Forget a four carat diamond; a man who loves his woman would gladly travel to Saturn and pinch a ring from that planet and put it on the finger of his lover.

by Teddy Fikre  written:  Wednesday, January 11th, 2012

Do I really want to get in on this?  Really, do I want to lose 80% of my lady readers and 75% of my lady friends on twitter?  Is it worth it to make a point only to end up in the end having a sharp point of a woman’s fingertip all in my cornea?  This I pondered over 3 cups of buna and four cigarettes.  But as always, I throw caution to the wind, I pop my collars in the middle of hurricanes.  Time to go meto gena in on this topic and see what the consequences will be once I bleed my pen dry from her black ink.

So you, ask me what is the topic that has me so anxious that I would contemplate for hours before writing this article?  Well the topic is that of respect—or the lack there of—that Ethiopian women in the Diaspora display towards Ethiopian men.  Oh no, did you just spill your atmit all over your iPad?  I will take a break and smoke another cigarette while you fetch a napkin.  OK, so we cool now, did you wipe off all the oats from the screen ehete?  Now, I know what you are thinking, this is about to be some old chauvinistic screed from a disrespectful Habesha dude.  But I beseech you sis, withhold judgment until at least the end of this article eshi nefse?

Now I do not mean to categorize all Ethiopian women in the Diaspora into one cluster of the galaxy.  I know that Ethiopian women are diverse in their views as they are in their beauty.  So don’t take this article as some type of condemnation, it is more of a detached observation.  I have been away from Ethiopia for over 30 years, so all that I know are Ethiopians in the Diaspora.  Most of the Ethiopian women I know say “the” instead of “zee”, most of them don’t know how to make kitfo and 80% of them have never made Injera.  Oh hush now, you are not offended—how can you be offended by the truth eko:: What, really, when was the last time you made Injera and kitfo.  Exactly, let’s keep it moving shall we?

Now what I have observed over the years is that Ethiopian women—when they become Americanized or Westernized to capture it more broadly—become very opinionated.  I don’t mean opinionated as in how dare they think for themselves.  I mean opinionated as in “I have to get the last word in and I’m not about to let a man tell me what the eff to do” opinionated.  It’s as though the feminist movement grabs a hold of most Ethiopians deboarding a 747 from Dulles and indoctrinates them  to never give an inch to a fella.  This leads to eventual conflicts, my friend once told me that two bulls in a pen can never bear calves.  In Ethiopia, women are like caring cows (Jesus isn’t there a better analogy to use than cow Teddiye) yet when they leave Bole and arrive in a Western destination, they instantly grow horns (really horns what are you trying to do lose the rest of your female followers) and become bulls instead.

Now my memory of Ethiopia—as vague as it is—never recollects too many Ethiopian women that were running around like bulls in a china shop.  Instead I remember demure women who were quite with their demeanor but could shake an Arada down to his chromosomes with their fierce spirits.  I remember women like my grandmother; a woman who fought in WWII against the Italians and earned a medal from Haile Selassie for her courage in the battle field.  I remember women who would play it cool and let their men have the final word even as they knew they would write the last chapter.  In Ethiopia, as I recollect, women did not have any issues with the admonition of the Bible that a woman should submit to her man.  WHAT! MEN ALK! Submit, oh no he DI-ENT!  Did he just say a woman should submit to a man?

Sigh, I fear I just lost about 20% of my Ethiopian women followers in a haze of finger snappin and neck shakin as if they were doing eskista.  Congrats for the rest of you that somehow managed to read on.  Trust me; this is not a tirade against Ethiopian women.  Anyway, back to the subject at hand.  You see, at the end of the day it comes down to submission, it is written in books that span centuries ago.  Hate to get all Biblical on you but here goes:

“In the same way, you wives, be submissive to your own husbands so that even if any of them are disobedient to the word, they may be won without a word by the behavior of their wives.” ~Peter 3:1-3

See the problem is, most women read these words and are repulsed at the thought of being told to submit to a man.  Hell nawls!! I am not submitting to any man other than my FATHER.  They forget other parts of the Bible.  To wit:

“Sarah has never been confused with being a woman who was a frail doormat.  Peter notes that she was not afraid in life.  Submission should not be confused with a person being weak.”

