“I have a Jim Reeves cassette that an American missionary gave me when I was a student. I play it all the time. He has a great, clear voice. It helps me with my English.”
“Oh. OK. Yeah. Dylan wouldn’t help you learn English,” Al smirked. “Kemo Sabe, or should I call you Ato Habashah? Are all people of color Habashah?”
“No. No. Only Ethiopians are Habashah, natives of Ethiopia.”
“How do they know you’re not American or from some other country?”
“Can you tell if someone is Swedish or Italian just by looking at them?”
“Most of the time.”
“Wendum-may (Amharic for brother), it is the same with us. By next year, you won’t ask me this same question. You’ll know the difference, too. Sometimes it takes people time to see people for who they really are.”
As they approached a stream where a young woman was washing a pile of clothes, Tadesse and Al surveyed the area for signs of a village, but no homes were in sight.
“Sister, can you tell us where we can find Ato Tsehye, the wise one,’”
Tadesse asked in Amharic.
“Follow the path to the place where it splits into four. Take the one on the right. That path ends at his home. It is not far,” she said, staring at Al as she spoke.
“Don’t be bothered by her stare. You’re probably the first white person she’s ever seen,” Tadesse told Al.
“Oh. I thought it was because she liked me.” Al smiled.
“I think you like her. She is beautiful.” Tadesse said with a wink.
“Beh-dom kun-jo.” Al repeated Tadesse’s sentiments in Amharic as he turned around for another glimpse of the nubile.
“Maybe the wise one will have some words for us about love,” Tadesse said as he put his arm around Al’s shoulder.
“There! Look! Just as she said. The path splits four ways,” Al pointed out.
The one on the right was narrower than the others. It led to a hilltop overlooking a village of farm fields and huts that dotted every acre or so. At the top of the hill was a small hut, which looked just like all the others with grass-thatched roofs resting atop a circular wall made of mud and straw, covering thin Eucalyptus logs driven like stakes into the hard clay soil. The materials were gifts from the surrounding land. So it wasn’t a problem to repair their walls when the annual rainy season washed away some of the mud. More was readily applied from the abundant source. The fact that the mud and the Ethiopian’s skin color were both a rich, reddish brown affirmed a bond between Ethiopians and their land.
As they approached the hut, they heard a man’s voice coming from inside.
“Yes! Yes! Now I’ve got you. You won’t be stealing anymore from me,” he said loudly in triumph. “No! No more stealing. You think you can come into my home and feed yourself on my harvest whenever you want? It’s my food. I earned it for all my hard work. I’ve shared my land with you, but you want more. You take the fruits of my labor. Yes, I know, you must eat to live, too, but God has provided for you. You should have taken what he has given you. That’s what I do. And now he provides me with you. So the food of mine you have eaten will be mine again because you will be my next meal.”
Tadesse and Al cringed and looked at each other in stunned silence after hearing these horrific words. But the sick feeling in their stomachs left as quickly as it came when an old man exited the hut while continuing his monologue with a rabbit that was huddled in the corner of a crude, homemade trap constructed with wire scraps.
“Who are you?” the startled old man asked Tadesse and Al, who were now smiling in relief.
“Hello. Good day to you, sir. I am Tadesse, and he is Al. We are teachers from Nekempte,” Tadesse told him in Amharic.
“Ah. Hello to you. What brings you here?” the old man asked.
“A few of my students from this village told me about a very wise man named Tsehye who lives in this village,” Tadesse replied. “Do you know—” Tadesse began to ask before the man interrupted him with a question of his own.
“Is he Peace Corps?” the old man asked without looking at Al.
“Yes. How did you know?” Tadesse replied.
“A few of the children have told me about him. They like the way he teaches English. They know much more English than me. Ah, but what good is it?” he said in a way that indicated his poor English didn’t concern him.
“Things are changing. It’s a different world. English could give them a new life, new hope,” Tadesse declared.
