Ethiopian New Year: What It Means To Me, And What It Could Mean For Us

2019, A Different Perspective 

For much of the world, September 11 is remembered through the tragedy of 9/11. In Ethiopia, the date carries a very different meaning. It marks Enkutatash, the beginning of a new year. 

Growing up, I remember Enkutatash being my favorite holiday in simple ways. One common tradition I especially looked forward to was drawing flowers for different family members. This is something children do throughout the country, and beyond being a fun part of the celebration, it can also be a significant opportunity to make some pocket money that can last for the next few months. So it was, funnily enough, not only a way to celebrate family, but the biggest business opportunity of the year for me and my cousins. Each year, our family would end up visiting both of my grandparents' homes, and eating all kinds of Ethiopian food. These are the kinds of memories that made the New Year feel like a time of joy, family, togetherness and very real opportunity. 

Ethiopian New Year is also a reminder of just how unique our relationship with time and history can be. Ethiopia follows its own calendar, which includes 13 months. The 13th month, Pagume (ጳጉሜ), is a short period at the end of the year that can serve as a natural time for reflection, and as I have grown older, my artistic approach got replaced with journaling and goal setting. Before entering a new year, we have an opportunity to look back at what we have learned, think about what we want to change, and consider what we hope to build moving forward. 

But I also think this year calls for a deeper kind of reflection. We are entering a new year at a time when our nation has been torn by war and by the trauma that has come with it. For many Ethiopians, the past few years have brought loss, displacement, uncertainty, and experiences that will not simply disappear because the calendar changes. Because of that, I hope this year can come with more meaning for us. Perhaps we can reflect a little deeper on how to make the most of the year we have been given, not only for ourselves and our families, but for the people and communities around us. 

At the same time, I think it is important to recognize that even through these difficult years, there have also been some promising signs. It feels like Ethiopia has received more positive attention in the media in recent years, while also taking some strides toward embracing the role it can have in the Pan-African space. The yearly diaspora initiatives that have become commonplace have created more opportunities for people of Ethiopian descent and the wider diaspora to reconnect with the country. The opening of the Adwa Museum in Addis Ababa is another example that carries significance beyond Ethiopia, offering a place where the wider African Diaspora can engage with a part of African history that has meaning far beyond the battle itself. Even the attention Ethiopia received from IShowSpeed during his Africa tour last year brought Ethiopia into conversations with a global audience in a way that was difficult to ignore. At the same time, the Ethiopian Orthodox Church has increasingly been expanding its reach beyond Ethiopia, creating new connections with Ethiopian communities and others around the world. These are all different kinds of developments, but together they feel like signs of something that we should continue to build on.

This year feels especially meaningful to me because we are entering 2019. In the Ethiopian tradition, 19 is associated with Saint Gabriel, my favourite archangel. Saint Gabriel is known for bringing good news, He is also known for providing breakthroughs in trials, as he delivered the three children from the fire Nebuchadnezzar had them thrown into in the Book of Daniel. There is something fitting about entering a new year with that symbolism in mind. A new beginning should bring good news and breakthroughs, but it should also bring a renewed sense of purpose. 

Finding My Place In Ethiopia 

My relationship with Ethiopia has recently been tied to questions of faith, history, identity, and potential. I have been interested in history since I was a child, when much of that interest actually came through playing Sid Meier's Civilization. But my relationship with my own history and culture was more complicated. I was born in the United States, but I grew up in Ethiopia for pretty much all of my childhood. In many ways, I related more to the diaspora than I did to other Ethiopians around me. I felt somewhat disconnected from my own culture and did not always know how to place myself within it. 

My parents initially sent me to Gibson Youth Academy, where I studied through sixth grade. Looking back, my experience there was a stark contrast to what I would later experience at Bingham Academy during middle school and high school. Gibson had many questionable aspects that I can recognize more clearly now, but within its context, it provided a fairly good standard of education, even as the school itself seemed to be on an ongoing downward spiral. More importantly, my experience at Gibson taught me something that I would only fully appreciate later: to respect and immerse myself with local Ethiopians. 

