Garibe Lolo Narrator

Ayano Jiru Interviewer

November 16, 2016 Saint Paul, Minnesota

Interview conducted in Afaan Oromoo Translated into English by Hassen Hussein

Garibe Lolo -GL Ayano Jiru -AJ

AJ: I am Ayano Jiru. I am recording the history of the Oromo in collaboration with the Minnesota Historical Society. Today it is November 16, 2016. Today I am going to conduct an interview with Mrs. Garibe Lolo. Mrs. Garibe has lived in the US for twenty-one years. She actively takes part in Oromo and American affairs. Mrs. Garibe, I thank you for volunteering to do this interview. Thank you.

GL: Thank you, too, for inviting and bringing me here.

AJ: Just to commence the interview, let us start with your place of birth. Where were you born?

GL: Where I was born is called Tijo Kentara, in Gadab Asasa [Gedeb Asasa, in the Oromia region of Ethiopia].

AJ: Tijo?

GL: Kentara.

AJ: Tijo Kentara?

GL: Yes.

AJ: What is Kentara?

GL: A river that flows. Where we used to live is called Funa-mura, which is a small place.

AJ: Under what city or town is this Tijo?

GL: Gadab Asasa.

1

AJ: How was life in Tijo Kentara? What kind of land is this Tijo?

GL: A beautiful land, a lovely place where what you sow grows. It has lots of eucalyptus trees. My father used to have many acres of land. He farmed in the same village. It was a lot. It was so lovely, quite a bit.

AJ: Your father and mother were both born in Tijo Kentara?

GL: Yes, they were both born there.

AJ: What did they do as a job? What did your dad do in Tijo Kentara?

GL: My father used to have his land worked upon. He had a flour mill. In the old days, he was a landlord. He did not till the land himself—he had others do it for him.

AJ: How about your mom?

GL: She too.

AJ: A wife of a landlord?

GL: Yes, that was how it was, quite a bit. She lived well. Her life was all right.

AJ: How many siblings did you have?

GL: My father had twenty-five in all, ten from my mother.

AJ: That is a huge family.

GL: Yes, we were a lot. We had lots—thirteen boys and twelve girls.

AJ: How was it like to grow up in such a large family?

GL: It was really nice. You are together, you did whatever you willed. It was nice. We fought. We took stuff from each other. We dined together. It was nice.

AJ: Did your father and mother have education?

GL: My mom did not have education. My father studied until grade seven during the reign of Emperor Haile Selassie [emperor of Ethiopia, 1930-1974]. He studied in Finfinne [Addis Ababa].

AJ: Did he manage to get a government position with that education?

2

GL: Yes. In Finfinne, he had a car as well as a hotel. He had land. His hotel was expropriated by the Derg [Dergue, Ethiopian socialist regime established in 1974]. He used to work while we were growing up there.

AJ: Did you guys also go to school?

GL: Yes, in our country. I started first grade in Tijo. They promoted me from first to third grade right away. Then when my sister got married, they gave me over to her, and my elder sister, Madina Lolo, took me with her. I studied with her until ninth grade. I came to the US after passing to the tenth grade.

AJ: When you went to first grade in Tijo, was Tijo not countryside?

GL: A small town. It was called Asaffe then.

AJ: The school where you went to first grade, how was it like?

GL: It was nice. Where else do we know back then? It was really nice. This Tijo Kentara had first to eighth grade. I walked to school. From our village, it was something like a few minutes. I went there only a year. After entering first grade, they promoted me to third grade, and when I passed to third grade, I went to Dodola. Because my sister lived in Dodola, I studied there.

AJ: Was that a small or big school?

GL: It was big. All the area kids went there. It had first to eighth grade, which meant kids from as far away as two to three hours walking distance went there. There were lots of kids.

AJ: With what language did you learn?

GL: In Amharic. Once in third grade, we started the ABCD. We studied in Amharic. [Laughing.]

AJ: Those days, there was no Afaan Oromoo [Oromo language]? When did they start teaching in Afaan Oromoo?

GL: There wasn’t. Afaan Oromoo did not start until 1991. When it did, I was already in sixth grade taking the national exam. In seventh grade, I took one Afaan Oromoo class. We used to take only one class until I left there.

AJ: In your classes, what kinds of seats did you guys sit on? Did you guys sit on your own chair, or you sat in groups on those long logs?

GL: It was mixed. Some sat on the long ones, others on the short ones! The one where you sat in lines! It was mixed.

AJ: How about English? Did you learn that too?