“That may be. But will it be a better life? Some things in this world never change. How important is it really for them to know English?” the old man said dismissively.
“I couldn’t have become a teacher without English. And I make more money than anyone in my family because of it,” Tadesse said proudly. “It has made my life better.”
“Are you sure? Why have you come to see me?” the old man added.
“Ato Tsehye?” Tadesse asked, somewhat surprised.
“Yes. So do you still think I’m wise?” Tsehye asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes. Yes ... very wise. That is clear,” Tadesse said, “but ...” he added with his voice trailing off as he searched for the right words.
“Let me help you say it. I don’t look like a wise man. You expected someone more impressive, with a fine home and fine clothes. I look like all the other poor villagers, and I don’t know English. So how smart can I be?” Tsehye said without a trace of indignation.
“No. No,” Tadesse protested emphatically.
“Don’t worry my friend. I take no offense. The truth is the truth. God prefers me to be humble, so I am,” he said with great humility.
“I guess I did have a different picture of you in my mind,” Tadesse said cautiously.
“If it makes you feel better, the image I have of myself in my mind is very different, too,” Tsehye said with a smile. “In it, I’m much younger and better-looking,” he added as he laughed out loud.
“Why is he laughing? What did you say?” Al asked while tapping Tadesse’s arm.
“He is Tsehye, the wise one,” Tadesse informed Al.
“He is?” a wide-eyed Al exclaimed in hushed tones.
“Yes. And he likes to laugh at himself, as you can see,” Tadesse said.
“I don’t believe it. We walked all this way to talk with him?” lamented a disheartened Al. “So he could give us advice?”
“We must not judge a book by its cover,” Tadesse gently admonished.
“He speaks much better than he looks. Except English. He doesn’t know it, and doesn’t want to know it,” he added to playfully underscore how Tsehye felt about English. It was a good thing, too. Otherwise, Tsehye would have probably been offended by Al’s remarks.
“My son, I am honored that you and the Foreigngee think I am wise enough to help you answer your questions. Let’s talk. Please join me for coffee,” Tsehye said as he clapped his hands twice and walked over to three short, homemade wooden stools that surrounded a big flat rock just outside his home. By the time they were seated, a young servant girl emerged from Tsehye’s home, carrying a tray of three small cups of steaming, nostril-pleasing coffee. Tsehye gestured to Al, who was served first, followed by Tadesse and Tsehye.
“So tell me, what brings you here?” Tsehye asked, as if he’d spoken these words many times before.
Tadesse turned to Al and said, “He wants to know why we’re here. Do you want to tell him?”
“No. You talked me into this. It doesn’t feel right anymore,” Al replied. “I don’t have any questions for him,” Al added as he sipped his coffee.
“OK. I want to end my misery. This has bothered me for too long. I have nothing to lose,” Tadesse told Al before turning to Tsehye with hopeful anticipation.
“What can you tell me about fear—the thing that keeps me from doing something that I want to do, should do, but can’t because something inside paralyzes me?” Ta
desse asked Tsehye with his eyes closed and his hands wrapped around his coffee cup.
“Fear? There are many kinds,” Tsehye said thoughtfully, “but they are all the same in one way. A voice, a mysterious, persistent voice that is very persuasive, speaks Amharic, English, Galena, Geeze, and every language in the world, depending on who it is speaking to,” he explained.
“Yes,” Tadesse said with his voice shaking. “I know what you are saying.”
Just after Tadesse spoke these words, a large snake that appeared from nowhere slithered about ten feet in front of Al and Tadesse. Al slowly nudged Tadesse’s back to get his attention. When Tadesse saw Al’s terrified expression and followed Al’s eyes to the snake, he froze. Tsehye, who was facing Tadesse and Al, turned around to see what the problem was.
“What is this mysterious voice telling you now?” Tsehye casually asked Tadesse. When Tadesse didn’t reply, Tsehye offered, “Is it telling you, ‘Don’t move or speak, because if you do, the snake will attack you?’”
