Adel Ben-Harhara was born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to a middle-class merchant family.  At birth, his mother was sixteen-year-old Ethiopian and his father was a wealthy fifty-year-old businessman, who was a retired British soldier from the Middle East.

Adel was separated from his mother as a toddler and was essentially orphaned at the age of five when his father died. With his mother's inability to provide support, he was homeless, often left on the streets between the ages of eight and eleven.

As a child, the Adel received extensive religious teachings in Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. As an adolescent Marxist in Ethiopia, he was imprisoned for taking part in a communist party youth movement and barely avoided the death squad's bullets before moving to his ancestors' land: Yemen.

Adel spent a dozen years in Yemen, where he suffered from prejudice, discrimination, and the effects of civil war. He endured harsh treatment because he wore a dark skin, was born in East Africa, and was unable to assimilate into an underdeveloped society living according to primitive cultural traditions. He stood strong and managed to depart his ancestors' land, not because he was tough, but because he had no choice.

Adel navigated from Ethiopia and Yemen to the US and Canada to establish his identity and purpose. The story shows how Adel Ben-Harhara succeeded after leaving behind everything he knew and attempted to embrace an unknown way of life on a new continent.

I spent my first fifteen years in Ethiopia and another dozen year in Yemen. The rest of my life has been in the US and Canada.

In life, if we choose to focus, there are plenty of sources for inspiration! I am inspired by a toddler who's struggling to figure things out (including how to talk, walk, etc.). I derive energy from an older person who's determined to walk, read, and do other basic tasks despite being challenged by physical or mental disabilities. I'm empathetic to immigrants who are striving to survive in a different environment. I'm in awe of a single parent who's working hard to make ends meet. With every disabled person who's never given up on life comes inspiration!

Yes, I was born in Africa (Ethiopia), matured in Yemen, where my ancestors were and I was molded to be a near-complete person in North America (the US and now Canada). I cherish my multicultural background combined with western education. “The deal with multiculturalism is that the only culture you're allowed to disapprove of is your own.” ―Martin Amis

As a child, I immensely enjoyed school! My sense of worthiness came as early as elementary school and continued during my graduate-level program in university, as all of my teachers recognized my abilities and always encouraged me to excel. As a premature baby blessed with a petite physic, I found academic success made me look taller and equal to other students. “Education breeds confidence. Confidence breeds hope. Hope breeds peace.” —Confucius

If being invisible is death, I would like to be dead in order to visit some of my old friends and tell them about my books!

From sports, during boyhood, I was inspired by Ethiopian marathon runner - Abebe Bikila, the barefoot Olympic gold medalist. Then later in my life, I discovered a Canadian hero - Terry Fox!

When it comes to science and technology, people in the West tend to credit those with Judo-Christian backgrounds such the likes of Blaise Pascal, Charles Babbage, and Ada Lovelace. I'm not able to deny their contributions.

My source of inspiration comes from Mohammad Ben Musa Khwarizmi. When I was in university, I was asked the same question and I had the same response. Someone said to me that my choice was because I was from the Middle East like he was. Such a comment spoke more about that person than me. Khwarizmi was a Persian scholar famous for putting together a complete understanding of algebra as the field of mathematics we all know, as well as other notable works in astronomy and geography. Now we can hear his influence in the form of a term used by many without really knowing about its origin: algorithm!

First, I don’t think of myself as an author or writer! When I was eleven years old, I started writing my journals to express my anguish about the circumstances I was facing. In the process, I also discovered an affinity for reading books as a coping mechanism. Whoever cared to listen to my life story often told me I'm a storyteller. To me, I was only sharing some aspects of my life rather than telling stories.

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 event 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.

I've written three books so far (memoir). Those books are translated into two of my native languages: Arabic and Amharic. In the future, I might be writing a couple of books on self-improvement topics such as hiking and running marathons. I feel I have the knowledge to share for those over fifty who wish to start running marathons and hiking, as I was fifty-two when I ran my first marathon. Also, I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro at the age of fifty-five. My intent is to inspire and encourage everyone and share my experiences as an old fart who has turned the corner on some major challenges and is now enjoying life to the fullest.

The first book is titled ‘To Have Nothing’. To Have Nothing is characterized by a peculiarly nostalgic, reflective tone. It’s a longing for longing, both retrospective and prospective. It is a tell-all of my first sixteen years on this planet.

