I was good at it….real good at it
Subtract myself, add little habesh
And fill myself with rubbish
Day after day I compromised
And had the nerve to act surprised
When they couldn’t tell the difference
Between me and them
I chanted ‘Ethiopia Tikdem’
And sang the national anthem
With such a pride and such fervor
That they swore I was from Gonder
Why shouldn’t they?
I could do a mean iskista
And I sang a good tizita
And found nothing wrong
With being clueless about a ba ca da
Every drop of blood that runs in my vein
Every fiber of nerve that can feel my pain
Every living cell that I contain
Within this body of mine
Knew and recognized me
For what I truly was
A traitor…..
I had enough, I could not take it
I woke up one day and could not fake it
I came out the door speaking Oromiffa
Munching on that buna qala
And sipping on some birzii
I stuck out like a sore thumb from among
But screw it
I had forgotten how it felt to be me
I was once lost in the propaganda
But now I found myself under the odaa tree
Was blid about what I gave up?
But now I definitely see
It feels good to be Oromo again

By Efrata T.Obsa (retrieved from Oromantic Weblog on 6 May 2010)


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