Tadesse slowly nodded and put his fingers to his lips to silence Tsehye.
But Tsehye smiled, picked up a handful of stones from the ground next to him, and tossed them at the snake, which prompted the reptile to return as fast as it could into the nearby field of tall grass.
“Feel better now?” Tsehye asked Tadesse before turning to Al and giving him a warm smile.
“Yes. But why weren’t you afraid?” Tadesse wondered.
“Why would I be afraid? I knew I could make the creature go away. No creature, no threat, no fear. Understand? If you want to lose your fear, you must do the same thing,” Tsehye explained.
Tadesse sat still for a minute in thought. “I wish it were as simple as throwing a few stones to make it go away.”
“Ha ha ha. That’s what I’m telling you. It is as simple as that. The only reason to fear something is because it is a threat of some kind. Yes, the snake could have killed one of us with its deadly bite. I knew a man who died of such. But snakes have fears too. They don’t like being hit with stones. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” Tadesse mumbled.
“You can’t end your fear if you don’t know how to remove the threat that feeds it. So now you shouldn’t fear snakes anymore. There’s no reason to,” Tsehye declared.
CHAPTER 45
The Wise One Speaks
“Thank you, but that’s not the fear that has been making me miserable,” Tadesse emphasized.
“OK, but maybe now you can end your fear by yourself. Maybe you can make that threat disappear,” Tsehye offered.
“No, I don’t think so.” Tadesse looked pitiful. “Can I throw stones at change to make it go away?”
“Change? You fear change?” Tsehye repeated to make sure he understood.
“Yes. It makes me feel helpless. I don’t know how to respond to it. Change forces me to think hard about what I should do or say instead of just doing or saying something. The old ways are proven, comfortable. I know what to expect with them. No surprises,” Tadesse said, struggling to find the right words.
“I don’t understand. This thing you call change has something to do with old ways and new ways,” said a confused Tsehye. “What do you mean by this change?”
Tadesse turned to Al and said, “I think you are right. This old man is not who we thought. He can’t help us.”
“Son, why do you speak English? You know I don’t understand it. I can’t help you if we don’t speak the same language,” said a frustrated Tsehye. “Please, tell me what you mean by change.”
Tadesse turned from Al to Tsehye with fire in his eyes and said, “Change! Change! It is the thing that is needed if our country is to survive. We are a poor, starving country with tens of thousands of our brothers, sisters, mothers, and fathers dying because they don’t even have food to eat. That must change! How can you not understand?” Tadesse passionately asserted before pausing for a few seconds. “We must change, I know, to make life better for most of us in Ethiopia, but I fear change because it can make life even worse,” Tadesse added, as if he were speaking to himself.
“Ah, now I understand what you mean,” Tsehye said. “Let me tell you a story about something that happened many years ago that may answer your question. The village where I grew up is not far from the town of Dilla in Sidamo Province. If you don’t know, it is about a one-day bus trip south of Addis Ababa. The stream that runs through my birthplace takes you to a wall of stone that was the inside of a cave about twenty-five thousand years ago, according to some scientists who visited it. All that is left of the cave’s ceiling and other wall is a pile of stone. We know the cave had been somebody’s home because there were crude carvings in the wall showing people and the animals they hunted. It is a special place for me. I imagined that my ancestors had lived in it. And once I did that, I began to wonder what living was like back then. But the more I thought about it, the worse it got: bad food, no transportation, no books to teach the curious, no laws to protect good people, no medicines to heal the sick, no religion to soothe our spirits, no music and art to inspire us ...”
“I’m glad I’m living now,” Tadesse interrupted, “in spite of everything.”
“I agree, but there was one man in my village who didn’t. He embraced that old life, preferring it over modern life. So he left the village with his family to live in a cave. The last thing he said as he left was, ‘Everything keeps changing. We don’t want other people telling us how to live anymore.’”
“Changes? What changes was he talking about?” Tadesse asked.
