Ethiopian Demigod's Bride

Standing in front of Laban Bogale's grave, I sighed deeply. Born in the City of Bahir Dar, on the northern region of Ethiopia on November 8, 1694 of the Christian calendar, he died on the shores of Lake Awasa, in the Great Rift Valley of Ethiopia, on February 5, 1721. Beloved son, and a wonderful human being, that's what his tombstone read. Twenty seven years, that's all my dear Laban got. It seems so short, doesn't it? Could a person's life really be summed up in just a few words? I honestly don't think so, and I've been alive for three hundred and seventeen years. I was born in 1696 in the City of Dessie, in the Amhara region of northern Ethiopia. The only son of Ammanuel Tesfaye, a poor farmer. I led a pretty ordinary life until the year 1717. That's when Ethiopia was plunged into terrible turmoil, the echoes of which can still be felt in our nation today.

You see, in the 1700s there was no central power in the Ethiopian motherland, and it was the Era of the Princes. Different warlords serving various Princes vying for dominion over the fragmented country. I was fated to be part of history, for I was introduced to one of the future rulers of my country by the hands of fate. While fetching water at a well to slake my sheep's thirst, I saw a horseman rapidly approaching. This horseman was none other than Prince Laban Bogale, one of the most famous of all the warrior Princes of Ethiopia at the time. Prince Laban was seen by many as the future leader of the country, and because of that, he had many enemies. He'd gone hunting in the wilderness with some of his father's men, and was caught in an ambush. His companions were killed and he was wounded, but he managed to get away, with his enemies in hot pursuit.

The fleeing Prince managed to evade his enemies and happened by my father's farm that day, and like any true Christian, I offered him food and shelter. Until he told me his name, I did not know who he was, though I had guessed he was nobility based on his clothes. Clearly this six-foot-tall, brown-skinned and long-haired brother was one of the High Born. I've never laid eyes upon the nobility before, since they seldom ventured this deep into the farmlands, they preferred the big cities, but I knew he had to be one of them. I took care of him, and even helped him reach the next town, where he was helped by his father's followers. Prince Laban was the son of Prince Amare, a man who, a generation ago, managed to unite the various reigning Princes of the land and was almost successful in his attempt to unite all of Ethiopia as an empire. Wounded in combat against his enemies, Prince Amare was unable to finish what he started, but he was beloved by the majority of Ethiopia as the man who could have made us a great nation, had the Fates been kinder to him.

Prince Laban made it home to his father's palace, but he did not forget me. When time came for him to war against his foes, he set about building the largest army ever assembled, the Prince remembered the dirty young farmer who saved his life. He came to my father's farm, accompanied by ten well-armed horsemen, and he offered me a sword, a spear, and a horse. He wanted me to join him. Right then and there, I had a choice to make. Choose to live the life of a poor farmer, one of the invisible people, or join the Prince on his quest to become the next ruler of Ethiopia. In hindsight, I probably should have chosen the former over the latter. However, I was so young back then. What did I know about war, and what it can to do a man's body and spirit? I was the bored son of a poor farmer, my days were spent watching over sheep as they grazed under the African sun, protecting them from hyenas and jackals, since lions were becoming scarce in the areas near the villages and small towns. The king of the jungle had long known that man was one beast he should trifle with, it seems. Anyway, I looked at the Prince and smiled before bowing respectfully as I gladly accepted his offer.

Thus began the adventure that would change my life, and affect me for several lifetimes to come, actually. Prince Laban was an intelligent and ambitious young man. In his time, he'd seen much of the world. He'd gone to distant Lebanon and seen the ancient Arabian Christian kingdom, and upon returning to the motherland of Africa, he'd seen what the French, the Italians and the English along with the Dutch were doing to the peoples of sub-Saharan regions. From Kenya to Nigeria, from Ghana to Gambia, they set their sights on exploiting those of us whom the sun kissed, as many Africans in those days referred to ourselves. Prince Laban had seen the horrors of the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.

The foolish rulers of many African kingdoms had sold their own people to the white man, and they exploited the conflicts between various African groups to subjugate them, one after another. The Prince understood what many African leaders did not. Religious, ethnic and economic conflict divided most Africans. We did not get along with one another. Some of us despised our neighbors so much that we were willing to sell them as slaves Prince Laban did not want the motherland of Ethiopia to go the way of other African nations. He did not want us to bow down to the white man. He wanted to unite all of Ethiopia, and show the rest of Africa what a unified people could do in the face of creeping colonialism and imperialism. This might be just what the dark continent needs to wake up, Prince Laban shared with me, one night, after our training exercises. I nodded sagely, for in those days, at least in my eyes, Prince Laban could do no wrong. The sons of poor farmers weren't used to rubbing elbows with nobility. I guess today you'd say that I was enthralled by this handsome, charismatic young African Princeling.

