I Met my Grandma in a Village in Ethiopia
The fragrance is unmistakable. Hot coals, popcorn and the beginning of browning of green coffee beans. The origins of these beans, the roaster or baritsta, don't matter because of where we currently are. This is southern Ethiopia. I live in the Boyle Heights neighborhood of Los Angeles, where on any given street corner, you will have the greatest taco of your life. Walk into any given home (don't actually walk in, this is the hood still) and the Tia is making pozole that no restaurant will ever top. Ethiopia is like this for coffee, you can point in any direction and experience a cup of coffee at a caliber that no free wifi, curly mustache, full extraction, mid century modern coffee shop could ever top.
It's maybe 11am. The young boys are enjoying a round of football, soccer for us basic foos. I'm out here with Food For the Hungry. I ain't gon hold you, at first glance I saw this org as rather “white savior complex’ish.” But they did offer to send me to the origin soil of my DNA so I figured...what the hell. Make them pay it forward. Turns out I was dead wrong.
I'm sitting in front of what can only be compared to the image in the hebrew bible of the twenty-four elders sitting in the throne room overlooking all of creation. Except they are these beautiful bronze, amber, and cobalt complexioned women. In front of them, is a bountiful feast of bread and other delicacies native to this region. The women sit regal yet apprehensive, as if protective of their energy and accomplishments. Some things, no amount of time or transatlantic slave trade can wash away. That regal gase all black women have. They had the look of all my foremothers and sisters. There is however one woman who is staring at me with the same inquisitive look that I'm staring back at her with. My mind is racing as I try my best to not let my face say with my heart felt and clearly I was failing. She looked EXACTLY like my grandmother. Skin town, complexion, disposition, everything. It kinda scared me.
The women, one by one, began to talk and In textbook Ethiopian fashion, refuse to speak on their own accomplishments. But rather lavished the Food for the Hungry Organization for all that they've done to help get their businesses off the ground. It took me a second to realize what was happening. My first thought, ``Did FH (Food for the Hungry) set this meeting up to show me how amazing they are? If so, that is wack and I'm ready to go home now!" I then remembered what the homies told me about that old school East African culture. The elders never brag about themselves, it's considered very rude. As they continued to talk, the picture was becoming more and more clear. These women were business owners! These women are entrepreneurs. These women don't need my help! These women have invested in each other and have lifted their community in ways that no one in America could ever do. FH isn't feeding their village, they are feeding their village. I am here, Lowkey, to just be in awe of what they've done. It's crazy how that white savior complex could fall on the blackest of american skin!
It turns out, they are part of an investment community. FH’s role is they connect with local organizations on the ground who layout what the hood needs. FHH goes to America and says “hey you want to sponsor this kid?” The money from that kids sponsor goes into a pot designated for the neighborhood the kid lives in. That pot is also receiving money from USAID and Ethiopian government-sponsored grants, then handed over to the village leaders. In this investment community, the locals decide which mother would get the first block of money. That woman takes that chunk of money to build her up a business, pays that loan back plus an agreed-upon interest rate into that original pot. Then, the next woman takes that new pot of money, builds her up a business, pays back that loan plus interest and then they hand that next pot to the next woman and then so on. This way us out west don't get to lord over these people because we sent some money over. At this point they don't need a dime from me. All they ask of me is to tell a better story about the culture, about these mothers.
At this point the coffee is ready. I, through a translator, started sharing my back story. Sharing about the large East African population of my mother’s hometown of Washington DC. How I and all my cousins were assumed to be Habesha by that said community. How I've always wanted to stand on this soil to see if the same would happen here. All while still sharing glances with the queen mother that looks dead ass like my grandmother. I came to find out later that day they, and by they, I mean the entire crop of women, all thought I was an American born Ethiopian. I Tell them I'm a musician and am doing an album and coffee and I came here to meet you all and be inspired. We all smiled, had coffee and broke bread. And boy did we eat! There were flavors and textures I've never in my life experienced and have no comparison for.
Three hours later, picture time. I make a B line straight to my “grandma.” I ask the homie to come tell her I was looking at her because she's so beautiful and reminds me of my grandmother. Her face changes, she grabs my cheeks and looks into my soul, speaks in soft tones, and in her native tongue, says. “You are my son.” Then my allergies had my eyes watering.
I later find out that she says I look like her family too. She has no children of her own but if she did, she was positive I would be one of them. They told me her tattoos on her cheekbone says what region she's originally from, and it was the same region everyone on our trip assumed my family was from. We all gather for a picture. Then I asked if I could take a picture of all the mothers. I wanted to tell the world about yall. OF COURSE I made sure they knew what I was talking about. That picture is the cover of We Are The Culture, single and coffee.
Listen, I’m NEVER EVER going to let us separate a product from the culture it sprouts from. When you listen to Terraform, when you sip the culture roast, think of Ethiopia, they are in a civil war right now. Serious political unrest. Think of these women who imagined a better future for themselves. I hope you do this with your tacos, with you sushi. Enjoy with a mindset of gratitude for the world of people it took to get it on your plate or in your cup. They are us, we are them, We Are the Culture.
If you'd like to send aid to these amazing people and villages all round, click this mug right here. https://www.fh.org/propaganda
order the coffee https://onyxcoffeelab.com/products/the-culture