By Steven Uanna

Editor’s Note: This is the third installment in a three-part memoir of an American who grew up in Addis Ababa from 1958-1961. The author recounts a series of events that occurred during his childhood, his experiences and that of his family, and the expatriate community in the capital.

I had a 24” girls bike with fat tires that was perfect for going down to then Kebena and around the fields. In the dry season, I could cross the Kebena and go over to a junk yard full of trucks that Mussolini’s army left behind. World War II had only been over for 15 years. During the rainy season, June to September, the Kebena was a scary river and it ran right through Addis. It could rise quickly and flow rapidly. My mother and I were in the Jeep approaching a bridge over the Kebena one day. The bridge had water on it and the VW Beetle in front of us started across. Suddenly the Beetle was carried away in the current and around a corner. The Beetle was floating and I hope the man could swim. We never heard what happened to him.

The roads in Addis twisted around the hills and followed the terrain up and down. The back of Nazareth School was on a cliff.
Driving at night must have been a challenge, especially after a party. The brakes failed on our Rambler one morning. While backing out of the carport the pedal went to the floor. My mother went through some hedges before pulling the emergency brake. If we had been on a hill in Addis…oh no.

My mother hired Ascale my mamita (nanny) around the time she hired Babiso to cook. He was her third cook and did not last long. After he left she did all the cooking, even for parties, with Bogale assisting. I think having a cook was something she thought she was supposed to do in Addis. My mother wrote to my aunt in Baltimore saying that she was convinced I was the most “ornery” boy in all of Addis.
I probably was. I blew out the candles on the cake of a birthday party I was invited to and at the Children’s Christmas Party at Jubilee Palace, I somehow got close enough to the microphone so everyone heard me yell “Where’s my present?” At the end of the party, all the kids shook hands with Emperor Haile Selassie one at a time. His wife was there and had her little dog along. He seemed like a nice guy. The American community called him Haile. And there was no doubt that Haile represented Ethiopia. His picture along with the Lion of Judah was on the money. And whether you agreed with him naming almost everything after someone in his family line my parents and many world leaders respected him. My mother believed that if the League of Nations had listened to him WW II may not have happened.

Other embassy families had Mamitas, maybe that’s why Ascale was hired. Ascale was a nice woman. She really tried to be a good Mamita for me. She took me on donkey cart rides into Addis and tried to keep track of me. She kept a strong grip on my hand. She couldn’t speak very good English but often said “Steven you very bad boy.” I was at an awkward age. But growing up fast. Ascale soon went the way of Babiso. Tolassa moved from gardening to be my overseer. He also replaced Bogale as my mother’s guide and helper when she went shopping in Addis to the bakery, the butcher Tolassa said she could trust or the Merkato. I often went along. Bogale would stay at home now and manage the house.

Sometimes we would just ride around Addis. Apparently Addis is a hard town to get around in. Most party invitations included a hand drawn map with land marks like Arat Kilo, Sidis Kilo, Jubilee Palace, American Embassy, Tito House, Mexico Square, St. George Brewery, Airport… The Intersections had police directing traffic. There were few traffic lights. Street traffic was pedestrians, bicycles, donkey carts, motor scooters, 3 wheel motor scooters, Fiats, Renaults, Citroens, Land Rovers, Jeeps, VW’s and American cars. Not many trucks. My father drove and we went to the Koka Dam and the Wongee Sugar Cane plantation. And we planned to go to the top of Mount Entoto. We could see it from our house. You needed a Jeep to go up there.

