ASHENAFI
0This is the stuff of Jegnas and DOPE soldiers of hope who knew the qwanka of Yichalal before Obama ever thought of uttering the words “Yes We Can”::
by Teddy Fikre written: Sunday, March 24th (1:58AM) 2012
As I sit here at Bati Restaurant and Lounge drinking copious Heineken and Hennessy, I am transported back to a magical time, a time that was peaceful and serene. A time where I was but a child, a time when I was innocent and blissful. The time I am talking about is something like Bole time, a time where I was in Lycee and I had three dogs named Lucky who were not so lucky after all. This time is my time of Tizita, thus I put ink to pad—errr more like etats to keyboard—and I am inspired to write something DOPE while Bezawork Asfaw is massaging my soul. Thus I am about to go METO GENA (yes Teddisho is intent on making that mean 100% irrespective of what Sayoum says) and bring back my memories of Addis in an Addis way.
This is where I recount the times that I have experienced countless bliss while listening to the likes of Kuku Sebsebe, Mahmoud Ahmed, Tilahun Gesesse, and of course the one that has my heart at this very moment by the name of Bezawork Asfaw who is a lot of gold in my book. This is a moment when my mother was happy and before my father Fikre (RIP) passed away from lung cancer. This is a time when I was 12 years old and I traveled to New York to attend a DOPE wedding with my family. This must have been the wedding of the century, the time when I fell in love again for the 4th time (first time was my father Esgyaber, second time was Kuku Sebsebe, third time was Bezawork Asfaw, fourth time was a true light who is no longer in my life). Anyway, back to the topic at hand, this is a time when I was an ashenafi before I knew I was a winner. This is a recounting of a time where I was Adwa and Haiti and I defeated colonialism before I could speak English eko::
This time I am talking about is a time of careless antiquity, this time I am referencing to is a time of selam and peace. What do I mean by this gibberish? I mean that I was happy to be alive and did not have to worry about telemarketers calling me and bill collectors haunting me. You see, there was once a time that my sister Mariam Fikre was the DOPEST eskista dancer in the United States and a time where my other sister Rahel Fikre and I used to do Guraginya to see who could outlast and out hop the other. There was once time where my mother Sara Shewangizaw could sing like Bezawork—she is my lots of Gold—and she at least in my mind was always blessed with Desta. This time—maybe it is just a figment of my imagination—was my serenity; call it denial but when the whole word smells and tastes like bullshit, this time is the moment were all things come up roses eko::
I remember a time where my sister once hopped on the stage with Tilahun and I swear she outlasted Tilahun and made him sweat meto gena endegena and endegena until he literally bowed and said “bekan”. This is our collective story, we dance and eskista until one party or another gives up and bows out. Dammit I love my culture, we challenge each other endlessly to make each other better and in the end we all come out ashenafis:: Ere this is not fugera or useless Habesha pride, this is the stuff of Jegnas and DOPE soldiers of hope who knew the qwanka of Yichalal before Obama ever thought of uttering the words “Yes We Can”. Why else do you think I wrote a part of that speech, my culture and community spoke the words of audacity a thousand years before Obama ever imagined the audacity of Ethiopia.
I love my enat Ethiopia, even if I have been away from her for 30 years, I sit up here at this very moment with an Ethiopian bandera draped around my neck knowing that no one could for a second question my authenticity or my identity . For all of you assholes who think of questioning my culture or make fun of me for my yetesebere Amharic, a middle finger is extended to thee because all of you are nothing but buna sipping assholes who do not know the first meaning of ANDINET. For the rest who appreciate what I do and the wallet and my back that I break over and over again to make Ethiopia the Japan of Ethiopia, thank you for having my back instead of sticking a bilawa in it behind my back.
Shout out to Abiyu Giday for giving me a moment of Hope and imparting my chinkila with some DOPE audacity. You sir are most def an Ashenafi, this whole article is dedicated to you bro for having the humility to kiss my hand—but just know that it is I that should be kissing your hand. With people like you who believe in HEBRET and give me sage words for my soul instead of attacking my core and my soul behind my back, I shall forever fly to the moon without the gravity of Habesha disease to hold me back like lobsters in a barrel. Another shout out to Teddy Fikremariam from Bati Lounge, you sir are nobility and I am intent on making Bati the Ethiopian Chipotle and we will both be PAID for it.
