Soul's Wisdom

When a simple tool reveals a civilization's soul Philosophical questions delight precisely because they unsettle us. They stretch minds, spark wit, and often deliver unexpected humor.  Consider biology’s eternal riddle:  Which came first—the chicken or the egg?   Student answers range from lexical logic (“C comes before E!”) to culinary pragmatism (“Both are delicious!”). My favorite?  “ Egg at breakfast, chicken at dinner—case closed.”  Charm overrules coherence every time. Now, let’s turn this playful inquiry toward Ethiopia’s past: Which tool anchored human ingenuity first—the stick ( dula ) or the stone ( dïngay )? Historians debate fiercely. Some champion the  dula  as humanity’s earliest ally. Others counter that stones endure millennia while wood decays—suggesting a “Stone Age” predating any hypothetical “Stick Age.” Yet walk through Ethiopia today, and the  dula  whispers an older story. Now, applying that same spirit of cu...

What do you make of this picture at first glance? Be honest—a bird’s nest? A scarecrow-like contraption to ward off pigeons in a field? Or maybe a handmade toy crafted for a child? If you guessed any of the above, you’re off the mark. Those familiar with the indigenous t’əla betoch —local drink houses—in parts of Addis Ababa and beyond might be tempted to think it’s a rustic placard advertising the brew within. But alas, that’s another swing and a miss. I’ve always believed in the journalistic adage that “every picture tells a story.” That said, I’ve also seen plenty of images that fall flat, failing to communicate anything at all. On the other hand, there are photographs so profound they become part of the historical record—quietly documenting time, place, and hardship with visceral honesty. A powerful photograph, unlike a painting or a written piece, feels like unfiltered reality, captured without an intermediary. There's a beautiful Amharic verse that expresses this ...

Menelik II remains one of the most beloved emperors in Ethiopian history—not only for his military triumphs, but for his groundbreaking efforts to modernize the country. He opened the door to technological advancement and enacted numerous reforms that were far ahead of his time. Yet, these efforts did not come without fierce resistance and harsh criticism, much of it from within his own circles. Among the many innovations introduced during his reign, the arrival of the telephone stands out—not just for its novelty, but for the controversy it sparked. This seemingly magical device became a source of both awe and alarm, especially among conservative elements of society, including the clergy. The humorous yet telling confrontations between the visionary emperor and those who opposed his modern reforms are at the heart of this story. According to legendary Ethiopian journalist P’awlos ňo ňo in his book As’e Menelik ( Emperor Menelik ), and noted historian Tekle Tsadik Mekuria in As...

Like language, music is a human universal. It consists of perceptually distinct elements arranged in hierarchically structured sequences according to syntactic principles. In simpler terms, both music and language are governed by rules—rhythms, harmonies, or grammar—that shape how we experience and make meaning of them. A study published in Current Biology (ScienceDaily, March 20, 2009) offers striking evidence of music’s universality. The research found that native African individuals—many of whom had never even listened to the foreign radio—could still accurately recognize happy, sad, and fearful emotions in Western music . This suggests that fundamental emotional expressions through music transcend culture and geography. In other words, what is played in one part of the world can carry meaning in another. There is, indeed, a deep and intricate relationship between language and music. Recent findings from Georgetown University Medical Center—published in the journal NeuroImage...

It’s that time again— kΪrəmt , Ethiopia’s long-awaited rainy season, has crept in. But this year, it arrived with a twist: softer showers, lighter skies, and an unfamiliar chill in the air. Gone are the relentless downpours that used to chase us indoors. Today’s kΪrəmt feels more like a quiet companion than a stormy guest. And while the weather may have mellowed, it still brings something familiar—something irresistible. You know it when it hits you: a smoky, sweet aroma curling through the streets as you finish your afternoon walk or post-work jog. Suddenly, your stomach growls in agreement. You slow your pace, sniff the air, and there it is - Bək’olo TΪbs - Roasted corn on the cob. Charred. Juicy. Perfect. The Unofficial Street Food of kΪrəmt Every season has its flavor. For Ethiopia’s rainy days, that flavor is unmistakably Bək’olo TΪbs . Sold on street corners across Addis and beyond, it’s more than a snack—it’s a memory. It's the warmth after the wet. The crunch after the...