Again, I don’t view myself as a writer. My poorest marks were in writing during my schooling. Ditto during performance reviews at the workplace. My writing comes from a technical perspective. However, I believe, writing is a thought process rather than the mere construction of sentences. If you can clearly envision the story in your mind and are able to convey it to another human being, you're a storyteller. If you can tell a story, you only need some assistance to be an author; I'm a prime example of that. “Each of us is a book waiting to be written, and that book, if written, results in a person being explained.” —Thomas M. Cirignano. That sums it up!

The key to good writing is reading—read, read, read!

I read many fiction and non-fiction books and it's hard to pick one favorite. The interesting part is that what you read as a child, teen, or young adult leaves you with different impressions about matters and life than what you have as you move through your adult years. I would rather categorize my favorite books and authors in the same manner. As a young boy, I loved to read religious books, whether it was a Jewish holy book, the Bible, or the Qur’an. And as a teen and young adult, I gravitated toward Russian literature, particularly socialist and Marxist writings. This was a period when I read historical and biographical books on topics such as wars and world leaders. When I entered midlife, I tended to be attracted to more diversified reading including professional and personal development books. (Maybe I was subconsciously wanting to prepare for my midlife crisis!) It would be unfair to choose one favorite over any other.

In addition, I still read books in three different languages, and I don't want to show preference to English language writers over Arabic or Amharic language writers.

If I had to list my favorite writers or books, I would include Naguib Mahfouz, Khalil Gibran, Taha Hussein, Abbas Mahmoud Al-Aqqad, and Nawal El-Saadawi from the Arab world.

From the Ethiopian side Haddis Alemayehu, Baalu Girma, Tsegaye Gabre-Medhin, and Mammo Wudneh to be the best Amharic language writers.

As for European and North American writers, I would say, Albert Camus, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Leo Tolstoy, Maxim Gorky, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Mark Twain, Ernst Hemingway, and Frank McCourt are my favorites..

In the recent decades, several new writers came to fold, but I tend to focus on the older generation as they left me with a lasting impression!

All or none.

Most of us have many careers or journeys in life. Workwise, as a computer engineer, IT expert, and project manager, I have served many organizations in various sectors with dedication and commitment. They have all been good to me, and it’s hard to pick one highlight. I also have a running career and parenting responsibilities, and I spend a lot of time hiking and playing soccer.

Getting my first memoir published in three languages.

I recognized the power of language when I saw my ability to read the news coverages at the age of ten. In 1972, when the summer Olympics were in unfolding in West Germany, I read the newspaper aloud for a group of adults who didn't know how to read. “Once you learn to read, you will be forever free.” —Frederick Douglass

I was born left-handed and forced to eat and write with my right hand. Arabic is written from right to left, and Amharic is right to left. My neurodevelopmental disorder from childhood, where I can easily be distracted, hampers my ability to coordinate the speed of my thoughts with my fingers when I attempt to assemble properly written words. My struggles with writing have never been due to a lack of imagination or observations or the ability to formulate ideas, rather, the challenges induced by environmental factors.

Studying engineering and computer science was one of the contributing factors to creating obstacles for the writing process. Computer programming languages (if you call them that), are a list of commands. To be a good computer programmer, you have to forget everything you know about sentence structure.

If I may add, working with three different languages was both interesting and challenging. When you land on a word or expression that is suitable for one type of language, you may find it to be offensive for the other ones. Juggling proper way of conveying the message between Amharic, Arabic and English languages was very tricky. Language is also cultural.

To me, the answer this question is borderline subjective. Society labels a person who fixes broken chairs for a living as a carpenter. I don't have the knack for writing, I don't write for a living, and I'm not trained to be a writer, so why I should I call myself a writer? There is a significant point or milestone one must reach to be called a writer. If a reader considers my writing worthy of their time, perhaps I am a writer to that person.

Let's look at it the other way. A four-year-old child who attempts to draw the sun, the moon, mountains, a dog, a horse, and their parents may have every right to call themselves an artist. It's a state of mind and a realization of how the child envisioned it. Children have no notion of better artwork to compare their drawings to; grownups can judge the child's work to be inferior or not.

The most fun and easiest part of my books to write were describing my childhood days. I was able to be brutally honest while admitting all of my flaws. I didn't have to worry about siblings, coworkers, friends, law, culture, or religious aspects.