There was actually a rule posted throughout the school that said we were supposed to speak in English, although even the teachers did not follow it most of the time. In practice, I was surrounded by local Ethiopian students who were trying to connect with the wider world in a modern way. I learned how to connect with them, and that experience became an important part of how I understood Ethiopia. At the same time, I saw a certain rigidness in the school's approach which was discouraging. As critical as I am of some aspects of the school now, I am grateful for what that experience gave me. 

Then I went to Bingham, and the environment was very different. Many of the students, like me, had been born abroad. We followed the Cambridge curriculum, and the facilities were another world entirely to what I was used to. There were many opportunities available to us that I was fortunate to have access to. Bingham prepared us, imperfectly but arguably better than most schools in the country, for the path of attending university abroad. 

There were also experiences that I am genuinely grateful for. We had yearly field trips to different parts of Ethiopia, and in eighth grade, I had the chance to see Axum, Lalibela, Gondar, and Bahir Dar. Through my PE class, I also had the opportunity to go on a hiking trip to the Bale Mountains. For my graduation trip from Bingham, I also had the opportunity to visit Zanzibar. These are experiences that many students in the country quite simply did not have access to. 

But there was also an unspoken reality to attending Bingham that I only began to recognize later. In some ways, you were slowly being trained to look down on local Ethiopians. While Gibson had exposed me to a certain rigidness in its approach, at Bingham I began to see a different problem: Ethiopian culture and history could feel neglected within an institution that was supposedly operating in Ethiopia. Bingham was also an evangelical missionary school which worked with organizations like SIM and SIL Ethiopia, and while I am sure many of the people who came to those organizations were well intentioned, I have come to look back on the institution itself as part of a pipeline that could clearly further neocolonial agendas. It

was an institution that, for the most part, was unwilling even to hire Ethiopian teachers unless they were teaching Amharic (even then, it was taught at a quite elementary level like a foreign language) or there was some exceptional reason to do so. 

At the time, I was quite naive about this. I was also somewhat blinded by the resources and opportunities I had access to. As I grew older, these contradictions made me begin questioning the true motivations of institutions like this.They also helped me understand why much of the Black world today can come to understand Christianity as a white man's religion, stemming from an intentionally cultivated white saviour complex.This is where books like Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart began to resonate with me in an Ethiopian context as well. 

At the same time, I think it is important not to run too quickly with that conclusion. There is value in also reading works like Graham Hancock's The Sign and the Seal, An Unbroken Circle: Linking Ancient African Christianity to the African American Experience by The Brotherhood of Saint Moses The Black and Deacon Mihret Melaku's Defending the Ancient Faith, which challenge us to look more deeply into Ethiopia's Christian history and ask more complicated questions about how Christianity, African identity, and outside influence can intersect. I also found myself learning about the film Moses the Black, which features actors including Omar Epps and 50 Cent, and is a film based on a fascinating story about an Ethiopian Saint. Seeing these different interpretations and representations of African Christianity gave me another contrast to think about, especially as I tried to understand where Ethiopia's ancient Christian tradition fits within the wider Black world. 

Growing up, I also had the opportunity to visit Kenya and Tanzania. Those experiences helped me feel connected to something larger than Ethiopia and gave me an early appreciation for my African identity. 

And it was only after moving to the United States for college and eventually returning to Ethiopia that I became more proactive about connecting with my Ethiopian identity. I spent four years back home, and this became a period I will always remember for how much it deepened my connection to my roots; in a way I had somewhat experienced but not quite fully embraced growing up. I also had the opportunity to participate in Deacon Henok Haile's course with Janderebaw (ጃንደረባው), meaning “The Ethiopian Eunuch,” and during that same period I had the opportunity to read my first book in Amharic, እመጓ (Emegua), by Alemayehu Wase. The book explores ancient heritage and traditions surrounding Menz in North Shewa, including the story of Saint Urael, The Holy Grail and the sacred significance associated with the area. Looking back, experiences like these helped me better understand parts of my identity that I had not discovered yet. Being able to engage with Ethiopian history and culture through both learning and language felt like another small step toward becoming more comfortable with my own heritage. 