3

GL: Yes, did I not tell you? We started ABCD at third grade. After seventh grade, all subjects are in English. Actually, I learned to speak nicely while studying there.

AJ: When you moved from Tijo Kentara to study with your sister, did you start at the fourth grade?

GL: Third. I went there for a year and moved to Dodola afterwards.

AJ: It was only you that moved to your sister’s?

GL: Yes. My siblings joined us there once they reached high school. They, too, moved with us at ninth grade. My brother, Gutama—now they call him Mustafa here—and my sister whose name is Zamzam also studied there.

AJ: When you had to leave your parents and move with your sister to Dodola, was it difficult? Leaving your mom and dad at such a tender age?

GL: Yes, it was hard, a little bit. My sister took good care of me, and her husband was also very nice. You would still feel it, though. It was all right, even if difficult. Well-fed and with play, what do else do you feel when you are a child?

AJ: During those childhood days, what did the Oromo have in their homes?

GL: You mean what?

AJ: For example, in America we have a sofa, we have TV, we have tables where to eat.

GL: In Tijo, my father had everything. Our house had a tin-iron roof. Even in the countryside in Tijo, he had it all. He had these long chairs as well as other ones. Also once I moved with my sister, she had it likewise. They had everything. There was the small twin bed. Our father used to have the one made from iron coils. My grandmother used to have a twin as well as one made of hides. We slept on stuff like that. There were two or so sponge mattresses. In some cases, some people also had a bed made of mounds. Others had such stuff. Not our parents.

AJ: You had a house in the countryside as well?

GL: We have had, yes. My father built in the countryside the same houses one has in the cities. He also had a flour mill. He had everything.

AJ: In our rural place, I remember, calves and heifers lived inside the same house and the chickens as well. The calves as well as the heifers were tethered next to the mound beds. The chicken house was built right outside next to where people lived. Every morning, you collected chicken poop. [Laughing.] In your countryside, did people have those things?

GL: [Laughing.] Yes, they did. Regarding the place for chickens, they have their own place, as for the cattle. There were lots of cattle. My grandmother, in particular, had lots of them. There

4 was also the task of having to clean their dung, which I used to help out with from time to time. There were also sheep. Thank you for reminding me of that. [Laughing.] When I was little, I used to herd the sheep for my grandmother, my father’s mother. There were calves and heifers, too, as the chicken. We used to raise dogs as well. Not just dogs, but also cats. All the things of our country are really nice. We used to play among the cattle—like running. We used to tie high grass together [into a trap]. We used to make the dung into patties in the field.

AJ: You make toys from the grass?

GL: Yes, from threaded grass. Of course, that was very nice.

AJ: Did you guys also collect dried dung [used with or in lieu of firewood]? Who from your family collected those real well?

GL: [Laughing.] I collected no little dried dung. While I was with my sister in Dodola, I used to collect it. [Laughing.] This is after I moved to Dodola. On weekends, we used to get together and collect it and go home with it. We had to go out of town to do so. I used to enjoy doing that.

AJ: Did whoever collected more get more rewards?

GL: No. We just liked collecting it. We were given no reward at all. Wasn’t it only I that was with my sister? I myself used to go along with the other kids to collect it. Did we not spend the day with happiness while collecting dried dung? When neighborhood kids got together, we play while collecting. We drop our loads and return to the field to collect more. It was that nice back then.

AJ: Among child games, which ones did you play?

GL: Do you know the game you play with pebbles? I used to love it. I used to also like worari [game played with pebbles]. More than anything else, my favorite was running. I used to run like nothing else. When we were dismissed from school, we used to chase each other and get hold of each other, which I used to enjoy greatly. No kid used to outrun me. I used to run like crazy. I also used to like taki [game played with five rocks] where you play by collecting five. That one I used to like a great deal. Also I liked playing with a pretend gun. [Laughing.]

AJ: How much do you now remember those things that you did in your childhood? Do they appear in your thoughts?

GL: Yes, they do a great deal, even now. The things of my country I remember to this day. I could not forget them to this day, even after I have become an adult. Now I am an old person, but that did not stop me from thinking of my childhood fun.

AJ: From the things of your country, what are the big things that you think of most of the time? Like places.

5

GL: The land, the people, as well as the country—I always think about them until now. When the family gets together and sits, I used to love it like crazy. When I went back home eleven years ago, the family reminded me of the same old things. I am passionate about my land, where I played, our people, and our neighbors. The neighbors take turns visiting each other going from house to house. On Eid [Muslim holiday], the Christian kids came over to our place. On other holidays, we went over to their place.

