Buze, on the right, is a brother I’m truly blessed to have.
Here he is with friends, sitting under the shade of a cool acacia tree, just after making me an incredible goat roast for lunch.
I’m deeply thankful for him and for his whole family. Without them, I wouldn’t have this beautiful space in Langano. This place has become a part of me.
Langano has its contrasts. There are people living in comfort, and others who don’t even have running water. That has always stayed with me.
Still, what I’ve found here goes beyond all that. Over the years, I’ve made real brothers in this place. We’ve shared stories, meals, and built things together that mean a lot to me.
We’ve done so many exciting projects, both in Addis and here by the lake. Through it all, Langano has become a home filled with friendship and creativity.
I pray it remains peaceful, full of life, and rich with good memories for everyone who calls it home.
Kids at Langano ferrying a goat home across the lake. Two boys and a girl balancing between a board and a small paddle boat they joined together. A quiet scene of life by the water, where play and survival flow as one.
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She looks straight into the camera; no pretense, no performance. Behind her, a machine that keeps things fresh. Beside her, a flower that couldn’t be saved. Between them, Wubit, existing in the in-between, where beauty isn’t just about what lasts, but about what lingers.
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Carrying Light
In the quiet town of Bursa, deep in the heart of Sidama, I met three radiant young girls. They had come to fetch water from a newly built well, their presence a quiet reminder of both struggle and strength. The well, made possible by Bridge 2 Hope and Drop of Water, stood as a promise of something better, yet their journey remained unchanged.
We did not share the same language. Two of them spoke only a few words of Amharic, while the third became our fragile bridge of understanding. I introduced myself, asked if I could capture their image. Their eyes sparkled, their smiles needed no translation.
For a moment, the weight of their world was set aside. But soon, they lifted their yellow containers, heavy with water and responsibility. The path home stretched before them-long, uneven, familiar. I watched as they disappeared into the woods, their small frames bending slightly, their steps quickening to make up for the time given to me.
And I wondered. About them. About us. About where we are headed as a people, as a nation.
Hope and sorrow wove themselves together in my thoughts. Hope, because there is light in these girls, in their laughter, in their resilience. Sorrow, because the road they walk is not just dirt beneath their feet, but a reflection of a country still finding its way.
Yet even the longest night must surrender to dawn. Even the heaviest load can be shared.
Choose to see the light.
Choose to believe in the dawn.
A single candle is enough to make the darkness retreat.
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Teferi
Years ago, I was introduced to “Teferi the drummer” through the remarkable film Journey to Lasta. That moment was the start of a deep admiration for his craft, a rhythmic genius whose work transcended sound and touched the soul. His drumming wasn’t just music; it was a heartbeat, a connection to something ancient yet timeless.
When I returned to Addis in recent years, I had the honor of meeting him and working alongside him on multiple occasions. Every encounter with Teferi was a lesson in humility, calmness, and grace. He carried a presence that was quiet yet powerful, a reflection of the depth of his artistry and the wisdom of his spirit.
I deeply regret not finishing the project we had dreamed of together. His passing is a stark reminder of life’s fragility, a harsh lesson that tomorrow is never guaranteed. We often assume there’s more time, that opportunities and loved ones will wait. But Teferi’s departure leaves a profound void, urging us to value and cherish the people who matter most, today.
Our nation has lost not just a drummer but one of the pillars of modern Ethiopian music, a keeper of its soul and rhythm. May his spirit rest in eternal harmony alongside his loved ones. And may God grant his family strength, courage, and consolation in this difficult time.
Ethiopia has lost a legend, and we are all the poorer for it. Let us honor his memory by keeping his rhythms alive in our hearts.
We spent the night in the church, immersed in the sacred rhythms of Saint Yared, as priests sang by the cliffs, their voices rising like incense into the quiet night. Between prayers and songs, we rested briefly at the cliff’s edge, taking warmth from a fire started by young boys who had also come to worship. It amazed me how freely people moved along the cliffs, as though faith steadied their every step.
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