See, submission to a man is not submitting to him in a way a dog submits to a master.  No, submission is an act of deference, of showing the man that he is the head of the household.  But as any woman knows, the head is always moved effortlessly with the shake of the neck.  Women are the neck when it comes to relationships, so next time you choose to shake your neck with insolence at the thought of submitting to a dude, remember it is that same neck that is shaking off the possibility of a future husband or a future father of your children.

I am not saying that the guys are absolved of innocence.  Shit, we do and have done continuous dirt onto our women that deserves the neck shake of a million women.  Besides, I am the last man to preach to a woman the virtues of submission, I am the most worthless vessel of them all, I have objectified and disrespected more than my fair share of women in my life.  If anything, I should be bowing down to ask for your forgiveness five times a day as if I was a Muslim sojourner in the heart of Mecca.  Mighty is the tongue of the wicked and potent is the ink of a sinner—this I know to be true.  So the ink that I spill is not from purity, it is from years of selfish and self-centered living and sponsored by the tears of endless women.

But it is precisely because of my flaws that I can write this article.  After all, if you want to get advice about gambling, do you go to a pastor or to a street hustler?  I guess in that vein I am a hustler dispensing advice based on years of decadent living.  I have seen too many women shed tears of heartache and stabbed in the heart by the cold blade of a would be lover.  It is because I have seen these things that I can tell you ladies—in life—you get as you give.  If you refuse to submit to a good man, you shall soon submit to one that will trample over you.  If you refuse to let a man take the lead, you shall soon take the lead on your own as you are walking a Chihuahua by yourself on a cold January day.  This is yet another universal truth—call this universal rule number 2—in order to get what you want, you have to compromise a bit of yourself in order to be with another.

I don’t mean compromise your principles or sell out your virtues by opening your legs to every would be lover.  I mean compromise as in try acting like the cow (damn it I wish there was another word for this) instead of being the bull.  Try for a minute to submit to a man occasionally; we men are insecure and at times needy, if you make us feel like you revere us, we will take a thousand bullets for you.  Try occasionally to make us feel like you actually respect us and that we are more than your sound board for the bullshit that you witness at your office cubicle.  In other words, make us feel like kings and I promise we will lasso the stars above and pluck every shooting comet and deliver them to your hands in a bouquet of galactic roses.  Forget a four carat diamond; a man who loves his woman would gladly travel to Saturn and pinch a ring from that planet and put it on the finger of his lover.

I should know, I was raised in a house where my father adored my mother.  He gave to her everything, and in return she gave him respect.  That is all my father ever wanted and needed, to feel like a man in his own home. She would make him lunch and dinner—nothing fancy, most of the time microwave pizza or wonder bread turkey sandwich—but to him, this was a meal made for a king and he treated her like a queen in the process.  My mother knew the secret, she did not shake her neck at him or snap her fingers incessantly as a show of defiance, instead she simply submitted and in the process he submitted to her.  This is a lesson that my sisters have both learned in the process, both are in a loving relationship because this lesson was passed down from mother to daughter.

So this I beseech to my Ethiopian sisters, actually beyond that, I beseech this of every black sister.  If you want a man who loves you truly and deeply, drop the attitude and learn to have your man’s back.  I know it is hard being a woman, from you much is expected and much is demanded.  But trust me, it is not that simple being a man.  We are like Atlas; we feel the weight of the world on our shoulders as well.  So all that we ask is that you have our backs, make us feel like you actually respect us and revere our essence.  You do that, we will be your most loyal soldier; we will follow you to the gates of Hades to defend your quintessence.  However, we all have choices, you can choose to think and act differently.  You can choose to be a non-submitting ultra-feminist warrior and to never even for one minute think that a man will rule over you.  Fine that is a choice too—but just remember universal rule number 2—that choice will have you walking that Chihuahua in the middle of January by yourself.

“Love me when I least deserve it, because that is when I really need it.” ~unknown

[click to smile and cry]

PS if you don’t cry after watching, email me and  I owe you a wedding CD eshi, email –>> teddy.fikre@browncondor.com

[now after your tears, time to make you bob your head, click to watch DOPE video]


[lastly, click pic to see what Universal Rule Number 2 looks like]

Author

Teddy Fikre

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