| Sweet son at 2yrs old who loves his mama cuddles |
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| 10yrs later.. pre-teen and peri-menopause |
Stories.. of a 40 something year old woman. Cambodian refugee. New Zealand raised. Living in Ethiopia.
| Sweet son at 2yrs old who loves his mama cuddles |
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| 10yrs later.. pre-teen and peri-menopause |
Perhaps an Asian woman in Ethiopian dress comes to mind.
I was born in Cambodia two years after the Khmer Rouge ceased their brutal genocidal stranglehold on the country.
My bloodline is Cambodian Chinese.
As post-war refugees, my family escaped Cambodia on foot through the jungle in the dead of night, as a baby just shy of 1yrs, I was drugged to sleep, and we spent a year at the refugee camp, on the Thai border, awaiting our fate.
When I was 2yrs old, my sister, brother, mum, dad, aunty, grandma and myself arrived as refugees in Auckland, New Zealand after what was our first ride on an aeroplane.
After months in the Mangere resettlement camp in Auckland, we were settled in Dunedin for 6yrs, but my grandma and aunty found it too cold, so we moved to Auckland and there I grew up in Manurewa, South Auckland in what is a predominately Maori and Pacific Island demographic, for those unaware, a brown majority and a low socio-economic area. In my pre-teen and teen years I remember being called “Ching Chong” and other racist choice words and mock phrases. It was hurtful and mostly scary, the aggression was so new to me after our initial time in easy breezy Dunedin. Somehow, after a rebellious and troublesome few years at high school, I became head girl.
I am now a family woman. My life partner is Ethiopian and we have a 12yr old son and are currently living in Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia.
My life foundation is mixed and turbulent. In NZ I experienced a new country and racism because of how I look. Even in Ethiopia, my current chosen country of residence, I get called “China”, during covid times it was “Corona” (because the first case in the country was connected to an asian person), and other choice words and mock phrases. I’ve learnt to accept that this will be part and parcel of my living existence here in Ethiopia, which doesn't make it easier. I know that because of the way I look, I will always be a 'guest' and thus, treated very differently. That is part of the sacrifice of living in a land that enriches my spirit.
I see myself as a spiritual nomad, belonging everywhere, yet not quite belonging anywhere on Earth. Many countries and cultures have played a part in my “being”.
My little family are coloured. I am considered ferenje / foreigner in a country I feel most home.
What is my identity?
Labels. That’s all we are.
Or is it?
Different stories.
Different colours.
Different heritages and a lot of mixed and pure bloodlines.
A lot of differences.
When we look past the labels, the differences. When we take off our masks and stand naked, we are all human beings, all with hearts and stories, wants and needs.
We need love.
We need meaning.
We need to feel a sense of purpose.
We need to feel a sense of belonging.
We need family, friends and community.
We need connection.
We need a country to live that allows us these freedoms, opportunities and values.
We are more alike than we are different.
My wish is that my little Ethiopian Cambodian-Chinese son will grow up in a world where we all treat one another with dignity, love and respect, wherever he may be living, regardless of "labels". There may be people in the world who may not treat him well - and differently - due to the way he looks and the colour of his skin. He is already getting that now in Ethiopia.
Since he is starting to first-hand experience undertones of 'Identity', and what makes him different, I believe the beginnings of awareness are stirring within him. These are the lessons I'm trying to instill in him. I have asked him to look further than colour and to bestow onto others, the benefit of the doubt, first and foremost, based on their character, the essence of who they are, their energy etc. As that is WHO we are, WHO we were before our souls entered our bodies, formless, and then our lives run their course accordingly, to the bodies we entered.
It is sad that the environment our souls are born into, can and will most likely, determine the trajectory of ones life. That society can slap a label on a person because of the colour of their skin, their ethnicity, their religion, their socio-economic background, their sexuality and so on. Of course there are exceptions, but more often than not, this is human reality and we are living in a time where we are witnessing 'differences' play out in the world, used as weapons in unimaginable tragedy and collective hurting.
The labels are too many. If only the way we looked wasn’t so inflammatory. We are more than our bodies. We are more than our generational labels. We are spirits embodying an instrument. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.
Collectively, I wonder if we can imagine an interconnected community of spiritual depth where we see one another as energies, as individuals and less “labels”.
I really don't know.. but this is the world I wish for my son. As one born on this planet we are all deserved of love and respect.
My mother in law, Kete, and I.
My mother in law, Kete, and I.. have an interesting relationship, to say the least. We are respectful to one another, but we don’t say much because my Amharic is limited and her English is.. yellum/none.
We just returned back to Addis after spending 3 days/nights at a catholic center in DZ, taking much needed rest in this quiet sacred space. A wonderful place that open their doors to people of all faiths and backgrounds, as long as quiet devotion is respected.
After our time together, what I know for sure, is that Kete speaks really fast amharic and I’m really good at looking at her wide-eyed and speechless, saying “I don’t understand/algebunyem”. Then we smile at each other and have a chuckle.
This is our language.
Kete is a devout orthodox Christian. She was raised this way, passed on through the generations. Almost expected even. It’s what she knows and what is ingrained in her and is as natural to her, as let’s say, walking. In Ethiopia, alongside millions of others, religion/faith is a way of living and interwoven into the fabric of daily life.
What makes her an exemplary woman of faith is that, without a second thought, she walked into the chapel for evening adoration (quiet prayer/meditation). For her, this was a building of godly worship. Beka.
For devout orthodox Ethiopian Christians, this can be viewed as morally unacceptable.
As I said, Kete is an exemplary woman of god.
Her love for her god knows no bounds.
Her love for her god is tolerant.
Her love for her god is unconditional.
She wanted to be close to her god, and this godly place of worship, whether it be orthodox or other, would be her sacred container.
Kete is self-elevated to monk-hood status. In amharic they refer to it as ‘Alem bekengne’. The way it’s been explained to me, I take it to mean something like, the end of a human egoist life and the beginning of a life of pure spiritual devotion. Her wooden staff represents this devotion. It’s called a ‘Mequamia’. In Ethiopian culture, the handle of a *mequamia, a prayer stick, is shaped like a Tau cross, otherwise known as ‘T’ cross.
As for me, I was raised with Buddhist practices. I have been provided the reigns to be a free thinker, open to love and define god through the lens of curiosity and awareness. Religion was never something that was pushed on us as children. It was not a daily practice, it was a gentle practice based on rituals to commemorate special occasions or remembering ancestors passed, that my mother encouraged us to practice, through the lens of following her practices. But do you know what her main practice was? It was love. Through watching her, I learnt how to love and show compassion for others. My mother was god in motion, to everyone around her. (One day I shall write more about her).
That’s why I feel close to god/the universe in any place of faithful worship and in everyday life.
And that’s where Kete and I see and understand each other.
Our other language is LOVE
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| 'Jimma the Origin of Coffee' Roundabout |
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| Scenes of bustling public transport hub Megenenya, meaning 'meeting place' - a sub-city of Addis |
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| Left: Ethiopia map - Jimma lies south-west of the capital Addis Ababa Right: The winding and undulating Addis-Jimma road |
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| Left: Young herders with livestock on the Addis-Jimma road, a common sight Right: Ethiopia's countryside of rich greenery and clusters of huts |
| Our two active habesha companions: Kidus (glasses), Dagim (orange shirt) |
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| Reuniting with friends in Jimma after 3years |