“He didn’t say, but everyone knew they had something to do with the new laws the village elders decreed. One of them said that any surplus harvests among the villagers must be shared with all the other villagers. He was the only one who had a surplus harvest, just as he had in the previous three years. Up to that time, he had always shared his surplus on his own. He just didn’t like being forced to do it,” Tsehye explained.
“So what happened to him?” Tadesse asked.
“It is strange to say, he gave up farming—the best farmer in the village—to become a great hunter, living alone with his family in the wild,” said Tsehye. “The villagers would trade some of their harvests for the meat of his kills. He was generous with everyone except the elders.”
“This man didn’t like change, but in the end, he changed his whole life on his own,” Tadesse pointed out.
“Yes, son. Think about that the next time you are faced with your fear. This man could not live with changes imposed on him that challenged his nature, but he completely changed his life so he could be true to his spirit. There is change ... and then there is change. Which do you fear more?”
“Why do you speak in riddles? What are you asking me?” An uneasy Tadesse fidgeted with his coffee cup.
“I’ll ask you another way. If you were this man, would you have done what he did? Or would you have just handed over your surplus harvest and continued farming? Either way, your life would have changed, but it seems that he chose to make the greater change by living every day differently.”
“Yes, it does seem so,” Tadesse acknowledged. “For him, obeying the new law must have required a change that he could not make.”
“So I’ll ask you again. Do you fear change that affects your physical, everyday life more than the change that affects your spirit?”
“I ... I don’t know. I fear them both. I never made the distinction that way,” Tadesse said defensively. “But if I were that man and had to choose right now, I would probably continue farming. I would just tell myself that the law didn’t exist, that sharing my surplus was still my choice— nothing had changed.”
“I understand. You are a young man. Your inner being is just an acquaintance. He was older, with a family to support and nurture. So his spirit was a close friend,” Tsehye said. “It’s good that everything worked out for him and his family. Maintaining one’s soul isn’t always practical in t
his world, God knows.”
“That’s why I fear what’s happening now in Ethiopia. Change is in the air, big change. Who knows what will happen and how it will affect me, you, and everyone else?” Tadesse lamented.
“You are right about all this,” Tsehye exhaled long and deep. “And since there is nothing we can do to change the course Ethiopia is on, we can only change how we respond to it. Instead of throwing stones to make our fear go away, we’ll need to …”
“Why are we still here?” Al interrupted. “You said he couldn’t help us. Let’s go.”
“No! No. Shush,” Tadesse implored. “He is making more sense now,” Tadesse told Al while nodding for Tsehye to continue.
“Instead of throwing stones to make our fear go away, we’ll need to have faith that whatever happens will be for the best,” Tsehye said with great resolve. “There is no other way.”
“Do nothing? Do nothing?” Tadesse repeated as his body bristled.
“I didn’t say that. Having faith requires a lot. It requires being strong against great opposition so you can act and be heard at the right time and place to make a difference,” Tsehye replied. “Without it, we’re like leaves blowing in the wind whenever an unwelcome change comes into our life.”
“Where does this faith come from? What is it based on?”
“Experience, trial and error. At times in my life when difficult situations arose nothing else helped,” Tsehye said. “God is a persistent teacher.”
“Now what are you talking about?” Al asked Tadesse. “Did he solve your problem?”
Tadesse summarized his conversation with Tsehye for Al, saying that it isn’t the answer he was looking for, but he would try it.
“I have a problem with his wisdom,” Al scoffed. “My experience tells me something very different about faith and God.”
CHAPTER 46
A Lack of Faith
“Why? What do you mean? You sound angry,” said Tadesse.
“Yes. Why are you so angry? Was it something God did?” Tsehye asked in perfect English, with a scholarly British accent.
“What the ... You know English?” asked an amazed Al.
“Yes, I know English. I picked it up at Oxford University,” said Tsehye with a grin. “Please tell me why you have a problem with my wisdom. It also sounds like you have a problem with God.”