AJ: If we may, shall we go back to the issue of education? Did you say you studied until sixth grade at your elder sister’s in Dodola?

GL: From third to ninth grade. Two months into my tenth grade education, they prevented me from going to school so as to come to America.

AJ: They prevented you from going to school so as to come to America?

GL: Yes. Since you are going to school, you need not go to school there—that is what they told me.

AJ: When you found the American opportunity, they told you school has to stop?

GL: Yes. I left without really studying tenth grade. It was as if I did not study at all.

AJ: Where you happy, then, to come to America?

GL: I was not, not a whole lot. It was kind of a mixed feeling. It was really not that much. My mind did not take it in nicely because I did not want to part with my family—all my family, be it on my father’s or mother’s side, both of which I love dearly. Because of that I did not really want to leave. I left while crying. At one point I even considered running away, until I finally said let what be, be, and that is how it happened.

AJ: When you found the American opportunity while in tenth grade, how was the life of the Oromo people?

GL: Those days it was fine, really. People were like the old days. They just started speaking the language. That was when school [in Afaan Oromoo] was just opening. Those days they were fine. The country was still bountiful. The guy [in control of the government] who came also was not yet as bad then as later on. People relatively lived in peace.

AJ: Who was that guy? [Laughing.]

GL: I mean Meles Zenawi [Prime Minister of Ethiopia, 1995-2012]. [Laughing.] They did not impoverish them yet as they have done now. Back then our country was bountiful. People used to speak our language. We were in a nice condition back then. We were happy, thinking that we have found our rights. All of us used to speak in Afaan Oromoo, our language, and nothing else. We used to argue with [each other over the Amharic usage] there. Accordingly, in those days, things were fine.

6

AJ: How was the new government then? What grade were you in then? Sixth grade?

GL: Sixth grade, yes.

AJ: How was it back then? Do you remember whether the people were happy when the new regime took over the government?

GL: They were elated. Lots and lots of people were gathered in Dodola. They slaughtered some bulls, and we also went there. How lovely was that? Lots of people came there from many different areas and swore to each other, saying that they will not sell each other out. Say music, lots and lots of money was raised, and it was such a happy occasion. Before that did we even know our identity as Oromo? We learned after they [the Oromo Liberation Front or OLF, nationalist organization] came. That wasn’t a bad time at all—actually very good. Once they came, we always went to Oromo meetings during the day. The other day, to concerts. You spent your days singing about the Oromo so that I almost abandoned my education. I used to bring a lot of [young] people there. There were meetings. Later, only once the Oromo [OLF] was driven out did things start to go sour.

AJ: How were they driven out?

GL: It was such a terrible condition. What kinds of youth, almost like the ones of today, which were sacrificed! Did you know when Lencho [Lencho Leta, former leader of the OLF] and his colleagues left office? We were demoralized by it. I wanted to join the rebels, but we got disconnected.

AJ: When the TLF [Tigrayan Liberation Front] waged war against the OLF, how many of your relatives got hurt?

GL: Even my father had fled to the bush. Since our uncle had previously been killed, our relatives got so anxious that my father had to return only after about five or six months. Initially, I could not join them. My sister did not let me. It was my father who allowed me to involve myself in the affairs of the Oromo. He took me to places where there were things, however small. Then people started getting worried about our safety, fearing that they would kill my father. When our relatives pressed on him fearing for my safety, my mother asked me to return.

AJ: How deeply did people feel about the struggle back then? How much did it hurt your family?

GL: Lots of families suffered. Back then, not a lot of our family was there—only people like my father and my cousins and the like. Many others suffered a great deal. A lot of youth from places like Washa were killed. I was around the general area when they took away Bekele Dawano [Oromo nationalist]. I did not see him, but others have. That is when the morale of the population was depleted.

7

AJ: It was back when the people started to understand about the Oromo issue and people began to flee the country. What kind of opportunity brought you to America?

GL: America was not on my mind until my brother and this guy, who my brother had known, talked to get me out of the country. After the two had talked, my brother asked me to send my picture, and I sent the pictures and came. In those days, I had no desire to come here, and as a matter of fact my desire was to go to the bush [opposing the government], I will not lie to you. Since I love this brother of mine dearly, my Muste, I had to relent even if I did not want to come to America. Leaving to the bush was my only desire. A lot of us had decided to do so, but you never know where fate would make you stand.

AJ: When you left the country, what kinds of things did you leave behind? With how many others did you leave, or you left by yourself?