Lastly, a shout out to all the dancers here at Bati, keep going no matter the sweat and the tears, you are the essence and the very personification of the word ASHENAFI. Oh, before I forget, thank you once again to my lots of Gold named Bezawork, soon enough yene nigist I will make you the Ashenafi of the globe. Peace!
“Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” Buddha
[lick to listen to ashenafi musika]
[click to "LIKE" Bezawork's page on Facebook]
FEATURE EVENT
[click to RSVP as we honor Kuku Sebsebe at Bati Restaurant & Lounge on Thursday, March 29th at 9PM sharp]
This week, the theme is Kuku Sebsebe as we praise and celebrate her at Bati Lounge and Restaurant, located at 3815 S George Mason Dr, Falls Church, VA 22041. Starting at 9:00 PM EST on Wednesday March 21st, we will dedicate the whole 2 and a half hours to honoring the life and accomplishments of Kuku Sebsebe.
FEATURE BUSINESS
[click to see, hear, and soon tasted Bati]
AUTHOR
[click to view profile and follow him on twitter @browncondor]
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We would love to hear your comments/feedback. Also, share this on Facebook, tweet it on twitter, or print it and give it to your grandmother. If you would like to follow us on Twitter, you can do so @browncondor
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Bezawork
0She will smile and let me look into her blen so she can take me back to Ethiopia and transport me to Bole—a place blessed with Bezowerk indeed::
by Teddy Fikre written: Friday, March 23rd, 2012
Oh my God, my life is a comedy beka:: So in an attempt to write this article, I wanted to first find out what Bezawork means. Having been away from Ethiopia for 30 years, forgive me when I tell you my Amharic is about as broken as a Habesha Mazer’s gebena. Thus I turned to Facebook for some Hebret. This is what I got in return:
Me: Yo, what does Bezawork mean?
Dessu Getachew: lol u tell me, dont get me wrong i like her but I have no idea!
Yehoalashet Kass: means plenati of gold, plenty, it means plenty of Gold.
Dj Eyozi DireDawa: kot of gold, I mean lots of gold.
Makeda Dedebe: A lot of Gold, Beza = a lot, Work = Gold
Sirak Getachew: bizu werk is “alot of gold” but as far as biza werk i am not sure.. been in the NY state of mind for too long.
I swear, beunet, I love my people! Between z typos, the egregious spelling, and the occasional person calling me dedeb, I find in our culture music to my ears—a music that takes me to Bole. BINGO! What a time for me to transition to the topic of this conversation aydel.
You see, this is an ODE, really a poem and a love letter—no not a love letter like I am making some type of an indecent proposal—a love letter thanking a very special lady for blessing me with her music when I was but 7 years old in Bole. This lady goes by the name of Bezawork Asfaw; for me she has been plenty of Gold given to me by God from the moment I was able to decipher A flat from B minor. I don’t know what I am, on any given day I love poets, then writers, then rappers, then singers—I am all over with it and I just don’t know in what corner to fit and stay in place. I am fidgety, I get turned on by talent and I make love to beautiful minds because for me their mind is my roofie and Spanish fly combined into a toxic potion of turn-ons. There is nothing that excites my mind more than the mind of talented people; I can stare in their collective blens for years and still never find the end of the road called talent they travel on.
This road for me started a long time ago back in 1974 when I was bought into this world by a loving mother and father. Maybe it is because my mother Sara used to sing to me as a child—she probably put me to sleep every night singing Tizita to me. Maybe it is because my father loved Ethiopian music and had more sheklas in our Bole house than all the DOPEST Djs in America combined—little did I know that my father Fikre could have been a DOPE Dj too. Whatever the origins of my love of music, I just know that I grew up tasting the juice of esteginet that is called Ethiopian musika. I was in love with music before I knew what love was. I had the innocence of my childhood protected and kept in the loving arms of singers like Kuku Sebsebe, Mahmoud Ahmed, Tilahun Gessese and Muluken Melesse to name a few. That is why to this day I still profess that my first love is Kuku Sebsebe and why I used to tell people back in Bole that my wife was Kuku at the age of six.
