hunger its own and asked Shewa. Shewa did the same. The begging aqumada traveled the same way from north to east to south to west and finally back to north, and reached the thirteenth province, Gojam. Gojam begged its neighbor Eritrea. Eritrea sent the message:
It was its relative’s impoverishment and its grave misery
Eritrea was in pain, blood flooded out of its eyes
Sent a confidential letter to Tigray
“Please send me 10 kilos of grain, I am dying of hunger”
(Seifu 2016, 159)
Each province not only detested disclosing that it could not help but also did not want to reveal its neighbor’s problems – it considered its neighbor’s hunger as if it were its own. That is why Eritrea did not know the aqumada originated from Tigray. There are so many significations attached to the fact that the aqumada reached its origin empty. Firstly, all the provinces are in hunger; however, because of their dignity, they were struggling in hunger behind closed doors. Secondly, each province won’t hesitate to share its neighbor’s ill fate – it brought itself down without disclosing its neighbor’s hunger and misfortune. The “I” and “they” binary have disappeared not only in words but also in thoughts as each province takes the pain on itself and carries it within. Thus, the aqumada that reached Tigray was not “empty” but filled with the shared compassion and empathy from each province. As a result, the moment Tigray identified that the aqumada was its own, it stated the following:
“My brothers and I, all of us, – all of us
Our love pours out of the empty aqumada
This is our unity
This is our culture”
(159)
Shame and embarrassment have been transformed into an unprecedented opportunity that creates a sense of national belonging. The “empty” aqumada has become an embodiment of compassion and empathy that are part of the moral content of the national identity. It is this shared identity with everyone’s uniqueness etched within that is placed as a flag upon the Aksum obelisk. Nevertheless, this national vision could not be sustained as it was dismantled following the 1991 ethno‐nationalist force’s military victory. What came next was Eritrea’s secession from Ethiopia and the replacement of the existing provinces by an ethnic federal structure.
The Phoenix Rises from the Ashes of Ethnic Strife: 1991 to Present
After 1991, the government led by the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF), which ousted the military Derg regime and is still in power, created a constitutional transformation by establishing a federal system based on ethno‐linguistic lines as opposed to territorial boundaries. Through this constitution, the “ancient” Ethiopia was literally destroyed and replaced by a “new” Ethiopia that is based on ethnic politics. According to Jon Abbink, “It is, purposely or not, set on the further strengthening of ethnicity as a political identity and as the vessel for ‘democratic rights’” (1997, 173). Recognizing ethnic rights that were neglected by previous regimes can be considered as a strength for this ruling. However, the cultivation of ethnic fetishism with the inclusion of the right to secession in the constitution and the consideration of Ethiopia’s ancientness as a taboo and dissociating itself from it have become critical problems leading to its failure.
The Amharic language in the post‐Derg period has been systematically challenged to prevent it from fulfilling its role of national integration that began during the reign of Emperor Tewodros II. Surely the era of ethnic nationalism that is still in the air since 1991 is a literary and political engagement period for Amharic literature, which has been forced to struggle for survival. During this period, Adam Retta is the champion in every way by any measurement.
Retta, who has been writing for the past three decades starting around the last years of the military regime, has established his own aesthetic identity that made him a prominent writer in Amharic (read Ethiopian) literature. For the longest time he has been preoccupied with the human condition in general, and the predicament of modern man in particular. For instance, in Mahilet (1988), a collection of eleven magnificent stories, the primordial egg, which is an archetypal symbol of creation throughout the world of mythology, is the dominant vehicle for the manifestation of such literary exploration. Following the establishment of ethno‐linguistic federalism, Retta has made a perspectival shift from “universal humanism” to “Pan‐Ethiopian nationalism.” This would then force into existence another shift, which is a shift from the primordial egg to a cultural symbolism, namely, injera made of teff.
Egg symbolism is a rich poetic strategy that signifies internal forces and high‐level cosmic order. Thus, the primordial egg is not something that can easily be substituted. The shift should go beyond superficial nativism, which makes it a very difficult task to find an equivalent cultural symbol that can replace the egg. In my opinion, Retta has prodigiously accomplished this task by creating an original and deep indigenous symbolism. Teff is genetically complex and hermaphroditic, rich in nutrition, diversified in color, and is the “smallest grain in the world” – 1/150th the size of wheat (Ketema 1997). Teff is designated as one of the ancient grains. “[T]he genetic diversity for teff exists nowhere in the world except in Ethiopia, indicating that teff originated and was domesticated in Ethiopia” (Ketema 1997, 12).3 This grain is not only consumed in almost every part of Ethiopia but also shares the name itself. Teff has closely similar names in all three major linguistic groups in the country – teff in Amharic, tafi in Oromiffa, and taf in Tigrinya. Injera, which is a large, flat, round, spongy, and somewhat sour bread that looks like a giant pancake and is mostly served with a variety of meat stews and cooked and raw vegetables placed on top of it, is a national dish “responsible for about 70% of the Ethiopian population” (Daba 2017, 50). The authentic injera that is produced from teff flour is known for its organoleptic properties – good aroma, flavor, texture, and quality. As a result, teff and injera have become synonymous with one another.4
On this understanding, then, teff‐injera is one of the shared values that is anchored in the common remote past that Ethiopians claim collectively. The current wave of its socioeconomic benefit and cultural influence5 can help foster a sense of collective success and a feeling of national pride. This kind of historical, cultural, and socioeconomic potential can serve as a fertile ground to create a sense of belongingness by encouraging mutual respect and a healing space for the disintegrated national psyche according to religious, ethnic, or linguistic criteria. For the last thirty years, Retta tried to use this national obsession as an artistic projection for the reconstruction of the new past and the building of a new nation. Teff‐injera for Retta is a source of serious observation and artistic contemplation. It is a “root metaphor,” which embodies a durable Ethiopian ontology and world view. He believes that Ethiopia can explain its existential minutiae with injera. In one of Retta’s short stories, the narrator says “teff‐injera is the highest in the ranks of bread. Its life from cultivation to excretion has to be presented philosophically. If you don’t understand it, it will be a lie to claim that you care for the people” (Retta 2009, 233). In his short story “Beles,” he rewrites Genesis. Beles is the forbidden fruit that Adam and Eve ate, violating the laws of heaven. The heart of the fruit is made up of teff. Therefore, if we say that this fruit is a fruit of knowledge, then its heart, as a vital part, will be a source of cosmic consciousness.