GL: My sister’s daughter, Lanca, is now here—she was four then—and I. She came with me.

AJ: Did you come directly from Ethiopia to America?

GL: Directly, yes, with her.

AJ: Back then, other than your brother in America, yourself, and Lanca, the rest of your family were back home?

GL: Yes, they are all in the country, except Gutama—he is now called Mustafa Lolo. One of my other uncles, called Abdulkadir, was also here.

AJ: How was the visa process back then?

GL: It was not that bad back then since there were people in Finfinne. They were not bad. They just gave you an appointment. You go there on the appointed date and got your visa. However, they also made you come back and forth. As for me, they made me go back and forth because of a missing paper. It was not as bad as it is now. It only four years after the arrival of the Tigrayans, and I was not an old person. Those days were not as they are today. Our folks were not made to be below other persons. The political situation was hot and being Oromo was encouraged. Even back then there were Tigrayans in the embassy who spoke Amharic.

AJ: Did it take long to get a passport? Did you have to go back and forth for it?

GL: The first day I went there, I was taken there by another person. I managed to make an appointment. The next time, I went there myself and got it. They asked you questions in Amharic. Yes, I took it myself. It was not too bad.

AJ: They say the thieves in Finfinne are terrible in those days. It was like that back then?

GL: Yes, it was. [Laughing.] They are not known to have taken anything from me even one day. I used to collect the money that my brother sent my parents arriving from Dodola. Never once

8 did they steal from me. I put it in a bag. I used to carry these small bags, [laughing] which I put under my armpit and wore my dress over and walked quietly without drawing notice. From where I used to stay, the Black Lion neighborhood, I used to go to Merkato, and they did not take anything from me, until this day.

AJ: I remember one promotion, which went like this. “You have rights. We have given you democracy. It is up to you. Those of you who want to leave the country, simply get your passport and leave as you wish.” Those days the fee for a passport was very hefty. You paid between 400 and 800 birr [Ethiopian currency] for it. The birr was not as weak as it is these days. Do you remember what you paid for your passport?

GL: I don’t.

AJ: When you were getting ready to come to America, with what kinds of send-off did they send you to America?

GL: With tremendous preparation. A lot of people came together. It was something else. We partied for close to a month since people said that there was no play in America. [Laughing.] All the family blessed us. Haji Qasim, may God have mercy upon him, Mubarak’s father, came while we were about to leave for Finfinne and invited us to a restaurant for food. He told us, “There is no food in America. This is your last meal. Eat your fill.” What do you ask? The people back home love you so dearly. My family was great. That is how I left my country back then. My baby was little back then. I was also not the type that has been much outside the home.

AJ: You partied for a week?

GL: A full month, yes. Once I completed the papers and went back home, the message was, “There is no music in America. You are going to leave the food behind in Africa.” We thought we were about to leave everything behind in Oromia. We were partying day and night. Accordingly, I brought food as well as cultural items from there. In those days, people used to love each other.

AJ: This was all twenty-one years ago?

GL: Yes, twenty-one years.

AJ: Was it because you were among the first Oromo to leave the country?

GL: Yes.

AJ: The people did not know. Perhaps because they did not have a lot of people in the diaspora? So they told you there would be no Oromo food in America and you have to eat it there as much as you could?

9

GL: Yes, that was why. The people were also like that. Asho, the one my brother married, and their kid had been there. They used to think there was no food in America. We did not think there was. We did not think people would come together. That is why everyone thought so.

AJ: Did you say to come to America you danced until you made even the walls sweaty?

GL: Yes. [Laughing.] No sweat, no sleep. We spent nights just like that. In those days, the craze was this newly released song by Tsegaye Dandana—his Yaa shamarmarii [popular song name] song. Even the kids did not fall asleep. The little girl that I brought with me—she was four— even she did not sleep, let alone the others. People from the neighborhood would come and party all night. Because I used to like music, I did not think that I will have it in America. My father as well as my elder sister did not like it, but I wonder why they left us alone.

AJ: You were sent off with a great party from home. Did the same thing await you in America?

GL: Yes, there was a feast. And don’t get me wrong, it was not bad, but what compares to the one back home, however big it was? Nothing equals your own. I was also meeting a person I had not known. I did not see him ever for a day. My brother was the only one who saw him. There was a party, but not at par with what I had back home. On top of this, there were not a lot of people. Moreover, my destination was San Diego, California, where there weren’t many people [Oromos] back then. I am not sure if there were even ten people there back then. Before we reached San Diego, we took the wrong car in New York and got lost. [Laughing.] When we arrived on the second day, they were nervous. Some had already left before we arrived.