But along the way, my mind has been impacted and infected with the enchanted voice of countless many Ethiopians whose name I no longer remember but whose melodies still massages my cortex and snaps my synapses. So I often get shocked and jarred when I go to youtube.com (thank you youtube, you are my connection to Ethiopia in more ways than I can ever recount) and then type in Tizita and a random name comes up and I press play and automatically the universe pauses, the globe stops rotating and all else around me just ceases to exist and I instantly get transported to Addis Ababa. This is the power of music; it is an eternal creation that brings like to ephermeral memories. It is as though music is a CPR machine, it electrocutes the brain and injects into our crevices instant flashbacks and all the sudden we remember what we thought we forgot a long time ago—music is a time machine and we are Michael J. Fox before he was overcome by Parkinson’s disease.
So let me tell you what happened to me and what induced this article. As I was writing an article called “Kokeb”, I put on youtube instead of BC Radio to listen to some music I don’t currently have in the BC Radio rotation. I decided to type in “Tizita” and listened to Mahmoud, Kuku, and Muluken for about 45 minutes. Finally, as I was finishing the article, I decided to take a chance and clicked on a youtube video that has Tamagne on the saxophone (big fan of Tamagne, what a funny man with a serious purpose to boot). Anyway, all the sudden, this lady started singing and instantly my mind was broken and renewed, my body levitated and traveled all the way across the Atlantic lifted aided by the hands of 30,000,0000 Africans buried at the bottom of that ocean and I landed in Bole for the first time in 30 years as a foreigner in my own land.
This lady that did this to me, the lady that committed larceny of my leb and pierced my heart and made it bleed a lot of Gold was Bezawork Asfaw. I could not believe what I was hearing; I remember listening to that very same song 30 years ago in the driver’s seat of my father’s car as we were traveling to the airport. I looked at her eyes with awe and trepidation, there I was looking into her blen and she took me on a journey to Bole on a street named Talent and made me remember—if only for 20 minutes—what it was like to be a child again and she restored my innocence with her eloquent voice. Two hours later, I am still here in shock that I am being blessed with plenty of Gold from God and that I am listening to Bezawork for free on youtube.
The crazy ibd thing is that I was at Bati restaurant last Friday and Bezawork was performing all night. There I stood two feet from her—Bole 24 inches from me—but I did not know who she was at the time so really was 24,000 miles from me. I just know when she started singing I stopped my tweeting and Facebooking trying to promote the Brown Condor Open mic night and all things ceased as I was lost in her iris. Little did I know that this magical lady was the same Nigist that I used to listen to in Ethiopia. Little did I know that her songs were the same songs that my mother used to sing to me. This world is cosmic and crazy, I can’t make sense of it. It is as though everything that has happened to me up to this moment—the good and the bad—were a preparation for me to travel that same road called Talent and arrive at my own destination as I fly my Brown Condor around the world connecting Ethiopian culture to a wider audience.
So I shall not question anything, I will just leave my life from one moment to the next because in the end we have no control of where life takes us. I am not the pilot of Brown Condor, I am the co-pilot, the pilot is a DOPE entity up above by the name of Esgyaber. I will just leave it up to HIM, each time I tried to take the wheel and pretend that I was the pilot, my plane has crashed over and over again. So I shall leave it to HIM, and when I do he blesses me with Plenty of Gold. Today he blessed me with Bezawork Asfaw, I am thankful that she sang to me. Forget all other plans that I had for tonight (sorry Ques, sorry Portico, sorry Talk of DC) tonight I am heading straight to Bati and I shall give Bezawork this article straight to her hand. Hopefully, she will like what she reads, hopefully she will smile and let me look into her blen so she can take me back to Ethiopia and transport me to Bole—a place blessed with Bezawork indeed:: Peace!