The two hardest parts of writing my three books were the topic of my marriage and a couple of workplace encounters. There are legal and moral obligations to be careful with. What I didn't say was more than what I shared in my books. I was trapped between being honest with my readers and being haunted by the unintended consequences. Moreover, I was burdened by my innate worrisome attitude to not come across as blaming, judging, or being vindictive. I had to handle the anxiety I had about not being able to see my own blunders.

I grew up poor where food was scarce, and I only eat to survive. I try to eat as little as I can. Eating is not something I consider a recreational activity or a drug to abuse. Whether I’m writing or reading, I have my cup of coffee accompanied by three pieces of dates and a hardboiled egg.

Needless to say, it definitely did in the same manner as my single parenting journey has changed my perspective about mothers. As a child, my first toy was a book. I owned and read thousands of them! Now, I look at books and the process of publishing differently. That was huge learning in my life, and I'm fortunate about that. Writing and publishing a memoir is a process of self-examining with the end result being total cleansing.

First, I would rather ask the parties for their preferences and dietary restrictions. I personally don't eat pork, and some people have severe allergic reactions to some food types.

When I was born, my father named me Ad (Aad, Ade), after an ancient tribe from Southern Arabia, who rejected a monotheistic doctrine or a belief that there is only one God. The tribe is known to have existed from the 8th century BCE to the 5th century CE. I belong to this tribe.

As for who the three people I would invite for dinner they are Abraham, the founder of Judaism; Jesus the teacher of Christianity; and the Prophet Mohammed, the messenger of God, to further discuss the topic.

All things being equal, I would say the meal would an Ethiopian cuisine.

Life is good!

Well, that is an interesting question! I have too many of them to list. I'm not sure about funny, but certainly embarrassing. They all happened to two of my female superiors at the workplace. I wrote, "I'm a bit dick today and I won't be able to come to work" while I meant to say, “I'm a bit sick.” The other one was, "I know you're busty. Would you mind looking at the financial statements I sent you?" She happened to be a big-breasted lady. How one can redeem himself from such blunder?

Any socks do the deed!

I embarked on my writing journey when the COVID pandemic hit the planet. I turned the preventative lockdown periods into an opportunity to write. During the pandemic, I worked from home, and I didn't have to wear business attire. My entire writing was done wearing pajamas.

I only dance when cooking! I listen to soul songs while writing, and the only thing I would do is to take a break every couple of hours to stretch.

I started dancing in my twenties. While I was attending college, at Boise State University, I often ventured to clubs with friends and was always a designated driver because I don’t drink. Back in the 1980s, Boise was an all-white city. Girls automatically assumed Black men know how to dance, and I got frequent requests to be on the dance floor. I heard a comment saying, “We never saw a nigger who doesn't know how to dance.” The word nigger didn't bother me as much as my inability to dance well. I practiced day and night and almost managed to dance like Michael Jackson! At least in my mind!

After some 30 years, I was invited to submit a video clip for a dance contest. It was for a college reunion. The winner would get a package of free flights and accommodation to attend the reunion. The organizers chose the song and requested the dance to be staged at four different settings, along with four country song moves (two-step, then cowboy boogie).

The song was "The Git" by Blanco Brown. I performed the dance on a hiking trail, on a downtown Calgary street, at a local cowboy bar, and in my kitchen with my dog while my daughters assisted me with the dance moves as well as video recordings. I was foolish enough to post it on Facebook, and one of my hiking/running mates commented saying she had "...never seen a Black man like you who has no rhythm...lol!" I think that puts the scale in negative number territories!

“Perhaps!” It gives me the elasticity to back out.

Fall in love. again!

The first time I was fifteen and it was in Ethiopia. The second and third times were in Yemen when I was eighteen and nineteen. Two of them are mentioned in my book. I hope they were real love, not just boyhood infatuations. It’s overdue, regardless.

I tend to repeat my regretful moments!

Music or Books one of the two.

Losing trust, purpose, and hope!

I haven't found one in particular yet. I keep discovering minor ones every now and then though, like photography.

Despite the setbacks and misfortunes one faces, it is human nature to be hopeful. I suppose there’s a silver lining to losing my father when I was five, disconnecting from my mother, and facing challenging times in Ethiopia, Yemen, and the US. I’m fortunate to be in Canada living a stable life and raising my children. I can focus on the positive aspects of life by developing gratitude and continuing to be curious about nature. I’m a happy man because I’m grateful. I choose to have an attitude of gratitude! That gratitude allows me to be happy.

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!

As for my Gratitude Acknowledgments, 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.