The Prince and I were close enough in age that I thought of him as the brother I never had. We went everywhere together. The other noblemen among his inner circle saw me as a commoner, and constantly reminded me of it. The Prince treated me better than anyone I'd ever known. Whatever I wanted, he gave me, and all he asked for in return was my loyalty and friendship, which I gave him freely. I would have followed him into the Gates of Hell itself, in those days anyway. One night, after a particularly gruesome battle against the forces of the legendary General Ishmail, one of the Muslim Princes of Imperial Ethiopia, Prince Laban invited me to his bed, and we made love. Up until that point, I had only been with women. Making love to Prince Laban opened my eyes to many things I never would have considered before, and changed me. I still bedded women from time to time, but my heart belonged to the Prince.

Prince Laban amassed many victories against the other Princes and warlords vying for power, and his skill as a military leader was unsurpassed. What distinguished him above the competition was how magnanimous and noble he was in victory. He allowed several of his sworn enemies to choose exile over death, and invited the former followers of his rivals to join his army. He demanded their absolute loyalty, upon penalty of death should they ever betray him. The prince was really something, wasn't he? Unfortunately, in war, treachery is the way of things. We fought against a Muslim chieftain named Muhammad Bilal, and the legions who followed him. We won, but at a terrible cost. Prince Laban was injured, and quite badly at that. My heart sank when I saw him being carried by attendants. The healers feared he would not survive. All night I prayed to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and to sweet Jesus Christ to save the man I loved more than I loved myself. All to no avail. Prince Laban died as a result of his injuries during the night. He died the night he defeated his worst enemy, and removed the final obstacle standing before him and the rulership of Imperial Ethiopia. Once again, Fate had robbed the motherland of Ethiopia of its true ruler.

After the death of Laban, I lost interest in the war, and indeed I think I kind of lost my mind. I wandered across the vastness of Ethiopia, and ventured into places like Somalia and Eritrea. All over the motherland of Africa, colonial invaders stormed one region after another. Kingdom after kingdom fell. In the midst of all this, Africans continued fighting each other over questions of religion, ethnicity and territory. Even within Ethiopia, the Christians and the Muslims continued to despise each other. Disgusted, I ventured into the west African wilderness...and while there, I was attacked by a wild beast. I thought it was some kind of ape. There are still so many undiscovered species in the world today. You read about them on your Yahoo news feed all the time. Anyhow, the beast attacked me one night as I rested beside a cozy fire, my mind filled with thoughts of Prince Laban. The beast nearly tore me to pieces, I should have died, but I didn't. When I came to, the next morning, I was...changed.

The injuries I sustained during the beast's savage attack should have killed me, but they didn't. The fact that I was still breathing was a miracle, or so I thought. Little did I know what had truly happened to me. Even today, after all that happened, I scarcely understand it. The beast that attacked me must have belonged to an order of primordial creatures the likes of which the world hadn't seen in eons. It infected me through its bite, and that infection changed me. Over the next few days, I discovered that I was stronger and more agile than ever before. Also, I could run fast. Too fast for any normal human being to ever hope to catch me in a foot race. We're talking cheetah speed here. I marveled at my newfound superhuman strength, speed and agility. I didn't know the extent of the changes I had undergone. You see, I had become effectively immortal. I stopped aging the day I walked into that forest and got bit, sometime in 1722. As far as I know, nothing can kill me now.

In the following decades and centuries, I would see much of the world. I'd make great friends, and I'd also make powerful enemies. In Syria, I met a beautiful young woman named Yalda Alfassi, and fell in love with her. I was lost in the streets of metropolitan Atarib, and she was the only person who would give me directions. I remembered her kindness, and her beautiful smile. Something about this short and slender, bronze-skinned gal with raven hair and almond-shaped brown eyes touched my heart. I was smitten, to tell you the truth. In those days just like today, the Arabs weren't fond of us Africans. Nevertheless, I wanted to make her my wife, so I sought out her kinfolk. Her family laughed in my face and her father, Alharbi Alfassi, was particularly cruel in what he said to me. He compared me to an ape, and my anger rose. I struck him in the face, and he went down like a sack of grain. The other men of the Alfassi household fetched their weapons and sought to maim and kill me, but to no avail. Compared to how I could move, the fastest person on the planet was a snail. In no time at all I incapacitated all thirteen of them. Yalda and her older sister Fatouma were the only ones I left unscathed.

Yalda stared at me, and asked me what manner of creature I was. I told her that I did not know, but I wanted her to be with me. I promised her that if she accepted me, she would want for nothing, because nothing on God's green Earth could slay me. I looked Yalda in the eyes, and promised her the world. She looked at me and I saw uncertainty in her eyes, but not fear or disgust. Gently she put her small hand in mine. Later, I learned that she was facing the dire prospects of marriage to an rich older man who was one of her father's friends. A man she found despicable for his crudeness and lousy table manners whenever he visited her household. He eyed her lecherously every time she saw him. In those days, in the Arab world and elsewhere in North Africa and the Middle East, daughters were goods to be bartered. They belonged first to their fathers then to their husbands. They had no freedom, no choice and no rights. Maybe that's why Yalda chose to come with me, who knows? I never asked.

