በጎፈቃደኝነት - እንስሳትን በመንከባከብ፣ ለአካል ጉዳተኞች ድጋፍ በማድረግ፣ ታማሚዎችን በመጠየቅ ወይስ በሌላ?

በጎፈቃደኝነት

እንስሳትን በመንከባከብ፣ ለአካል ጉዳተኞች ድጋፍ በማድረግ፣ ታማሚዎችን በመጠየቅ ወይስ በሌላ?

 

በቅርቡ ስለበጎፈቃደኝነት ትምህርት ቀርቦልን ነበር፡፡ እንግዳችን በርከት ስላሉ ከበጎፈቃደኝነት ጋር የተያያዙ ነጥቦች ያስተማሩን ሲሆን፤ በወቅቱ ይዤው ከነበረው ማታወሻ አለፍ አለፍ ብዬ ልጠቃቅስ፡፡ እንግዳችን ትምህርቱን ሲጀምሩ ‹‹ማን ምን እንዲያደርግላችሁ ትፈልጋላችሁ?›› የሚል ጥያቄን ለሁለት ተሳታፊዎች በመጠየቅ ነበር፡፡ ተሳታፊዎቹን እንዲደረግላቸው ለፈልጉት ጉዳይ በምላሹ ምን እንደሚያደርጉም ጠይቀዋቸዋል፡፡  በዚሁም ወደ በጎ ፈቃደኝነት ሃሳብ ገብተው ‹‹ለዚያስ ምን ምላሽ አላችሁ?›› የሚል ነጥብን ጨምረዋል፡፡ ይህም እንዲደረግልን በምንፈልገው አቻ ምን እናበረክታለን የሚል ነው፡፡  

ብዙ ርቀት ከመሄዳችን በፊት ግን እርስዎን ልጠይቅዎት፡፡ በበጎፈቃደኝነት ተሰማርተው ያውቃሉ? ለመጀመሪያ ጊዜስ ስለሃሳቡ መቼ ሰሙ? የዚህን መልስ እያሰቡ ይከተሉኝ፡፡ 

የበጎ አድራጎት ሥራ ሰርቶ ስለማውራት ከአሁን በፊት ስለ ሶሻል ኢተርፕረነርሽፕ ያስተማሩን መስፍን ሰጣርጌ ሲናገሩ ማህበረሰባዊ ለውጥ አራማጆች ስለሠሩት መልካም ሥራ ይናገራሉ ብለውን ነበር፡፡ የዛሬው እንግዳችን ግን ትምህርት ለመስጠትና ለአርአያነት ካልሆነ በስተቀር አድርጌያለሁ ተብሎ አይወራም አሉን፡፡ እርስዎስ ምን ያስባሉ?

መልካምነት ልትገድለው የመጣችውን ትንኝ እስካለማጥቃት የሚደርስ ርህራሄን ሳይቀር እንደሚይዝ አስገንዝበውናል፡፡ ስለበጎፈቃደኝነት ስታስቡ ‹‹ሥራውን ስትሰሩ የሚያውቅላችሁ መዋቅር ያስፈልጋል››ም ብለውናል፡፡ ይህ እንግዲህ የበጎ አድራጎትን ሥራ በተደራጀ መልኩ የመሥራትን ሚና የሚያቅፍ ነው፡፡  ከበጎፈቃደኝነት የሚልቅ አልትሩይዝም (altruism) የሚል ጽንሰሐሳብንም አስተዋውቀውናል፡፡ እስኪ እሱንም እንዲመለከቱት ልጋብዝዎት፡፡ እርስዎ ግን በምን ዓይነት የበጎፈቃደኝነት ዘርፍ ተሰማርተዋል ወይስ ቢሰመሩ ያስደስትዎታል?  እንስሳትን በመንከባከብ፣ ለአካል ጉዳተኞች ድጋፍ በማድረግ፣ ታማሚዎችን በመጠየቅ ወይስ ሌላ?

