It was Only Yesterday...

A few days ago, I had seen palace employees huddled around a radio transmitter, listening to the daily news. The news carried reports about impending taxi strikes, higher gas prices, and general civil unrest. A few days before that, while driving with my grandmother in her new dark-blue Fiat sedan recently given to her by His Majesty, a mob of twenty or so students carrying stones and placards greeted us just outside Kidist Mariam (Church of the Holy Mary) near Arat kilo. The driver, Habteyesus, a longtime employee, insisted on pressing on. My grandmother quickly waved her hand to signal him to stop and said, “Eski yemilutn enesma.” (“Let us hear what they have to say.”) The angry crowd surrounded the car, and I could see them shaking their fists and yelling leyba (thief) and shouting, “Ye Haile Selassie mengist yewdm.” (“Down with the regime of Haile Selassie.”) I felt my heart beat faster as I wondered what was going to happen next. This was the first time I felt like my life was in serious danger. We could be stoned, beaten up, or taken out of the car. Anything was possible. I looked at my grandmother and noticed her absolute resolve. Her total belief in herself and her ability to fight back in a peaceful and calm manner impressed me. All of a sudden, the students dispersed, and the car sped its way up the road. No one said a word. The silence was deafening. I could hear the smooth hum of the car engine as we sped up the familiar road. “Stop by Medhane Alem [Savior of the World Church],” she ordered without raising her voice. Medhane Alem, was one of her favorite churches and we often passed it on the way to Villa, my grandmother’s hillside residence in Entoto. We drove up to the church entrance and got out of the car; according to the religious practice, we took our shoes off before entering the doors of the holy sanctuary. My grandmother’s secretary, Wolde Amanuel, as was his routine, followed right behind. I turned to see my grandmother’s delicate hands shake a little while she held her book of psalms close to her chest and shed tears. She murmured, “Temesgen amlake [Thanks be to God],” for his mercy and grace. Throughout the entire incident, she retained her dignity and pride. With great resolve and by standing up to the mob, she showed me what courage is when faced with great difficulty. I admit her decision to stop the car meant she took a big risk by exposing herself, her staff, and me to imminent danger. She was also relying on the students recognizing her good name, reputation, and good deeds. She was confident they would not harm her. Perhaps she was right or perhaps some strange power was protecting us from disaster. Her impeccable reputation remains untarnished even today. Her great work in charities and helping needy children and the sick, giving alms to the poor, supporting churches, and advocating on behalf of the powerless is her unfailing legacy. This evening was unusual. I had to tell my great-grandfather that I was going to Europe. I was excited, and yet something did not feel right because my mother only gave me one day to pack my bags. I remember how she persuaded me to go. She said I was going to see my two cousins who had recently left for boarding school in England. Also, I would go on a skiing vacation to Geneva, Switzerland. I would be back in two weeks. After a lot of agonizing, I resolved to tell my mentor the impending news. I opened the door to his private residence area and saw him standing in the middle of the room near where he had his desk. I bowed down and greeted him with a kiss. He smiled at me and said, “Mendin new wedaje? [What is it, my friend?]” I restated what my mother had told me in a flippant sort of way, hoping he would disagree with her. He had disagreed with her in the past about her insisting on me not wearing any pants because girls only wore skirts. I hoped that he would rule on my side again. I was feeling sad, and my eyes were almost filling with tears. My heart sank when he looked at me and said, “Malefia, yihun. [This is acceptable. So be it.]” Knowing I could not change his mind, I sucked it up and told myself it was going to be OK. At the same time, I did not relish the idea of leaving my home and my family. Besides, I knew I had to travel alone, and that made me concerned. I had this feeling in my gut that this might be the last time I would see my great-grandfather, who had raised me like his daughter since a very young age. I thought to myself, “This can’t be happening. No way. I have to come back to Ethiopia one day. This is my birthplace. This is my home.” While all these thoughts were speeding through my mind, I noticed he slipped a small, sealed white envelope into my hands. “This is for your journey,” he said. I accepted the envelope and bowed again—this time with a lump in my throat—but I was determined not to cry. I turned around toward the door that led out to the hallway. When I opened the envelope, I found several crisp US hundred-dollar bills, which I placed in my purse. I continued to walk to my living area and passed the beautiful reception hall full of furniture imported from Italy, Renaissance paintings, and a magnificent wall tapestry of Saint George slaying the dragon. I realized I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side of the world. All I knew was that my mother and grandmother (and probably His Majesty himself) had planned my departure without consulting me.