As Enkutatash approaches, I feel that familiar tug—the whisper of resolutions. We scribble them in journals, on phone notes, in the quiet corners of our minds. Why? Because beneath the rituals and revelry, we sense something needs to shift: routines gone stale, dreams gathering dust . Yet for all our fervor, the truth stings: most resolutions crumble.  We crave a catalyst, a threshold like the Ethiopian New Year,  Enkutatash,   to finally leap toward renewal . Why do we do it? Perhaps because deep down, we feel that something in our lives—our routines, our attitudes, our circumstances—needs a shake-up. We crave transformation. But we also seem to need a moment of momentum, a milestone in time to break from our ingrained habits. Otherwise, why would we wait for Meskerem to reinvent ourselves? Still, if we’re being honest, turning those resolutions into reality is no small feat. While I don’t have hard statistics to prove it, I suspect many Ethiopian New Year’s res...

Football carries immense political and symbolic significance. Its global diffusion has enabled cultures and nations to construct and express particular identities through how they interpret and engage with the sport. As Richard Giulianotti notes in Football: Sociology of the Global Game , football is far more than just a pastime—it is a mirror of society, reflecting power, politics, pride, and passion. Now, I must confess, I’m not exactly swept up by the full drama of football’s whims—not in the obsessive sense, at least. But this year’s FIFA World Cup in South Africa has stirred something unique. It has revealed sides of people—emotions and quirks—that many of us hadn’t seen before. This includes not just everyday fans, but even high-profile figures from the political arena who adjusted their calendars to catch their national teams in action. As many would agree, football is a magical force. The energy, emotion, and sheer magnetism of the game draw millions into its orbit. We’ve ...

May holds a unique duality in Ethiopia’s modern consciousness. As Patriots’ Day commemorates the valor of those who resisted colonization, our fledgling electoral season—barely five years old—unfolds alongside it. This convergence has birthed a cultural irony: the very  K’әrәrto  (praise songs) and  Shïlәla  (heroic chants) that once stirred souls against invaders now reverberate through political rallies. Historically, these poetic forms  K’әrәrto   emerged in Gojjam as vessels of resistance. Warriors recited them before battle; hunters chanted them returning from the wild. They celebrated military patriots like  Belay Zeleke (Aba Kostér) , immortalizing their courage in lines like: "Ïsti bäsmam bïye lïjämïr mïsgana...   Aba Kostér Bälay yä haymanot geta These songs were more than tributes—they were cultural weapons. Farmers used them to rouse audacity; communities channeled grievances into revolts. The singer’s voice turned aggressive, boas...

It feels only natural to say something about football this time of year—especially with the 2010 FIFA World Cup just around the corner, and for the very first time, taking place right here on our continent. (By the way, we’re not quite used to calling it soccer in this part of the world, but I’ll use the terms interchangeably for my wider readership.) Football has come a long way to reach African soil. And while we can’t yet say it has reached the stage it deserves, there’s no denying that African football— Ethiopian football in particular—has had a complicated, winding journey. I say this as someone who’s always been an optimist, someone who sees the glass half full. But lately, I’ll admit, my enthusiasm for our local teams has been wearing thin. Like many others, I find myself increasingly drawn to international football—especially European leagues—rather than the local scene. The reason is plain: we all want to see real talent in action. The raw skill. The drama. The rhythm o...

“We never know the worth of water till the well is dry,” wrote Thomas Fuller in Gnomologia (1732), and nowhere does this adage ring truer than in the case of Ethiopia’s largely unutilized rivers—particularly the mighty Abay Wәnz (Abay River), the longest river on the African continent. Ethiopia is rich in rivers: Awash, Ak’aki, Baro, Ch’elek’lak’a, Didesa, Erer, Genale, Gibe, Omo—these are but a few of our abundant waterways. Yet, until quite recently, few of them seemed to matter in the national discourse—perhaps overlooked or underappreciated—until the realities of water scarcity, energy crisis, and the global conversation around alternative energy began to hit home. One of the commendable moves in this regard has been the push to build a major hydroelectric dam on the Gibe River . This is a necessary step toward addressing the recurring and debilitating power outages experienced across the country. Yet while Gibe is making headlines, it’s the Abay River—our own "Blue Nile...

Instead of blaming nature, it’s time we looked inward. This year, the rains in Ethiopia seem unusually prolonged— seem , not necessarily are . Compared to the relatively drier past couple of years, they feel heavier and more frequent. But let’s be honest: just because recent years have seen less intense rainfall doesn’t mean the rains this year are unnatural or out of place. They’re simply part of a recurring, essential pattern. Traditionally, our rainy season concludes around the first week of Tïk’ïmt (October). But even before that, many people start to grumble. Just the other day, sitting at a local restaurant in Addis Ababa, I overheard a man complaining at full volume about the downpours—calling them “excessive,” even “reckless.” It was clear he’d had enough of the weather. But here’s a reality check: rain operates on nature’s time, not ours. It comes when it must and leaves when its purpose is fulfilled. This is the rhythm of the earth. Complaining about it is like yelling at th...