ራስ ወዳድነትን በተለየ መንገድ እንድናየው ያደረገ ነገርም ጨመሩልን፡፡ በጎፈቃደኝነት ራስን ከማገልገል እንደሚጀምር፣ እንዳንኖር ከሚያደርጉኝ መታቀብ፤ በጤናማ እሳቤ ውስጥ ራስን ማኖርን፣ ከወደቀው እሻላለሁ ብሎ ማሰብንና ጉዳትም ቢያስከትል አገለግላለሁ የሚል እሳቤን እንደሚይዝ አነሱልን፡፡ ራሳችንን ካገለገልን በኋላ ለቤተሰብ የሚተርፍ አስተዋጽኦ ይኖረናል፡፡ ይህን በማድረግ ውስጥ እደሰታለሁ፡፡ በሃገሬ፣ ህዝቤ፣ በሃይማኖቴ በኩል አገለግላለሁ፡፡ ከምንም እሳቤ የበለጠ አስተዋጽኦም እንዳለ እንገነዘባለን፡፡ ምንም ሳናደርግ ስንቀርና ንቁ ህሊናችን ሲሟገተን ለአእምሮ ህመም ሊዳርግ ይችላል፡፡ በጎፈቃደኝነት ከሱ ውድቀት ያድነናል፡፡ በጎ ፈቃደኝነት የራሱ መርሆዎች ያሉትና ሰፊ መሆኑን ያስተማሩን መምህራችንን እያመሰገንን እርስዎም በሰፊው እንዲያነቡና በበጎፈቃደኝነት እንዲሰማሩ እጋብዛለሁ፡፡ ከማንም ምንም ሳንጠብቅ መልካም ሥራ ብናደርግና በመልካም ምግባር ብናገለገል ዓለምን የበለጠ ወደ መልካም ቦታነት እንቀይራታለን፡፡ ለበጎፈቃደኝነት ሥራ ፍላጎት ያላችሁ ብታናግሩኝ ሃሳቦችን ማጋራትና ሥራውንም መሥራት እንደምንችል በዚህ አጋጣሚ ላሳስብ፡፡  

 

 

‹‹እኛን ንቀሽ!›› - ሕግ አስከባሪ በተሳሳተ እሳቤ ሲመራ

 

‹‹እኛን ንቀሽ!›› - ሕግ አስከባሪ በተሳሳተ እሳቤ ሲመራ

 መዘምር ግርማ

 

የደህንነት አባላት ጋዜጠኛ ገነት አስማማውን በቁጥጥር ስር አውለው ወዳልታወቀ ቦታ ሲወስዷት የተቀረፀውን ንግግር ሰማሁት፡፡ ከድምጽ ፋይሉ ወቅቱ ስለነበሩ ፀያፍ ንግግሮች፣ ወከባ፣ የመብት ጥሰት ትረዳላችሁ፡፡ ‹‹እናትሽን …፣ አንቺን ብሎ ጋዜጠኛ … ወዘተ.›› የሚሉትን ስድቦች ሰምተናል፡፡ ስደብና ድብደባ በኛ ዓይነቱ ሰብዓዊ መብት ባልታወቀበት አገር የተለመደ ስለሆነ አንደነቀኝም፡፡ አንዲት ሌላ ጉዳይ ግን የበለጠ አትኩሮቴን ሳበችው፡፡ ከወሰዷት ሰዎች አንዱ ከተናገረው ንግግር አንዷ ክፍል የደህንነት አባሉን ለዚህ አፀያፊ ተግባር ያነሣሣውን ምክንያት የምታሳይ መሰለኝ፡፡ ምክንያቱም ጋዜጠኛዋን ለምርመራ እንደምትፈለግ ነግሮ መውሰድ ሲችል ያደረገውና የተናገረው ሁሉ ትክክል ስላልሆነ ነው፡፡ መቼም አለቆቹ ሳታዋርድና ሳትደበድብ ለምን አመጣህ የሚሉት አይመስለኝም፡፡ ወይም ራሱ ዕድሉን ተጠቅሞ ግለሰቧን ለማዋረድና ለመደብደብ ፈልጎ ካልሆነ በስተቀር፡፡ ‹‹እኛን ንቀሽ!›› የምትለው ከግለሰቡ የወጣችው ንግግር አደገኛ ነች፡፡ በስንት የመከላከያ፣ የልዩ ኃይል፣ የፖሊስ፣ የደህንነት፣ የሕግ አስከባሪ፣ የምክርቤት ወዘተ አባላት ዘንድ ይህች እሳቤ ትኖር ይሆን? የዚህች እሳቤ ጦስስ የት ያደርሰን ይሆን? ጦሱ የት እንደሚያደርሰን ከማሰብ ይልቅ እሱን ለጊዜ ሰጥተን እሳቤው ስለሚታረምበት ሁኔታ እንምከር፡፡ እሳቤው መታረም አለበት፡፡ የሕዝብ አስተዳዳሪና የሕግ አስከባሪ ቅዠቶችን ማስተናገድ የለበትም፡፡ ትንቀናለች ያለው ግለሰብ እንደምትንቀው በምን ሊያረጋግጥ እንደቻለ  ቢነግረን ጥሩ ነበር፡፡ የሷን ዘገባዎች ሰምቷል ወይስ ያለምንም መረጃ ለድምዳሜ በቅቷል፡፡ ለእኔ ግን ከቅዠት የዘለለ አይደለም፡፡ ፍርደ-ገምድልነትን፣ ብዝበዛን፣ አ-ፍትሐዊነትንና ማናቸውንም አጉል አሰራር መቃወም ንቀት ሳይሆን ለመብት መቆም ነው፡፡ ይንቁናል ያለ ሰው በዚህ የተሳተ እሳቤ ሰውን መጉዳቱ ስለማይቀር ራሱን ከዚህ ሃሳብ ማጽዳት አለበት፡፡  