AJ: This plane that brought you from home dropped you in New York?

GL: Yes, we landed in New York. From there, we went somewhere else. There was this elderly Tigrayan elder and another girl that was younger than me. We followed wherever this old woman went, and that is how we got lost in New York. Neither of us knew our ways around. [Laughing.] When those people pointed it out for me, the shuttle bus had already left. [Laughing.]

AJ: Where did you spend the night in New York?

GL: They got a hotel for us, and that is where we spent the night. There, they brought us some rice dish and something on it. The three of us had our own rooms. I woke up in the middle of the night and started knocking at the elderly woman’s room. We woke up in the middle of the night thinking that it was already morning. We did not touch the food that was brought to us, both I and the little girl. What we feared was, what if it was even dog meat? [Laughing.] Everything they showed on TV was dogs. We asked ourselves what kind of country is this that kept showing us dogs? We thought they might have put some dog stuff in the food and did not even touch it. [Laughing.]

AJ: When we also arrived, they made us stay overnight in New York. [Laughing.] They kept us in New York and brought us a dish of a whole cooked fish. The fish looked to us as if it was still alive. We could not figure out how to eat this fish and spent the night without eating it.

10

GL: I tried to look at it a little bit and then became afraid. All we could see on TV were dogs. “What would I do if these people put dog stuff in it?” I kept asking myself. “How do I also know they put whole chicken like this in it?” Ours we cut into distinct parts and made it into a stew. We slept hungry. The next night, I woke up and started knocking on the elderly woman. My little one was also knocking on my door. We woke up while still at night thinking that morning has already broken. We did not want to get lost again. It was around midnight. The security collected us and brought us back to our rooms. That was what happened to us the first night we had arrived. [Laughing.] That is why the number of the few people waiting for us dwindled.

AJ: You started American life as soon as you went off the plane?

GL: [Laughing.] Yes.

AJ: Things were not like our tradition. How was your first year?

GL: Except the crying.

AJ: What did you cry for? [Laughing.]

GL: I missed my parents. I had never lived away from my parents and by myself. In your country, as soon as you stepped out of your house, you met your neighbors. In this country he also went to work. They took my little girl to school. I was the only one stuck at home. All I did was cry, come night or day. Like there is now, there was no telephone back then. If you asked me, “Did you write letters?” I used to write eight a day to my parents back home. Sometimes my brother, his wife, and my uncle would visit me, and I would still be crying. The house was new. Everything made us anxious. “Is this what they called America?” we kept asking ourselves after seeing the not too impressive houses that looked like our economy houses. [Laughing.] When we had come, we thought the houses in our country looked better. You never make anything of the houses here.

We left our traditional dishes back home. The good thing was that we brought a lot of food from back home—all kinds of food. When the food from here would refuse to go down, we would prepare the one we brought from back home. Right after we arrived we saw buddena [Oromo flatbread, or injera], which looked almost like what we had back home. We never thought we would see it again, but we did as soon as we arrived.

AJ: Doesn’t that mean the views of America among our people were wrong?

GL: Yes. Who knew? We had to inform the ones who came after we had gained some experience that everything was abundant here.

AJ: Was it difficult to meet up with the Oromo that preceded you?

GL: There were not a lot of people. There were not many jobs, and besides, there were not many people there to begin with. We walked to each other on foot. Only the houses of my brother and

11 my uncle were far from us. There was also this cousin of ours. California is such a beautiful place. We walked to each other’s house. Except the lack of work, everything was just like our country! That is why we had to leave California and move to Minnesota. He would work six months and sit out of work for another six months. I sat out for a year and a few months without work. I started some school. Since our lot was to be worried about all things and cry day and night, we decided to move. He first came here to check things out, since I had bothered him with my cries, and I followed. There were simply no jobs for us.

AJ: How difficult was it to learn English?

GL: Not bad at all. If you ask why, it was because I had learned it back home even if it was British English. Some things I pronounced the way I had learned them. Some people used to wonder how I came from Africa and spoke English so well. Because I was a good student, it was not bad for me. The British and American English are not the same. I could not understand what they say. I used to say, “Wa-te-r.” [Laughing.] But the people understood me. When I first started working, they used to ask me, “Since you speak English well, you must be lying about coming from Africa.” I found work here [in Minnesota] as soon as I arrived. I told them that I studied it. Pronouncing it correctly was difficult, but speaking it was not that bad.

AJ: You had said life in California was difficult. Was it difficult to accept life in Minnesota?

