by: G.S.

I am nudging at memories of the years I spent in Gonder. Forgive me if what you are about to read sounds a bit cynical but that was how I felt then. My memories of Gonder were just that—bittersweet. Where should I start? How about the beginning…that unforgettable day when my dad walked in with the news…

What the hell was in Gonder? Why? Why me?? Those were the questions that were zipping through my mind when my dad came home from work with an Addis Zemen gazeTa neatly tucked under his arm. At that time, that was how one found out where one was assigned to school. I reasoned with myself. They (my parents…) weren’t going to let me go that far, were they!?? Whoever heard of a city gal going to one of the provinces…? I was convinced they’d pull all kinds of strings and call in some favors to get me transferred to Addis.

Nothing doing.

‘You aced matric and got your first choice in subjects, medicine," my dad said with pride. "Here’s your name. You’re going to the Medical School in Gonder. It’s a very historical city. "You will like it there." He’s got to be joking!! What do I care how much history is ensconced in a town. How was that going to make my life (however it was going to unfold) any easier?

Besides the occasional picture of the Fasiledes Castle and… hold it… a school friend with the name Fasil, I had no idea and frankly no interest (at that time) to learn of Ethiopian history let alone getting enthused about going to Gonder.

Well, OK. I ended up going…Isn’t that what this is about…

Gonder? I remember feeling a sense of relief to know that there was at least an airport there. The fact that airplanes could fly to and from Gonder, for me, bridged that gap between what people ALWAYS seem to talk about when they speak of Gonder (mainly the history) and the present time. Ok, I can at least fly outta there if the need arises. Whew.

Packing was non-eventful. I basically took everything I owned—because I had no way of ‘selecting’ out the inappropriate stuff. Long story on what ‘inappropriate’ means in Gonder.

Landing at the Gonder airport in the mid ‘80’s was an account any adventure writer would pounce on. First of all, the landing strip was not paved, --do you hear me?! It was ilim yalE korokonj—I mean teeth rattling terrain. As we were getting closer to the ground, I noticed a couple of people running around the runway after what seemed to look like … oh my God…they were actually trying to chase livestock off the landing strip. How in the world did I end up in a place where ‘remove cows from landing area’ was an item on an air controller’s to-do check-list !?

We landed and got hastily frisked for the Uzi’s that random Addis chicks may be traveling with. What were all those friskings about, anyway? Has anyone ever heard of someone getting busted? Me neither.

My first impressions of Gonder was the aroma: the unmistakable smell of butter and spices everywhere… at the airport, in the buses, taxis and on clothes.. just everywhere. Oh, I know how that must sound. But it is my honest first impression. It was the place I spent six years of my life in, and eventually developed an appreciation for the people, culture and the hunk named Fasil (who, legend has it, by the way, was a very short and hairy man…hence the enclosed and secret entrance to the swimming pool--Fasil Mewagna. Guess it wasn’t cool back then to have so much hair—how the times have changed for men!……Oh wait…sorry …..I got off track…)

My Gonder saga starts. The medical school was called Gonder College of Medical Sciences- GCMS for short, and locally referred to simply as ‘kolej’. It was halfway between the airport and downtown Gonder. A taxi dropped us off at the entrance of the hospital/ ‘kolej’. "The dorms are across the street beyond the stairs," said a little dusty kid, sporting a berebaso, pointing to what seemed to look like a tower of stairs.

How in the world was I going to carry all my bags UP THERE? God knows how far the dorms are from the top of the stairs. I succumbed to ‘Gosh mamushiye, ebakih eechn irdagn’, I said with a smile.

"Hulet birr yaskefilishal," he responded.

My gut told me to bargain down, but since I was grateful he was even willing to lug my stuff, I let it go—besides I may need my negotiation energies later…in the dorms….ooh.

I was ushered into the dorms by a stern looking woman who identified herself as the ‘dorm teQoTaTari’’. All righty then. A huge hangar of a room with what looked like a bazillion bunk beds arranged neatly in rows very close to each other and rows divided by rows of teeny tiny closets. I chose a top bunk and was delighted to have a window to look out of. At least there was light and a view of the grass outside.

The bathrooms were a whole different story… indet new yemilemedew-?! Stern lady, at one point in her orientation spiel, in a matter of fact way, mentioned that water was scarce in Gonder. The faucets would have water for certain hours each day and it was up to us to collect as much of it in containers. Huh? Did she mean water was rationed? I wasn’t even sure how much quantity would be enough for a day (shower, tooth brushing, washing undies, socks and hands….)? I just knew I was gonna need a whole lot of it which meant I was going to have to go get the biggest jerican ever!

Ah, memories of the cafeteria… The stainless steel partitioned trays, the lines for injera and weT at lunchtime and shai be dabo in the morning…the din of students voices and the clanking of cutlery… The trick to eating well was to rush to the café at 11:30 a.m. in time to get the first scoops of weT while the ‘Qbat or wez’ was still—shall we say- visible.

By the end of the first week there, I finally started to feel like the initial shock was wearing off. I had met some wonderful people whom have remained my close friends ever since, and together we discovered the local, and more obvious hangouts around the kolej.