ይህን ካልኩ በኋላ ግን በግሌ ስለ ኢትዮጵያ ሕዝብ መከባበር ወይም መናናቅ የማስበውን ብጠየቅ የምሰጠው መልስ አለኝ፡፡ እስከ ዛሬ ባየሁት መሰረት ኢትዮጵያ ውስጥ እንደማንኛውም አገር ሁሉ ሁለቱም አሉ የሚል ነው፡፡ ሕዝቡ ይከባበራል፣ ይናናቃል፣ ይዋደዳል፣ ይጠላላል፡፡ በሥልጣኔና በጊዜ ሂደት መልካሙ እየጎላ አሉታዊው የሚስተካከል ይመስለኛል፡፡  

 

Aye, My People

Aye, My People

Mezemir G.

Yesterday, while I was talking to a fellow teacher we raised Mehal Amba Hospital. It was me who mentioned Mr. Samuel. My friend told me that Mr. Samuel passed away a few months ago. I felt as if I was slapped. I felt sorry for that hospital administrative staff member. My friend understood that and even promised to take me to Mr. Samuel’s family to console them. I know that I knew only the man and not his family, so going there would have no meaningful impact.     

Mr Samuel was in his late fifties. I liked the way he treated me and how he liked learned people. I went to the hospital he worked at with an English Social Worker who volunteered at the hospital for six months. At this time of privacy and busy schedules, we don’t have time to check who is where and what happened to them. Especially in big or medium-sized cities, we have little or no opportunities to get information on the whereabouts of acquaintances.

“You know how I came to know Mr. Samuel?” I said to my friend. He waited to hear.

“I met him when we volunteered to donate blood. But I better knew him through an English friend who volunteered at the hospital.”

“Was there any? Why didn’t I know?”

“May be you didn’t see him. The English volunteer would take us to clubs and we enjoyed. Mr. Samuel came a few times.”

“It is a rare opportunity to see the elderly at a club.”

“Sure. Above all, Mr Samuel insisted I visited the church he served as a minister.”

“Did you go then?”

“As you know I don’t go to church. If I have to go to church, why would I seek a new one? I kept telling him this but he wouldn’t understand me.”

“I couldn’t believe when they told me that Mr. Samuel converted back to Orthodox Christianity a month before his death.”

“You don’t mean it!”

“It is for real. They said that he believed those people who said the holy water would save him from death. It didn’t and then he was buried at the Orthodox Church.”

“I can’t believe this! I even heard that he was not born Samuel. It is said that he changed it when he became a Protestant minister.”    