My father had driven to Asmara in the big Land Rover the embassy had. There was a large military PX at Kagnew Station and he brought back products our PX didn’t have. And military surplus “pup tents” and K Rations and sleeping bags and Army blankets for camping. So when we made the trip to Asmara in our Jeep he knew the way. He assured my mother “We can’t get lost, there’s only one road.” This was the road the Italians built when they invaded in 1935. The Italians may not have been good soldiers but they were very good road builders. A 500 mile road and much of it through mountains. Some roads twisting like a snake back and forth to get up and over the mountains. My mother said the corners were called “hair pin” turns. The Jeep was fitted out with two five gallon Jerry Cans for gasoline (petrol) and two spare tires. And a handgrip on the dash for my mother. There were only a few gas stations on this route. Shell had a sea shell on it’s sign and Mobile had a horse with wings. On the way, we stopped in Ambo and swam in the hot pool. A ceiling fan turned slowly in the room until 8 PM when the electricity was turned off. Electricity had to be generated with a stand by generator. The white cotton sheets were clean and a mosquito net was over and around the bed. My mother said this was not so bad. She said that very few homes outside of cities in America had electricity in the 1930’s until the government stepped in. In Knoxville the Tennessee Valley Authority was created in 1935 and built a large dam to produce electricity.

It was a long hot ride to Asmara and most of the mountains were driven in lower gears. My mother would not look as we went around the hairpin turns. It was a drop of thousands of feet. Here and there were a steel tower and a long cable going across a valley to another tower. The Italians used this cable car system to transport goods. The Ethiopian’s would unload it along the way and it would arrive empty. We saw baboons running across the road in the mountains and giraffe on the flatland. High in the mountains, we came upon an Ethiopian road crew. Their road grader was broken down. An Ethiopian man explained to my father in Italian that another crew was up ahead. Please tell them to send back a mechanic. Five kilometers ahead we found the other crew. They were Ethiopians who spoke no English or Italian. They had no idea what my father was trying to say and gesture to them. Thanks to Negash and Gusaheim I yelled “Tilique Mekeena teseberual, Hid Mekaneque” Big Machine Broken Go Mechanic. “Ishee Ishee” they exclaimed. “five kilo” my father said and pointed back. The road crew were surprised and appreciative. My parents, especially my father, was proud of me. I felt pretty good too and was determined to learn more Amharic.

Asmara was different from Addis. The roads were wider and the architecture was Art Deco. I had seen buildings like these in Addis and thought the curved buildings were larger versions of Tukuls. My parents said the Italians were responsible. To me, there was something very pleasant about Art Deco buildings with Amharic letters across the front. Kagnew Station was a large American military base. It had a diner with revolving stools and a jukebox just like in America. It had a large movie theater which featured the latest movies from Hollywood. I got a snow cone at the empty diner and watched a movie in the empty theater. We went to the PX and it was much better than ours in Addis. I never saw the rock and roll band from Asmara called the Rebel Rousers who had played at the Red Cross festival in Addis. We only stayed a day and a night in Asmara. Then we went to Massawa. Why did we go to Massawa? I don’t know. Will I go to Massawa again? Not if I don’t have to. Massawa is hot, very hot. As we rode along the highway next to the Red Sea, men in white robes were peeling up sheets of salt that were left from evaporated sea water. Hot and salt, that’s Massawa. The hotel had a slowly moving ceiling fan and clean cotton sheets on the bed. A pitcher of water and a glass next to the bed. No mosquito net and the power stayed on. We went back to Asmara for a few days and then headed back to Addis. Why my father went to Asmara all the time I don’t know. He always brought home ball bearings which I added to my marble collection. And while we were at Kagnew a man gave my father a tape recorder with something taped on it. I found out later the location of Kagnew Station worked just like a funnel with water. Radio signals poured into Kagnew. Until space satellites came about Kagnew Station was one of the best listening posts (spy stations) in the world. After seeing Kagnew Station, Asmara and Massawa, Addis looked real good. We got back on the road to Addis. We made good time, no breakdowns. The only eventful thing that happened was when we stopped for gas. A Mobil gas pump at a weather-beaten stucco building. Inside a woman was cooking a thin egg omelet on a sheet of metal over hot coals. She put butter and salt on it and my parents and I shared it. The best egg I ever tasted. Years later my mother was still making me an “Asmara egg.”

