For my whole life, I've heard stories from my Mom and her brother and sisters about growing up in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. Hilarious, tragic, touching, apocryphal...there are as many versions as there are siblings but I never tire of hearing them, of pouring over the few photos that remain, of imaging what my grandmother sounded like on her jazz radio show on Voice of America. Mine is an overpowering legacy, full of memory, family and experience. So naturally, I was excited to return to the site of so many collective remembrances on a vacation/quest for a new visa last week. My trip to Addis was superb, mostly due to the boundless generosity of my fellow Fellows and their extended social matrix (also thanks to some fantastic coffee, popcorn and the greatest sparkling water in the world). On my first full day, I endeavored to find the cornerstone of my family's Ethiopian experience: their grand, majestic house. Armed with my Mom's annotated google maps and an obliging cab driver (with the furriest of furry dashboards, one of my favorite Addis taxi details), we circled the African Union headquarters, a landmark in the general vicinity of the house, craning our necks over the imposing wall for a glance of a red roof. After not too long, we found what we thought might be it and I bounded up to the closest gate, heart pounding, hoping that I could find a way inside. A very kind guard assured me that if I went to the Main Gate, I would be given a pass and I could walk around the house freely. Barely believing my good luck, we drove to the main entrance and I was given an African Union Commission Visitor's pass. [A double thrill, given how much I've read about the AU and that I was minutes away from potentially finding the house.] I walked through a plaza, past towering buildings where important decisions were being made (ok...discussed) and headed down the hill toward where I thought the house might be. I turned a corner and then, there it was, just like in those faded pictures.
I walked closer and nervously climbed the steps into the driveway. It was clear that the old wall around the house had been knocked down on one side and then fortified by the larger AU compound wall on the other:
Slowly, I started walking around the house, looking up, taking it all in, trying to locate the site of stories and anecdotes: Which balcony was the one my Mom and her brother used to play records from? Which room was my grandparents'? I took out my ipod and started listening to Dave Brubeck's recording of 'Take Five,' trying to imagine what it must have sounded like wafting out an open window, accompanied by laughter and the tinkling of cocktail glasses...a dinner party getting going, my Mom and her siblings sitting on the stairs, in their pajamas, drinking Tang. I was overcome by emotion.
My grandparents died when I was young, my grandfather several years before my grandmother and while I remember them clearly and very fondly, I never got the chance to ask them about their life in Addis. My interest in Africa began with wildlife and as an 11 year old I didn't understand the significance of being in Ethiopia at the end of Emperor Haile Selassie's reign. It must have been a remarkable time. Lost in my reverie, I didn't notice a woman sticking her head out the front door until she said "Excuse me, can I help you?" "Hello!" I said, "My mother lived in this house more than 40 years ago. Would it be alright if I came inside?" Thus began my tour of the newly acquired African Union workspace in what used to be my Mom's old house. Everyone was very kind while I interrupted their work and poked my head into their offices (i.e. my uncle's former bedroom) to have a look around. It was unreal.
As we came back downstairs, I thanked my kind and patient tour guide for showing me the house. I took one last turn around the outside, committing the place and all its details to memory, thinking about how I was the first person from my family to come back and wondering when someone might be back next.
I walked closer and nervously climbed the steps into the driveway. It was clear that the old wall around the house had been knocked down on one side and then fortified by the larger AU compound wall on the other:
My grandparents died when I was young, my grandfather several years before my grandmother and while I remember them clearly and very fondly, I never got the chance to ask them about their life in Addis. My interest in Africa began with wildlife and as an 11 year old I didn't understand the significance of being in Ethiopia at the end of Emperor Haile Selassie's reign. It must have been a remarkable time. Lost in my reverie, I didn't notice a woman sticking her head out the front door until she said "Excuse me, can I help you?" "Hello!" I said, "My mother lived in this house more than 40 years ago. Would it be alright if I came inside?" Thus began my tour of the newly acquired African Union workspace in what used to be my Mom's old house. Everyone was very kind while I interrupted their work and poked my head into their offices (i.e. my uncle's former bedroom) to have a look around. It was unreal.
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| the largest upstairs balcony |
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| an upstairs bathroom |
The view from the servants' quarters up to the main house. My Mom and her brother tried to fly off this ledge.
As we came back downstairs, I thanked my kind and patient tour guide for showing me the house. I took one last turn around the outside, committing the place and all its details to memory, thinking about how I was the first person from my family to come back and wondering when someone might be back next.
"How is it possible to feel nostalgia for a world I never knew?"
-Ernesto Guevara
This is the story of how we begin to remember
ReplyDeleteThis is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein
After the dream of falling and calling your name out
These are the roots of rhythm
And the roots of rhythm remain.
Your face in the mirror.
A profound moment for me.
Thank you, daughter!