(I found this while cleaning the computer. Apparently I was not impressed with it 8 months ago. This may still be the case, but if I ever reread any of these things in my dotage, it should be with the rest. good or bad.) Disentangling mythology from history is a tricky business. Perhaps one that is not even possible. Napolean said that history was only “the version of past events that people have decided to agree upon”. So, what is history, and consequently, what is true, depends on who you ask. What outsiders might consider myth or apocrypha is for Ethiopians, indisputably, historical fact. They have resoundingly agreed, and for a couple millennium have been fleshing out the story, working out the kinks, and tying up loose ends. For Ethiopians, the legitimacy and foundation of the ... read more

The Great Ethiopian Run Stupid is as stupid does. Consequently, I don’t run. Alcohol, fear, tear gas, or a frisbee may compel me to do so, but as a rule, running is moronic. For anyone running marathons to cope with mid-life, I would humbly recommend brushing up on your history. Nota Bene: Pheidippides collapsed and died. Please refer to first sentence. Given my animosity to running, I was much alarmed to find myself willingly getting up at 7:45 on a Sunday morning for a 10k run. The only consolation was the near certainty that there would be minimal running and the possibility of writing something snotty. Also, over 30,000 people and Mino the dog were expected for the Great Ethiopian Run (for Mino's Tale see: http://nicojah.com/minos-tales-great-ethiopian-run). That counts as a cultural happening, no matter how misguided ... read more

The minibus is jostling through rural Tigray in northern Ethiopia. Rock outcrops of striated sandstone tower above the flat of the land. Fields of undulating green spread out from the base of the cliff walls, broken periodically by squat houses of stacked stones fenced in by prickly pear cacti. We pass a few tiny towns, but largely, it looks like Zion, only greener. Stepping out into the blinky brightness of the day, there is initially a profound silence. Then faintly, a whispering in the wind. It comes from the tops of the dusty-rose colored cliffs, from the stair steps of distant terraced fields, and it rustles through the green shoots of barley and tef and the spindly stalks of corn growing on the plain: “Ferenji! Ferenji! Ferenji! You! You! You!” Then, out of the emptiness of ... read more

Riding the Blue Donkey: Saturday is culture day. This entails venturing forth into the chaos of the city. Needless to say, hunting culture is tiring work. Well caffeinated to face the day, we walked to Bole Road to catch a blue donkey. Blue donkeys are blue and white Toyota mini-buses with three rows of seats in the back. Though their final destination is often mysterious, they are the most cost efficient form of public transportation. As they weave through traffic deftly avoiding pot holes, people, and goats, the money-taker leans out the window of the sliding door braying to the wind the intended destinations. At the sign of a raised hand or eyebrow, the donkey skreeches to a stop, the door rattles open, and you climb into the multi-eyed belly of the beast. The ten others ... read more