After we got back to Addis we got ready for “Home Leave.” That’s a diplomat’s vacation when they go back home. Home leave can be 2 to 3 months long. We left the house in Bogale and Gabri’s capable hands. They lived in the guest houses along the wall with their families while we were gone. We flew to Rome on an Ethiopian Airlines Lockheed Constellation. These big 4 engine propeller planes would slowly be replaced by 707’s. We saw the Pope at the Vatican and went to the catacombs. And more Art Deco buildings. Then we flew to Paris on Air France, or Air Chance as it was called. Why? Because it was rumored that the pilots drink. It’s true, my father and I went into the cockpit and the pilot offered my father the 1/2 pint of whiskey he was sharing with the co-pilot. My father and I were at the American Embassy in Paris when he showed me a Paris newspaper headline COUP de ETAT in ETHIOPIA. It was December, 1960. “They tried to overthrow Haile” he said. Then he got a big smile and said “It didn’t work, Haile’s OK.”

I was very glad when we got back to Addis. A lot had happened while we were away. The Coup was over. There was a man hanging from a rope in the big traffic circle. “He tried to overthrow Haile in the Coup” my mother said. My father’s office window had a bullet hole in it. Neighbors had bullet holes in their tin roofs. There were spent bullets all over Addis. Our gardener Adim’s wife was shot in the elbow. I saw the big black 1959 Chevrolet Impala driving through Addis. It had machine-gun bullets across the passenger side.

And the American Ambassador Mr. Richards, only in Addis since August, had almost been killed. He had arranged a meeting of Ethiopian leaders at the Guenete Palace. He was called out of the room for a moment and men with machine guns came in and killed all the Ethiopians. Richards jumped out a window and ran to his car. “Why didn’t he have Marines in civilian clothes with him?” my father wanted to know. No one seemed to know why.

I was in the second grade at St. Joseph “Brothers” School now. It was boys from the different communities in Addis. A young man, Brother Gregory, was the teacher. I liked Brother Gregory but he swung a mean ruler. I would hold my hand out for punishment but often the Ethiopian kids wouldn’t. And when a visiting bishop came into the classroom and Brother Gregory said kiss his ring the Ethiopians kneeled and nodded while the rest of us kneeled and kissed.
It was obvious to me the Ethiopian’s had a sense of identity I didn’t have. Most Ethiopians were Coptic Christians, my mother said. Adem was a Moslem. My mother was raised in the Church of the Brethren. “They’re like Brethren except they don’t eat pork. They won’t shop at a butcher shop that sells pork because the pork knife is used on other meat.” she said. That made sense but is bacon pork? And speaking of food.
My mother loved wat and injera and I did too. Bogale and Gabri’s wife would make it for their lunch and extra for my mother. And Bogale, Gabri and Tolassa loved the little Vienna Sausages we toasted on sticks over a fire in the carport. These sausages contained pork but they never knew it.

On September 5, 1961 a chartered Ethiopian Airlines plane en route to Asmara crashed into a river bed in a remote area 35 miles east of Addis. Of the 19 on board four died. Among them Mr. Fisher the Economics Officer at the embassy. My father and the Marines went by Jeep and on foot to the site. By the time they arrived a helicopter had evacuated the injured survivors. The plane had caught on fire and burned. Mr. Dale lived on the Embassy compound with his family. I knew his 7 year old son David. They left Addis right after that.

On November 24, 1961 US Air Force Technical Sergeant Landis drowned in the Awash River on a hunting trip with Colonel Werner the Air Attaché. Landis had 3 daughters around my age and they were at our house often until the December 1960 Coup. His wife had decided to leave Addis after the Coup and took the girls back to America with her.

November 25, 1961 was my 7th birthday. A large barbecue party was given for adults and children at our compound. 25 kids and their parents were there. Even the 2 Greek boys from the alley in Addis who cheered and clapped when they saw me. They told me how much they used to enjoy watching me run out of the house naked trying to avoid taking a bath. I told them I was glad they liked it but don’t expect another performance. This was because my girl friend Martha was at the party and I knew she would not approve. But I was flattered by their cheering. My parents had convinced me that 7 years old was a milestone. My father was anxious for me to grow up. There was a lot he wanted to teach me. The party was a great success. The kids overran the yard and the house. Great friends, great food, great fun, great presents equals great party. I was not “ornery” any more. My mother said I was “gregarious.”