When I moved back to Ethiopia, I also had the chance to work at the Africa Unbound Museum. That experience gave me another way to encounter Ethiopian and African history. I learned about the founding of the African Union and the roles of leaders such as Kwame Nkrumah, Gamal Abdel Nasser, and Emperor Haile Selassie. I also learned more about figures from the wider African Diaspora and African world, including Marcus Garvey and Patrice Lumumba. I even had the opportunity to meet Dr. Julius Garvey, the son of Marcus Garvey, during my time back in Ethiopia. That was a particularly meaningful experience for me because it brought a figure I had previously encountered through books and history into a much more personal context. 

These experiences gradually helped me find my place in Ethiopia. And that eventually led me to another question: Has Ethiopia really found its place in the larger Black world? And have we begun to fully embrace the responsibility that comes with the role Ethiopia can play within it?

I now see Ethiopia as a country with a unique history and enormous potential, not only for Ethiopians but as an example for African Descendants around the world. There has always been a sense of mystical hope surrounding Ethiopia when learning about its history. 

But at the same time, I have sometimes felt that Ethiopia has barely begun to build on that potential. Answering why that's the case is a difficult task, and that process can even begin to feel scandalous at times. 

From Pride to Responsibility 

Living in the United States deepened that feeling of responsibility. After reflecting on my middle school and high school experience, seeing the experiences and struggles of Black people in America made me also think more seriously about colonialism, racism, and the ways these histories connect people across the African world. I also was able to observe just how deep the struggle for a grounded identity is amongst both the Ethiopian and the African diaspora at large, and that developed a hunger to further connect with my own roots. In that process, I began to recognize the depth Ethiopia could potentially offer not just for me, but potentially to the Diaspora seeking that grounded identity. At the same time, I began to understand that my connection to Africa did not have to stop with my Ethiopian identity. Ethiopia could be a starting point for a broader African identity and a deeper connection to the wider Black World. Pan-Africanism became less of an abstract idea and more of a question of responsibility. 

The history of colonialism also deeply affects us as Ethiopians, in both clear and subtle ways. The effects of neocolonialism on Ethiopia today should not be overlooked simply because of our unique history. Ethiopia is also home to the headquarters of the African Union, which gives the country a particularly important place in the continent's institutional and diplomatic life. To me, that is not simply something to take pride in. It is another reminder of the responsibility Ethiopia can have toward Africa as a whole. 

And yes, Ethiopia was never colonized. But rather than simply taking pride in that distinction, I think there is a bigger question we should dare to ask more often: What does Ethiopia's history mean beyond Ethiopia? What role can Ethiopia play in a wider Black struggle and in the future of Africa? 

Over time, I have come to believe that Ethiopia's history and tradition can be both an honour and a responsibility. 

There is certainly reason to take pride in what Ethiopia has preserved and accomplished. But that same pride can become limiting if it only alienates others. If we are careless, it can become subverted and lead us to look down on other African countries or African Diaspora, rather than recognizing what we share. 

Responsibility asks a different question: What are we going to do with what we have inherited? 

That question has become increasingly important to me through my work with True Culture University. TCU has helped me understand that Pan-Africanism is not limited to history or politics. It can have a place in every industry and every area of development. It can be expressed through business, technology, education, tourism, the arts, or whatever field someone has been gifted and called to pursue. It is about finding practical ways to benefit Africans. 

God made each of us with our own unique gifts and talents. Those gifts do not have to be separated from our responsibility to our communities. We can use what we are good at to serve others and contribute to the development of our people.

My own understanding of this has grown through experiences like working with the Africa Unbound Museum, my experience with TCU and Miles Henderson, and spending time with Busara Advisors, whose name comes from the Swahili word for wisdom. These experiences have helped me see Ethiopia's history and symbolism not simply as something to preserve, but as something that can inform what we do together as Africans. 

On a personal level, I am also trying to move from pride toward greater responsibility in other parts of my life. That is part of what makes this New Year reflection meaningful to me. A new year is not only an opportunity to celebrate what we have inherited or what we have accomplished. It is also an opportunity to ask what more we can take responsibility for, and how we can turn what we have been given into something useful for others. 

