Sharing Is the Watchword for Ethiopians

The walls at the Blue Nile restaurant are painted swimming-pool blue to match the Blue Nile that flows through Ethiopia.

Traditional white cotton clothing with dark embroidery is pinned to one wall, and a gauze veil swirls around the face of a striking Ethiopian woman. On opposite walls are travel posters that read, “Ethiopia, 13 Months of Sunshine.” Another poster shows the coffee ceremony practiced in that country, and nearby hangs an ad for Budweiser beer.

A few people sit in a corner talking, and a beautiful black-eyed baby girl sits in her infant seat on one table-top, appearing to survey her domain. She is Lydia, 2-month-old daughter of Aster and Mulugeta Ghebremariam, who own the restaurant on 47th Street. Ghebremariam, 42, opened the restaurant in 1984 after coming to San Diego in 1982. He left Harar, Ethiopia, in 1976, after the revolution of 1974, which overthrew Emperor Haile Selassie.

“I worked for a shipping and export business and was transferred as assistant manager of my company to Djibouti, so I didn’t have to escape,” he said. “I got out before the situation got worse.

“Some people walked across the desert and didn’t even have clothes on when they came across because robbers had stolen them. I didn’t have a hard time.”

One of a slowly growing number of Ethiopians in San Diego who have fled their country since the mid-’70s because of the combined effects of war, drought and famine, Ghebremariam and his wife have found a new life and hope to share their ancient culture with Americans while providing a feeling of an ongoing community for fellow Ethiopians. (Catholic Community Services estimates the population as between 500 and 1,000, mostly centered in Southeast San Diego.)

Strains of Ethiopian music fill the Blue Nile’s air, giving an exotic quality to this hot afternoon, bringing to mind the days of Solomon and Sheba and the rich heritage of this northeastern African country once known as Abyssinia.

Ghebremariam describes the food he serves, which was eaten by most people before the revolution and is enjoyed by Ethiopians and a growing number of Americans here.

“In L.A., there are at least 12 Ethiopian restaurants,” he said. “Here, there is only one, but sometimes people from L.A. drive down.”

The staple is enjera, a large, thin pancakelike bread. When served in a restaurant, it is rolled and cut in six-inch lengths.

“ Enjera is made from teff , a grain grown only in Ethiopia,” Ghebremariam said, “but here I make it from wheat, barley and millet.”

An Ethiopian custom, described on the back of the menu, and which Ghebremariam tells about with obvious delight, is that of giving gursha --a small portion of food is wrapped in a piece of enjera , then placed in the mouth of a loved one. It is part of the general pattern of expressing sociability through feeding and being fed in Ethiopia. Camaraderie means eating from the same enjera basket.

Ghebremariam learned English as a child.

“We learned English and Amharic (the national language) until the eighth grade, and in high school and the university most classes were in English,” he said. “But education is discouraged now. If you read and write your name, it is considered enough.”

Today, he added, because of the socialist government, language classes now teach Russian.

Memories of Ethiopia take on a painful cast for those who have had to leave their homes and relatives.

Fikru Lema comes to the Blue Nile often.

He shows pride as he says: “I came from the capital city (Addis Ababa). It was a lovely country with gentle people. We served foreigners like brothers and sisters. It was a land of plenty. But now the farmers have stopped farming--businesses came down--the military government and weapons came. The cost of living is now so high and any money goes for the military.

“People are lining up to buy bread from 4 a.m. It is sold at 8--and they may not get the bread if they were at the back of the line, and even if they do, it will be only a small portion--for a family of six. We had food back before the revolution, but many farmers ran from the country.

“My father was killed in 1975. Now, my brothers and sisters are still there and look to me to help them.”

Martha Kebede, 26, came to San Diego three years ago from Addis Ababa, where her father, a businessman, was in prison.

“We were harmed by the military government,” headed by Lt. Col. Mengistu Haile Mariam, Kebede said. “We had no right to talk or go to church.” His family is Jewish, or Falashas, meaning strangers.

“We were isolated in our own country. Even if you talk and say, ‘My father is in prison,’ they’ll put you in also for three, four, six months. Finally, I decided--why should I stay?” Kebede said.

So, Kebede, who had worked as a librarian in an American school in Ethiopia, crossed into Kenya and asked for political asylum. She spent 10 months in Nairobi working with the U.N. High Commission for Refugees, and she applied through the United Nations for a sponsor to come to the United States.

Her younger sister had gone to Los Angeles three years earlier and lived there until last month, when she was killed in a traffic accident.

“It was hard coming here and being a foreigner,” Kebede said. “I felt so lonely, so bad. Why did I come here? After a while, I decided I had to make myself busy working, going to City College, studying to be a nurse.

“Then, I thought of my own business--crafts. I feel good explaining my culture to different people. I hope this will help us not to forget our culture. If people are born here, they don’t have the culture.”

Today, she works mornings at the Catholic Community Services office as a coordinator for the Continental Crafts Shop in Old Town run by that office. Besides the selling of crafts from other cultures, the shop is used to train refugees in the retail industry.

Continental Crafts is full of rainbow-colored intricate Hmong stitchery, and in one corner are several shelves of earth-tone African goods.

On some afternoons, Kebede works here and sells baskets, embroidered clothing or pillows she has created, as well as crafts she brought from Ethiopia or Kenya, or which are sent to her by relatives.

She said it is difficult to find the same natural materials in the San Diego area for her basket work.

“And it takes time, which is harder here. In Africa, time is not as precious.”

Wooden animal figures, a horsetail to shoo away flies and bugs, a flamingo egg and several Coptic crosses sit on shelves in the small area of the shop, above a large Ethiopian drum. Next to these items hang a textured white cotton dress and shirt with pants--all with Kebede’s orange, brown and green stitchery.