My mother said we were not going back to America on home leave this year. Good, I froze my feet that night in Washington and Boston was even colder.
The end of school on Friday the 22nd of December would start a two week Christmas vacation.
Instead of my father picking me up from school on Friday it was a Marine in civilian clothes in a VW Microbus. “Your mother asked me to get you Steven” he said. He was quiet on the way home and stood by the Microbus while I went inside. There were cars in the driveway but that was not unusual. In the living room were some women from the embassy. My mother took me to her room and said “Daddy’s dead”
“Who killed him?”
“He just died”
“How, where is he?”
“At the Embassy”
“Let’s go get him” “We can’t”
The women were taking the Christmas tree down. A man from the embassy came and told my mother “You’ll be leaving tomorrow.” “Why?” she said “I’m not ready.” “You have been declared Persona non grata” he said. She knew what that meant. “What? I’m not going tomorrow” she declared. “If you don’t go tomorrow you have to wait until after Christmas on Tuesday.” “I’ll wait” she told him. The women kept on taking the tree down. They stayed until late that night. In the morning they were gone. There was a viewing of my father’s body at the big round Tukul building on the Embassy compound the next day. Brother Gregory was there. I don’t remember anyone from the embassy coming to our house over that weekend and Christmas Day. Only the mother of the Ethiopian brother and sister who lived behind us. She came after the viewing and stayed day and night with my mother. My mother said she could go home, but she would not leave. I learned that my father had a heart attack in the office of Colonel Werner the Air Attache.

On Tuesday Tolassa went with us to the airport and we said good bye.
We left Addis.

We went to my grandparents house in Woburn. My father’s unopened casket was at a memorial church service in Woburn. The we went to Washington for his military burial in Arlington National Cemetery right down the hill from where President Kennedy would be buried less than 2 years later.

Bogale, Gabri, Tolassa and Adim sent letters to my mother through an interpreter for months, some letters came a year after we left. I learned that Mr. Piero took my dog Judy.

The embassy had an auction:
Jeep $3000.00 Ethie
Rambler $200.00 Ethie
Boat, motor and trailer $650.00 Ethie

In the coming years, we would sell the house in Springfield Forest and move to an apartment in Falls Church, Virginia. Over the years, usually on Christmas, my mother would talk about Addis. Most often when she was drinking. More than a few times she said “I think they killed daddy.” “Who killed him?” I asked. “I don’t know, I wish I did.” she said. This was very frustrating for me. And she would keep me up all night talking about Addis. On September 28, 1974 she received a file in the mail from the Department of State. It said “Dear Ms. Uanna: This file was sent to SY (security) from overseas. Best regards from your friends in SY. This was my father’s personal file. The file started in 1941 right before WW II. It went up to the time he was posted to Addis.
“Mom what about this?” I asked. “Daddy had that in Addis,” she said.

The file arrived just after Haile Selassie was arrested. I think it had been in the safe in my father’s office. Things started to go downhill quickly for Ethiopia after that. I could not understand how this had happened.

After I finished high school I left home, moved back home, moved out, moved back… Christmas time again. My mother might talk about Addis. This was never pleasant.
It could start out OK… “the sound of the rain on the tin roof” “the ride to Asmara through the mountains”… but by the end of the evening, usually very late, it would be like my mother and I were in the VW Beetle together floating down the Kebena River and around the corner.

By now we knew Ethiopia would never be the same. We knew what was going on. The wars. The murders. Then her attitude changed. She still talked about Addis, but it was different. It happened like this. “Bogali, Gabri, Tolassa and Adem and their families, what will happen to them?” she said.
We have to pray they will be OK mom.
You and I came back without your father, I never expected that.
Neither did I.
I never wanted to go to Ethiopia.
Mom I have to go to bed.
Steven I loved Ethiopia but I’ll never go back.
I know that mom.
There is only one reason I would go back.
Oh mom…what could that be?
To go to the top of Mount Entoto.
Me too mom, me too.
All right Steven, we’ll see.