Love Versus The Ethiopian Ego

By E. M

Was she the perfect human being? No, she was flawed. Could I live without her? I am.
Was she the only one who made my heart skip, my eyes well and my fingers shake? Yes, yes and yes.

I let her go. I saw her walk away, and instead of running even walking in her direction, I watched her go, and heard my heart break.

No, she was not perfect... but another Ethiopian love story gone wrong. Another abesha male pride protected, and another love affair crushed underneath the heavy burden, as old as it is ruthless, of appearing strong. You da man, man! Let her go... they are a dime a dozen... she will come back...

A couple of years later, I still sing my song... my faint zeraf... my "wende lij negn!"The words are the same, but my beat is way off. The courage is always there… but the words seem ridiculous, even to my ears... even when I say them to myself.

I let her go because I thought she would come back, because she turned my world upside down, because I had to win a stupid argument... because she would not conform to my world, and because she frightened me. IT frightened me... the whole thing.

Inay ye wondu lij! Let her go... women are a dime a dozen...DC, NY, LA... go west young man... conquer...

She was the love of my life. She is the love of my life. But when you are Ethiopian, and you are male, that ain't a royal flush. You have to play for more... you have to risk more... and if you lose your shirt, you go back to the table with marked cards. You win at all costs. You lose face, you lose the game... and if you lose the game? Man, you are no man.

So we all play on... we dance to the beat... "Abet wend! Abet wend! Abet jegna! Abet jegna!" And the beat goes on.

I run into her in DC last summer. Ah... DC. It is Mecca, you see. Where ET men are MEN. We come we see and... yep!

I saw her in a crowded room talking with her friends and laughing the way I used to make her laugh. I had forgotten her... I had. Over the months, the phone calls had become rarer, the emails less frequent, the carousing of places she and I used to frequent less obvious. Less "accidental" meetings… less feeling, less drama, less acting like a foolhardy teenager… less... everything. Less living.

But the song kept on, the drums beat on... "Ehem new... zeraf! Wendin askebari,!"

I did my gender proud, I did. The friends who were around me pretended nothing was wrong. They pretended not to see the strain in my eyes and my speech. How could they not? My friend were ye wendoch wends. And they welcomed me with open arms and open doors, and phone numbers of other women. My real friend looked at me, shook his head and asked me what the hell I was doing.

I was, I explained to him, being a man.

She was kind, most of all. I kept telling her that. She was like no woman I had ever known. She was exciting and smart, adventurous and sweet. She would look at me with eyes that melted me, and she cried with those same eyes. She fit in my arms so well and so perfectly, her wild side layered between her sweet self. I told her I loved her too early. But I did. Oh yes I did. I loved her because no one made me as happy or as miserable as she.

Seeing her again, I tried to understand why I let her go... because it was going too fast... because she knew too much about me... because I could not settle down just yet. I had one more promotion to get, one more degree to acquire, one more mortgage to pay. "But I don't want all that," she had told me. No, no. She wanted more. She wanted my soul... and that is not on the table.

So, I let her go. I watched her go. I always thought she would come back and wait for me to be ready... a man's soul cannot come so cheaply. You gotta work for it, girlie. Now, work...

But, she was like no other woman I had known... she cried for me, talked at length with me, and then she walked away... not even looking back to see if i was still standing. She walked away and did not even see me watch her go.

That night in DC I watched her again from a distance. Her hair was longer, and I wondered if it still smelled the same. I wondered if she would still fit in my arms as perfectly. Why didn't I run after her? Why didn't I close my eyes and run after her and against everything I had learnt about what makes a man?... I shoulda, coulda, woulda... But every time I picked up the phone, it weighed a ton. The million voices in me yelled, "Snap out of it! Is she the last woman on earth?" But they could not drown that lonely voice that urged me to find her, beg her, hold on and never let her go.

She was gone when I finally turned around. And when I saw her again, she was in someone else's arms... looking at him the way she looked at me once. The lucky devil, I thought. He might have gotten the woman, but I still had my pride.

She was like no other woman I knew. And one day I will stop missing her. I will eventually forget her, the way she'd wriggle out of my arms in the middle of the night to tip toe to the bathroom. I will forget her scent, her eyes, her motion . I will, I will, I will. I will stop fighting to forget her, and before i know it, I will...

But I won't forget the memory of her drying her eyes and walking away.

Abet wend! Abet jegna!... Abet wend! Abet jegna! ...

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