GL: Yes. What was difficult was not finding a job, but the snow. We used to live on a second floor apartment, and the snow almost got close to our window. We didn’t know about snow. In Minnesota my worries melted away except the snow. It is a great place. I love Minnesota.

AJ: It was after moving to Minnesota that you started giving birth?

GL: Yes, I produced all my children here. I gave birth to all of my children here at Regions Hospital. My oldest son is eighteen now.

AJ: Eighteen? It means he is in college.

GL: Yes, he [my son] will go to college this year. Sometimes dealing with them can be tough, though!

AJ: Is your life and that of your children the same, or America offers wider and better opportunities for them than you?

GL: It is like night and day. They have wider opportunities. They are born here. It is their country. How do you compare me to them? Unless you are talking about the one who grew up here! The kids here call “you” to their mom and dad—they would not call you with an honorific name like they do back home even if you had told them to. When you tell them it is our culture, they say it is your culture and that is you. It is apple and oranges.

12

AJ: I want to ask you two questions about life in America and then go to the cultural stuff. It has been quite a while since you came to America. Compared to the way you saw America back when you had arrived, have you succeeded in realizing your dreams?

GL: When I came, I used to think you worked a little, and the money would just pile up. You work hard, and you have nothing to show for it. I work hard, but I don’t see anything. It is different. If you ask why what we used to think from there and what we saw here are different… When we came, we were hoping to build villas for our parents and do everything for them. Once here, you are not equal to what you had thought before. It is not enough even to fill your needs. It is difficult, and there is a huge gap.

AJ: Back home they used to say that in America you just went outside and dug up dollars in bulk.

GL: Yes, that was true. Even I used to think like that about America. I used to think you work a little, and your money [savings] will grow. That is how it appeared.

AJ: How do you see yourself now? As an immigrant, as Oromo, as Ethiopian, as Oromo- American, as African American, or what?

GL: I am Oromo. One hundred percent Oromo. Back home, when you were asked, you answered black African. I am Oromo. My color is black. I am proud of my Oromo identity—let alone me, even my kids, born here, are proud of being Oromo.

AJ: In the future, do you ever think of going back home to live?

GL: If it was possible, I would go today to my country. Bad or good, your country is your country. Until today, had it not been for my kids, I would even go today. Once my country gains its freedom, I would not spend even another day. Nothing is like your own country. The bad in your country is good. It is better to live poor in your own country than rich in another country.

AJ: Do you know an Oromo who went back to live there after living here in America?

GL: I don’t. This is my view. Doesn’t everyone have their preferences? As far as I am concerned, had it not been for the kids, I would not hesitate even today. Rather than living with riches in America, I would prefer living in abject poverty with my family. Your country is your country. That is how I think.

AJ: Let us not talk about the Oromo people living in Oromia. How is the life of the Oromo in Minnesota?

GL: If you asked me about now, it is good. When I moved here in 1996, there were people, but not as many as today, and there was no culture. People did go to meetings, but there was no culture. It is really nice now. It is almost like our own country. We are proud of our nation. Here in Minnesota people are proud of their identity. There are some who are teaching their children

13 to speak Afaan Oromoo. You would love Minnesota now. It is really nice. It is just like our own country. I am proud of Minnesota. It is where my identity is reflected. I love Minnesota.

AJ: How are the Oromo here representing their culture?

GL: They are representing it in so many ways, especially the youth. The youth who grew up here and those who were born here, they say, “Here is my culture.” They have cultural occasions, and they are showing their identity. When they talk about their identity, they show it with pride. It is really nice, especially the young people like you who are making us proud. If you ask me why, you are representing our once marginalized culture, and you bring everything together and show things during cultural days. People come and see you guys. The kids, who knew nothing in the past, the little ones, are learning from you guys. Really, the youth in Minnesota are making us proud. I encourage you to even be stronger, my qeerroon [young generation]!

AJ: Are the elders showcasing our culture at weddings, funerals, how they conduct mediation, and the like—is it like back home?

GL: I wouldn’t know that. Regarding weddings, everyone does it differently. I don’t know much about the elders. There are some elders who have abandoned their cultures. [Laughing.] Consequently, our culture is coming back through our youth. Some of us are proud of this.

AJ: Do you think this showcasing of culture will be something that will continue?

GL: Yes, it will continue. After this, I think it would continue. This is because it is gaining momentum. Even the little ones talk about it nowadays. Our culture is coming along strong. They are also teaching the language. Because they are showing Oromo culture from all the provinces of Oromia, it is nice.

