The Advice Column for the Lovelorn Ethiopian…

Dear Immahoye and Haji:

I am an Ethiopian male, and damn proud of it. I do everything the "Ethiopian way". However, slight glitch in that plan, these days. I am in the middle of having a mid-life crisis... Now, the buying a Corvette and dumping my wife for a 22-year old blonde seems like the natural thing to do, but I think it is too garishly American. I want to stay true to my Ethiopian-ness. Can you enlighten me on how I can have a respectably authentic Ethiopian mid-life crisis?

IMMAHOY: Well, let me share with you the Ethiopian way: where I come from, men solve short-term itches with young nubile women, who will scratch your back if you scratch theirs, if you understand what I mean. Every once in a while there's a fool who is ignorant enough to keep one of these girls around, but in the long run it's the mother of his children who resides over his funeral. My suggestion to you is to buy a Marchedees (it will look great in the funeral cortege -- yemin Corvette?), find a disposable set of long nails, and scratch that itch, for now. The good news is, regardless of all the hype over Viagra, very soon all you will be able to do is look at the nails -- there won't be anything to scratch, and you will even have forgotten what it was like to itch. And then what are you going to do with the blond nails, wendimé? So do yourself a favor -- keep the wife, satisfy the itch, and remember not to leave anything behind that can ruin that funeral.

HAJI: Culturally speaking, one way to have a respectable Ethiopian mid-life crisis is... to buy a Honda Accord 2000 and dump your wife for a brunette of your wife's age, who thinks she can pass for a 22-year-old. Now, if your wife happens to be Ethiopian, this may actually turn into an end-of-life crisis, and the marital bond may not be the only thing… severed. So, we say, stay put and ride it out... no, we don't mean the Corvette, nor the blonde...

Dear Immahoy and Haji:

Well, it is a case of "yeferut yidersal". My grandmother, a sweet old woman who I remember making me Ingocha, came to this country 4 years ago to take care of my twins. She's been very helpful, and we have tried to make life comfortable for her. But I think she has become too Americanized. A few months ago, she announced that she, too, has "needs". She said the postman has "gedai" eyes, and that "maybe she will get weighed and stamped by him." We are Christians and we really don't know what that means, but by the look on her face, we assume she doesn't not mean she is shipping a package to Dessie. Is this normal? Should we tell her that the spandex pants and the tube top she bought with money she earned babysitting is not appropriate attire for our equb meeting?

HAJI: Perpetual youth is a wonderful gift, in any wrapping. Seeing that grandma has forfeited the ascetic life of a convent decades ago, and is so keen on, ehem, stamping, we say, get the hell outta her way... just make sure:

(1) the postage stamp is self-adhesive. (2) destination address starts "The Jerry Springer Show". (3) "Do not bend" is printed on the back of the package.

Dear Immahoy and Haji:

I'm engaged to a lovely girl from Wisconsin who can't stand spicy food. I being a red blooded Ethiopian can only stomach spaghetti for so long. As the day of exchanging our vows draws closer, I'm having doubts about giving up WeT for love. Should I dump her for the joy of kitfo or settle for whoopee and meat loaf?

IMMAHOY: a staple of cream-of-mushroom-soup and a craving for kitfo, we looked up, are not filed under the column of clashing-mixes in our mahder of druidical recipes. That's a good sign. Your fiancée can't stand spicy stuff, but she can stand you... that makes you some bland stuff. That is not a good sign. We say, "If she can't stand the miT-mi-Ta, get her out of your anjet!"

Dear Immahoy and Haji:

I consider myself a progressive woman. Well, recently made progressive. My husband and I have been married since we were 9. (My parents owed his parents two silichas of Teff and several gembos of Qibe. Dad thought, what the hey, I have an "extra" daughter.) We moved to America, and I have been lucky enough to go to community college. A friend urged me to take a "Women's studies" course and I ended the semester bouncing around the literary symbolism of Kate Chopin's "The Awakening" like it was a balooni kuwass. When my husband found out that I was not just taking "kiroshay" classes, he fell off the berChumma he had specially made for him.. He thinks I am an ager assedabi and ye-seyTan gebbari, and he's summoned an army of debteras first to exorcise, then to megezzet me. I'm torn. I still love him, but I feel that 19^th Century literature is my new wushima. What to do?

IMMAHOY: My how times have changed! When I think of what one gembo Qibe would have gotten a man in my days? (The whole village.) Well, thanks to your deadbeat dad, you are now obliged to your husband… and as the book says, "What God has put together… yadda.. yadda". So, I say, take a couple of kiroshay classes (make a nice cover for the TV) and try to live in wedded bliss.

HAJI: Ere yetabatu! Minnew Immahoy! I say sit him down on a real chair and knock some sense into him. If he cannot appreciate the tragedy and mood of such a fin-de-siecle novel, (which appreciatively covers the romanticism, naturalism and modernism movement) then I say fling back the genbo and send him back to rudimentary Literary Allusions class. As Mrs. Haji says, "SelTen."

Dear Immahoy & Haji,

Now that we're married, my husband is no longer the gallant romantic let's-dance-and-drink-all-night kind of man. His volcano has gone dormant while mine is still active and bubbling with fiery magma. A few weeks ago, I ran into a high school sweetheart, an exuberant, fun-loving perpetual youth of a man who wants to make love upside down in the middle of a sky-dive... who likes to roller blade down the SF hills while holding hands, and could smooch for an hour in public without any "sew min yilal"'s. And he's asked me out on multiple dates. I cringe at the prospect of spending my life with a precocious old man, but I also cringe when I wonder if this intense spotlight of interest from my wild boyfriend may just be a fleeting weret. Should I flip a coin?

HAJI: Wiy, wiy, wiy lijé…minew? If your hubby's volcano is dormant and not extinct, I just have one word for you: Viagra. And not the Ethiopian version of girrawa ChimaQi, boiled with over-ripe Qei Siir either. You need the real deal. And I suggest a healthy dose of anti- yilugnta biss antidote for your tendency towards exchanging tonsils in public. No good misht does that. Even by loose DC standards, that is ?N'wir.

IMMAHOY: Ere koi… he can kiss for an hour?

Dear Immahoy & Haji,

I'm married to an intellectual snob. Despite popular wisdom, I opted for love and married a woman with multiple degrees who makes more than I do. It's proving to be a painful price to pay for love because she goes berserk if I ever, God-forbid, admit that I have never heard of a country called Belize, and sulks if I look blank-faced when she asks what the GNP of Nepal was this past fiscal year. She is offended that I don't even know what GNP is. Should I gracefully bail out and go on and marry a quiet, kind, high school grad endowed set with down-to-earth wisdom, who knows her 'damakesse' from her 'dingetegna', but doesn't give a damn if I could name the 14th president of the US?

IMMAHOY: Esti-sti-sti… You found love AND intelligence in a woman and now it's her fault that you look blank-faced? Ante Qiletam -- even I know about Belize, and I didn't see the sunny side of Meserete Timhirt. Do yourself and your wife a favor and tolo! wede timihirt bet. Besides, what makes you think that a high school grad would be satisfied with an ignorant wesswasa any more than your current wife, anyway? Demo jebdu yimesil "I don't know who the 14th president is"! Franklin Pierce, Mt's ité.

HAJI: Ah, I knew that.

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