“A third force, developing itself more slowly, becomes even more potent than the rest: the power of gold.” ~John Lothrop Motley
[click to see how this Plenty of Gold took me back to Bole today]
[click to see a live concert that Bezawork did, its DOPE!]
[click fan to "Like" Bezawork's page on Facebook]
FEATURE EVENT
[click to RSVP as we honor Kuku Sebsebe at Bati Restaurant & Lounge on Thursday, March 29th at 9PM sharp]
This week, the theme is Kuku Sebsebe as we praise and celebrate her at Bati Lounge and Restaurant, located at 3815 S George Mason Dr, Falls Church, VA 22041. Starting at 9:00 PM EST on Wednesday March 21st, we will dedicate the whole 2 and a half hours to honoring the life and accomplishments of Kuku Sebsebe.
[Bezawork performs every Friday and Saturday at Bati Lounge & Restaurant in Falls Church, VA, click pic to find out about Bati]FEATURE BUSINESS
[click to see, hear, and soon tasted Bati]
Author
[click to view profile and follow him on twitter @browncondor]
[click pic to follow us on twitter or follow us @browncondor]
We would love to hear your comments/feedback. Also, share this on Facebook, tweet it on twitter, or print it and give it to your grandmother. If you would like to follow us on Twitter, you can do so @browncondor
To get in touch with us, send email to info@browncondor.com














Now listen, before you go off and start a crusade against me for committing blasphemy by daring to compare these human beings with Jesus Christ, I just included Jesus in there because he too was ridiculed and mocked for daring to believe in charity and HEBRET. The world—even as it spins on its axis—is really stuck in place due to billions of folks who refuse to see forward. I know one thing though, the very same people who laughed at the Wright Brothers—their grandchildren are flying on planes. Those very people who laughed at Mark Zuckerberg—they and their children stay on Facbook (how do you think you read this article). Those very people who mocked Steve Jobs—those very people stay on iPhone and iPads (you are probably reading this article right now on an Apple product). Those people who kept talking over Mahmoud and Tilahun when they first came out (trust me, this happened, they would tell you that musicians back in the day were disrespected and looked down at like servants by Habeshas in the 1960s)—those very folk and their children now profess to love them both. The very people who mocked Moses—those people perished. The very people who crucified Jesus—we are here because of it.
BAM! This is where Jeremy steps in. You see, he realized that people want to be alive and to understand this complex world by listening and hearing about different cultures and customs by traveling throughout the world. Alas, the recession being what it is, not too many of us can pick up on a dime and travel the distant corners of the world. Thus, Jeremy decided to bring the world to his listeners—right at their desktop—and right there in the city they reside they could get a taste of the world. This is the limitation of FM and AM radio, you have to live in the city where you hear that radio station. Not Listen Vision, with the internet there is no border, there is no mountain Jeremy can’t scale, there is no ocean he can’t cross—Listen Vision is a borderless and ocean-less station that delivers music throughout the world ten thousand listeners at a time. Now tell me, can WPGC or WKYS say that?
I know one thing, what Ethiopia—and really Africa—needs more than anything are visionaries like Jeremy Beaver. If we had just 100 visionary Habeshas in the DMV area, I swear to you we would shake the world and make politicians shiver and have Obama doing eskista to get our votes. Instead, we have a community which is mostly blind to tomorrow and only worries about today. My community does not invest in marketing their products (with a few rare exceptions), they don’t believe in reaching out to the outside world (with a few rare exceptions) and for the most part are only worried about making it past the present. They don’t see the future—they can’t see the forest for the trees—thus we are stuck hitting our heads over and over again on buna trees while companies like Starbucks rapes Africa and steals our beans only to sell it to us in America for a markup. Sigh, this actually disgusts me writing it, I wonder how many Ethiopians would be filthy rich if we marketed our own “Yagerachif” coffee and our own people supported those coffee makers instead of drinking their buna at Starbucks.














