be summarized in one word. Development. “Do you see all the infrastructure development? The economy is growing.” Ah yes, double digit growth. Growth, growth, growth. This message was carried all over the media, and on billboards. And central to the development agenda was the construction of the Abay (Blue nile river) Dam. The Abay river dam was the main talking point of the state. Everything on the radio, television, and newspaper revolved around it. There was even a hit song called “Abay Abay”, which was always blasting from shopkeepers radios. It was a mission. Indeed, the Abay was it. The Abay was gonna solve all the problems. Seriously speaking, the hydroelectric dam (the largest in Africa) could help solve the problem of power shortages and blackouts. Except that the government was planning to sell the electricity to neighbouring countries. What they would do with the money is really anybody’s guess. But the project had people excited. People were buying bonds and giving whatever they could to invest in it. Every night state television showed more people pledging whatever they had to support the Abay project. From businessmen to bus drivers, teachers, students, expats living abroad and even children. It was a rallying point. If this was a tactic employed to keep the peoples minds off of the oppositions calls for popular uprisings like those of north Africa, and off of political freedom, press freedom and what not, it appeared to be working.
“Egypt is here” said the Patriot with a smile across his face. “They have come here to negotiate with us about the Abay dam. They don’t want us to build it. But we will build it and they cannot stop us this time”. Egypt of course depends on the Nile river, its main tributary accounting for the majority of its water supply being the Blue Nile from Ethiopia. The amount of patriotism and enthusiasm this project instilled was very well orchestrated. And I have to admit I enjoyed listening to the Patriots patriotic rhetoric. But the reality was that with the rampant poverty and unemployment, most people were struggling survive; Some differently from others. Standing outside the shop were some young Gurage lads. From that spot they worked from sunrise to sunset, sewing, polishing shoes, unloading trucks and doing well for themselves. On one occasion while one of the young men was counting his hard earned money, a thief quickly snatched the money and made a run for it. The young man chased him down and delivered a flying kick to the thief’s backside and took his money back. Then delivered another kick just to remind him never pull that stunt again. A lot of these young men come from the countryside and start out saving up money doing little jobs in the market place, until they’re able to open a shop. They didn’t have many opportunities available to them, but they created opportunities for themselves by moving to the cities, working hard everyday and never asking for handouts. Many of the men from larger ethnic groups such as the Oromo or Amhara are too proud to do the jobs these young men do. But then again that’s why Gurages dominate the market place and own most of the shops despite being small in number. A stark contrast to the young men in the east (ie. Dirre Dhawa) who did nothing but sit around and chew khat all day.
Anyways, I ended the week in the capital by heading to the Grand Anwar Mosque with my uncle for the Friday prayer. On the way home from the shop the prior evening my uncle let me go to Dirre Dhawa.
“Why!? Why do you wanna go there? They’re all lazy! They don’t work!” he asked. “Here we wake up in the morning for work! Over there they wake up from the sound of flies buzzing in their ears!” (lol) “I always tell them, but they don’t listen! I tell them to go to school, stop chewing khat, stop smoking shisha. They think I’m joking! They expect things to just be handed to them. I had to get out that place! For my own good!”
“Adeero, I’m a foreigner in this city. I don’t speak Amharic and I don’t understand what anybody’s saying. This is an Amhara country. I gotta see my dads hometown.”
“Don’t say that!” he fired back. “This is our city! You watch! We’re taking it back!”. But I persisted and eventually he gave up. “Fine! Go! But don’t say I never told you..”.
And so I was off. To the city my father grew up in, before leaving 30 years ago. Strangely enough, it felt as though it was me returning after 30 years.

Click Here to Read Part Three

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