I use the word "obvious" to illustrate the fact that there were a lot of zigubign type of joints that were not-so obvious to newcomers such as us. The most memorable spots were Abiyot Rendezvous and Gimja BEt. Abiyot Rendezvous was somewhat of a coffee shop nestled between a public square and the historically world-famous Fasil Mewagna. It had modern amenities such as private booths and outdoor seating, and served your regular hot beverages, beer and liquor, and-- if the cook felt like it-- sometimes food.

Gimja BEt was very different. I think the place had an official name but nobody called it that. It had the local shai bEt feel. First of all, Weizero Gimja, the owner, could usually be found sitting behind the front counter handling the finances. If I remember correctly, the cash register was in the form of a handkerchief secured, and I mean very well bunkered down, within the folds of her bosom.

Gimja BEt had three small rooms; the front room was the bar area. No one sat there unless the place was otherwise full. The next two rooms were quite bare except for the tables and chairs. Then, my favorite, was the spot waaaay out in the back---the ledge in the back of the house where hard core boozers and their cool friends usually sat –out of sight from the regular clientele. Gimja BEt offered some killer tea, spreees and alcohol (mainly gin) and oh yeah, Gouder wine. Once in a while, they would serve some ful, which I remember was to die for.

My impression at the end of week one was …I guess school and Gonder in general were going to be OK.

I thought I spoke Amharic until I went to Gonder. The locals had a very distinct way of conversing. In addition to using words that sounded like they were made up (later I learned were very formal Amharic words – please excuse my ignorance), they were extremely melodious.

The only way I can describe it is that every sentence ended on a high note. Wait, I didn’t mean a positive concept --I meant a high voice pitch or an upward inflection (for all you musically inclined readers). Here is an example, ‘anchi ashker’ –which is equivalent to ‘yene ihit…’ . Try to say, ‘anchi ashker’ –remember to give it a high pitch at the end. It’s actually quite nice—I swear it will grow on you. As a matter of fact, it made everything they said sound sort of like a question. Get it??

People in Gonder kept referring to me as ‘Sisteriyay ’ –with that same high pitch. No ‘Dr. So-‘n-so’, a right I had fully earned—through a whole lotta blood, sweat and tears--literally. (Ooof, it feels good to vent out stuffed emotions). The idea was that women were more apt, or shall we say, cut-out to be, nurses and not physicians. Honest mistake.

Have y’all heard that Gonderians are gidirdir? Forget it. At least where food is concerned. There was a lot of hearty eating in town. I have vivid memories of some heavy duty ‘eat-a-lotters’ descending down on a mammoth pile of QuanTa firfir decorated with multiple QlTms and garnished on several sides with Qibe-drenched ful and aliCHa fitfit. Mind you, this was breakfast. DinKem gidirdir.

At most eateries in Gonder, different rooms were designated for different types of clientele. I mean. if there were several rooms in the restaurant, the innermost room would be for the more frequent diners that have been elevated to the stature of zemed, and hence served food with more wez. You definitely want to go out with one of those people.

We got around Gonder with the few modes of transportation available. Taxis had a designated stop in the city and a spot by the campus/hospital. In other words- for one birr- it was a beeline ride to and from these two spots. I need to mention that the taxis will not budge until they are full (with 4 and sometimes 4+ passengers). So the advisable thing to do was to round up some of your own friends to go into town with you if you didn’t want to sit and wait.

I particularly liked the gari. It had a top-down convertible feel to it and was more of a leisurely ride. Not recommended if you are in a hurry. It can hold three adults including the driver and can take you further into the market places and into different neighborhoods. Oh, yes. You molQaQas I bet are picturing the cushy horse-drawn carriages in Central Park. Wipe that vision out--NOW! Usually you get to sit on a hard bench and if you’re lucky, a straw filled doniya. And the sun… igzio.

Then of course, there is the #11 (your feet). Only you know how far you can go – the sky (or in this case) the CHQa was the limit. On a student’s budget, this was the most popular.

Now, if there is one thing I won’t be afraid to generalize on is the fact that a lot of us didn’t take the initiative to explore the historical sites unless we had an out-of-town visitors. I personally know people (you know who you are) who lived there for years and NEVER stepped foot in ANY of the sites. Mts and shame on you!

For those who have had the pleasure of checking out the ruins of the palaces and monasteries in Gonder, I am sure you’ll agree with me when I say, it is magnificent. Wait—hold up here. I’m not saying they’re in great shape now, but rather, if you close your eyes and imagine how they must have looked when the royalty were chillin’ inside those castle walls, you would understand how truly superb it all is. What a life! I’m talkin’ about mammoth dining halls, sleeping chambers with sky lights, solid gold wall ornaments, hand carved furniture with impeccable detail, 10-15 foot ceilings, and mirror shine sanqa all over.

(By the way, I never got the skinny on the inQulal gnb-- the walls that were built with egg whites instead of cement. I dunno.)

Anyhow, my appreciation of the city and history increased every time I played tour-guide. The simple fact that those wise and ancient people had so much skill to build something of that caliber and endurance is just mind-boggling. Hey, we’ve all seen some of the junk that is immortalized in shiny glass cases with perfect lighting in temperature/climate regulated museums here. Well….take a deep breath…they are not worth the abwara Gonder was built on. Do I have a witness?

Gonder… for me… Gonder was bittersweet. I can’t say I loved it all, but I do know now it has certainly enriched my life. Time has graced me with the wisdom to cherish the experiences I went through and to say, after all these years, that my dad was right. It really was historical in an awesome sort of way.