Roots Run Deep

“If you know your history, then you would know where you are coming from. Then you wouldn’t have to ask me who the heck I think I am.”

From the moment I stepped off the plane there was something familiar in the air. It was the smell in the streets; it was the smiles on people’s faces; it was the feeling inside my heart. I left Babylon lost and looking – for the clarity and strength necessary to navigate modern jungles. It would be Ethiopia that would remind me of the depth below the surface. But Africa has always been good to me.

The entire country is holding its breath for the rains. But each day brings the unrelenting gaze of the sun and more dryness, in this land of 13 months of sunshine. I walk around with a constant smile on my face. It’s the intangible that speaks to me; the understanding that cannot be gained from textbooks but must be breathed in. For some of us the blood that flows in our veins carries culture that dates back to other times. For those of us whose affinities lie in songs, stories, and struggles, our journey inevitably leads us off the beaten path.

In nearly every bar if you stick around long enough you can hear a 2pac song. Along roadside stalls, in barber shops, and cinema halls you can sneak a glance of a Shah Rukh Khan poster. And I knew I couldn’t be too far from home – metaphysically speaking, that is. It doesn’t hurt that you can hear Ethiopians singing Hindi songs, loving the Bollywood jams, and breaking it down on the dance floor. It all feeds the flames of my enthusiasm.

As we crisscross Addis Ababa interviewing youths, doctors, teachers, and social workers the city comes to life. Everyone has a story. The fresh juice is delicious; the bunna (coffee) – heavenly.The dust becomes a part of your being. These days the city is the site of constant construction with Chinese and Indian money paving the way. Here too life is a hustle. In the markets the smiles and greetings are infectious. 

Leaving the city, the countryside opens up to the heart of this land, and with it, the plurality in perspectives that defies simplistic portrayals of giants like Ethiopia, Africa, and India. The mud huts, the mango trees, and the dry fields are reminders of the dangers of romanticizing lives that we claim to understand.

The friendliness and pride is more than apparent. In the only country in Africa that was never colonized (the Italians were defeated), the same colonial hangover that is present elsewhere in the world is oddly missing. There isn’t the obsessive desire to copy the West nor is there the backlash against what is foreign. There is a strange acceptance of, or indifference to, it all.

That’s not say to say otherwise. Millions struggle to have their basic needs met. The heavy hand of the government has been known to restrain civil society. No doubt, the pursuit of social justice remains in realizing the chaos of a vibrant, third world democracy.

But black and brown pride is always a reason to smile. While the world grapples with the potentially destructive practices of Western interventions, there are lessons to be learned – from the past, for the future – from people who live and struggle on ancient soil.

Mama Africa and Mother India have schooled me on the depth below the surface. She has taught me patience, showed me magic, and brought me love. It has been my experiences with habeshas and desis that have allowed me to disable fear and walk tall with an open heart. Since food is love, it has been Ethiopia and India that have nourished my vision, and guided me through what I cannot always see or understand. It’s been that injera and chapatti that has fed my soul, namsayin?

When that which exists in the air is older than the cities we visit, we must dig deep to get the full story. Such journeys require an intentionality and mindfulness – to wander the backstreets, where the signs are not the same and the neighborhoods change. It’s in the villages that don’t necessarily fall along the highways where the answers lie. It’s life lived daily beyond the palaces, churches, and mandirs of tourist fame. If you can tap into the currents that run below the surface you may realize how far back the story goes. You may begin to find that roots run deep.