Building What Comes Next 

If responsibility is part of what a new beginning should mean, then this year also gives us opportunities to act on that responsibility. For me, one of the first examples that comes to mind is the Permanent Forum for People of African Descent. 

About a year and a half ago, I had the opportunity to attend the Permanent Forum for People of African Descent at the United Nations for the first time. At first, I questioned what exactly I was doing there or what role I had to play. And honestly, I still do not fully have the answer. I have come to realize that understanding that purpose is an ongoing process of discovery, as is the case for most of us, especially in our youth. But through the conversations I had, I began to understand the value of being present and learning from people who were seriously committed to advancing development for Black communities around the world. 

I left with a renewed sense of optimism. Meaningful progress toward long-term development is already being pursued by people who are serious about thriving. 

That experience reinforced something I have increasingly come to understand: our connection to the wider Black world cannot only be about remembering history. It also has to be about building relationships, sharing knowledge, creating opportunities, and contributing our own skills. 

Ethiopia has a unique place in the Pan-African story. Adwa is one example. Its significance extended beyond Ethiopia, becoming a symbol of African self-determination and Black possibility. Figures like Marcus Garvey recognized that symbolism and looked toward Ethiopia as part of a broader vision of Black empowerment, and now, work is being done to have his statue displayed at the African Union. 

That history should make us proud. But it should, even more so, challenge us, especially when we see how far we have, in many ways, strayed from that symbolic stature. Our history should not be reduced to a shiny trophy of past accomplishments. We should ask ourselves and search for the wisdom and understanding it took for our forefathers to raise Ethiopia to such a stature and apply those lessons to our current world in its appropriate context, while also learning from their mistakes. 

Later this year, the Permanent Forum for People of African Descent will be held in Ethiopia for the first time. It is an honour to see Ethiopia once again serving as a place where people from across the African diaspora can come together. It is another reminder that Ethiopia's relationship as part of the wider Black world is not simply historical or symbolic. There is an opportunity to take that connection further and make it practical.

For fellow True Culture University members who may get the opportunity to attend, I would encourage you to use it for more than the potential career opportunities it may bring. Of course, those opportunities can be valuable, but I think there is something deeper worth wrestling with. How can I use my own unique gifts and talents to benefit Africans? Not just, what is Ethiopia's role, or Ghana's role, or Tanzania's role in the Pan-African story, but what is my personal role in it? 

That is part of what excites me about True Culture University and this new platform, Portal. I am excited about having a space where we can share articles like this, learn from one another, and meet young Africans with different backgrounds, experiences, and stories to tell. Pan-Africanism does not require all of us to have the same exact story. We can have different experiences and talents while still working toward a shared mission, and those differences may even make us stronger. 

TCU can also be a place for real, open, and honest conversations about both our strengths and our struggles. Its dynamic and authentic approach to Pan-Africanism can help us develop the skills to understand what we are capable of as Africans, the motivation to pursue it, and a grounded sense of who we are. More importantly, it intends to give us the tools to wrestle with that personal question of where we fit into the larger Pan-African story and how we can put our own gifts to use. 

TCU can help build a practical bridge between Ethiopia and the wider Black world, not simply through celebration, but through education, business, technology, culture, and collaboration. Through learning about one another and understanding each other's strengths and struggles, we can find more ways to move forward together. 

There is significant truth and wisdom contained within Ethiopia's history that deserves to be shared and uplifted. But our goal should not simply be to tell the world how special Ethiopia or Africa is. It should be to ask what we can all do with what we have been given, and how we can use our history, traditions, and individual gifts to create something meaningful and valuable for People of African Descent. 

So, as we enter 2019, let us try to be optimistic, cooperative, and thoughtful. Let us dream big, while remaining grounded in the work it will take to get there. With God's help, I know this journey can be fruitful. 

Perhaps that is what a new beginning should mean. Not simply celebrating where we come from but asking what we are responsible for building from it. 

Happy Ethiopian New Year. May this year bring good news, renewed purpose, and a stronger connection within Ethiopia as part of the wider Black world. 

እንኳን አደረሳችሁ! መልካም አዲስ አመት ለሁላችንም ያርግልን!