“I want to introduce African crafts to those who can’t go to Africa. I hope they will enjoy and have a good memory. My idea was: African-style designs in modern dress.” And, she said, beaming, “I won first and second prizes for my designs in a nonprofessional design contest sponsored by Continental Crafts. Contestants were from all over San Diego, and over 20 countries were represented.

“It gives me added incentive. When I first came here, I felt like a small baby, culture-wise. I never dreamed to be out of my country--it was like being thrown in the big ocean. At home (in San Diego), sometimes I’m lonely, with nobody to talk to.

“In Ethiopia, it’s different. You can drink coffee with neighbors. But here, everybody’s separate--doing work. You have no choice. You learn.”

At night, Kebede works at the Hilton Hotel as a cashier. The position not only helps her financially but offers a chance to meet and be with people.

“I meet different people there,” she said. “I’m not alone. Everybody’s coming from one country or another. There are people from all over the world, very friendly. They hear my accent, ask where I’m from. When I tell them, they say, ‘How lucky you are here.’ And I think, ‘At least I have a peaceful life.’ ”

Her dark eyes have a wistful quality.

“Here, you can sleep peacefully. In Ethiopia you don’t know each day what will happen. So many people have died. I hope in the future things will change.

“I have met so many people here,” she said, glancing around the small shop. “I enjoy being here.”

Solomon Belette, 32, did not come to America as a refugee, but as a student in 1972 from Addis Ababa.

“I came when the U.S. and Ethiopia were friendly countries,” he said, “which unfortunately isn’t true today. Before the revolution, our two countries were friendly, and there was a lot of contact--economically, culturally, politically. Because the two countries were on friendly terms, Ethiopia was able to receive support from the Agency for International Development and the World Bank, which helped bring about incipient modernization.”

Belette still has a father and brother in Ethiopia and two sisters who live in San Diego. He completed his undergraduate work in sociology at St. John’s University in Minnesota, and while there worked at translating ancient Ethiopian manuscripts from Amharic. He then attended Michigan State University and received a master’s degree in sociology.

Today, Belette is volunteer coordinator for Catholic Community Services’ Resettlement and Immigration Center.

“I was a foreign-student adviser while at Michigan State, so this work is an extension of that--a continuity I didn’t expect,” he said.

Ethiopians are emigrating for three basic reasons, Belette said:

“Some are farmers from the northern part of Ethiopia who have fled to the Sudan. A number of these people are now going back to Ethiopia, to once again plow their fields. These are ecological refugees. Even though some may come to the United States or Canada, many will eventually go back.

“Still others are fleeing political persecution. And still others seek better opportunities elsewhere. Those who are educated have aspirations to continue education and don’t see this as a possibility in Ethiopia.”

When refugees arrive in San Diego, sponsored by the Catholic agency (others arrive in San Diego through International Rescue Committee and a few through World Relief Inc.), they are met at the airport, and housing is arranged.

“Housing is increasingly expensive in San Diego,” Belette said. “We need American families to provide temporary housing for one week in order to help us defer the cost of housing, and we need other donations as well, which we will pick up--clothing, household items.”

The agency also processes refugees from Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe, Iraq and Iran, among other countries.

“We pay their rent for two to three months, no more than four--and we strive to help them find early employment and to bring about self-sufficiency,” he said.

“Most people coming from Ethiopia are finding jobs in San Diego as cooks, waiters, in assembly line work, parking lots, or working in landscaping. A number are part-time students or in some kind of training in order to acquire more skills.”

The center also has a sewing program.

“Martha is instrumental in recruiting Ethiopians in the sewing program,” Belette said. “For example, one man who recently started in the sewing program had worked at sewing and farming in Ethiopia. Here, we could upgrade his skills, teach him how to use an industrial sewing machine. Once the training is completed, Martha and other staff then work to help (these people) find jobs.”

In addition, the center conducts an English as a second language class and helps immigrants get Social Security cards.

Yemane Getachew is a health worker at the center who escaped from Ethiopia 3 1/2 years ago with his wife through the Sudan Council of Churches. (About 315,000 Ethiopian refugees have arrived in the Sudan since 1984, according to recent U.N. figures).

“When refugees first arrive in San Diego, we (from the center) go to homes, educate them about TB, make appointments to get skin tests, physical exams, blood tests,” Getachew said. “We often find parasites in children, and most of us from the Sudan had malaria. If there is a problem, we see it is solved, and we apply for the medical coverage.

“There are not many arriving from the Sudan now, during the last few months, but some individuals are coming through Italy and West Germany.”

According to Belette, a number of Ethiopian people in San Diego are waiting for their families from Sudan, but because of the crisis in Libya, the flow of refugees is affected.

“It is a very desperate situation in the Sudan,” Belette said. “People come to us on a regular basis and ask about their families. There are husbands who have left a wife or children behind, or vice versa--or a brother and sister who are separated. All we can say is be patient and wait, and they’ll be coming soon.

“I hope the Americans moving out of the Sudan is temporary.”

A sense of community is growing among Ethiopians here, Belette said, “but it is amorphous--and in the making.”

“The Ethiopian society is diverse--each ethnic group has its own language and cultural background,” he said. “Each wants to preserve the good and to give up what doesn’t seem to work or apply in this society.

“Ethiopians want to assimilate to the extent they can still preserve their own cultural backgrounds and customs.

“Blue Nile restaurant has become the scene, the center of attraction for Ethiopians, where they can eat their national food and feel a sense of belonging and togetherness. Spending quality time with friends is important in the Ethiopian culture.

“I go a few times a month . . . there are people of all ages . . . families and single people--chatting with one another.

“Before Blue Nile, we were isolated from an organized Ethiopian setting. The restaurant is doing what it can to promote the continuity of the diversity of Ethiopian cultures.”