AJ: The culture that is practiced by the diaspora, for example diaspora weddings, do you look at the grooms? Some have six best men and women each. Some do seven. There are some that do eight. According to the Oromo, you have only one best person. If more, they say it would not surpass two.

GL: Yes, isn’t that our culture? Let alone here, that is going away even back home. When we were little, your best person was somebody whom you really like, mostly your nephew, according to Oromo culture. What is being practiced now is contrary to Oromo culture. People are going away from the Oromo culture. When it comes to weddings, less than thirty percent conduct their weddings according to Oromo traditions. Our cultures here and those back home are different.

AJ: How about with regards to language? How highly are the Oromo diaspora promoting their language, especially in Minnesota?

GL: They are okay on language.

AJ: Are they teaching their kids, especially those born here?

14

GL: Not all. But some do, yes. Some are teaching their kids. Overall, they are okay. Some have left their identity, let alone the language. Others are even going further and teaching their kids the foundations of Oromo culture. It is mixed up. Regardless, the youth are becoming stronger and stronger, especially these days. Since they see certain things on TV, it is okay now.

AJ: How strongly did the Oromo adopt American culture?

GL: Some are. Not all, though—a majority has. What we had talked about weddings, in our culture a best man is like your father. When you say somebody is my best man, it means they are sacred. You make a person you like into a sacred person. You respect each other a lot. Now the best man can be anybody. What culture do they know? A lot of people don’t even know the culture. Some are keeping firm to their culture, even regarding how to bestow gifts. In our country, when a girl is married away she is given away with gifts. The good thing is in our area, they still do dhaamannaa [sacred messages of marital wisdom to the newly married]. Aside from this, it’s not a whole lot. However, it is still not that bad. It is ok. It can only get better.

AJ: A strong community is one that has businesses. With regards to business ownership, how strong are the Oromo in Minnesota?

GL: It is all right. But it is not a lot. What business is there? Actually there are none. With so large a population, you would think there would be many businesses. If you looked at the Somali, Hmong, and Mexicans, you see them owning a lot of businesses. Compared to our population size, it is as if we have none. It is only now that people are beginning to go into businesses. There are only about four or five stores. Except those, there is nothing. Compared to the past, we are doing better, especially the last two or three years. In the past there was nothing that you could call Oromo. I encourage everyone, be it man or woman, to be strong in this area. With regards to business, we are behind everyone else.

AJ: What is the obstacle? What retarded the growth of Oromo businesses?

GL: What do I know why this is the case? Everyone has their own ideas. Some want to save up and start something back home. Some save up their money and sit on it. What if some of it went towards building business malls like the Somalis do and even rent it to others? Something like that would be nice, and people are throwing such ideas these days. Would it not be nice to open something that would show our Oromo identity, if nothing else? Let alone anything else, there isn’t even a place to eat out. The few that there are, they are to be found only in Minneapolis. In Saint Paul, there is not even an Oromo eatery.

AJ: Why don’t you open a restaurant in Saint Paul?

GL: [Laughing.] God willing, I will. I had a small store, but closed it quickly two years earlier. I got sick of sitting there from morning to night. God willing, if He keeps me alive and extends my life, I will see. I am thinking about it. Not just by myself, but with other people. I like things like owning my own business, including something like a restaurant.

15

AJ: How helpful to the Oromo are organizations like religious organizations, community organizations, Oromo soccer, and the like? How are these institutions? How strongly do they contribute to the community?

GL: Now it is good. In the past, I would have said no. Now, I guess it is all right. They are in good condition nowadays, especially the Oromo Community [Oromo Community of Minnesota, nonprofit] during the last two years. This is because they are pulling the public in one direction. We are following each other. People are responding to their identity. Actually, they are doing really great.

AJ: When it comes to politics, what does Oromo politics look like?

GL: The one at present is nice. Not the one in the past. Now it is all right.

AJ: How widely do the Oromo participate in political issues?

GL: Ever since I moved to Minnesota, I have been taking part. It is because I started getting involved in Oromo affairs while back home. Things are good now. Ever since the Oromo back home started fighting for their rights, those from here are following along and not sparing anything they could afford from the struggle. It is not bad at all. It is actually great, and I hope that God will bestow us with freedom as our people are getting stronger.

AJ: Don’t you actively participate in Oromo affairs? I see you a lot taking part in Oromo activities. Not just Oromo affairs, but also American ones. I saw you volunteer at the get out the vote during the elections, helping people to go out and vote for their favorite candidates. Can you tell me about that?