Yalda and I fled the City of Atarib on horseback that day, and eventually made our way back to Ethiopia. In those days, it was a journey of several months. During that time, my new bride and I got along really well. The sheltered daughter of a wealthy Syrian Muslim shipping magnate turned out to be far more sturdy and resourceful than I would have thought. We encountered many dangers in our journey, and Yalda's craftiness amazed me time after time. I couldn't always use my powers to get out of situations, and quite often, it was her charm and intelligence who saved the day. Yalda never questioned the source of my abilities, though I could tell they puzzled her. I shared it with her, and she confessed something to me. Long before she met me, she had a crush on a Syrian Christian lad named Elijah Wahid, who was a Christian and thus deemed unsuitable by her Muslim family. Elijah taught her about Christianity, a faith she grew to respect, especially after hearing about how Jesus Christ, revered in Islam as a prophet sent by God, respected women and even placed himself in harm's way to save a prostitute from the wicked men who wanted to hurt her.

That biblical tale was her favorite bible verse, Yalda told me. I smiled at that. Yalda told me she used to always dream that someday, a prince would come along and save her from the wicked man her father wanted her to marry and make her his bride. Well, I told her with a wry grin, I wasn't a prince but I would definitely make her my bride. That is, if she could accept me as a Christian man. Islam forbids Muslim women from marrying non-Muslim men, but Muslim men can do whatever they want with women of any religion. That double standard irks me, to tell you the truth. Even in Ethiopia, I'd seen Muslim men take Christian women and Jewish women as their wives but they turned murderously vindictive if they saw a Muslim woman even talking to a Christian man. And somehow, this never bothered most Muslim women or made them stop and think. Wow. When I proposed to her, Yalda threw her arms around and shouted yes louder than I thought anyone could shout. My gorgeous Syrian bride embraced Christianity, and we were to be married as soon as we arrived at my father's household.

When I got home, I received dire news. My father was gone. In my father's absence, my cousin Yeshua took care of the land, and he was quite surprised to see me return. He'd been living on the property with a woman I did not know. Immediately I laid claim to my father's house and land and I sought to oust this usurper. Naturally, Yeshua told me to go to hell. I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him into the air. He was amazed at my strength. I was close to killing him in a rare fit of anger when Yalda interceded. She stepped between Yeshua and me, and told me she wouldn't let me throw away my family for her. I put Yeshua down and asked Yalda what she was doing.

My gorgeous Syrian goddess smiled sadly at me and told me she was tired of all the violence. She just wanted us to live together in peace. I looked at her, then at Yeshua. I apologized to my cousin, and asked for his forgiveness. Relieved, Yeshua embraced me. He introduced me to Jerusalem, the young Oromo woman he'd taken as his bride. I smiled at her. Tall, dark-skinned and sinewy, she was lovely, though in my eyes, no woman could equal Yalda's beauty. That night, the four of us sat down and ate as a family. We would share the farm and the land. Yalda and I were married in a cathedral two weeks after our arrival. The priest, Father Meseret of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, the same man who baptized me all those years ago, presided over the ceremony. I smiled respectfully at that wise old man then at my gorgeous bride. Yalda and I shared our first kiss as husband and wife as my family members, friends and neighbors cheered.

Yalda and I lived together on the farm, and we shared many years, some of them happy and some sad, such was life. She bore me two sons, Gabriel and Michel, and a daughter, little Bethlehem. Thankfully, they were normal, and didn't inherit any of my special abilities. I thanked God for that, because I wouldn't want any offspring of mine cursed to wander the world, immortal, and confused about who or what they were, forever trapped in a hostile world. Yalda and I lived together for the next thirty years, then she passed. She died peacefully, in her sleep. I can't explain why or how. One morning she simply didn't wake up. I was inconsolable. If I could have traded my immortality for extending her life, I would have. Without her, I was lost. I felt cursed. As for our sons and daughter, they grieved along with me, and eventually moved on with their lives. After Yalda's death, I left Ethiopia and wandered the world. I think I walked across all of sub-Saharan Africa, North Africa and the Middle East for the next two hundred years. I had many adventures, and many lovers, both male and female. No man ever replaced Laban Bogale in my heart. And no woman shall ever replace the memory of my sweet Yalda. That's simply not possible.

I have left Africa a long time ago. Nowadays I live in the City of Toronto, Ontario. A town with a thriving Ethiopian community. Among the throngs of Africans, Arabs, Chinese and Indians in this vast Canadian metropolis, a lost soul like myself actually blends in. I have had many identities throughout the ages, but I have always remained loyal to the motherland of Ethiopia and Christendom. I still go to church on a weekly basis, and I love visiting Ethiopian neighborhoods. I love music and cuisine from back home. Nothing like it in the world. Us Ethiopians are and always will be a unique people. I find the global conflict between Christians, Jews, Muslims and other religions simply deplorable. There is only one God and while I don't presume to know any more about Him than any ordinary human being, I sincerely doubt He wants us to fight each other in His name. I hope and pray I don't live to see another world war, but I feel one is right around the corner. You who've been faithful enough to read these pages to the end, I thank you for your patience. I hope you gleaned something from all this, or that you were at least entertained. I really must get going. I have a date with a lovely Oromo gal. She's fresh from the old country and she's going to need a guide in the urban wilds of Toronto. This looks like a job for me!