Sassy Sasit

Sassy Sasit

Draft

 Mezemir

As if I didn’t spend months without a significant task at hand, now I am getting busy either because class has resumed after the war or my own projects are demanding my attention. I scanned the staff lounge and sat at an unfamiliar spot to the right. Sipping bottled water, I started to check my smartphone for something new. Social media was showing me what it had for the day when two lecturers neared me.

“Shall we sit there or do you need some talk?” inquired the dark skinned one. He was pointing at another table. “As you like” I responded, and they joined me. With his colleague, who is rather quiet, they sat with me and my friend opened a chapter in the history of Sassy Sasit.

But before that Sassy Sasit chapter opened, a few small talk issues emerged. I know that they would emerge time and again as they are either jewels that embellish our talk or distractions to deter the flow of our chat. It was me who raised this first distraction as the other guy who sat with us studied with one of our country boys who had quit his studies at a tender age and remained a mentally affected person. This guy told us how they spent studying at university. I recounted how that bright-minded guy was a genius. Heaven knows what happened to his result at college. Their lunch comes. We would talk about my eating style, one meal a day and so on and so forth.

Now the chapter of Sassy Sasit opens. This is what he opens whenever he meets me. If he meets me for a millennia, he would each time repeat it. Would either of us get bored! Never! We would recount each childhood event anew. Isn’t it memory that constantly shapes humanity’s consciousness?

For you my esteemed reader I know I should build a ship of imagination. A ship that takes you from your seat now to Debre Birhan. That is not Sassy Sasit yet. You are left with 27 kilometres by air. If you choose by road, let me guide you through. You drive past the hills of Keyit, Gudoberet, and reach Tarmaber. At Tarmaber, you turn towards the west. Yes, you don’t go through the tunnel or above the tunnel to Menz. You dive deep into Tegulet proper. The gravel road takes you to Seladingay and then to Sassy Sasit. It is 90 Kiloemetres from Debre Birhan. It could take you three hours. Who is so lucky like me to live in my area, Debre Birhan being Tegulet too.     

The talk mentioned Wofa Legesse, a man who according to different people has different stories. This guy lived near his place, past Sassy Sasit and a 10 to 15 kilometer distance. I always say Legesse was a real father of the community. He did an unforgettable feat of transporting with his four vehicles the students’ provisions free of charge. Who among the community played such a role – none. Wofa is mainy remembered for his arbitration using a spirit that the church later used to tarnish his name. That seems to be why his name is now not remembered.

This guy never stops at one issue. He mentioned Yeshareg, a woman who was friendly to anyone. He remembers her deeds and words. Remembering as it happened just yesterday. Even the guy sitting with us was enjoying and smiling at the anecdotes.

Two men from that small but beautiful village as we are, we teach at the university. “Killings were commonplace.  I saw live killings. A man carried a gun when he was chased by stick-carrying brothers. He was cornered and decided to kill them. I saw when he shot them there. He then went away. Who can touch him, ma’an! I was in grade 7,” he narrated as he took morsel after morsel.

“And the Kidame gebeya,” he continues. Images of dead people I saw as a kid were circulating in my head as he said that. As a little boy who lived next to the police station and administrative compound, I saw many brutalities with my naked eyes. A kid who heard when a kindly neighbor commits suicide by shooting himself, a kid who almost every night hears people being flogged and hit to give information helpful to the new EPRDF government or to tell about the gun they might or might not hid. All this is done because of local informants.  As a kid who was befriended by the soldiers who camped next to our home, I have many memories. “The Kidame gebeya,” he continues to tell me about the Sunday market, “Sasit hosted something like a holiday every week man!” “He is telling me all what he said last time. When would this guy go and I finish my writing project?” Don’t expect me to say that. I like the memories even if they are related a thousand times.

I’m glad this guy is not speaking about my love and marriage preferences or indifferences. Today he seems calm and cheerful. Reminiscing his days, the days we were little country boys. He mentions which one of our friends died, graduated, dropped out, got rich and so on. He is still particularly mad at the boys who talked about the World cup of 1998. Since he came from a little village further south, he didn’t know about football or didn’t watch the first ever television set for our town bought for the World Cup itself. How those “city boys” drove him mad by mentioning Ronaldo or Dunga! The two teachers went away for the day and I resumed writing. I scribble to publish something. Yes it was my memoir.