GL: As I had told you earlier, ever since I came here twenty years ago, there was no Oromo event or activity that I missed. And I also contributed financially, however small or big. Since returning from back home during my visit there in 2005, my morale has been down seeing how the youth who sacrificed for the cause were not being supported. These are kids who were little when I was there. They dismissed them from school like they are doing nowadays. Even though that has hurt my morale, I want to support anything Oromo without necessarily supporting this or that group. I want to support them all.

With respect to my participation in American civics, during the reelection campaign for [Barack] Obama in 2012, they called me and asked if I could volunteer to get out the votes, which I accepted and volunteered in making calls to people and asking whether they will come out and vote or not. This year, too, I did the same—calling people and finding out who will vote and who will not vote. Other than making these calls, I don’t know much about American politics. I just wanted to see how it was without necessarily knowing much.

AJ: Is there difference between Oromo politics and the American one?

GL: Aside from making those calls, what do I know about American politics? I just went to the call center and asked people whether they will come out and vote or not. How do you compare

16 the American to ours? Are they not fundamentally different? Here people have freedom and people’s freedoms are protected. Among our people, even among those educated, few go there and volunteer. They just look at it from a distance. In our country, when one assumes power, they don’t want to give it up. How can you compare America and Oromo? [Laughing.]

AJ: You actively take part in Oromo affairs. You cherish Oromo culture. You follow Oromo culture. You practice Oromo culture. You also don’t shy away from American ways of life. You take part in many American activities. Do you also teach your children about Oromo culture and language? Do you also encourage them to participate in Oromo as well as American politics?

GL: Yes. We try to teach, but the kids here would not be the way you want them to be. Regardless, I tell them everything, including about culture. Some say okay. As you know very well, the kids here will do only what they want and not what you want. On occasions like demonstration days, they do take part. On other days, they would not. The kids here would not take our culture the way we do. However, we tell them to the extent we can, and they are largely all right. I would not expect one hundred percent, but until they are okay up to thirty percent. I want them to learn as much as I know. The language, they do know to a certain extent. It is not a lot. Even when they do, do they talk to each other in it? They just look at each other.

AJ: Have your kids been to your country of origin?

GL: She went when she was little then. Now she is eleven. I used to carry this one in my belly.

AJ: Do you have communication with the people back home, by phone or through what?

GL: Yes. Until we lost telephone connection, we used to call them on the phone. All our family is back there, including and especially our parents. We do call, but the phone does not go through.

AJ: What happened to the telephone?

GL: They [the Ethiopian government] shutdown the network due to the ongoing conflict between the government and the people. We tried both the home phone and mobile phone, to no avail. We used to see some of the kids on Facebook. Now we are unable to do even that. They also brought down the internet.

AJ: We have now reached towards the end of our interview. When you look at the Oromo in Minnesota in general, do you think we have more weaknesses than strengths, or we are somewhere in the middle? What do you say?

GL: In the past, it was somewhere in the middle. This year, Minnesota is on top. If you ask why, it is because people are coming together, because everyone is looking at Minnesota as an example to emulate. This year it is really great. We are on top now. We are all right. I encourage people to continue to be strong and pray that God will make us strong. Do you know how it was muddled in the past? Now, with God’s help, it is not bad at all.

17

AJ: Twenty years hence, where do you hope to see the Oromo?

GL: I hope the Oromo will have gained the freedom that Americans enjoy. I hope my children’s children will live as such. I hope our country will be free, we will be owners of our land, we will cease to be slaves in other lands where we work like crazy but are still poor, and that our children’s children will live in freedom like Americans do and he [God] will keep us alive to see that day. The Oromo used to live under gadaa democracy [traditional Oromo sociopolitical system]. Once our country becomes free, we can return and do whatever we like—no matter whether we are poor or rich. Where there is freedom, everything is nice.

AJ: May he make us worthy of our freedom.

GL: Yes, amen! May he make us free. May he return us to a free homeland, our ancestral land. May the Oromo become victorious. May he make us free. Thank you so much for your questions. May God bless you and be well as you are.

AJ: We conclude our interview here. Are there any final thoughts that you would like to leave for future generations? Anything you would like to say, any final words?

GL: I have nothing to add except encouraging you guys. May the Almighty make the Oromo speak in one voice, may he make them united, may he make us victorious. May the blood of our youth that is spilled not be in vain. May God give us freedom.

AJ: May God give us freedom. Mrs. Garibe, thank you so much for the interview. We conclude our interview here.

18