My gratitude
Since childhood, I knew something was different about my circumstances. I wanted to keep a record of my experiences, so I started writing my journals at the age of eleven, but I didn’t have the conviction to say, “I have a story to tell.” Recently, though, when I decided to share the twists and turns of my life in a book portraying events that occurred while traversing multiple cultures, languages, religions, and geographical areas, I was confronted with a few hurdles: a language deficiency and suppressed emotions of guilt and fear about my past. Impasse?
Languages
I can speak, read, and write three languages, and I have functional skills in two more. When people ask me where I am from or what my native language is, I’m hesitant to respond because the answer is not straightforward. If I say I am Yemeni and speak Arabic, people assume I am a typical Arab, which I am not. But to say I am Ethiopian and speak Amharic also does not present the full picture of who I am.
It could be said that Arabic is my native tongue because that is the first language that I learned, but in my first five years, I also learned Amharic and Oromo, two of Ethiopia’s eighty-eight languages. In addition, my father started to teach me some English words when I was a toddler, and as a student, I started to officially learn English. In the 1970s when I was growing up, once children in Ethiopia reached grade 7, all subjects were taught in English.
In my formal Amharic lessons, my instructor also taught me Geʽez. Probably the easiest way to explain the relationship between Geʽez and Amharic is this: Geʽez is to Amharic as Latin is to Italian. It is the root language of Amharic, but it is also a dead language—one that is not used any longer other than for formal biblical studies, much like Latin is used by the Roman Catholic Church.
For these reasons, I also cannot give a clear answer when asked, “How many languages do you speak?” Four? Five? Maybe four and a half! The fact is, I felt incapable of writing my memoir in any of them.
I have written a plethora of technical reports and articles based on facts and information. In a similar way that most humans respond to the melody of good songs, I appreciate a well-written book because I have always been a voracious reader of multiple genres. Those I have been able to connect with and still remember are books with emotions because emotion is a universal constant, and that’s what people connect to.
None of the hurdles I faced deterred me, though. I chose to start writing my memoir. My two daughters, who initially read only Volume 1, told me, “Baba, you wrote plenty of information, but you included few emotions.” I felt like a news reporter relaying facts rather than sharing the painful story of my past.
I can only write about my life as a memo! Really? Who would want to read that! I thought. The facts and figures of my life are easy to tell, but how do I make the events engaging? I began to ask myself. How do I turn my story into one that people would want to read? One filled with interesting dialogue, unique characters, and intriguing situations? I didn’t think there were words to express the fear, the anguish, the hopelessness, and the feelings of loss in the mind and heart of an eight-year-old boy who was left alone and homeless! I didn’t know where or how to start to write my own memoir in an honest and genuine manner with the appropriate sentiment.
EMOTION
My first fifty years were excruciating, particularly my childhood. As a child, teenager, and young adult, I felt like I was in a space shuttle floating in orbit in an unfamiliar atmosphere with limited oxygen in the tank. I had no one for me but me at that moment!
Did I say “moment”? What is a moment, a brief period of time? Well, mine was years long!
Traumatic experiences and unreconciled questions haunt me even today. Until I decided to write these books, I always kept myself occupied with day-to-day affairs as a means of not dealing with my previous ordeals. Avoidance was my main coping mechanism.
But I knew that to get my story out I had to confront my painful past. When my mind began swirling, replaying events, and stirring up emotions from these events, I was frequently overwhelmed and brought to tears. To tell you the truth, when I embarked on writing my memoir, I had nightmares. I didn’t want to acknowledge the emotions; the memories still hurt! Every so often, I remained frozen in front of my computer, and my thoughts zoomed out despite all my attempts to focus on writing. Hours would go by without having constructed a single sentence.
Then, I would put a stop to my futile attempts, leave my desk, and go for a run. Over time, and through this repeated cycle, I began to realize—I had been running away from me all my life! Running was not only a coping strategy but also a metaphor for how I had failed—for decades—to acknowledge and process my painful past.
GUILT
I was worried about hurting or upsetting the people who would be characters in my life story (my family and friends). There are details and events in my memoir that are not talked about in my cultures. I was petrified of violating the norms and values I grew up with and crossing the religious boundaries I was taught not to cross. I didn’t want to embarrass or shame my family, but I needed to be honest, first and foremost with myself but also with my readers. Despite my trepidation, I felt strongly I needed to make certain political and social comments throughout the books as they pertain to my story.
Elements of my story need to be told. So I have made the effort to present certain touchy and even taboo subjects respectfully to allow readers on all sides to learn about different cultural sides of various personal, social, and political issues.
FEAR
For the most part, I have now processed and reconciled a good number of my pains … at least I think so. But what about writing about me, my most intimate and vulnerable moments, and having to look at my own life in the mirror? Doing so would involve taking a piece of my soul and putting it forward for public consumption. There are details of my life in these books that no one knew about until now (except the people involved). Now the world will know some of the most intimate moments of my life! The notion of sharing my emotions but also my personal history was scary; releasing these emotions and details almost broke me!
I knew that doing these books properly would be an uphill battle. I needed help. So I found the right people to help me tell my story.
Acknowledgments
I own my story. I lived the life. I have the scars and stars to prove it. But the product you read is also my team’s. None of this could have been possible to achieve without their dedication. They didn’t do it for money because I didn’t have much to give. They thought my story has value for the reader!
I am deeply thankful for the amazing support, belief, guidance, and flexibility that I received on my writing journey. I would like to say thank you to my editors, narrators, translators, cover page designers, photo and videographers.